Umbrella Stage Co.’s ‘Hairspray’ Kicks Off Summer with A Rollicking Good Time

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By Shelley A. Sackett
 
Hairspray, the musical set in 1962 Baltimore with an offbeat following, features an outcast yet optimistic high schooler who lands a spot on a local TV dance show and campaigns for racial integration. It originated as a cult-classic 1988 John Waters film with Divine, Ricki Lake, John Waters, Jerry Stiller, Deborah Harry and Sonny Bono, evolved into a 2002 Tony Award-winning Broadway musical, and became a blockbuster 2007 movie adaptation (John Travolta, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Christopher Walken).
 
With Umbrella Stage Company’s recent bang-up production, it once again proved that, despite being almost four decades old, it will never lose its staying power for one very important reason — it is FUN.

On its surface, the story is about teenagers who just want to fit in and be accepted by the “in” (as in WASP) crowd. Pleasantly plump, jovial and chatty Baltimore teenager Tracy Turnblad (Nora Sullivan) and best friend Penny Singleton (Maggie Cavanaugh) race home after school every day to watch “The Corny Collins Show,” a local TV danceathon. Tracy yearns to be a dancer on the show, even dreaming of being hand-picked by Corny (Joshua Lapierre) to be on his Council (the super Popular Kids). Some of those kids go to Tracy and Penny’s school.
 
Tracy’s mother, Edna (played in drag, as Waters tradition demands, by an outstanding Robert Saoud), is as oversized and big-hearted as her daughter. She worries Tracy will be crushed if she reaches too high. Dad Wilbur (Chip Phillips) is Tracy’s biggest cheerleader. He encourages her to live large, dream big and go for it.
 
By hook and by crook, she passes the audition and becomes an overnight teen celebrity. The show is produced with an iron fist by stage manager, Velma (Aimee Doherty in a role that finally fits her like a glove), the mother of dancer, Amber, whom she is scheming to get elected to the inner Council.
 
Station policy (it is 1962 after all), which Velma cheerfully enforces, dictates the show’s “whites only” policy. The one exception is a monthly Negro Day, hosted by local R&B disc jockey “Motormouth” Maybelle Stubbs (Barbara Pierre, whose singing raises the roof and then sets it on fire).
 
(The “Corny Collins Show” was inspired by the real “Buddy Deane Show,” which ran from 1957 to 1964 and held segregated “Negro Days” rather than integrate its broadcast.)
Tracy is regularly sent to detention (her teased, lacquered hair is also “too big”). There, she meets Black kids who teach her how to dance in a whole new and exciting way. They also teach her about racism, Baltimore style.
 
Tracy returns to “The Corny Collins Show,” determined to use her newfound fame to advocate for racial integration on the show, win the heart of Amber’s boyfriend, heartthrob Link Larkin (Nick Corsi), and defeat the racist and sizeist Velma. She takes on the daunting task of challenging these social norms by being her bright and breezy plus-sized self, a proud woman on television advocating for what is right.
 
Eventually she succeeds after protests, arrests and a whole lotta music, singing and dancing.
 
Which brings me to the real reason to see Hairspray: the MUSIC, the SINGING and the DANCING.
 
This is one non-stop, high energy extravaganza that runs on the even higher octane of Tracy’s infectious happiness and confidence. From the opening note, the fabulous band (Jordan Oczkowski, conductor), cast and ensemble are in full-throated sync as they frolic, leap, bop and cavort. (Najee A. Brown, director and choreographer). The sound is perfect (Alex Berg), the band audible, the singers comprehensible. Cameron McEachern’s vibrant set with colorful TVs, records, and “Hullabaloo” and “Shindig” era scaffold-like structures transports the audience (and their nostalgic parents and grandparents) back to the glories of glorious sixties culture.
 
Notwithstanding the sheer joy of the production, there are meaty issues acknowledged and addressed head-on. When Motormouth discovers her son, Seaweed, and Penny have fallen in love, she warns them, “So you two better brace yourselves for a whole lot of ugly coming your way on a never-ending train of stupid.”
 
Although all ends well enough and the caliber of production is steady to the finish line, this entertainment is neither fluff nor dated. For every laugh and dream that burns bright, there are tears and dreams snuffed out. The 1960s were a time of reckoning, awakening, and wrestling with the disparity between what is and what could and should be. The fight for people of ALL sizes, shapes, politics, races and religions to be accepted does not just lie below the surface of this show.
 
“You can’t get lazy when things get crazy,” Motormouth sings in the showstopping finale, “You Can’t Stop the Beat.” “Fighting for equality, for what is right, is the light that will melt the darkness.”
 
Her words were spot on in 1962 and, 64 years later, are sadly even more so today. 

‘Hairspray’ – Directed by Najee A. Brown. Book by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan. Choreography by Najee A. Brown; Music Direction by Jordan Oczkowski; Music by Marc Shaiman. Lyrics by Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman. Scenic Design by Cameron McEachern; Lighting Design by SeifAllah Salotto-Cristobal; Sound Design by Alex Berg; Costumes by Emerald City Theatricals. (The run of this show concluded May 17).
 

The Huntington’s ‘Oedipus el Rey’ Transposes Sophocles to The Barrio with Mixed Success

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By Shelley A. Sackett

Playwright Luis Alfaro has put lot on his plate. His Oedipus el Rey (2010) swirls together themes of contemporary social iniquity, anger, frustration, and political and social outrage with the classic myth of Sophocles’ mythic character, Oedipus. Throw in big ticket philosophical questions about divine fate, prophecy, religion, self-determination and thirst for messianic power, and it’s a dish created for a hearty appetite and a strong stomach.

Set in the world of South Central Los Angeles Chicano gang culture, the play opens in a prison complex with five men clad in orange. The set (Hana S. Kim) is spare, sparse and modern. A Mexican folk art-inspired mural with flowers and a Virgin Mary dominates a brick wall at the back of the stage. The only other design elements are vertical bars.

The men begin a call and response. “Oye (Hey)!” “Que (What)?” 

Like a Greek chorus, they break into a swaggering, humorous rap riff that bridges millennia (Sophocles’ original opens with a choral entry song called the parodos). “Who got a story?” one shouts. Something they haven’t heard, something that won’t confuse them, something they can understand. “Tell me a story, mommy,” one particularly menacing inmate pleads. “Stories are all we got.”

They point to a young man in the yard, shirtless and doing an impressive number of push-ups. “Who is this man?” they ask in English and Spanish. This enigmatic man who grew up in prison “fatherless but with a father by his side.” This man who wanted to “beat the system and shape his own destiny.”

