Opening Nights

Getting Out
Theater Schmeater; ends Sat., Aug. 21

From Kafka to Cool Hand Luke, the foul physical reality of prison life has proven ripe ground for all manner of dramatic probing—especially as metaphor, where the temptation to expand the shackles from individual wrist to society's soul is too juicy to resist. Like the nuthouse, the hoosegow is just an extreme example of our existential incarceration, proverbial and provocative. The ex-convict in Marsha ('Night Mother) Norman's first play— portrayed dually by Sharia Pierce and Jane May—finds herself inescapably criminalized, trapped in an ugly identity not by the authorities and lawmakers but rather through the narrow, miserly attitudes of her family and friends, as well as her own lack of self-respect. She's branded, tattooed with the time she's served and the reason she served it. And giving lie to the concept of reform is the fact that no amount of good behavior or benevolent intention appears sufficient to free her from the hell of other people's perceptions.

Jumping back and forth in time between Arlie/Arlene's pre- and post-parole existence—she's changed her name in the vain hope of erasing the stigma of her bad-girl Arlie days—the play becomes a harrowing investigation into the pitfalls of identity and the means by which the past imprisons us. As Arlene tries to reconstruct a so-called normal life, she is haunted by the ghost of herself. That self, such as it is, is reflected back to her in the very real form of those come to "help"—her abusive mother (Beth Peterson) and pimp (played with smarmy flair by Rob West). However, the primary tension of the play, along with a good amount of its suspense, arises in the eerie, reflective dialogue between past and present. Director Kerry Christianson does a fantastic job with the frequent transitions and flashbacks, some of which overlap.

Though well-written and superbly structured, there is little that is truly original or revealing about Getting Out; in the considerable prison-as-life genre, it breaks no new ground, which is a tall order at any rate. The real power of the production, as well as its considerable capacity to startle the senses, resides in the edgy, compelling performances, especially those of Pierce and May, who in their combined rendering of Arlie/Arlene create a revealing symbiosis of a tragically trapped character. RICHARD MORIN

Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui
Capitol Hill Arts Center; ends Sun., Aug. 22

Arturo Ui is a small-time criminal with giant aspirations. He isn't much to look at, and his elocution sucks, but he surrounds himself with smarter, bigger men and eventually transforms his charisma into snarling menace. The method to his madness: keeping the proletariat of Cicero, Ill., in a state of uncertainty and fear, so he can sell them "protection" from the very danger he's created.

Sound familiar?

German populist playwright Bertolt Brecht wrote Ui in 1941 as an anti-Hitler satire with explicit Shakespearean overtones; reviving it during this election year is the Capitol Hill Arts Center's smartest move to date. When Ui makes blustery pronouncements like "Those who are not for me are against me," the temporal gap between World War II and recent events closes instantly. After all, George W. Bush's rise to power was every bit as resistible as Ui's—which is to say, a little less corruption on all sides could have prevented it, but the power structure being what it was, his ascent proved inevitable.

To the considerable credit of director John Abramson and actor Darragh Kennan, who plays the titular villain, CHAC's production succeeds as more than just another round of Bush-bashing. Thanks to Kennan's energetic performance, Ui emerges as a complex, conflicted crook; his clown frown and insecure carriage evolve slowly but steadily over the course of the show, so that when the Little Gangster Who Could finally stands at an elevated podium and says he commands our fate, the effect is more chilling than laughable.

Abramson and company transform the bare-bones CHAC space into a Depression-era cabaret with admirable ease. Still, a few high-concept visuals—e.g., the proles lapsing into slow motion as Ui's gangsters make a high-stakes deal—seem gratuitous, and the casting of Betty Campbell as Old Dogsborough, the unwitting businessman who falls prey to Ui's wiles, is a misstep (her unfocused, overwrought take on the character undercuts the show's dark comedy). More often than not, however, Abramson capably wrangles his cast of 30, while Andrea Calle's raggedy costumes give Ui the "people's theater" vibe it needs to effectively render Brecht's central theme: Speak truth to power, yes, but also take action—or you may find yourself at the mercy of another Arturo Ui. As one character announces in the show's final moments: "The bitch that bore him is in heat again." NEAL SCHINDLER

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