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Your favorite kids show is back! The Second City is excited to welcome the return of its wildly popular summer hit for young audiences. No Grown-Ups Allowed is a high-energy, fast-paced sketch and improv comedy show delivering 60 minutes of non-stop laughter for the whole family. Tickets sell fast every year! For tickets and more information, visit secondcity.com or call The Second City box office at 312-337-3992.

The show features a mix of family-friendly songs and sketches from The Second City's iconic comedy archives, alongside fresh new material created just for young audiences. And of course, it's all brought to life with the ridiculous improv hijinks The Second City is known for.

Starring a hilarious cast, No Grown-Ups Allowed is a one-of-a-kind interactive theatrical experience, giving kids the chance to jump into the action, whether from their seats or by joining performers live onstage.

No Grown-Ups Allowed runs Saturdays at 11am and 1pm, June 6 through August 29, with one added Sunday performance on July 5 at 11am and 1pm. Tickets are $29. Perfect for ages 6-13.

About The Second City

The Second City opened its doors in 1959 as a small comedy cabaret and has since grown into the world's most influential name in improvisation and comedy, celebrating its 65th anniversary in 2024. The Second City's stages, Touring Companies, and Training Centers across North America have proudly been the launch pad and artistic home for many of the funniest performers, writers, directors, and comedic minds on the planet. As well, for decades The Second City's corporate education and entertainment arm, Second City Works, has supported global businesses using the same methods pioneered on its stages to drive individual growth and organizational improvement.

For more information on The Second City, visit www.secondcity.com and follow The Second City on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.

Get ready for a cosmic comedy of gods, monsters, and mayhem that refuses to play by the old rules. That’s right - the universe is ending, and apparently it booked a headliner.

In Lifeline’s world premiere Loki: The End of the World Tour, we travel to another universe where Norse gods wrestle with fate, power, and the consequences of welcoming a trickster into their midst. Loki, half‑god and half‑giant, storms into Asgard with the force of a live wire, intent on reshaping his identity and carving out a place in the celestial hierarchy. His charm wins over Odin almost immediately, but the rest of the pantheon isn’t so easily convinced. While gentle Baldur welcomes him with the sunny goodwill he offers everyone, Thor bristles at the sudden competition for his father’s attention, and Freya senses danger in him from the start. Meanwhile, Loki’s three unusual children - Hel, Fenris (a wolfen creature), and the slithery Midgard Serpent - appear in Asgard as the very figures described in the prophecy Odin dreads, the beings destined to spark Ragnarok and bring the realm to its knees. Caught in the middle, Sigyn finds herself drawn to Loki’s restless spirit even as these revelations cast a looming war between gods and giants across their path. Loki’s return from the land of giants sets off a quiet upheaval in Asgard, and it’s clear the realm will never look the same again. Yep, Lifeline Theatre certainly lives up to its “Big Stories, Up Close” tagline in this original creation, transforming ancient myth into a visceral, close‑quarters clash of gods, secrets, and fate.

The show kicks off with a blast of rock‑and‑roll as the onstage trio - guitarist and music director Kelan Smith, keyboardist Kara Alexander, and drummer/bassist Alek Boggio - tears into the opening number. These three performers also serve as the Norns, guiding the audience through the story with a mix of narration, commentary, and musical firepower. Penned by Lifeline ensemble members Christina Calvit and George Howe and directed by Heather Currie, the “World Tour” concept gives the production a playful, concert‑style frame that keeps the energy high from the very first chord. Earplugs are free for anyone who wants them, and even with the show’s solid sound mix, you might be glad to have a pair handy - particularly in Act Two, when Boggio unleashes a drum assault that rattles the room.

Jack Chylinski leads the company with a magnetic, mercurial turn as Loki, slipping between charm, menace, and mischief with the ease of a born shapeshifter. The physicality is sharp and unpredictable, and they ride the rock score with a swagger that makes the trickster god both dangerous and oddly irresistible. Opposite him, Scott Danielson brings a seasoned authority to Odin, grounding the production with a commanding presence and vocals that cut cleanly through the music. Danielson’s All‑Father carries the weight of prophecy and fear in every scene, and the show deepens whenever he steps into the light.

Kelan Smith, Alek Boggio, Kara Olander, Janelle Anabria in LOKI THE END OF THE WORLD TOUR. Photo by Josh Bernaski.

Janelle Sanabria’s Freya is a powerhouse in every sense, her vocals soaring across the theatre with clarity, range, and emotional bite. She plays the goddess with fierce intelligence and a simmering distrust that adds real tension to the pantheon. Keenan Odenkirk, meanwhile, delivers a standout comedic performance as Thor, balancing bluster, jealousy, and impeccable timing. His ability to punch a line, hold a beat, and land a laugh gives the show some of its sharpest moments. Peter Gertas brings a bright, buoyant charm to Baldur, radiating warmth as the god of light and shifting effortlessly into his more grounded work as Mason.

India Renteria offers a luminous, heartfelt Sigyn, grounding the chaos around her with sincerity and emotional clarity. Loki’s three children - Grace Reidenauer as the coolly witty Hel, Anthony Kayer as the feral and unexpectedly tender Fenris (and the delightfully bold Thrym), and Avery Thompson as the playful, serpentine Middy - round out the ensemble with vivid, memorable performances. Each brings a distinct energy to the stage, and together they form a trio that’s as funny as it is thematically essential. The cast as a whole fuels the production with personality, precision, and a rock‑and‑roll spirit that never lets the momentum dip.

The physical world of the production is intentionally spare, yet it feels remarkably tailored to the story thanks to the combined work of scenic designer Lindsay Mummert, props designer Saskia Bakker, and lighting designer G. “Max” Maxin IV. Instead of overwhelming the stage with spectacle, the design team leans into simplicity and lets the atmosphere do the heavy lifting. The band sits off to one side in full view, their presence giving the show the pulse and immediacy of a live concert rather than a traditional musical. Maxin’s washes of purple light bathe the space in an otherworldly glow, transforming the minimalist set into something mythic, shifting, and just a little dangerous.

Anthony Kayer, Jack Chylinski, Grace Reidenauer and Avery Thompson in LOKI THE END OF THE WORLD TOUR. Photo by Josh Bernaski.