Unsurprisingly, it is our ill-fated protagonist, Oedipus (Juan Arturo). Our modern day Oedipus’ story parallels that of his 2,500-year-old namesake. He limps (his feet deliberately damaged by his father right before he tries to have his son killed), he is destined to be king (el Rey of the barrio as opposed to king of Thebes) and he is destined to kill his father and bed his mother. Stories may be boring and depressing, the prisoners lament, but “stories are all we got.”

As they reveal his name, they shed their uniforms and take on the roles of characters in the tale they are about to tell.

L to R: Victor Almanzar, Javier David, Juan Arturo,Gabe Martínez. Photo: Marc J. Franklin

For the next almost two hours (no intermission), Alfaro does his best to morph the Greek myth into 21st century relevance. When he hits the mark, he is highly effective, illuminating parallels between ancient Greek curses and modern economic injustice and social oppression. When he misses, however, he misses big.

The story the convicts tell is that of Oedipus’ release from prison and return to the “family business” in the barrio. There is violence and menace, macho bravado claims of god-like invincibility, and women who bear the brunt. Creon (Jaime José Hernàndez) is a prison buddy of Oedipus, and he heads to his house after his release. Creon lives with his sister, Jocasta (Melisa Pereyra, the best part of the show), whose husband, Laius (Gabe Martínez) was recently killed in a road rage incident (by guess who?). Laius was “el Rey” of the barrio, and now Jocasta is essentially “la Reina.” Creon makes Oedipus promise that he will only stay a week and that he will leave Jocasta alone.

Melisa Pereyra & Juan Arturo. Photo: Marc J. Franklin

Of course, Oedipus does neither. The scenes between him and Jocasta, as they get to know each other, are the most powerful in the play. Like a tender pas de deux, they lyrically showcase their hardness, vulnerability and ability to shift mood. Pereya, as Jocasta, is particularly effective, slowly softening her grief and self-protectiveness and elevating Oedipus in the process.

Before long, he and Jocasta announce their plans to wed (after a three-month bedding reminiscent of John and Yoko. There is even a prolonged nude scene). Oedipus has not only defied Creon’s wishes; he has succeeded in pushing him aside and becoming “el Rey” of the barrio.

The play ends predictably (Oedipus begs Jocasta to blind him, she gets him to kill her) after the big reveal is revealed, but between the opening prison yard scene and that moment, Alfaro gives his audience choreographed violence, a barrio bash where the audience is invited to dance on the stage, and visual projections that are hit and miss. There are other flashy moments, too, with the actors playing doo-wop singers, street hawkers and party throwers, but that just seems aimed at masking the fact that the script, though at times a compelling blend of fresh humor and ancient saga, is too long and too unfocused. 

Another recent version of the Oedipus myth, the 2024 London West End and 2025 Broadway smash hit, Oedipus (pronounced “Eee-dipus), was a major modern adaptation written and directed by Robert Icke. This play transformed the same myth into a gripping political thriller, setting the entire narrative on a tense election night. Somehow, it worked as both a retelling and a brand new production, meshing both strands into a single thread.

Director Loretta Greco’s reprise of the play she directed when it premiered at San Francisco’s Magic Theatre in 2010 lacks the urgency and coherence that might have helped make sense out of Alfaro’s often jumbled, overreaching script. An excellent cast and strong production tries its best, but even the show-biz antics and humor can’t provide the dénouement we, and the ill-fated Oedipus, long for.

‘Oedipus el Rey’ – Written by Luis Alfaro; Directed by Loretta Greco; Scenic and Projection Designs by Hana S. Kim; Costume Design by Alex Jaeger; Lighting Design by Reza Behjat; Sound and Original Music by Jake Rodriguez. Presented by The Huntington Theatre at The Calderwood Pavilion, 527 Tremont St. through June 14.

For more information, visit https://www.huntingtontheatre.org

Nael Nacer on “The Receptionist” and the New York and Boston Theater Scenes

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Nael Nacer with Mallori Johnson is Second Stage’s ‘The Receptionist’

Nael Nacer is an award-winning actor based in Boston and New York. A classically trained actor with over 20 years of experience, Nael has appeared on many Boston and NY stages throughout his career. He is best-known for playing the role of Charles in the acclaimed Broadway premiere of Joshua Harmon’s Prayer for the French Republic, with Manhattan Theatre Club, and for starring alongside Mikhail Baryshnikov and Jessica Hecht in The Orchard, Igor Golyak’s dazzling and innovative take on Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard.

Nael is a two-time Elliot Norton award winner, a resident acting company member of Actors’ Shakespeare Project, and a monologue coach with My College Audition. He has been nominated for a 2026 Elliot Norton Award for Outstanding Lead Performance in a Play, Midsize for his work in The Moderate, a Catalyst Collaborative@MIT Production at Central Square Theater, Cambridge, MA. (The awards ceremony is June 1, 2026).

Nael starred in Meet the Cartozians at 2nd Stage’s The Pershing Square Signature Center in New York, where he currently plays Edward Raymond in The Receptionist through May 24. Theater Mirror’s Shelley A. Sackett caught up with him after a recent performance in New York.

SAS: What drew you to this project?

NN: There were a few things that drew me to The Receptionist. I loved the script; I found it haunting and hilarious, and I’m a big fan of Adam Bock’s rhythm as a playwright. Also, I jumped at the chance to work with Sarah Benson, who’s just an incredible artist and human. And I was thrilled to be invited back to 2nd Stage!

SAS: How would you describe Edward Raymond, the character you play in “The Receptionist?” What did it feel like to play him?

NN: Mr. Raymond is someone who I feel got into his line of work for really good reasons. He’s a good man who does difficult things in service to his country, but has a strong moral center and realizes he’s part of a system that has become corrupt. Either it’s always been this way and he’s waking up to it, or it’s a new regime and he’s sensing change in a bad direction. I have my answer, but the play can hold multiple interpretations, which I love.

SAS: Is there a difference in the New York theater experience vs Boston for you? How so?

NN: Yes and no. In both places I get to work with talented and passionate artists who are part of a great community. The two biggest differences I’ve gotten to experience in New York are having playwrights in the room every day, and the preview process, where we perform at night and continue rehearsing and refining during the day. That process has lasted 2-3 weeks on the shows I’ve done there (in New York) and it’s a gift to be able to spend that time learning how the play works in front of an audience and calibrating accordingly.

But at its core, the process of putting on a play is very much the same in both places, and I’m thrilled to be able to work in both!

Category: Theater Reviews

Second Stage’s ‘The Receptionist’ Shines A Light on the Underbelly of the Underworld

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Will Pullen, Katie Finneran, Mallori Johnson, and Nael Nacer in Second Stage’s ‘The Receptionist’
Photos by Joan Marcus

“The Receptionist” – Written by Adam Bock; Directed by Sarah Benson; Scenic Design by dots; Costume Design by Enver Chakartash; Co-Lighting Design by Stacey Derosier and Bailey Costa; Sound Design by Bray Poor. Presented by Second Stage at the Pershing Square Signature Center, 480 W. 42nd St., New York, through May 24.

