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Wednesday, May 10, 2006 Documentaries as Theatre The architectural arguments involved in building the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago don’t sound like compelling theatrical material. And they aren’t, even if you are interested in architecture. On Monday I saw the staged reading of the first act of White City/Grey City, June Finfer’s less-than-engrossing play (which is slated to become a musical—the Chicago Writers’ Bloc didn’t perform any of the songs, only read the titles of what I assume are songs yet to be composed). While the actors dutifully tried to bring life to their characters, the script was lifeless. In a very Our Town style, Finfer avoids all conflict. The wives of the architects don’t complain that their husbands are never home, the man who was severely injured during the construction of the fair thanks the head designer for allowing him to be a part of the project in the first place, and the unions are mentioned as a passing problem. Instead of substantive conflict, internal or external, we are treated to petty squabbles between the Easterners and Chicagoans about architectural styles. We don’t even get the benefit of the conflict described in the play’s summary: the fair “attracts millions of visitors to see dazzling while buildings, new technologies, Hoochy Koochy dancers… while most of Chicago lives in the dirty, dangerous slums of the ‘Grey City.’” (Incidentally, one of perhaps two mentions of the phrase “Grey City” refers to the University of Chicago, which only serves to confuse the point, for it’s clearly not the slum.) In Wilder’s play, this works. In Finfer’s, it produces the effect of a 1950s everyone-is-happy-and-life-is-rosy delusion. None of the characters, save Daniel Burnham, the chief architect, are clearly delineated, and as an audience we don’t care when Daniel’s longtime work partner sickens and dies (which it was obvious he was going to do as soon as you heard the first cough). Watching the reading felt something like watching a documentary put onstage. I understand that one of the primary purposes for the staged reading was feedback for the writer, and I hope Ms. Finfer got solid criticism. Unfortunately, if her play is going to hold an audience’s attention, it needs a complete rewriting. ^ Top | 11:03 PM | | | 
Monday, May 08, 2006 All Moved In Yesterday I moved into my new apartment in Bucktown (a neighborhood on the Northwest side of Chicago known for the young, artsy types it attracts), where I'll be for at least the next year. It was wonderful staying with Bryan in Evanston for the last month, but he'll probably be glad to have his house back to himself (though it is amusing that when I left he had other vistors as well: a former roommate from Michigan plus wife and kid--so he didn't quite get his house back to himself immediately. The "hotel" is apparently a popular destination for visiting Michiganders). What was hilarious is that my roommate Scott had been in the apartment for a few days already with a guest of his own (yup, another Michigan friend), and between the two guys no one saw fit to buy dish soap, cups (there was literally one glass in the apartment, with no way to clean it), or paper towels. Apparently neither of them had bath towels either, so they'd been using T-shirts and toilet paper. In Scott's defense, he was waiting for the girl to arrive and put the place together, but it's still pretty funny that they could live without so many essentials. The apartment is beautiful though. We're right across the street from a good-sized park (two, in fact, since there's a tiny park next to the larger one) and the trees are blooming all along the street. And we have a fireplace and wood floors. Since we don't yet have all the furniture that we need, it's a little empty--it's perfect for a blues dancing party.... ^ Top | 5:21 PM | | |
Friday, May 05, 2006 A Minor Rant About State IDs and Bars After hanging out with some musicians on the South side and grabbing food and gelato at a cozy bakery cafe, I was heading home when some friends called to say they were at the Map Room (a bar in Bucktown). Since one of those friends is someone I haven't seen in a while, I decided to meet up with them. All was good until I tried to get in. My drivers license one of the last of the old-school Michigan variety--it's eight years old, and it's essentially a typed and hard-laminated piece of paper with a sticker on the back that confirms it's valid until August 2006. Unfortunately, since it looks nothing like the credit card-esque licenses most states (and Michigan itself) issue today, more than one bar/club has wondered if it's real. Tonight the doormen at the Map Room decided that I didn't have a valid ID and wouldn't let me into the bar. After a few minutes of arguing, which included them asking if I had another state-issued ID (upon which I managed to produce my voters registration card, which they didn't accept) and then asking if I had a passport (who carries their passport around to bars?), I decided that if they didn't want me to get in, I didn't want to get in. A half hour later, my friends called, wondering where I was--and my irate story spilled out. On the one hand, it's cool that I have one of the last few old Michigan licenses--on the other, it's just as well that I have to get an Illinois ID now, so this won't happen again. It's sad when you can't get into an establishment at the age of 24. ^ Top | 10:58 PM | | |
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