Garage Rep at Steppenwolf : A Victorian murderer, robots and a waiting room for heaven
THEATER REVIEW: Garage Rep at Steppenwolf Theatre, with “The Three Faces of Doctor Crippen” ★★★½ (by The Strange Tree Group); “Heddatron” ★★★ (above, by Sideshow Theatre Company); and “Sonnets for an Old Century” ★★ (by UrbanTheater Company). Presented in rotating repertory through April 24 in the Garage Theatre, 1624 N. Halsted St.; tickets $20 at 312-335-1650 and www.steppenwolf.org
“The Three Faces of Doctor Crippen”
At the top of “The Three Faces of Doctor Crippen,” a rather splendid little gothic thriller from Emily Schwartz and the aptly named Strange Tree Group, the rouge-loving character of Cora Crippen warbles that old Victorian sing-along classic, “Daddy Wouldn't Buy Me a Bow-Wow (Bow-Wow).” As cheerily performed by Kate Nawrocki in a bath tub, it is at once funny, entertaining and perfectly horrifying. And it helps you understand why the notorious Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen would be inclined to poison and then dismember his profoundly irritating wife.
Aside from supposedly being the first criminal to be captured with the help of wireless communication — he was apprehended by Scotland Yard after a ship's captain tipped off Mr. Marconi as to his whereabouts — Dr. Crippen of Coldwater, Mich., was an interesting chap in any number of ways. After first landing in London, he developed a thing for an English typist named Ethel Le Neve (Delia Baseman), the same woman who starts off this show by tapping out the melody line to that song on her manual keys. When Ethel found herself preggers — or at least that was what she said — old Doc Crippen felt like he had no choice but to off Cora, the unforgiving missus.
Schwartz and her director, Jimmy McDermott, imagine this criminal tale as a self-aware melodrama, replete with a dramatic love triangle and little musical interpolations. Better yet, Schwartz splits this character into three living, breathing thirds — a public Crippen (Stuart Ritter), a private Crippen (Scott Cupper) and a fantasy Crippen (Matt Holzfeind), allowing us to watch as the doctor debates with himself as to whether or not to fall to love, how much poison to buy and what quantity to deceive Cora into pouring down her throat.
This kind of Grand Guignol-come-vaudeville style is easy to overplay, but McDermott avoids that trap, not the least by contrasting all of the murderous antics of his killer doc with the rather tender relationship he develops with Ethel. As played with deceptively wide-eyed innocence by Baseman, Ethel's motives remain deliciously ambivalent throughout. The style owes something to the work of Maurine Dallas Watkins, the Tribune reporter who first created “Chicago,” and this superbly visualized little show is the heir to the distinguished Chicago tradition of the sardonic tale of the lovable murderer.
“Heddatron”
The state of Michigan — and murderous intent — looms quite large in this year's Garage Rep at the Steppenwolf Theatre Company. In “Heddatron,” an intermittently incoherent but hugely entertaining new fever-dream of a show from Elizabeth Meriwether, a depressed and pregnant mother from Ypsilanti goes from watching Judge Judy opine in her living room to sucking in the story of Henrik Ibsen's “Hedda Gabler” and imagining herself re-enacting its climax in an Ibsonian rainforest filled with robots.
Yes, robots. And the Sideshow Theatre Company delivers actual robots — a clutch of home-made, remote-controlled devices who act like well-read Star Wars rejects with throbbing hearts, unfettered sexual desire and an unusual fondness for the well-made play. These machines (which take at least four people to control and are, without question, the best collection of robots I've ever seen on any stage, anywhere) steal the show. Or they would, at least, if a kid-actress named Catherine Stegemann didn't snatch it back from their mechanical jaws at every available opportunity. Stegemann, whose character is named Nugget, is unlucky enough both to be the daughter of this Hedda wannabe and required to deliver a school report on Ibsen. Which she does, in hilarious installments.
The presence of Ibsen — and his wife and his rival playwright, August Strindberg — are the weak spots of this production. That's because the otherwise terrific director, Jonathan L. Green, allows them to turn into predictable little Victorian cartoons in whom our interest quickly wanes. But when Green is exploring the rest of Meriwether's story in more truthful fashion (Nina O'Keefe yearns earnestly throughout as the mother Jane) this hip-and-quirky show just keeps surprising. Most of my row on Sunday night kept exploding with laughter. Funnier and smarter than the Oscars, I kept thinking to myself.
The third Garage Rep attraction, UrbanTheater Company's “Sonnets for an Old Century,” a piece by Jose Rivera directed by Madrid St. Angelo in collaboration with Juan Castenada, is rather less surprising. There is some poetry and insight in Rivera's writing: the premise of the piece is that we're in a kind of waiting room for heaven and the recently departed are given the chance to talk about their varied lives. The show features some 19 actors, each of whom has a monologue about life. And when you only have one short speech, there is a strong temptation to fall into a wide-eyed, showy sensibility. That traps a few of the recently deceased, although some of them are very poignant. St. Angelo tends to throw romantic gauze over the proceedings, which tends to create a repetitive rhythm that needs a firmer jolt.
If you look at all three of these 90-minute shows as one attraction, there are jolts aplenty — and reminders that some off-Loop theater has superlative design work and far more style than you'll find in any other garage anywhere.
Wow. 2 Stars for Sonnets for An Old Century? And only 1 paragraph? My good people please do not be swayed nor fooled by this snoozer of a review for this show. Go see it! Please allow me to say that I do not work for UTC nor am I a paid actor on any of their programs. I am merely a non-expert that loves theatre...of any kind. This show makes audiences think of something profound..."Holy crap what in the world am I going to think or say in that waiting room, and am I going to actually have a chance to have a final say?" Human beings come from somewhere and go somewhere, once their time here on Earth is caput. We ALL, or at least we should, think about where we go after we die, and what happens next. What a clever, and insightful way to let us breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that we may possibly be met by this little waiting room of thoughts, monologues, screams, cries, laughter, whatever. The reviewer seemed to be eating nachos during the show or maybe texting his review to himself and missed the point completely. "Romantic gauze over the proceedings?" Mr. Jones, buddy, please help us out with that one. With people mourning, crying, devastated by death, isn't it quite lovely that this waiting room set before us can quite possibly exist? Oh how romantic.
Posted by: Rob Ruiz | March 01, 2011 at 04:06 PM