By Shelley A. Sackett

A frumpy, somewhat dazed man stands in a cardboard booth lined with some sort of metallic padding. It looks like a cross between a confessional, a detention unit, and a fourth grader’s science fair version of a spaceship.

The man’s name is Mr. Raymond (Nael Nacer, sadly underused). He is fidgety and nervous as he addresses the audience.

“I like fly fishing. There’s nothing like it. I love everything about it. I love catching fish. I love letting them go, too. I have a philosophy when it comes to a caught fish. If you catch a fish and it’s ok, you let it go. But if it’s snagged or it’s got a hook in its gills, you can’t put it back in the stream because it’ll die. So if that happens, I think you should prepare the fish to be killed,” he says matter-of-factly.

Johnson and Nacer

As if momentarily distracted by an almost PTSD type of unwanted, interfering thought, he pauses and then describes his wife’s reactions to pictures of people “over there” and what “we” are doing to them. He can’t finish his sentences.

“When things are hard,” he continues, after regaining his composure, “I think about fly fishing.”

Nacer brings a nuance to Mr. Raymond that is heartbreaking and intriguing. Unlike his colleagues, he lives in the gray – half in the dark and half in the light.

He is also a mystery. Why is he agitated, losing his train of thought mid-sentence? Why does he conclude with an explanation about how he kills the fish “humanely” and then eats it? “And that’s okay,” he explains. “Because everything out there is eating something.”

His monologue, part confession, part plea for help, ends, and Mr. Raymond ambles off stage, leaving us to wonder how and when his message will make sense (and bringing to mind Mark Rylance in the existentialist “Nice Fish”).

The scene abruptly shifts gears to the mundane here and now — the reception area of a shabby, mind-numbingly drab office reception area (with an elevator door that actually works, the only visual excitement on the set). Beverly Wilkins (Kate Finneran in a role she was born to play), the titular receptionist, handles her desk as if captain of a fleet. Brisk, efficient and in command of her domain, she interrupts her gossipy calls to friends and family only when forced to.

“Northeast Office, please hold,” she repeats – and repeats – as she rolls her eyes in irritation and puts callers through to the voice mail of her two higher-ups, head honcho Mr. Raymond and second-in-command, Lorraine Taylor, both missing in action.

She’s used to Lorraine being late; Mr. Raymond’s absence alarms her. A client contact apparently did not go well for him. Something is amiss. Something enigmatic, significant and menacing.

She distracts herself by playing “Dear Abby” to friends and family, making coffee, straightening the blinds and shredding some documents. She even orders a birthday cake. She is a whirling dervish of meaningless activity and bossy, judgmental, boundary-less encounters.

Owing to Finneran’s physical comedic flair and timing and director Sarah Benson’s crisp pacing, Beverly is engaging, endearing and more multi-layered than she at first presents.

She is also a riot. Playwright Adam Bock has given her most of the funniest lines, and she knows just how to milk their delivery for all they’re worth.

By the time Lorraine (Mallori Johnson) shows up, however, even Finneran can’t keep Bock’s stand-up comic/sitcom patois from becoming monotonous, and we crave anything and anyone more than just Beverly.  

Lorraine and Beverly engage in small talk about personal crises. Although Lorraine is clearly Beverly’s superior professionally, she seeks Beverly’s stern counsel on everything from romance to attire. (Beverly looks like she shops in the Target clearance department; Lorraine is sleek, chic, and skin-tight.)

Johnson and Finneran

Just when it seems Bock will never get to the point of all this banter (the play, after all, is only 75 minutes and we’re almost at the half-hour point), Beverly lets slip that Mr. Raymond was summoned to the Central Office yesterday and never returned to the office.

Almost on cue, Martin Dart (Will Pullen) arrives, without an appointment, from that same Central Office.

He is looking for Mr. Raymond and will wait until he returns. He is married with a four-year-old who eats paste. He jokes with Beverly and flirts in a creepy, cringe-worthy way with the willing and desperate Lorraine. He even wears blood red socks.

He steps out to pick up pastries and a paper and so is gone when Mr. Raymond finally arrives and exposes what really goes on at this seemingly unremarkable office. His great reveal and his tenuous circumstance change everything.

Again, Nacer brings a sensitivity to a character who is blessed with three, rather than two, dimensions. Mr. Raymond is the meatiest (and smallest) role, and one can’t help wishing Bock had pared the other three and padded this one.

With Mr. Raymond’s acknowledgment of events, all that was light and comfortable suddenly is not. Loyalties, responsibilities and the banality of evil take center stage. Mr. Dart shape shifts into a Stasi-like commandant, official, brutal and terrifying. Everyone is ambiguous. No one can be trusted. Everyone is a potential liar. No one is above suspicion. No one is safe.

Like zombies in a “Twilight Zone” episode, our office mates wander in a world that not only no longer welcomes them, but actually may persecute and prosecute them.

Pullen, Johnson and Finneran

It is impossible to detail any more of the plot without becoming a spoiler, but Bock’s outrage over issues he found compelling and relevant in 2004 (he started writing in response to the Iraq war “Torture Memos”) now leaves us nostalgic for those “good old days” when complicity, compliance and corruption were still alarming and shocking.

But for the outstanding cast (especially Finneran and Nacer) and elevated production, The Receptionist would leave us feeling like its revival was merely an opportunity to rub salt into an open, unhealed wound, still festering after more than two decades.

And if we want that feeling, all we have to do is read the front page of the newspaper.

For more information, go to https://2st.com/shows/the-receptionist

SpeakEasy’s Stirring “Swept Away” Will Carry You Away

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Swept Away -Book by John Logan; Music and Lyrics by The Avett Brothers; Directed by Jeremy Johnson; Music Direction by Paul S. Katz; Choreography by Ilyse Robbins; Presented by SpeakEasy Stage Company, 527 Calderwood Pavilion for the Arts, Tremont St., through May 23.

By Shelley A. Sackett

By rights, SpeakEasy’s Swept Away should not be the crowd-pleaser that it is. The story is based on a true event that happened in 1884, when the British yacht Mignonette sank on its way to Australia, and only three of the four crew members were rescued (the event inspired the Avett Brothers’ 2004 album, “Mignonette,” which inspired the musical).

Swept Away, which substitutes the 1888 wreckage of a New Bedford whaling ship and the ensuing survival of its captain, two crewmen, and a cabin boy, is hardly an uplifting (or novel) tale. Add in being lost at sea on a lifeboat for three weeks before hitting land and facing starvation, dehydration, and the temptation of cannibalism, and front-page news starts to feel less wretched. Yet, this is no ordinary fish story gone awry.

