Feast

Source: http://www.goodmantheatre.org

The Albany Park Theater Project describes itself as a “multiethnic, youth theater ensemble that inspires people to envision a more just and beautiful world.”

At the curtain drop of the troupe’s latest production, a remounting of its 2010 “downtown debut,” “Feast,” ANTP Artistic Director David Feiner confessed to pride in the college attendance rate of the program’s graduates equal to satisfaction with the show. Many of the company’s committed children matriculate and become first generation university students from hardworking immigrant families. It’s an inspiring accomplishment and message in a post-Great Recession country where the American Dream often feels more elusive than ever.

APTP is a worthy non-profit, deserving of the Chicago theater community’s patronage. It would be so even if it produced mediocre artistic offerings. Luckily for all parties, including fans of good work, Albany Park Theater Project offers some of the most exciting, visceral, rhythmic storytelling in the Windy City. “Feast” marks the company’s fifth straight partnership season with the legendary Goodman Theatre.

Having been privileged enough to see and review the group’s 2013 foreclosure crisis-themed stunner, “I Will Kiss These Walls,” as well as a later examination of the nation’s broken immigration system, “Home/Land,” I have long admired the intersection of bold socioeconomic commentary, good writing and go-for-broke performances that are the hallmarks of an APTP experience.

Moreover, the results are completely unforced. With “Feast,” billed per press materials as “a 90-minute piece that explores food’s role in nourishing individuals and communities,” the group’s 2010 class did their research. Collaborating with adult theater mentors, the young artists “conducted more than two dozen interviews,” resulting in a script that asks a briskly paced series of existential questions. How does hunger (or abundance) affect personal security, the soul, the creative spirit, pride and family?

Though the APTP vision and mission is bigger than any one year’s cast, the quality of the performances in “Feast” is simply overwhelming — in all the right and sometimes purposely painful ways. A prime example occurs in the Link Card vignette. Featuring three young ladies with diametric views of the digital food stamps, the script is brave enough to consider Link as an application process fraught with bilingual tension, a source of well-fed joy, however brief, and a bottomless source of social shame. There are no wrong interpretations and no judgment.

But there are amazing acrobatic feats, a child’s soliloquy and an angry, defiant determination to break the cycle of poverty. Three voices and a full picture of an issue that is finally gaining the increased attention it deserves with this decade’s Occupy Wall Street movement, the rise of Senator Elizabeth Warren’s voice and the 2016 Democratic presidential campaign of Bernie Sanders.

Income inequality is having its moment, but as “Feast” makes clear, issues of hunger and want go back generations — to the fields of the Philippines and the villages of Mexico, as well as the cities, suburbs and towns in the United States. Food is wrapped in ritual, in love, in opportunity, in perceived success. However the weight of these concerns are nicely balanced in the production through stylistic APTP trademarks that lighten the load.

The kids transition in and out of the performance with a unified percussive display that demands their feet, hands and copious energy to make a joyful but large statement. We are here. This issue is here. And none of us are going anywhere until we figure it out. Because people who work hard and dream should have enough in their bellies to sustain their bodies and spirits.

It’s tough to single out any one performer from the harmoniously accomplished cast of 25. There are beautiful but haunting voices, dancers, drummers, gymnasts, physical comedians and touching dramatists. The tapestry of an imperfect reality held up for our collective examination. Albany Park Theater Project’s triumphant “Feast” is a deliberately hungry celebration of the company’s past, in the critical present, that deserves a very popular near future. See it.

“Feast” runs through August 16 at the Goodman Theatre, 1170 N. Dearborn, Chicago, IL. For information or tickets, call 312-443-3800 or visit the Goodman Theatre website.

Bette, Live at the Continental Baths

 

Caitlyn Jackson brings Bette Midler to life
Caitlyn Jackson brings Bette Midler to life

Full disclosure: Unless Hell in a Handbag Productions really dropped the ball in mounting its latest stage offering, “Bette, Live at the Continental Baths: A Trip Down Mammary Lane,” I was predisposed to love it.

In the first place, as a child born in the 1970s and raised in the ’80s, I’m well positioned to appreciate the canon of work produced by the Divine Ms. M. And secondly, throughout my 20s when I tripped the light fantastic as the unofficial queen of Boys’ Town, I was compared more than once — in appearance and energy — to Midler in her Bathhouse Bette days. A compliment in the extreme.

I’m pleased to report that beyond my own fangirl adoration for Better Midler, and a flattered ego which allows a perceived red-headed kinship with the star, Hell in a Handbag Productions puts on one hell of a tribute. Directed and choreographed by Christopher Pazdernik, with music direction by Jeremy Ramey (who also appears onstage as Midler’s original Continental Baths accompanist, Barry Manilow), “Bette, Live at the Continental Baths: A Trip Down Mammary Lane,” is an exuberant display of humor, showmanship and vocal chops.