This production feels like lightning in a bottle, and the cast - backed by that ferocious onstage band - absolutely tears into it. New, original musicals don’t always find their musical footing right away, but this one arrives with a score that feels confident, catchy, and fully realized. Several numbers grabbed me on first listen, and by the time the show barrels into its final sequence, the music swells into a full‑throttle rock anthem that literally dares the audience to join in. The closing chorus suggests, with a wink and a blast of guitar, that if the world really is ending, we might as well crank the volume and go out in a rockin’ blaze of sound - and honestly, it’s hard to argue with that.

Loki: The End of the World Tour is the kind of original musical that proves, yet again, how fiercely inventive Chicago storefront theatre can be when it fires on all cylinders. Lifeline’s ensemble throws themselves into the chaos with precision, personality, and a rock‑and‑roll fearlessness that makes the whole night feel like a small miracle happening a few feet away. It’s smart, loud, heartfelt, and just strange enough to feel genuinely new - the sort of show you want to tell people about before it closes. And with the production running through June 27th, there’s still time to catch the lightning (or Thor's hammer) for yourself. As for logistics, street parking in the neighborhood remains one of the city’s best‑kept secrets: arrive a little early and you’ll likely snag a spot without the headache of garages or meters. For a show this fun, this fresh, and this full of talent, the trip is absolutely worth it.

For tickets/and/or more information, click here.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

The Wedding Singer is currently onstage at Metropolis Performing Arts Centre in Arlington Heights, offering a faithful and upbeat interpretation of the Adam Sandler–Drew Barrymore film. The production leans into the story’s rom‑com roots while making effective use of the Metropolis space, integrating ensemble work, clear character moments, and a series of well‑staged song‑and‑dance numbers to establish its easygoing, ’80s‑infused tone.

Before getting deeper into the production itself, it’s worth pausing to talk about the music. Not being familiar with the stage version - but very familiar with the film - I walked in fully expecting a night filled with Culture Club, The Cars, Depeche Mode, Dead or Alive, Huey Lewis, the B‑52s and, of course, Billy Idol. After all, Broadway has reimagined just about everything, so why not build a soundtrack from these great artists? But that isn’t what the musical sets out to deliver. While the film rolls out one 1980s hit after another, the stage adaptation replaces those songs with an entirely original score. Curious about the shift, and assuming it might be a budget decision, I did some digging - and here’s what I found.

Ok, so The Wedding Singer stage musical wasn’t conceived as a jukebox show. When Chad Beguelin, Tim Herlihy, and Matthew Sklar adapted the film for the stage, they chose to create an original score rather than license the movie’s well‑known pop hits. Securing rights to songs from multiple artists, labels, and publishers would have been enormously complex and prohibitively expensive (I was partially correct), and it would have limited the creative team to a patchwork of pre‑existing material. By writing new music, the creative team could shape songs around character development, pacing, and theatrical storytelling, all while capturing the spirit of the 1980s without relying on specific chart‑toppers. And while it may be a slight letdown for anyone hoping to hear those iconic hits, the production does nod to the film’s soundtrack: many of those artists play over the speakers as audiences enter, setting the mood with a warm wave of ’80s nostalgia before the show even begins.

From left - Cristina Benighoff, Kylie Tollefson, Jamie Dillon Grossman as Holly,  Teah Kiang Mirabelli as Julia and Jodi Gage as Angie. 

The musical adaptation of The Wedding Singer - with a book and music by the above mentioned Chad Beguelin, Tim Herlihy and Matthew Sklar - premiered at Seattle’s 5th Avenue Theatre on February 8, 2006, following previews that began January 31. It later transferred to Broadway, where it began previews on March 30 and officially opened at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre on April 27, 2006. Now, twenty years later, almost to the day after its Broadway debut, it has arrived in Arlington Heights.

For those anticipating a beat‑for‑beat version of the movie, the stage musical instead embraces a more expansive, stage‑shaped version of the story - exactly what a musical adaptation calls for. The core story and main characters remain, but it’s the show’s original songs, larger ensemble numbers, and broader comedic beats that naturally shift the tone. Certain plot points are streamlined, and some supporting characters are reimagined or expanded, while others, like the over-the-top lounge-singing character Jimmie Moore played by John Lovitz, don’t appear at all. The result keeps the spirit of the film intact, but filters it through the pacing, structure, and heightened style of a full musical.

At the center of the story is Robbie Hart, New Jersey’s go‑to wedding singer whose life unravels after his fiancée, Linda, leaves him at the altar. The musical charts his shift from upbeat crowd‑pleaser to heartbroken mess, blending the film’s familiar humor with a more expansive emotional arc. Robbie’s missteps, meltdowns, and attempts at recovery take on a brighter, more expressive energy onstage, all while staying true to the spirit of the original film.

Julia, the warm‑hearted waitress engaged to the wrong man, grounds the narrative and becomes the catalyst for Robbie’s rediscovery of hope. Their growing connection unfolds through new songs and heightened character moments as the two become closer and closer, surrounded by neon nostalgia and a fizzy sense of fun. By the time the show reaches its finale, it captures the same earnest, feel‑good spirit that made the Sandler and Barrymore film a favorite, now delivered with Broadway‑sized verve and a wink to every ’80s love story that came before it.

The score leans into the show’s 1980s setting with a mix of upbeat pop styles and earnest ballads, and while the songs themselves aren’t the most memorable, they’re delivered with strong vocals and crisp musical direction. Numbers like “It’s Your Wedding Day” and “Saturday Night in the City” bring plenty of energy, and pieces such as “Someday” and “If I Told You” give Robbie and Julia room to explore their emotional arcs. Altogether, the score creates a fun, nostalgia‑tinged atmosphere that supports the story even if the tunes don’t linger long after the curtain.

The Metropolis cast brings The Wedding Singer to life with an easy, infectious force that suits the show’s playful spirit. Abraham Deitz‑Green leads the production as Robbie Hart, offering strong vocals and confident movement throughout. His strength shows most clearly in the musical numbers, where his singing and dancing bring real appeal to the role and highlight where his talents truly land. His rendition of Adam Sandler’s “Grow Old with You” is especially sweet, giving the show one of its most heartfelt moments. There’s a sincerity in his approach that keeps the character engaging and makes it easy to root for him from start to finish. “Casualty of Love” lets Robbie hit rock bottom in spectacular fashion, and Deitz‑Green tears into the collapse with a mix of wild humor and crisp musicality.