This New England premiere feels anything but tragic, owing to the spell spun by music (lyrics/music by the talented folk/rock Avett brothers), choreography (the unfailingly inspired Ilyse Robbins), stirring set and staging (Janie E. Howland), and powerful performances by a terrific cast (led by Peter DiMaggio, Christopher Chew, Max Connor and Bishop Levesque). Add crisp, confident direction (Jeremy Johnson), pitch-perfect musical direction (Paul S. Katz), a script focused on its characters’ interiors (book by John Logan), haunting lighting (Karen Perlow), a melded ensemble, and even the entertaining distraction of an aerialist (Ezra Quinn), and rays of sun break through the play’s dark, heartbreaking tale.

Christopher Chew, Peter DiMaggio, Bishop Levesque and Max Connor

The curtain rises in 1908 with the spectacular “Prelude,” which pulls out all the production stops. Transparent screens, an acrobat hanging from a sheet on the mast, moody lighting, strong harmonies and a tempered orchestra whose volume doesn’t compete with our ability to hear the lyrics literally set the stage for the next 90 minutes (no intermission). Robbins’ choreography has its own syncopation with hand-slapping and stomping, and acrobatic rolling and falling capture the energy of the tale about to unfold. So does the refrain, “Tell the Truth. Fess up. Now or never. Tell the Truth.” The rest of the plot happens in flashback to the 1888 last voyage of the doomed ship and its aftermath. It took these three survivors 20 years to garner the wherewithal to reveal what happened.

The Captain (Chew’s baritone is addictive) fills the role of narrator as he introduces the main characters and explains how “progress” (the use of kerosene and paraffin instead of blubber and whale oil) has made whaling obsolete. New Bedford’s residents are split between these coarse, seafaring footloose adventurers and the religious, earth-bound farmers. “Find the life that suits you,” Captain advises.

Connor, DiMaggio, Levesque and Chew

Mate (an absolutely pitch-perfect, multi-dimensional DiMaggio) and Captain have served together many times. Captain is at retirement age and, while lamenting the end of a lustrous career, has built a life on land with family who await him. Mate is scrappy, scruffy and itching for the thrills and lack of commitment that only a life at sea can scratch. Little Brother (Connor) knows nothing about seafaring except that it offers an escape from the shackles of his dull, religious family and their farming life. His Houdini attempt is partially obstructed by Big Brother (a steadfast evangelical yet compassionate and accessible Levesque), who stows away on the ship. He would rather leave the life he loves behind than abandon his little brother to the wily seduction of the likes of Mate.

Although the script lags in places (the plot is thin on action overall), there are dazzling moments, such as the stormy scene that sends our four survivors onto a lifeboat for six days. Lost at sea with no provisions or refuge from the scorching sun, their songs focus on hunger, hopelessness and horrible sins they would consider committing if it guaranteed they would stay alive. “Mama’s cooking something up, serving to us all; Satan’s ringing in now and I gotta take the call,” they sing in the catchy, “Satan Pulls the Strings.”

By the time of the show’s “great reveal,” we feel like we have really gotten to know and care for these four. We have been allowed entrance into what makes them tick and witnessed how they have (and not) changed as a result of their shared trauma and moral disgrace. Yet, the questions they ask and lessons they’ve learned leave us on a surprisingly even keel. When they sing, “If you live the life you’re given, you won’t be scared to die,” we believe them.

For more information, visit https://speakeasystage.com/

Apollinaire’s ‘Dido of Idaho’ Snaps, Crackles and Pops

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Ashley Lyon and Parker Jennings in Apollinaire’s ‘Dido of Idaho’. Photos by Danielle Fauteux Jacques

‘Dido of Idaho’ – By Abby Rosebrock. Directed by Danielle Fauteux Jacques and Brooks Reeves; Scenic and Sound Design by Josephy Lark-Riley; Costume Design by Parker Jennings; Lighting Design by Danielle Fauteux Jacques. Presented by Apollinaire Theater Co., 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea, through May 10.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Apollinaire Theater Company’s Artistic Director Danielle Fauteaux Jacques has a knack for finding the quirkiest, most provocative and most interesting scripts, and bringing them to an audience thirsty for something a little outside the box. She has once again accomplished this with the production of Dido in Idaho, which she co-directs with Brooks Reeves. It runs through May 10.

“I was drawn to Dido of Idaho because it’s both wildly funny and profoundly heartbreaking,” said Jacques. “It felt like a great fit for Apollinaire: bold, intimate, and deeply human.” Playwright Abby Rosebrock examines love, longing, and self-destruction with razor-sharp wit and extraordinary compassion.

The 100-minute (one intermission) tragicomedy is also funny, off-kilter and unchained. Rosebrock’s compelling and sharp writing won her the 2025 L.A. Drama Critics Circle Award for Best Original Writing. Its 2024 Echo Theater Company went home with awards for Best Direction and Best Featured Performance.

Apollinaire’s excellent production boasts stellar performances from the cast, an effective, interesting set (Josephy Lark-Riley) and crisp, focused direction. While the plot takes a few hairpin turns that stretch credulity, and the ending feels like a cop-out, those flaws don’t overshadow the overwhelmingly engaging and controversial play.

Mauro Canepa, Jennings

Loosely based on a retelling of Virgil’s 1st century B.C. tale, “Dido and Aeneas” from his epic poem, “The Aeneid,” the play opens in Idaho with a messy afternoon roll in the hay on a couch. Michael (Mauro Canepa, in a brief role he makes indelible), a middle-aged, married English professor, and 32-year-old Nora (a luminous Parker Jennings), an untenured and untethered musicologist, are in post-coital bliss rhapsodizing about Purcell’s 17th-century Baroque opera, “Dido and Aeneas.”

In both tales, Dido, the widowed queen of Carthage, falls madly in love with Aeneas, the Trojan warrior who is shipwrecked on the North African coast. The two live happily together as man and wife until the gods intervene and remind Aeneas that his fate lies in Italy. He obeys and abandons Dido. Heartbroken, Dido commits suicide, thrusting a sword into her breast and throwing herself onto a funeral pyre.

In Rosebrock’s version, Nora is a sloppy alcoholic, reveling in a dream state where her two-year clandestine affair ends with Michael leaving his wife, marrying her, and the two of them living happily ever after with the bevy of children they will have.

She downs bottle after bottle of wine, clueless and benignly unhinged, steadfastly maintaining that her only option for redemption and fulfillment is for Michael to follow through on his promise to leave his wife.

Michael loves Nora’s body and her love for acidy-laced, intellectual banter. He is as slippery as he is duplicitous. It’s obvious to everyone except Nora that there is no way he will ever leave his wife, and there is no way he will have to as long as he is able to manipulate Nora in more ways than one.

