Playwright: Wendy MacLeod

At: Collaboraction at Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago Ave.

Phone: (312) 226-9633; $20

Runs through: July 20

Hank and Muriel Tater’s baby daughter is almost two months old and still hasn’t been named yet. That’s because there’s only room in the household for one demanding ill-tempered accessory, and that’s Hank. But none of the women in his life—neither his mother, nor his wife, nor his mistress, nor his innocent offspring—answer his cries for attention. Instead, his own father has just given him a lawnful of totem poles for his birthday, endowing this eccentric gift with the same aura of holy ‘transcendence’ that mandates that gramp and gram’s mobile home be studded with dozens of artificial butterflies.

The biggest challenge of this Wendy MacLeod play, penned during the ‘quirky’ craze that followed Beth Henley’s Crimes Of The Heart winning the Pulitzer, is making a fundamentally repellent character sufficiently lovable to merit the happy reconciliation that follows his attempt to win back his harried spouse by means of a sacrificial gesture even more childish than his abuse. Director Kimberly Senior doesn’t even ask Larry Grimm to shoulder the burden of charming us, but instead trusts the plot—specifically, a bolt from the blue Transcendence that presumably strikes the despairing daddy with enlightenment—to convince us that his salvation is warranted.

But in order to accomplish that, we must also be convinced that Hank’s misanthropy is purely of his own manufacture and that his advisors are correct to care about his rehabilitation. There is nothing in the reliable Margaret Kustermann and Rob Skrocki’s sturdy pair of New England geezers to raise doubts, nor in Kerry Cox’s surprisingly pragmatic small-town paramour. But Jennifer Avery plays Muriel so blandly that we cannot take her seriously as the wife and mother we see or the university graduate she claims to be. And if SHE is not manifestly deserving of happiness, what does it matter to us if the Tater marriage collapses?

The Immediate Theatre Company’s failure to redeem MacLeod’s nebulous text at its midwest premiere in 1988 is well-documented. So what could have motivated Collaboraction to essay a play arriving with such a dubious reputation? In theatre, misery should NOT love company, no matter how worthy.

Erratum: In my review of Don’t Drink The Water, I named Steve Scott as production director, when, in fact, the director was Jimmy Binns. I apologize for the error. — Mary Shen Barnidge

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Singin’ in the Rain

Director/Choreographer: Marc Robin

At: Chicago Center for the Performing Arts, 777 N. Green

Phone: (312) 327-2000; $20-$55

Runs through: July 27

BY RICK REED

Singin’ in the Rain, the musical spectacular currently on display in Chicago and not the MGM musical, is what happens when commerce and artistry conspire to create a ‘crowd pleaser.’ And please it does! How can it fail when it snatches songs from the film such as ‘Good Morning,’ ‘Make ’em Laugh,’ ‘Broadway Melody,’ and of course, ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? It’s this last iconic tune that everyone lines up for, with its promise of real rain on stage. And this production delivers the wet goods. The first three rows of the theater are given rain ponchos to wear … and they need them.

This stage musical also snatches the plot from its silver screen forerunner. Set in 1927, the play is all about the birth of the talkies, and the plucky efforts of a film threesome to bring the first musical to the screen: The Dancing Cavalier. The wholesome trio, two guys (together since their vaudeville days) and a sweet-voiced ingénue, band together to thwart screechy-voiced Lina Lamont, who will do anything to keep her lack of talent and intelligence a secret, and to secure her position at the top of the Hollywood heap.

The story itself is really beside the point. What matters here is a skimpy form to which the creators can attach a string of very hummable, feel-good tunes. Curt Dale Clark plays matinee idol Don Lockwood (and who makes a game attempt to fill Gene Kelly’s shoes). Clark possesses the requisite hundred-watt smile, fluid dance moves, a charming stage presence, and a full-bodied voice perfectly suited for the role. Alex Sanchez is his comic sidekick, Cosmo Brown. Sanchez is probably the more affable of the two male leads, and his comic timing (on great display in ‘Make ’em Laugh’) is flawless. He’s a mean tap dancer, too. The only quibble I would have with his performance is that his voice seemed to lose some of its power at times; I don’t know if this was chronic, or something temporary. Linda Parsons plays the fresh-faced starlet, Kathy Selden, filling in for Debbie Reynolds. Parsons’ voice has a lot of clarity and strength, and her performance was engaging. But it was Christine Sherrill, as power-hungry, but stupid, starlet Lina Lamont, whose screechy, charmless voice spelled out her demise (and that of silent movies) who really stole the show. It was hard to see anyone else when this grating glamour puss appeared on stage.

All in all, the crowd at Singin’ in the Rain seemed to be having a great time (especially the ones who were getting splashed during the titular scene). I just wish there might have been a little more message to go with the medium. I just wish I could let go of my cynicism for two hours and not wonder why marketing types seemed the real fueling power behind Singin’ in the Rain.