This conclusion is largely due to Caitlyn Jackson, who embodies Ms. Midler in the spectacular production. The fact that Jackson is not already an A-list recording artist with a cabinet full of Grammys and Tony awards is a matter of sheer timing and eventuality. Do yourself a favor and catch her in this show, or anything else in which the actress might appear, so you can later tell friends, “I knew her when…” Because Jackson KILLS it. SLAYS it. Like if you close your eyes, it’s easy to believe the woman singing her heart out onstage IS Bette Midler. It’s not just the songs. It’s the verbal and bodily tics. It’s the comedic timing. It’s the way Jackson is able to make every line sound fresh, as though we’re the first audience to hear it. She is simply amazing.

Jackson is capably backed by the Bathhouse Boys, T.J. Crawford and Will Wilhelm. In addition to being talented vocalists in their own right, the men provide cheeky humor (pun definitely intended) as Midler’s Ronettes for the newly GLBT-awakened 1970s. With their tiny towels and powerful voices, they ironically and attractively turn traditional nightclub misogyny on its ear, happy to service Queen M. The trio works its way through a list of piano bar standards such as “Mambo Italiano” and “Friends,” also delving into Midler’s professed admiration for the doo-wop hits of the 1960s. Thus the audience is treated to lush, harmonied versions of “Chapel of Love” and “Great Balls of Fire” among other early rock ‘n roll classics.

Press materials characterize “Bette, Live at the Continental Baths” as a “loving recreation of the beginning of Ms. Midler’s stellar career… done in Bette’s inimitable style. Well, nearly inimitable.” I couldn’t agree more. I would also add that the show offers appeal for students of history — musical, the arc of equality and general entertainment — the kind of education that makes one’s face hurt from all the joy.

I have but one complaint: the awful brevity of the show. Running roughly 80 minutes with an intermission, it’s highly likely you’ll be left wanting much more at curtain fall. However, this mild quibble is more than offset by the affordable ticket price ($20 in advance for the regular run), Jackson’s otherworldly talent and the promise of more quality entertainment from Hell in a Handbag Productions’ 2015/2016 season.

“Bette, Live at the Continental Baths: A Trip Down Mammary Lane” runs through August 21 at Mary’s Attic, 5400 N Clark Street, Chicago, IL. For information or tickets, call 800-838-3006 or visit the Hell in a Handbag Productions website.

Wishful Thinking (July 27, 2009)

I still watch NBC’s “Meet the Press” almost every week. It is one of few remaining venues for hard hitting, nonpartisan breakdowns of the day’s issues. That said, I am less than enthused about replacement host David Gregory, though he has occupied the seat once held by the inimitable Tim Russert for nearly a year. Gregory is competent sure, but his somewhat whiny and nagging interview style just doesn’t hold up against the alternately benevolent/attack dog beauty of the departed Mr. Russert.

I was satisfied when Tom Brokaw became the interim host of the program after the untimely death of Mr. Russert in 2008. Who doesn’t esteem Brokaw, especially during an election cycle? However, Brokaw inevitably shuffled back into semi-retirement. So things have changed and the new “Meet the Press” may never get me as jazzed as it once did. And yet, the show continues to carry the clout required to book high profile names each and every week.

Yesterday’s episode was a dessert buffet for Boop. Our current Secretary of State, Hillary Rodham Clinton, appeared on the program, of course, to discuss the number of pressing foreign policy issues facing our nation: Iran, North Korea, Afghanistan, and for those who forgot this quagmire is still going on, Iraq. Of course, Gregory grilled Clinton on Obama’s current health care war, though it is a domestic issue, becuase of the Secretary’s own belly flop in the fight for change in that area in the mid 90s.

True, I do not hide my love for Madame Clinton under a bushel. I think she’s fabulous. So well spoken, never stutters, never goes off message, never gets tricked by pundits into saying things she doesn’t want to. The lady is a true pro, a veteran of the political game for decades in a variety of remarkable positions. Ok, I know the election is over. At one point, I took Obama’s nomination over Hills very hard. Though I believe you can tell I have since come around.

But there’s one decision made in the course of the 2008 campaign from which I have not recovered. I, like so many Democratic party supporting women, wanted Hillary for VP. As I watched her professional grace and je ne sais quoi at work on “Meet the Press,” I thought of the week in media for our current Vice Prez, Joe Biden. You know, the guy who is aware that Obama is trying to push the “reset” button in our relationship with Russia, yet ran off at the mouth (again), declaring the former Soviet nation to be out of touch and “unsustainable?” Yeah – that genius. Believe me, I have tried very hard to get over Obama’s political tactic of choosing Biden as his running mate during the campaign. At the time, I understood that Obama needed to answer the recurring charges of inexperience with a gray haired sidekick.