Even harder to imagine than what Nora thinks Michael brings to the table is the fact that he leaves her alone in the apartment he lives in with his wife, Crystal (a terrific Ashley Lyon, every bit Jennings’ equal), while he scurries off to teach poetry to local inmates. (She can’t seem to find her underwear and promises to leave as soon as she does).

Instead of scurrying off herself, Nora rummages through the apartment, finds and drinks more wine, and passes out on the couch where she and Michael have just had sex.

Which is where she remains until the front door opens and Crystal walks in. And here’s where the real fun (and best dialogue) begins.

The two women, after circling each other like cocks, inexplicably bond. They trust each other. Nora confesses that she wallows in self-deprecation and self-abuse, preferring to be a blow-up doll to a punching bag (the only two options she sees for herself). Crystal is a chipper energizer bunny, able to bake cookies from scratch while preaching sunny self-help and empowerment to the woman who has been shagging her husband. A former Miss Idaho runner-up, she knows her limits and works around them.

Lyons and Jennings

She and Nora share tales of childhood trauma, love and friendship. Nora reveals her pathological and pathetic dependence on alcohol and bad men to assuage the pain that doubles her over when she is sober. Crystal plays a life-affirming, optimistic Nora coach. “How do I fix the trauma to be wholesome again?” Nora beseeches her new (and only) friend. “The definition of a queen,” Crystal advises, ”is we fix each other’s crowns.”

Crystal bares her soul too, admitting she’s not the brightest bulb in the candelabra and relies on wiliness and deceit to get what she wants. Like getting pregnant.

And with this news, Nora goes all “Fatal Attraction.” Crystal, too, pulls such a sudden u-ie at the end of Act I that it’s a good thing the audience has an intermission to recover from whiplash.

Act II keeps up the frenzied, pointed dialogue when we meet Nora’s evangelical mother, Julie (Mariela Lopez-Ponce) and her lesbian girlfriend/roommate, Ethel (Paola Ferrer). These two have their own fiery patois, which is a delight to overhear, even if Julie tiptoes into didactic monologues that threaten to douse the flames. Together, though, these “lesbian angels” hold Nora’s feet to the fire, forcing her to acknowledge and face her demons.

Despite a great reveal plot twist that begs credulity and an ending that rivals the sappiest fairytales, Dido of Idaho has so much going for it that it’s easy to overlook those craftsmanship blips. The cast works as a seamless ensemble, with fresh and nuanced performances across the board. Jennings is clearly having the time of her life and Lyon is in sync every step of the way. Most of the script is laugh-out-loud funny — really funny — and the actors embody that humor in their physicality. The Dido and Aeneas conceits work as an overlay, and the writing veers easily from raucous to heartbreaking, as serious topics of abuse, living as a woman in a pathologically patriarchal society, and female friendship and betrayal all share center stage.

This production may not float every theatergoer’s boat, but it is certain to prompt interesting post-theater conversation and internal dialogue. And even more than an enjoyable diversion, isn’t that what theater is really all about?

For more information, visit https://www.apollinairetheatre.com

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ Is A Welcome Addition to Umbrella Theatre’s Season

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The Cast of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ at The Umbrella Arts Center
Photos by Jim Sabitus

By Shelley A. Sackett

To Kill a Mockingbird, the 1960 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel written by Harper Lee and dramatized in 1970 by Christopher Sergel, tells the story of events that take place in the small town of Maycomb, Alabama, during the Depression (1932 to 1935). The plot and characters are based on Lee’s observations of her family, neighbors and an actual event that took place in 1936 near her hometown, Monroeville, Alabama.

Lee was 10 years old at the time, the same age as Scout (Jean Louise), her novel’s narrator and thinly veiled stand-in for the author. In the theatrical version, 10-year-old narrator Scout is replaced by her adult self, Jean Louise, adding a layer of nuance.

The play (145 minutes, one intermission) follows the lives and rich imaginations of the Finch children (Scout and her older brother, Jem) and their friend, Dill, who visits his aunt in Maycomb for the summer. Maycomb is a quiet town with deep-seated social hierarchies based on race, class, socioeconomic status, and how long each family has lived there.

Its residents are closely knit and tightly wound. There are strict lines about gender, class, social standing, finances, and most important of all, race, and those who cross those lines do so at their peril.

Barlow Adamson, Shelly Knight

Atticus Finch, Scout and Jem’s widowed father, is a middle-aged lawyer with a strong sense of right and wrong and a dignified, gentlemanly bearing. He encourages the children to think of Calpurnia, their Black cook and caregiver, as family. He approaches their every question as a teachable moment, and breaks down huge issues into bite-sized morsels they can digest more easily.

Most important of all, he tries to instill in them the ability to feel empathy before criticizing or condemning. “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view […] until you climb into his skin and walk around in it,” he tells Scout and Jem. Everyone is equal in Atticus’s eyes, and the weakest must always be defended against the most powerful.

For the most part, the children busy themselves each summer with convoluted plans to lure their reclusive neighbor, Arthur “Boo” Radley, out of his house. Miss Stephanie, one of the town’s Queen Bee gossips, has filled their heads with tales of Boo as a mysterious and dangerous person who even stabbed his own father with a pair of scissors.

They start to notice small gifts left in the knothole of a tree, and assume they are for them. They also assume they are from Boo, even though they’ve never laid eyes on him.

Shelly Knight, Joseph Hobbib, Ryan Spry

Soon after, the atmosphere in Maycomb becomes thick with unbridled prejudice and raw hate. Atticus is appointed to defend Tom Robinson, a Black man falsely accused of raping Mayella Ewell, a White woman. Atticus believes every person deserves a fair defense; he doesn’t just talk this talk, he relishes the opportunity to walk the walk, his back straight and his head held high.

The townspeople aren’t as civic-minded, and both Atticus and his children are soon the targets of mob terror tactics.

Bryce Mathieu, Adamson

One of the book’s most poignant scenes (well adapted by Sergel) is when Scout outs a masked man who has come with his posse to menace Atticus as he stands guard all night at the jail where Robinson is being held pending trial.

“Hey, Mr. Cunningham,” she says, recognizing his hat. She asks about his family (she knows they have no money as she earlier witnessed him paying Atticus’s fees with turnips and kindling) and asks him to say “hey” to his son, who is in her class at school.

Shamed and embarrassed, Cunningham calls off his pack dogs and heads home.

Things heat up even more after the trial (among the play’s — and book’s — best scenes) and boil over one night when Scout and Jem are attacked in the woods. Despite disappointment and tragedy, all is eventually resolved, and there is a sense of closure and hopefulness by the play’s end.

Director Scott Edmiston uses Janie Howland’s simple but elegant set to his best advantage, and the addition of Valerie Thompson’s emotive solo cello is a stroke of brilliance. In a cast of many, Amelia Broome (adult Jean Louise Finch), Carolyn Saxon (Calpurnia), Bryce Mathieu (Tom Robinson), and Barlow Adamson (Atticus) stand out.