Opposite Deitz‑Green, Teah Kiang Mirabelli brings Julia to the stage with a gentle warmth that immediately draws the audience in, and she positively glows as the character’s optimism and sincerity take shape. Her growing connection with Robbie feels effortless and genuine, supported by acting choices that are both clear and confidently delivered. Mirabelli gives Julia a grounded sincerity, a bright sense of humor, and a quiet emotional intelligence that enrich every scene she’s in. It’s a performance that consistently elevates the material and gives the show much of its heart.

Abraham Deitz-Green as Robbie Hart.

Around them, the supporting cast adds plenty of texture and momentum. Peyton Schoenhofer gives Glen just the right amount of slick confidence and the perfect touch of cockiness, while Andres J. DeLeon’s George and Danny Dollase’s Sammy bring sharp comedic timing to Robbie’s inner circle and enjoy several standout moments of their own, turning in multiple scene‑stealing bits that consistently lift the energy onstage. Jamie Dillon Grossman’s Holly brings a spark every time she appears drawing lots of laughs, and her vocals add real lift to the ensemble. Caron Buinis offers a crowd‑pleasing turn as Rosie, finding the humor in the role without tipping into caricature and ultimately delivering one of the show’s funniest performances. As Linda, Katherine Abel delivers a compact but very funny performance that adds just the right jolt of attitude.

The strong ensemble keeps the show moving with crisp choreography by Nich O'Neil and bright character work, giving the production a lively pulse from scene to scene. The airplane scene, packed with gleefully exaggerated celebrity impersonators, brings a burst of chaotic fun and stands out as one of the production’s funniest moments.

Guiding it all is director Amber Mak, whose steady hand shapes the blend of ’80s nostalgia, rom‑com sweetness, and high‑energy musical comedy. Her approach highlights the story’s heart without sacrificing its humor, creating a production that feels both affectionate toward the original film and confidently theatrical in its own right. The production maintains a lively pace from start to finish, striking a rhythm that keeps the story engaging without a single stretch that feels slow.

The glitzy, wedding‑themed set by Milo Blue gives the show a bright visual identity, and the choice to keep the live band visible throughout adds a dynamic, concert‑like presence that energizes every scene. Getting to watch the musicians play in full view is always a big plus for me. The band is beautifully led by Carolyn Brady - not Carol Brady; that would take us back to the ’70s.

One of the pleasures of this production is the steady stream of 1980s references woven throughout. A Mr. Belvedere shout‑out, a five‑pound car‑phone battery, a nod to the “Time to make the donuts” guy, and a perfectly timed “Where’s the beef?” all land with an easy, throwback charm. The show adds plenty of other touches from the era, delivered with just the right touch of silliness. From fashion jokes to pop‑culture moments I’m surely forgetting, each reference lands like a small time‑capsule detail that keeps the audience laughing and taps into the easy lure of the 1980s.

The Wedding Singer at Metropolis ultimately delivers a bright, good‑natured night out with plenty of laughs and well-choreographed musical numbers along the way. It leans into its ’80s nostalgia and rom‑com charm without taking itself too seriously, making it an easy pick for anyone in the mood for something fun and feel‑good. If you’re looking for a show that will lift your spirits and leave you smiling, this one is well worth the trip to Arlington Heights.

Through May 24^th at Metropolis Performing Arts Center.

For tickets and/or more show information, click here.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Dark comedies built around relationship dynamics have always drawn me in because they reveal conflict with a kind of honesty that feels both familiar and unpredictable. When couples clash, the humor isn’t just situational; it’s rooted in history, habit, and the tiny emotional landmines only long-term partners know how to trigger. Fault fits squarely into that tradition, taking the everyday rhythms of a long marriage and pushing them just far enough to expose the raw, funny, and uncomfortable truths beneath the surface. That blend of recognition and surprise is exactly what makes this kind of comedy so compelling, and why Fault lands with such a specific charge.

That sense of intimate volatility is exactly what Jason Alexander explores in his return to Chicago Shakespeare Theater. With Fault, he brings the sharp directorial instinct he showed in his earlier CST production Judgment Day and applies it to a far more contained emotional landscape. In this world premiere written by Scooter Pietsch, he shapes the play’s tightening grid of tension and moral uncertainty with a touch that feels both precise and unexpectedly humane. The result is a tightly focused piece driven by tension that sparks almost instantly - less an explosive outburst than a controlled shift in the room - with the personal fractures between the characters steering the story toward its breaking point.

Pictured are Enrico Colantoni (Jerry), Playwright Scooter Pietsch, Rebecca Spence (Lucy), Nick Marini (Shaun), and Director Jason Alexander. April 18– May 24, 2026, in The Yard at Chicago Shakespeare. Photo by Justin Barbin.

In Fault, the night detonates the moment Jerry Green walks in expecting to celebrate a career defining merger and instead finds his wife, Lucy, in an intimate moment with a young man she has just met, Shaun. What could have ended in a single, stunned confrontation instead becomes the spark for a long, spiraling night in which no one is allowed to leave, and nothing stays contained. The shock of the discovery quickly gives way to a volatile mix of accusations, shifting alliances, and long suppressed grievances, turning their home into a closed-door standoff where every truth feels like a trap and every explanation opens a deeper wound. Jerry and Lucy have long operated as a high functioning power couple, relying on professional unity to keep their marriage steady; once that balance collapses, the cracks at home widen just as quickly. It is interesting that Pietsch also underscores the irony that Jerry’s career‑defining merger has just made the couple newly minted billionaires after a long string of failures, and yet - proving that all the money in the world can’t change some people - they still behave like high‑achieving narcissists, turning their blame and abuse on each other and on the young stranger they’ve invited into their lavish home.