But as the last 6-7 months have played out, I ask you America, what else has our VP done other than create sound bite problems for our new president? Seriously, what? Because maybe I am not aware of Biden’s early greatness, too distracted by his foolhardy claims that the young administration “misread” the economy and other such malarkey.

Friday the 24th (July 24, 2009)

It is fairly obvious to most of you that our Jen of All Trades has been on hiatus for quite some time. What might not be so obvious is that for months on end, she has been dealing with a sick child. Rosebud, her two year-old, has been suffering recurring fevers, sleep apnea and eating troubles since early winter. Lost for answers for a long time, it has been very trying for Jen and her family to figure out how to help their child. After a dedicated period of personal research, stick to-itiveness and doctor visits, it was finally determined that Rosbud had some bum tonsils and adnoids causing these problems.

So today was the day my baby niece had surgery to have these nasty parts removed. As you might imagine, it was a very rough ordeal for the little one and her parents – not the least because the procedure began at 7 AM. I am happy to report the process was a success, but healing will be tough and demanding. I have KK for the evening, and we are lucky enough to be heading off to a Demi Lovato concert at the AllState Arena in a few minutes. I know I will be the least cool person there, but hopefully KK is willing to forgive me. David Archuleta is the opening act. I am perhaps more excited about that than I should be.

But Rosebud and her folks aren’t the only ones having a tough day. When I brought KK home to my place for lunch and a nap, I got an email from my favorite cousin, Little C, that she had been laid off. She is philosophical and serene as always, believing everything happens for a reason, and she is probably right. Sill, I adore this girl and just hate to see her down in any fashion.

So I dedicate this post to the tough ladies in my life who have suffered a knock this day, but keep on chugging. Nothing – unemployment, surgery or a little fatigue, can keep a good woman down.

The Hangover (July 22, 2009)

This is a surprisngly accurate rendering of Boop and her day yesterday. Boop is slightly heavier, but as lily white as the female depicted here. In addition, I was forced to assume this very position no fewer than three times during the course of the day. However, I wouldn’t be me if there were anything remotely standard about my hangover.

In the first place, can I tell you how much I loathe getting old? I drank five glasses of wine while out and about Monday afternoon with Theresa and Gary. Fine, that is a lot, but I was completely done drinking after 6:30 PM. Afterward, I ate dinner, drank lots of water and felt fine enough for a spirited game of Wii bowling at my friend Brandon’s house later that evening. I am not looking for sympathy. I am well aware that most people cannot even entertain the thought of binge drinking on a Monday. Quite the contrary, I am in a spiral of self-loathing and welcome any comments that will assist in my self-flagellation.

I woke up at 8 AM Tuesday morning. I felt well enough to sweep the house, go with Theresa to breakfast, even conduct a phone interview with Preferred Hotels. I am attempting to be hired as a Marketing Communications Consultant. I felt a bit wobbly at the Golden Nugget, but vowed to push through the pain.

I had a meeting at my friend and colleague Bryan’s house, two hours spent with me being a complete waste, wanting nothing more than to curl up on his couch and go sleepy. Bryan prepared me his famous “hangover remedy,” which consists of one part honey, one part pomegranate paste, a pinch of sea salt and plenty of water. It was oddly tasty and yet, as I left for my 3:30 meeting at the StreetWise headquarters on Lake, I knew trouble, was quite literally, brewing.

I am now a member of StreetWise’s Publications Committee, a group that basically decides the editorial direction of the paper. I rang the bell, introduced myself and made a beeline for the ladies room, where I turned on the sink full blast in order to mask the sounds of my heaving. I will never eat a dark chocolate protein bar again. Surprisingly, I masked my pain well and got through the meeting, even managing to contribute a coherent thought or two.

As I began to drive him in rush hour traffic, I decided to stick to side roads. And it’s a good thing too. Because right there on Halsted St., mere blocks from my old high school, I politely pulled the car over in front of St. Vincent DePaul Center. I was quite the spectacle and began to wish in earnest that I were dead. If not because I felt horrible, then because I was keenly aware that a woman nearing 31 years of age has no business puking in public in the middle of the day.

I returned home at 6:30 and commenced dry heaving before taking an anti-nausea pill (a bit late, no?) and falling into bed. That’s right – at 6:30. I had to take an online test for the Preferred people, but thankfully it wasn’t due until 9 AM this morning.

Lessons learned? Well I’d like to think so, but my track record suggests otherwise. What a mess.