Damon Singletary, Carolyn Saxon, Shelly Knight

As impressive as it was that the three youngsters playing Scout, Jem and Dill learned so many lines, it was sadly impossible to hear and understand their words. Frustrating for the audience; tragic for the actors.

To Kill a Mockingbird, with its themes highlighting racial prejudice, moral courage, and lost innocence, is as relevant today as it was when written. To wit, it is frequently challenged and has been banned or removed from various school districts across the U.S., including in Mississippi, California, and Virginia, often due to its use of the N-word, racial slurs, and uncomfortable themes regarding race. While it is not nationally banned, it consistently appears on the American Library Association’s (ALA) list of most challenged books, frequently ranking in the top ten.

What a shame that the lesson of love and respect at the heart of this work is so feared by those who need to hear (and heed) it most. As Atticus so eloquently explains to his young daughter, “Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” After all, mockingbirds are delicate, vulnerable creatures who never do anything harmful. All they want to do is to pleasure others with their clear, beautiful singing.

‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ — Dramatized by Christopher Sergel. Based on the Book by Harper Lee. Directed by Scott Edmiston. Scenic Design by Janie Howland; Lighting Design by SeifAllah Salotto-Cristobal; Costumes by Rachel Padula-Shufelt; Sound Design by Chris Brousseau; Original Music on Cello by Valerie Thompson. Presented by The Umbrella Stage Company, 40 Stow St., Concord, MA, through March 22.For more information, visit https://theumbrellaarts.org/

Apollinaire’s Impassioned ‘A View from the Bridge’ Reveals Troubled Waters Below

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Cast of Apollinaire’s ‘A View from the Bridge’
Photos by Darlene DeVita

‘A View from the Bridge’ — Written by Arthur Miller. Directed by David R. Gammons. Scenic and Sound by Joseph Lark-Riley; Costumes by Elizabeth Rocha; Lighting by Kevin Fulton. Presented by Apollinaire Theatre, 189 Winnisimmet St., Chelsea, through March 22.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Arthur Miller, a prominent 20th century American playwright best known for the classics Death of a Salesman (1949) and The Crucible (1953), penned the two-act A View from the Bridge in 1956 to tackle themes of working-class masculinity; conflicts between natural and bureaucratic law; family dynamics; feminism, and the struggles faced by immigrants (especially when illegal and confronted by anti-immigrant backlash).

He created the Carbones, a 1950s Italian-American household living in Red Hook, Brooklyn, as the vehicle through which to explore these timeless big ticket topics. He also uses their soap opera family dramas to investigate and expose the underbelly of human emotions and the havoc they can wreak.

The play opens on Joseph Lark-Riley’s stark but effective stage that will serve as a dock, a lawyer’s office, an apartment, and a street. The full cast assembles on the large center platform, everyone talking at once in a variety of languages, a Brooklyn version of the Tower of Babel. It doesn’t seem to matter that they can’t understand each other; they speak not to converse, but to express.

This style of flawed, blindered communication will inevitably result in tragic consequences and is at the heart of A View from the Bridge’s real message.

Miller uses the elderly lawyer Alfieri (Dev Luthra) as omniscient narrator and Greek Chorus stand-in to describe Red Hook and the unexciting types of cases he usually deals with. Once in a while, however, one stands out, like Eddie Carbone (Jorge Rubio), a 40-year-old longshoreman. Although this catastrophe was inevitable, its trajectory was unstoppable.

The action seamlessly shifts to the living room of Eddie’s apartment, where he lives with his wife, Beatrice (the marvelous Sehnaz Dirik), and their 17-year-old adopted niece Catherine (Naomi Kim). The second Eddie walks through the door, the conflict that is a recipe for full-blown tragedy is as obvious as it is menacing.

Sehnaz Dirik, Jorge Rubio, Naomi Kim

Eddie makes a beeline for Catherine, flirting with her in a way that is creepy and borderline incestuous. She responds with playful childishness, but it is clear that a part of her understands exactly what he is doing and likes it.

Beatrice just as clearly gets it and unambiguously does NOT like it. Yet, the furthest she will go is to throw quick verbal jabs at Eddie, trying to reason with him and point out the wrongness of his behavior. He predictably rebuffs her. She continues to suffer in silence, unwilling to confront the man she loves, even as he humiliates her to her face.

It’s hard to find much to like, let alone empathize with, in Eddie. Brash, tyrannical, petty and lacking self-awareness, he has channeled his passion into Catherine, pouring his money and soul into raising her to be better than he is. He has kept her locked in a gilded cage, “protecting” her by forbidding her to hang out with contemporaries.

This night, there is big news to share. Beatrice’s cousins are arriving from Sicily, and Catherine has landed a job, even though she still hasn’t graduated from high school. Eddie has granted permission for the cousins to stay in his home, but he is not as amenable to Catherine unfurling her wings and launching into the real world and a life independent of Eddie’s control.

Rubio, Dirik

Beatrice cajoles, begs and tries to reason, but ultimately defers to Eddie’s position as decision-maker. Only after the women refuse to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence does he cave and allow Catherine to take the job she so desperately wants (and deserves).

Things don’t fare as well when the cousins arrive. Although Eddie claims he is honored to be able to help his family, he harbors deep resentment that no one helped his own family when they arrived under similar circumstances. The “submarines” (illegal immigrants) are brothers Marco (Rohan Misra) and Rodolpho (Andres Molano Sotomayor). Marco, married with children he already misses, is anxious to get to work at the docks and send money home. He is serious and sullen.

Younger brother Rodolpho is the opposite. Blond (think Ryan Gosling in “Barbie”), unconventional, and with the soul of an artist (he sings jazz, dances, cooks and jokes), Rodolpho is popular on the docks. He opens Catherine’s eyes and heart to the possibility of a life of her own outside Eddie’s clutch.

Soon, the two are courting, in full view of the increasingly unhinged and rattled Eddie.

His domestic tyranny is threatened for the first time. He panics at the thought of losing his caged bird, increasingly desperate and pathetic. He claims Rodolpho has homosexual tendencies and is only interested in marrying Catherine to gain citizenship. “I want my respect,” he insists, a line that has always worked with the more compliant Beatrice.

Even Beatrice is alarmed by Eddie’s behavior, and she finally tries to intervene directly. She counsels Catherine to do as she says, be independent, and set boundaries (something she is unable to accomplish). To Eddie, she is blunter. “When are you going to leave her alone?” she demands. “You’ve got to stop it.”

In desperate jealousy, Eddie turns to Alfieri, hoping for help from the law. “Too much love sometimes goes where it shouldn’t,” he tells Eddie. “Let it go. Let her live her life.”