As the hours stretch on, the situation tilts from chaotic to revealing, exposing the fractures that have been quietly shaping this marriage for decades. Jerry’s need for control, Lucy’s hunger for something unspoken, and Shaun’s unexpected presence collide in ways that force each of them to confront what they’ve been avoiding. What begins as a moment of betrayal becomes a full-scale excavation of loyalty, resentment, and the stories couples tell themselves to stay intact. The play’s dark humor emerges from this escalating tension - how quickly a single mistake can unravel a life, and how a marriage can be tested most brutally not by the act itself, but by everything it brings to the surface. And just to remind you, this is a comedy - and a hilarious one at that.

Jerry even admits at one point that arguments never really have winners, a truth he delivers with the weary certainty of someone who has spent years circling the same conversational battlegrounds. Yet the play understands something deeper and more uncomfortable: that couples can become strangely addicted to the very banter that exhausts them. The back‑and‑forth may bruise, but it also affirms a shared language, a familiar rhythm, a way of feeling alive inside a relationship that has otherwise gone quiet. In Fault, that warped need becomes both a source of comedy and a mirror held up to the audience, revealing how easily love and combat can blur when two people know each other too well.

For all its blistering comedy, Fault is threaded with the quieter, more unsettling realizations that come with aging - what it means to feel your desirability slipping, to lose track of the person you married, or to crave the parts of yourself you fear have vanished. The betrayals at the center of the play aren’t just about infidelity; they’re about the desperate need to feel seen, wanted, and alive again. Beneath the chaos and sharp-edged humor runs a steady pulse of vulnerability, as each character confronts the version of themselves they’ve been avoiding. And just when the night seems like it can’t twist any further, the play barrels into a smash bang ending that lands with real force - the kind that sends audiences out buzzing, debating, and replaying the final moments long after the curtain comes down.

Presenting the world premiere dark comedy Fault, by Scooter Pietsch and directed by Jason Alexander. Featuring Enrico Colantoni (Jerry) and Nick Marini (Shaun). Photo by Justin Barbin.

The cast of Fault features three principal performers, each driving a different charge in the play’s volatile, rapidly escalating night. Enrico Colantoni gives Jerry Green a grounded, lived in presence, letting decades of pent up frustration surface through tightly controlled physical choices and a dry comic timing that makes his smallest shifts register. Opposite him, Chicago favorite Rebecca Spence shapes Lucy Green with a blend of wit, restraint, and emotional clarity; her sharp physical beats and instinctive timing keep each exchange taut while still allowing the humor to flicker through. Shaun, whose chance encounter with Lucy at the bar leads him into the Green household, played by Nick Marini, adds a destabilizing charge to the night, using quick, reactive movement and an agile sense of timing to tilt the dynamic just enough to expose the deeper fractures beneath the couple’s carefully maintained surface.

Their combined work is strengthened by the breadth of experience each actor brings to the stage. Colantoni’s long career in film and television, including standout turns in Veronica Mars and Galaxy Quest, gives his performance a steady, lived in weight. Spence, a Chicago mainstay with a Jeff Award and recent visibility in The Madison, brings sharp focus and emotional clarity to Lucy. Marini adds a younger charge to the trio, drawing on credits like Cobra Kai and Dropout TV to shape a presence that subtly disrupts the relationship dynamic.

The action unfolds inside a tastefully appointed luxury home crafted by scenic designer Paul Tate DePoo III, who gives the Greens a space that gleams with success without ever feeling sterile. A streamlined bar sits at the rear of the room, and the warm finishes, refined furnishings, and subtle touches make the environment inviting rather than ostentatious - a polished retreat that still feels lived in. It’s the kind of setting that should radiate comfort and control, yet under Alexander’s direction it gradually sharpens, its clean lines and curated surfaces taking on a quiet tension as the night begins to break down.

Alexander’s own trajectory mirrors that same level of craft, extending far beyond the stage. Although Jason Alexander is widely known for his television work on Seinfeld and film roles ranging from Pretty Woman to Shallow Hal, he brings none of that celebrity shorthand to Fault. Instead, his decades in front of the camera seem to refine his instincts behind the table. His sense of timing, character shaping, and emotional pacing reflect the precision of someone who has lived inside stories of every scale. It’s a résumé that could easily overshadow a production, yet here it deepens his approach, grounding the play’s volatility in choices that feel thoughtful rather than showy.

Running just ninety minutes without an intermission, Fault maintains a tight, steady pulse that matches the tightening chamber of its late-night unraveling. Chicago Shakespeare Theater presents the world premiere through May 26, offering audiences a sharply observed look at a marriage pushed past its breaking point. What stays with you isn’t only the tension or the humor, but the clarity of the production itself, which recognizes how a single, seismic domestic shift can rattle everything a couple has built, sending shockwaves through a foundation that once seemed unshakeable.

Highly recommended.

For tickets and/or more show information, click here.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com.  

Mother-daughter relationships are somehow deemed different.  More seminal than the bond between a father and son. More instinctive than between sisters.  When trust is broken, all bets can certainly be off.  But that doesn’t seem to be the case for Thelma and Jesse, a mom and her daughter who live together in Marsha Norman’s magnificent ‘night Mother, just opening at Redtwist Theatre in Edgewater.  They have a balance and flow that suggests a seasoned understanding.  A harmonic acceptance of their lives together.

Thelma, played so fully by Redtwist ensemble member, Kathy Ruhl, is a pleasing mix of pragmatism and discreet earnestness.  A woman who’s lived a long life, withstood a lot and is making the most of the years in her final season.  Knitting on her well-cushioned sofa, cell phone dangling from her lanyard, TV playing in the background, she’s thinking about how she’s going to satisfy her sugar fix.  And settles on a snowball before contemplating many other options as the evening passes.

Thanks to the prodigious thought and scrupulous detail Bobbie Buie poured into the set design, Thelma’s modest home has the soft glow of easy unpretentious comfort.  Everywhere there are signs that point to a contentment that’s been well earned.  The world she created, along with Harper Justus’s precise and subtle sound design, saturated you in place.

Anne Sheridan Smith in the role of her daughter, Jesse, is much more wired; frenzied in an organized way.  When she shoots out of her bedroom door, she’s clearly a woman on a mission to get a lot of things done.  Quickly.  As she settles down, she’s simply determinedly methodical and impressively so.  There’s some light haggling with her mother.  It seems like something they just occasionally do.  Normal.  Tonight, giving her mother a manicure is high on Jesse’s to do list.  It’s not long before they settle down at the kitchen table and normal goes away.  

A small cloud of foreboding drifted in when Jesse began looking for some things in their makeshift attic. One of them is a gun. When her mother keeps pressing her on why she wants or needs one, she forces her daughter’s hand. Jesse declares to her mother, not coldly but matter-of-factly, that tonight she’s going to use it to kill herself.

It’s the kind of statement that instantly triggers incredulity.  And automatically, by reflex, Thelma’s “mom” response zooms past tilt.  Even though she may not initially believe Jesse, she hears her.   And intuitively she wants to fix it as she struggles to even comprehend the magnitude of what she’s been told.   ‘night Mother soon becomes a push and pull with Jesse always exhibiting the greater strength against a formidable opponent.  She has the inner conviction to see this grim task through.  You can sense that when she first told her mother what she was going to do. Like her mother, we too want to know why.

A dissection of one person’s why is what this intricate and intimate story is all about.  And the way Smith inhabits her character, she functions as an outstandingly plausible stand-in for many of us.   People who not only have had enough but also look at themselves and don’t see enough. 

Her mother doesn’t really understand. Not at first.  It’s as the tandem airing of their lives that reveals how it’s come to this. 

Well into this gripping one act performance, wonderfully directed by Redtwist’s Artistic Director, Dusty Brown, Thelma describes herself as a “plain country woman”.  Life for her is something you just did.  It’s the kind of existence where naivete and ignorance may thrive in abundance, but neither carries an especially detrimental cost.  When it came to Jesse’s early childhood rearing of Jesse though, perhaps it did. Thelma and her husband discovered late in their daughter’s development that the fits she experienced as a child were epileptic.   Undiagnosed and untreated for far too long, Jesse internalized them as manifestations of a personal flaw.  A flaw that inevitably, in her mind, produced terrible consequences.

She never directly states it, but it’s clear she blames herself for the way her son, Ricky, is turning out.  A thief, drugs, regularly in run-ins with the police.  Thelma says it’s just a phase.  He’ll grow out if it and be a “fine young man”.  But through a haze that’s draped in quiet anguish, Jesse senses otherwise.  It’s the same with her ex-husband. In Cecil’s case, he was there and then he was gone.  The man her mother found for her, who she came to love and who chose not to stay.

They’re all hard blows.  Jesse has weathered them.  Now it sounds like she’s tired.  Sick of it all.  Living with her mother.  Lonely present.  Lonely future.  She’s felt this way for so long that she’s used the last 10 years to plan for this night.    She’s gotten it so fine-tuned, she can give her mother detailed instructions on who to call when after the deed is done, and why.

For this compassionate plunge into the unthinkable, Marsha Norman won the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1983.  A native of Kentucky, you can hear a faint sound of the south in the way Thelma and Jesse talk to one another.  The weight of the subject matter, the care in which these two women are drawn and portrayed, the way every argument Thelma raises against this tragic decision is rebuffed by unswayable conviction, keeps you rapt.  A sliver of life captured beautifully and unforgettably on the stage.

‘night Mother

Through May 24, 2026

Redtwist Theatre

1044 W. Bryn Mawr Ave.

Chicago, IL    60660

For tickets and more information:  https://www.redtwisttheatre.org

Highly Recommended

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Everyone encounters many crossroads in their lives, where they make a choice that determines the future…and many people live to regret it. That is where Dawn, the protagonist of Out Here, the new musical receiving its premiere at Court Theatre finds herself. Unlike most people, however, her realization does not come in a quiet moment of reflection, but just as she and her husband, Brian, and 15-year-old daughter, Cleo, have discovered that they have a band and an audience. It’s a lot, and the extremely metatheatrical musical reflects the chaos well. While there are drawbacks to the format, including the impossibility of fully developing most of the characters, the one-act musical by Leslie Buxbaum (book and lyrics) and Erin McKeown (music and lyrics), based on a concept by Buxbaum, McKeown and David J. Levin, is an entertaining and often moving reflection on personal choices and the people they affect.

Breaking the fourth wall is a hallmark of musical theater, and metatheatrical reflections on the musical being performed are also not uncommon these days, but Out Here takes these conceits to a new level. And that, arguably, is what makes it work so well. The characters must learn how to respond to the fact that they are living their lives in a musical as they navigate the changes in their family structure. The musical form proves to be a convenient way to condense the journey into an evening for the benefit of the audience that comes with it. It also provides a metaphor for the families’ (there are several) journeys from fumbling with new relationships and legal and geographic uncertainty to settling into the rhythms of new lives. The music reflects the jarring awkwardness of both the unexpected performance and the fallout of Dawn’s announcement that her “here” is no longer where she wants to be. As they get more comfortable with both performance and marital differences, the characters begin to exploit their access to a band—and apparently new-found guitar skills—to sing their own songs and share their emotions with each other and the audience. Buxbaum and McKeown toy with breaking the rules of musical theater, allowing characters to exit to the green room and the lobby and to directly address the band and audience. When a mediator is needed, he enters from the band and introduces potential shared custody options in song—a song that that Cleo recognizes from a friend’s experience (and wonders if she could get a puppy, too). Director Chay Yew wisely trusts the material and allows characters and audience to just keep up—no unnecessary scene changes or projections indicating changes in setting—making for a fast-paced exploration of relationships, time, and what’s important in a life. It’s occasionally messy or unfulfilled, but always compelling.

Photo of Alex Goodrich, Ellie Duffey, and Becca Ayers in Out Here at Court Theatre. Phot by Michael Brosilow.