When Eddie protests that he can’t do that, Alfieri tells him that the only recourse he has is to report Rodolpho and Marco as undocumented. As in much of the play’s sometimes unsurprising plot, Miller doesn’t hide the ball, foreshadowing the bad seed that will grow into the tragic beanstalk that will poison many lives.

Kim, Rubio

In Act II, Eddie snaps, releasing a boulder that careens with a destructive force that will affect every character and climax in a crisis that brings little catharsis or closure.

David R. Gammon’s directing and Kevin Fulton’slighting create believable illusions of different times and places. The scene with Eddie and his two buddies on the dock is particularly effective, using uplit faces, coordinated head turns, and spine-chilling laughter to craft a sense of camaraderie, hysteria, and threat.

As Beatrice, the always superb Dirik breathes life into Eddie’s drab, brow-beaten, and long-suffering wife. Her facial expression, cadence, and spot-on gestures are impossible to ignore, whether she is center-stage and delivering a crucial speech or silently reacting. Her magnetism on stage is a pleasure to witness.

Although a few characters seem miscast and the last scene is one of overly prolonged top volume agony, Apollinaire Theatre’s two-hour (one intermission) production is particularly timely and a reminder of why this play has won Tony and Drama Critic awards, the Pulitzer Prize, and been adapted for opera, television, film and radio.

For more information and tickets, visit: https://www.apollinairetheatre.com

It’s a Topsy-Turvy Planet in The Huntington’s ‘We Had A World’

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Amy Resnick, Will Conard in Huntington’s ‘We Had A World’. Photos by Annielly Camargo

‘We Had A World’ — Written by Joshua Harmon. Directed by Keira Fromm. Scenic Design by Courtney O’Neill; Costume Design by Izumi Inaba; Lighting Design by Tyler Micoleau; Sound Design and Original Music by Melanie Chen Cole, Presented by The Huntington at Wimberly Theatre, Calderwood Pavilion, 527 Tremont St., Boston through March 15.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Joshua Harmon covers a lot of ground in the arresting We Had A World. On its surface, the 100-minute one-act play is a deeply personal disinterment and examination of the complicated dyad relationships among his grandmother (Nana/Renee), his mother (Ellen), and Josh, Harmon’s autobiographical self. Equal parts loving requiem and vicious vendetta, the playwright fleshes out these complicated characters, channeling the emotional messiness and magnificence of a family where acrimony, blame, selfishness, and self-destruction share the stage with humor, love, gratitude, generosity, self-sacrifice and honesty. Spanning 1988-2018, the story is told in a nonlinear fashion, a patchwork quilt of episodes where each square is one person’s version of the same event. As the colors and patterns shift, so do our impressions of the three characters.

Scratch even slightly below that surface, however, and a more universal message bubbles up: we all have secrets, every family harbors its own shame, every family member has their own version of what REALLY happened. “Family is just a collection of people who can see things extremely differently,” Josh explains.

Resnick

The play begins with 94-year-old Renee (a commanding Amy Resnick) telling Josh (Will Conard, perfectly cast) she has incurable cancer. She asks him to write a play about their family, giving him the green light to do what he has always wanted to but was afraid to ask for her permission. There is one catch, however: the play must be as bitter and vitriolic as possible. “It ought to be a real humdinger,” Nana says gleefully. “You can even make your grandmother a real Medea.” (Reminder – Medea is the one who kills her own children and suffers neither consequence nor conscience).

Josh literally jumps at the chance to plumb his backstory, both to pay homage and loosen its tightly wrapped shroud. When Nana and mom Ellen (a forceful Eva Kaminsky) snatch the mic out of his hand, he gives them free rein to chime in, but this is his story, and their accounts reach us as his memories of them.

We start our journey riding shotgun beside a 5-year-old Josh. He lives in the suburbs of New York City, which he realizes, even at that young age, is not where he belongs. Nana lives in an elegant apartment in Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She feigns a British accent, despite being raised in Brooklyn by immigrant parents. Even her furniture has an exotic backstory (she brought it home from Paris).

She is as devoted to her grandson as he is smitten with her. She is unfiltered, outrageous and honest. She treats him as an equal, speaking as if he were a contemporary rather than six decades her junior. At five, she signs him up for a two-week art class at the Met. At nine, she takes him to a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. She senses the smoldering ember of Josh’s artistic proclivity and, rather than dousing it, turns the fan on full blast.

Resnick, Conard

At ten, she takes him to see Medea. Afterwards, he asks her if she would ever kill her own children. “That would depend on the situation,” she says without hesitation.

Josh’s mother, Ellen, is as buttoned up and earthbound as Nana is mercurial. A lawyer and self-proclaimed bitch, Ellen is the personification of the sandwich generation, responsible parent to both her mother, Renee, and son, Josh. She is a problem solver and provider. She feels burdened and resentful, seething with anger at her own mother, yet unable to let go of her need to be her caregiver.

If ever there were a contest for poster children to represent destructive co-dependence, these two would win hands down.

Josh is caught in the middle of a situation he doesn’t understand. Why can’t the two most important people in his life get along? Why does he have to feel like he has to choose sides?

Eventually, after Nana fails to show up at Josh’s first acting gig, Ellen unlocks the family closet and the skeletons come tumbling out. Josh learns that Nana is an alcoholic. Ellen’s father was, and remains, her enabler and protector. Ellen grew up neglected and psychologically abused, cleaning up after her mother and, in return, earning attacks of her unbridled rage.

His mother’s vigilance and overprotection are not, Josh realizes, based on jealousy of his relationship with Nana. She is only trying to be the kind of parent she wishes she had had. “If you botch raising your children, nothing else matters,” Ellen tells Josh. “Raising your children is the most important thing we do.”

Conard, Eva Kaminsky

Suddenly, Josh’s world is flipped on its head. His mom’s animosity toward her mother makes sense. And Nana, whose crown he has happily polished and revered, is suddenly off her pedestal. How he reconciles his feelings about both with this new intel puts his loyalty squarely in his mother’s court. When Renee, ever the triangulator, tries to pit Josh against his mother, he responds differently for the first time.

“I cannot think of a more giving, generous, loving, thoughtful member than my mother, and attempts to hurt her hurt me very, very deeply. Trying to balance my relationship with my family and you has not been easy the past few years. But if you force me to choose sides, as it were, you must know I will always side with my family,” he writes in response to an invitation from Renee to a family vacation that excludes Ellen.

In a play with only three characters, the quality of the acting is critical, and director Keira Fromm has plenty to work with. The chemistry among the actors is palpable, and each brings a believable naturalness to their role. Resnick, as Renee, shines, relying on gestures, gait and cadence to skip from 65- to 94-years-old. Although presenting physically as frail and diminutive, Resnick’s Renee casts an oversized shadow over Courtney O’Neill’s fetching set.