Despite all the metatheatrical machinations, Out Here has an easy-to-follow plot and a singular protagonist. This is Dawn’s story, and the character uses this to her advantage, controlling both the narrative and the other characters as much as possible—though neither musicals nor reality allow for time travel, not that Dawn doesn’t try. While passionately pursuing the life that she wants (and simultaneously trying to figure out what that means), Dawn could quickly become grating, as she seems to be surrounded by good options and supportive friends and family, plus a band. Fortunately, Becca Ayers brings lightness and self-awareness to the role, as well as the ability to belt out power ballads and harmonize with her partners in multiple musical genres. Cliff Chamberlain as Brian plays to his strengths as a mostly non-musical actor—and his voice works well for the folksy guitar serenades that Brian chooses as his musical medium. He is charming and initially almost overly forbearing but grows stronger as he realizes that he has been given an opportunity that he is not willing to give up. As their daughter, Cleo, Ellie Duffey is charismatic and complicated, thrilled to have an audience, wanting to support her parents, but irritated that she is being left out of the decision-making. When she finally gets a song, it’s a propulsive punk declaration that is a necessary release. Bethany Thomas as Robin, Dawn’s ex-girlfriend who reluctantly reenters Dawn’s life, is uncompromising and vulnerable, wanting to rekindle their relationship, but justifiably apprehensive, and her dynamic voice is perfect to convey both her character’s surety about what she needs, and her fear that she might be disappointed again. Thomas’s comic timing also complements Robin’s sarcasm.

Alex Goodrich brings charm and flair to the most musical-theater role of the musical, Martin—he’s in the band! He’s the mediator! He’s the BFF! He can be anything you want him to be, keep the tempo and find the right accompaniment. Though not personally invested, his empathetic performance ingratiates him to both the family and the audience. Also, part of the familial rebuild are Gina, the woman Brian begins dating and Jett, Robin’s grown child. They, too, get swept up in the musical, but they do not have their own songs (maybe if there were a second act?), though they manage to hold their own in the musical/slash family drama they have entered. Amanda Pulcini brings a grounded humor and composure to the most awkward of situations Gina finds herself in. The fact that Jett’s entrance is often introduced with the ominous phrase “the plot thickens” is ironic, since Jett, as played by Z Mowry, is amiable and understanding, someone who seems like a good person to have as a friend, and usually offers sound advice that helps the plot along.

The musical and the cast get top-notch support from the designers and musicians. Co-orchestrator (with Erin McKeown), conductor, and keyboard player Christie Chiles Twillie backs up the vocals and underscores the book perfectly, keeping the tempos tight and the volume attuned to the singers and the script. Breon Arzell’s movement adds controlled chaos, matching the verbal humor and tension with apt but unintrusive movement. Scenic Designers Andrew Boyce and Lauren M. Nichols have created a musical-scale proscenium out of roof beams that mirror the moods of the home’s inhabitants, with a large but cozy interior and expansive outside. Sound designer Lee Fiskness integrates sound effects with the music to mesh the sounds of home with the beats of the band. The musicians make it seem possible to suddenly have a life become a musical, moving easily between styles, “acting” in response to the cast and swelling instrumental lines for onstage instruments.

Whether one likes Out Here will probably depend on one’s tolerance for stories of privileged people choosing between multiple good options surrounded by understanding friends and family. However, there is no denying that using a DIY musical to represent the struggles of a family trying to deal with change is a resonant metaphor, and the music captures some common challenges in fresh and thought-provoking ways. The book by Leslie Buxbaum explores the joy and tension of familial and other relationships with compassion and a great deal of humor. Erin McKeown’s music (with lyrics by Buxbaum and McKeown) allows the audience to get to know the characters and share moments from years of their lives in around 90 minutes (the magic of “theater time”). Chay Yew’s production is fast-paced, uncluttered, funny, moving, and thoughtful. Though Out Here wisely avoids trying to tie up all loose ends, it leaves the audience with a lot of good questions to ponder.

Out Here runs through May 10 at Court Theatre, Wed/Thurs/Fri at 7:30pm, Sat/Sun at 2:00pm & 7:30pm.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Steppenwolf Theatre Company’s, Windfall arrives with all the promise its pedigree suggests. Written by Academy Award–winning ensemble member Tarell Alvin McCraney and directed by Awoye Timpo, the production aspires to be a pulsing, lyrical meditation on grief, justice, and the uneasy intersection of activism and capitalism. What unfolds instead is a work rich in intention but frustratingly elusive in execution.

The play centers on a protest encampment that erupts into violence, culminating in the shooting of Eli, a member of Never Wrestle Justice - a group of activists unafraid to raise their voices. In the aftermath, Marcus (Glenn Davis), who has transitioned, lingers alongside his aging adoptive father, Mr. Mano (Michael Potts). Mano is left reeling, unable to fully accept the reported death of his child, Eli (Esco Jouléy). It’s a potent premise: a father who refuses to confirm his child’s death, a government eager to offer a financial settlement, and a moral dilemma that questions whether survival can - or should - be measured in dollars. Tarell Alvin McCraney frames the story as a “chosen family” drama, but the emotional foundation never fully coheres.

Marcus urges Mano to identify Eli’s body and accept the settlement, arguing that “blood money is still money.” Yet Mano resists, clinging to the unbearable ambiguity of loss. The arrival of various state representatives - played with dynamic range by Alana Arenas as First Lady, Miss Second, and The Last One - pushes the narrative into increasingly surreal territory. These figures, along with Jon Michael Hill and Namir Smallwood in multiple roles, embody a bureaucratic machine that is at once apologetic, predatory, and opaque.

There are flashes of McCraney’s signature lyricism, particularly in the spectral appearances of Eli. Whether ghost, memory, or manifestation of guilt, Eli’s presence should anchor the play’s emotional core. Instead, it muddies the stakes. When Eli ultimately reappears - alive, defiant, and ready to fight - the revelation feels less like a cathartic turn and more like a narrative sleight of hand that the play hasn’t earned.

This points to the central issue: the characters are too thinly drawn to sustain the weight of the play’s ideas. We see Mano’s grief, Marcus’s urgency to settle, and Eli’s activism, but we rarely feel them. The stakes, which should be life-altering, register as curiously low. Even the moral dilemma - to take the money or resist the system - never fully ignites because the emotional investment isn’t there.

Timpo’s direction leans into the play’s abstraction, emphasizing its communal and ritualistic elements. At times, this works; the staging has a fluidity that suggests a world where reality and memory bleed into one another. But the lack of clarity ultimately undermines the experience. Confusion becomes less a deliberate aesthetic choice and more a barrier to engagement.

There is also the question of place. Though the play is set in Chicago, it rarely feels rooted there. References to Rainbow Beach or Pequod’s Pizza read as surface-level markers rather than lived-in details. For a story so deeply tied to protest, policing, and community, the absence of a tangible sense of Chicago is a missed opportunity.

Still, the performances strive to elevate the material. Arenas is the undeniable standout, bringing vitality and nuance to each of her roles. Whenever she takes the stage, the play briefly finds its pulse. Potts lends dignity to Mano, though the script gives him limited room to build a fully realized arc.

McCraney has proven himself to be a playwright of profound depth and clarity. Windfall gestures toward that brilliance but never quite achieves it. It is a communal experience, yes - but one that leaves you searching for emotional and narrative footing long after the final moment fades.

Somewhat Recommended

When:   Through May 31

Where:  Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted

Tickets: $20 - $148.50

Box Office: 312-335-1650

www.steppenwolf.org

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Screwball comedy went the way of the dinosaur after the 1940s, but Northlight Theatre attempts to revive it with The Angel Next Door.

For those unfamiliar, screwball was a film subgenre that mixed romance, slapstick, and banter, like Mentos and Coke, and watched them explode to great effect. Stars like Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, William Powell, and Barbara Stanwyck delivered punchlines like a punch to the gut and made the over-the-top plotlines land with ease. A modern-day screwball comedy is a welcome idea. Unfortunately, The Angel Next Door doesn’t quite fly to its predecessors’ heights.

Written by Paul Slade Smith, this comedy was adapted from Ferenc Molnar’s Play at the Castle. It follows Oliver Adams, played by Garrett Lutz, who just finished his first novel. It’s set to be adapted for the stage by married playwrights, Arthur and Charlotte Sanders (Sean Fortunato and Katy Sullivan). They desperately need a hit after their last venture flopped, and their only hope is Oliver’s book.

Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned, and the bright-eyed, innocent author discovers that the beautiful Margot Bell (Aja Alcazar), his love and the novel’s inspiration, has been intimate with Victor Pratt (Andres Enriquez), Broadway’s favorite baritone. It’s then up to Charlotte to bring the two together before Oliver flushes his dreams – and everyone else’s – down the drain.

The Angel Next Door is a love letter to theatre, poking fun at stage tropes, breaking the fourth wall, and preaching about the importance of laughter and escapism in today’s world. In fact, by the end, an unbeliever, Olga (Erin Noel Grennan), the maid, is converted. Unfortunately, the script is so saturated with inside jokes, that the plot is only as deep as a puddle. The first act feels like one long set-up for a mediocre pay-off in the second. Much of the time is spent in exposition or watching characters react to scenes the audience watched happen moments ago.

The cast is the saving grace. The entire troupe, with the exception of Sullivan, actually performed their same parts in Peninsula Players Theatre’s 2024 production. Linda Fortunato, Peninsula’s Artistic Director, directed those performances and also directs Northlight’s version, guiding the production with confidence and clarity even though this particular script doesn’t quite rise to meet her.

Sean Fortunato and Katy Sullivan work wonderfully together as the veteran playwrights who have been through it all. Alcazar balances Margot’s ego and grace well, making it easy to understand why it was love at first sight for Oliver. Enriquez is hilarious as the dumb Victor, who is always ten steps behind everyone else and gets lost in his own reflection. Alcazar and Enriquez also have great physicality, and it was fun to watch the flair they added to simple movements, like sitting down with style or stomping their foot. Erin Noel Grennan steals every scene as the grim Olga. Her comedic timing and presence make this kooky character pop.

Ultimately, The Angel Next Door has all of the parts of a solid comedy but in the wrong proportions. For example, Olga is a crowd-favorite, but scenes would occasionally stall to give her joke after joke. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing, especially when the audience got very few interactions between Oliver and Margot, despite everyone’s future hinging on their romance.

Still, The Angel Next Door delivers an enjoyable experience, lifted by a strong cast, even if it doesn’t linger long after the curtain falls.

For more information, visit https://northlight.org/series/the-angel-next-door/.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Marriott Theatre’s Heartbreak Hotel takes on the tricky task of charting Elvis Presley’s early ascent, walking the line between the mythic figure we think we know and the unpolished young man still figuring out who he was becoming. What emerges is a brisk, music‑driven portrait that leans into the volatility of those formative years - the industry pressures that boxed him in, the personal crossroads that pushed him forward, and the creative sparks that hinted at the cultural earthquake to come. It’s a show less interested in polishing the legend than in capturing the restless drive of a talent on the verge of rewriting American music.

Heartbreak Hotel traces Elvis Presley’s early rise with a pace that stays brisk without ever feeling hurried, using a clever device: a ’68 Comeback‑era Elvis looking back on his younger selves. At times the man, the teen, and the 11‑year‑old boy share the stage simultaneously - singing, reminiscing, harmonizing - embodying a life moving faster than any one version of him can fully grasp. The musical follows Elvis from the tentative spark of his Sun Studio sessions into the glare of national attention, tracing how each new opportunity brings both momentum and complication. Producers, handlers, and well‑meaning advisors orbit him constantly, each with a different vision of who he should become, and the show uses those interactions to underline just how precarious his initial ascent really was.

As the demands of fame tighten around him, the story frames Elvis’s evolution as a series of choices - some instinctive, some imposed, all shaping the performer he’s still learning to be. Rather than digging for psychological depth, the plot focuses on the push‑and‑pull between artistic hunger and commercial pressure, capturing the uneasy transition from raw talent to cultural commodity. It’s a portrait of a young man standing at the edge of a seismic career, long before the iconography calcifies and the legend overtakes the life.

At the center of Heartbreak Hotel is Tyler Hanes playing Elvis Presley, who carries the show with a mix of youthful swagger and genuine vulnerability. His performance hinges not just on vocal accuracy but on capturing the restless, slightly bewildered energy of a young man being swept into stardom. His renditions of “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Heartbreak Hotel” land with the right mix of polish and rawness, and his quieter moments - particularly the early Sun Studio sequences and those paired with Priscilla - give the production its emotional grounding.