Kaminsky is solid as Ellen, bringing an element of compassion and empathy to an otherwise one-dimensional, strident role. It is Conrad’s Josh, however, who is the centrifugal force that keeps these two repellant magnetic forces from sailing off into the stratosphere. His unpretentious ease and facial expressions rope us in and give nuance and gravitas to what could have been a plastic character in less skilled hands.

Harmon’s script is by no means perfect, and the nods to climate change feel forced and awkward, as do some vignettes which overstay their welcome by a beat or two. Overall, though, the pace is brisk, the humor (for the most part) lands well, and the dialogue and narration hit their marks.

Harmon, whose credits include Prayer for the French Republic, Bad Jews, Admissions, and Significant Other, is no stranger to tackling big-ticket, macro topics. In We Had A World, he still examines Judaism and Jewish identity, family dynamics, and the effects of the passage of time, but this time, he brings it to a micro level where it is possible to submerge and totally relate.

Grandparents are meant to play a different role in their grandchildren’s lives, and Harmon’s valentine to his own Nana, warts and all, is as universal as it is heartwarming.

“Women who should not have been mothers can make very compelling grandmothers,” Josh concludes. “Nana, if you’re really watching, I just want to say thanks.”

For more information, visit https://www.huntingtontheatre.org/

CST’s Stunning ‘The Moderate’ Unleashes the Internet’s Good, Bad and Ugliest

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Nael Nacer in CST’s ‘The Moderate’. Photos: Nile Scott Studios.

‘The Moderate’ — written by Ken Urban. Direction and Multimedia Design by Jared Mezzocchi. Scenic Design by Sibyl Wickersheimer; Lighting Design by Kevin Fulton; Sound Design by Christian Frederickson; Assistant Projections Design by Emery Frost. A Catalyst Collaborative@MIT Production presented by Central Square Theater, 450 Mass. Ave, Cambridge through March 1.

By Shelley A. Sackett

The Moderate is not for everyone.

Kudos to Central Square Theater for its excellent job of warning that the play contains mature themes, including images, video, and audio depictions of violence, nudity, and racism. Its Content Transparency Statement goes even further, stating, “Central Square Theater cares about the well-being of our audience. We are committed to sharing information about stage effects, sensory experiences, and topics people may find distressing in advance of attending our productions.” The theater recommends that audience members be older than 17. (See full program here).

On a recent Sunday matinée, one woman left early, clearly distressed. The rest of the capacity crowd stayed put, transfixed by one of the most compelling productions to hit Boston this season.

Two-time Obie Award winner, director and multimedia designer Jared Mazzocchi and scenic designer Sibyl Wickersheimer set the stage and mood before the play even begins. Stark metal scaffolding and 10 wrap-around screens hover above a screened gazebo. It is March 2020, at the beginning of the pandemic and lockdown. Inside the gazebo/cage, a man sits hunched over his computer, busy at work. His face is projected in double negatives above, framing shooting purple lights. Suddenly, the other screens come to life with images that range from loving couples holding hands to actual beheadings.

Celeste Oliva, Nacer

The man behind the screen is middle-aged Frank Bonner (the always excellent Nael Nacer), newly estranged from his wife, Edyth (Celeste Oliva), and his teenage son. He’s also just lost his job at Kohl’s and is facing mounting debt, including loans he took out to pursue a degree in English literature at a community college. Isolated and desperate, Frank has applied to be a content moderator for a company subcontracted to a company contracted by the social media global giant meant to be Facebook.

During his interview with Martin (Greg Maraio), Frank (and the audience) learn exactly what the job entails.

When viewers encounter content on the web they deem to be “questionable” and alert the provider, Martin explains, that content goes into a queue for human evaluation. The evaluator views the content and presses either “Accept” or “Reject.” Personal beliefs are irrelevant to the job, Martin advises (warns?) Frank. “Just follow the company guidelines.”

Martin also warns (advises?) Frank to “try to look but not see” some of the more traumatic images that will parade across his screen, especially anything having to do with ISIS.

Frantic for a job and any diversion during his marital and societal isolation, Frank jumps at the chance to earn $17 an hour.

As he screens a never-ending stream of debatable content, the work takes a predictable emotional and psychological toll, and the audience, riding shotgun as we are, channels that upheaval. A young but seasoned colleague, Rayne (the enormously appealing spitfire Jules Talbot), counsels Frank when he hears that he wants to help a kid named Gus (Sean Wendelken), who has repeatedly filmed and posted evidence of beatings by his father. His pleas for help have struck a long-buried chord in Frank.

This may also be an opportunity to use his job (and the Internet) to do some good. Redemption? Perhaps. Relief? Definitely.

Not so fast, Rayne cautions. Never, ever get personally involved. “This job changes you; you decide how. It can make you better, or it can break you,” says Rayne. “Compartmentalizing is the only way to survive.”

Frank struggles with more than whether to protect a stranger (and, perhaps, heal himself). Society’s obsession with technology and the power of those in charge of that technology literally shapes the world we live in. Are moderators defenders of decency and morality or simply “Internet garbage men” doing the bidding of corporate profit seekers and right-wing fanatics, as Rayne suggests? The answers are as slippery as the slope that forces Frank to “accept” a photo of a white family embracing a young black girl titled, “Every family needs a pet,” which, according to corporate guidelines, is only ambiguously racist.

Playwright Ken Urban interviewed scholars and people who worked as moderators to create his one-act drama. He envisioned an innovative staging that would incorporate live video in “surprising ways” while exposing audiences to the kind of disturbing visuals that cling to the underbelly of the dark web.

Mezzocchi and his team are more than up for the job. For this world premiere, they create a technological landscape that seamlessly invades body and mind, creating a secret world we all live in, where erasing a video does nothing to stop the underlying evil. When a technological glitch early in the 90-minute production brought the lights back up, it was as if the fourth wall melted.

Suddenly, we were all in it together, all hostage to the technology we can’t live with and can’t live without. As Nacer busied himself at his desk, the audience was in his shoes, wondering whether this was a staged or real hiccup, trying to figure out if it’s ok to busy ourselves too, and maybe even turn our phones on and cop a quick fix.

Lest the misimpression be left that The Moderate is a 90-minute, relentless parade of vile images, rest assured that Urban has created a multi-layered story with complex, multifaceted characters who lead complicated, messy, and real lives, peppered with real challenges. A universally talented cast, bang-up production, and sharp direction bring this very human story to life and force us to confront some uncomfortable but valid questions about whether we can control technology or whether our addiction has forced us to relinquish the driver’s seat. One thing is for sure — The Moderate is certain to spark lively post-theater discussions.

For more information, go to: https://www.centralsquaretheater.org/