The show’s Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by Rob Lindley, is the necessary counterweight: charming, calculating, and always two steps ahead. Lindley brings a slick, almost Vaudevillian charisma that keeps the character from slipping into caricature (although Parker may have been a caricature of himself anyway). His scenes pop with tension, especially in numbers where he orchestrates Elvis’s next move with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

Tyler Hanes as Elvis Presley (center) with ensemble in Heartbreak Hotel at Marriott Theatre.

The Sun Studio ensemble - the musicians, producers, and collaborators - provide some of the production’s most engaging textures. Jackson Evans, as Sam Phillips, is heavily featured in the first act and delivers one of the show’s standout performances, offering a steady, clear‑eyed presence that anchors the opening chapters with real artistic purpose. The play digs into Phillips’s instinct for raw talent - his uncanny ability to spot greatness beforehand - and makes clear that his relentless championing of Elvis is what first carried the young singer’s sound across Memphis and into the broader South. His work with the band digs deep and gives us an idea of Phillips’s impact in shaping a new kind of rock ‘n’ roll sound. Their group numbers in the studio, including “That’s All Right,” have an infectious looseness that contrasts sharply with the more commercialized performances later in the show.

The supporting cast adds essential color. Colton Sims offers a sharp, unaffected turn as Teen Elvis, capturing the raw spark before the polish sets in, and Charles Adler Bischoof, as young Elvis, brings a bright, unguarded innocence that reminds the audience just how early the legend began.

Elizabeth Telford lends Gladys Presley a quiet emotional weight, centering the story whenever she’s onstage. Anna Louise Bramlett brings an earnest warmth to Dixie, while Amanda Walker gives Priscilla a steady, grounded presence that subtly deepens the story.

In one of Heartbreak’s most exciting moments, Alexandra Palkovic takes control of the stage delivering a sleek, charismatic jolt as Ann-Margret, hinting at the whirlwind to come. Palkovic dances with real fire, echoing Ann‑Margret’s signature style with crisp precision and an infectious burst of energy. Palkovic later joins Hanes in one of the most touching moments when the two perform a beautiful rendition together of “You’re the Boss.” The addition of a full Ann‑Margret song‑and‑dance number feels especially meaningful, since her on‑screen chemistry with Elvis has always struck me as one of the high points of his physical and emotional vitality.  

Tyler Hanes as Elvis Presley and Alexandra Palkovic as Ann-Margret.

Karl Hamilton gives Vernon Presley a quiet, understated presence, and Naiqui Macabroad stands out in his multi‑role track - Johnny Bragg, Chuck, Jackie Brenston, and the producer for both Steve Allen and Ed Sullivan - slipping between characters with crisp versatility and welcome bursts of personality. Fredrick Webb Jr. also makes a strong impression in multiple roles, notably as Roy Brown, Otis Redding, Fats Domino, and throughout the ensemble.

Going back to the musicians, the live band is one of the show’s more memorable assets. With Jake Busse as Bill Black, Zac Richey as Scotty Moore, and Trevor Lindley Craft as Ronnie (pre-DJ Fontana days) forming the tight onstage trio, the musicians anchor the production with a sound that feels both authentic and freshly charged. Lindley Craft doubles as Frank Sinatra. He and Hanes deliver one of the evening’s highlights as they recreate the famous duet from Elvis’s post‑Army appearance on The Frank Sinatra Show - a stylish medley of “Love Me Tender” and “Witchcraft” that lands with effortless charm.

Melanie Brezil also brings a radiant spark to Sister Rosetta Tharpe, delivering her featured moment with bright, joyful command on both vocals and guitar.  

Together, the band’s instrumental work and the ensemble’s rich harmonies elevate the musical landscape. A mid‑show gospel sequence of “Peace in the Valley” – another one of this staging’s big moments - showcases the ensemble’s vocal power and reminds the audience of the musical traditions that shaped Presley long before fame did.

Marriott’s in‑the‑round setup gives Heartbreak Hotel an expansive energy, with action unfolding on all sides. The cast’s aisle work draws the audience in, creating a surprisingly immersive sense of scale, and the smart use of media and projections amplifies that impact even further. A staging in this intimate space gives the storytelling room to gather real thrust. That quality becomes especially clear as the sequences build toward the emotional high point, when Elvis finally sheds the cookie‑cutter movie image he’d long outgrown and reclaims his artistry in the ’68 Comeback Special, reestablishing his place as the King of Rock ’n’ Roll. 

I’ve always been drawn to stories orbiting Elvis Presley, and Heartbreak Hotel earns its place among them by honoring the legend without embalming him in nostalgia. Elvis wasn’t just a chart‑topper; he was a cultural accelerant, the artist who fused gospel, blues, country, and rhythm‑and‑blues into a sound that detonated across America and permanently rewired its musical DNA. His influence stretched far beyond the stage - reshaping fashion, performance style, youth identity, and the very idea of what a pop star could be. Productions like this one matter because they keep that seismic legacy in motion, passing it from one generation to the next not as a museum relic, but as a living, breathing force that still shapes the music we hear today.

When referring to rock 'n' roll, John Lennon said it himself, “Before Elvis, there was nothing.” Heartbreak Hotel echoes that sentiment.

Directed and choreographed by Deidre Goodwin, this musical bears the imprint of an artist who understands how to propel a story without letting the spectacle swallow it. Her direction shapes the evening with a steady, purposeful rhythm, keeping the focus tight even as the musical numbers expand outward. Goodwin’s fantastic choreography blends period flavor with a clean, contemporary precision, giving the show a kinetic pulse that feels both rooted in its era and alive in the present. It’s her sense of balance - between nostalgia and freshness, between narrative drive and musical release - that ultimately gives the production its lift.

Elvis devotees will find plenty to appreciate in Heartbreak Hotel, which treats the King’s formative years and artistic rebirth with genuine affection and a clear understanding of his musical legacy. But the show’s appeal stretches well beyond Presley fandom; anyone who loves American music - from gospel and blues to early rock and soul - will recognize the joy in hearing these sounds brought to life by a superbly talented cast and band. Heartbreak Hotel runs through June 2nd at Marriott Theatre and is an exciting musical experience well worth attending. 

For tickets and/or more show information, click here. 

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com.