The Revel House Theatre of Chicago

World Premiere

Highly Recommended - "..directed with ritualistic fervor..performed with powerhouse physicality..an absolute stunner..In many ways a timely cautionary tale about how power (whether religious or political) can go amok...sure to draw even the most resistant souls into its fearsome grip"..- Hedy Weiss, Chicago Sun Times

 

Three Stars -  A foot-stomping world premiere!  Moonshine, mothers, music and ultimately mayhem - swoop and soar in Damon Kiely's "The Revel" - Kerry Reid, Chicago Tribune

 

Tickets $30 -35


9/4/15 - 10/25/15

Thu-Sat 730p; Sun 7p


Highly Recommended - The Revel - Hedy Weiss, Chicago Sun Times 9/14/15. - "Chicago audiences have forged a special bond with Greek tragedy in recent seasons with the chaos and fervor of those ancient foundational plays arriving with modern twists that illuminate rather than warp the originals. The latest example of just how brilliantly such an “update” can be realized is on view in The House Theatre of Chicago’s world premiere of Damon Kiely’s searing  play with music, “The Revel.”

The show, directed with ritualistic fervor by Leslie Buxbaum Danzig, and performed with powerhouse physicality by a multi-talented   cast, is an absolute stunner. Set in an Appalachian town during the Great Depression of the 1930s, Kiely gives us Greek tragedy  (via Euripides’s “The Bacchae”) re-worked as a Bible Belt tale that explores the dual drives of human behavior. On one hand there’s the rational, work-oriented impulse essential for daily survival and order. On the other there is the wilder, more spiritually-driven impulse that craves some sense of connection to a higher power and the freedom and ecstasy (as well as the destruction) that can come from that.

Unbound from its Mount Olympus origins, and transplanted to the mines and factories of a town whose women find liberation  in the message of a charismatic preacher, “The Revel” unspools as a fascinating lesson in how the pursuit of extremism in any direction can corrupt absolutely.


The show is infused with a haunting, traditionally-rooted original score of hymns and ballads composed by Jess McIntosh (with lyrics by McIntosh and Kiely), and is beautifully sung by the actors – many of whom also play guitars, fiddles and the banjo. Additional fire comes as the chorus of women (in costume designer Izumi Inaba’s evocative homespun dresses) stomp up a storm by way of choreographer Barbara Silverman’s clog dances. The percussive sound of their feet echoes through the wooden boards and mountaintop stairways that form Grant Sabin’s dynamic, movable set. The sense of possession here is completely real.

It all begins with the arrival of Deacon (Andy Lutz, a winning mix of the seductive, the poetic and the dangerous), a young  preacher with a Christlike spirit. Deacon finds a willing flock in the women of the town who have been oppressed by their husbands, and by their dreary textile factory jobs that are now in danger of disappearing as bankruptcy looms.

The widowed matriarch of the town, Agatha (Sarah Charipar in a performance of superbly varied emotional shifts), initially  resists Deacon, holding fast to the ideas of her “founding family” and her beloved son, Peter (the aptly taut, driven and  athletic Chris Mathews), who is hellbent on saving the factory from the banks.

But eventually, along with her daughter, Cadie (the feverish Christine Mayland Perkins), the long-suffering wife (played  with searing emotion by Eunice Woods) of the town’s brutal law-and-order Sheriff (Michael E. Smith), and a “chorus” of wronged women (Jeanne T. Arrigo, Bridget Rue, Kamille Dawkins, Courtney Jones and Julia Merchant form an ideal ensemble), she joins these new “believers,” and climbs to a mountain sanctuary to be “reborn.”

That rebirth turns out to deliver only momentary happiness and freedom as the Deacon is arrested, and faith turns into catastrophic fanaticism of epic Biblical (and Greek) proportions.

In many ways a timely cautionary tale about how power (whether religious or political) can go amok, “The Revel” is sure to  draw even the most resistant souls into its fearsome grip. And it joins a handful of other hugely impressive productions  that have opened in the past couple of weeks that suggest this is going to be banner season for Chicago theater.




Review: In 'Revel,' a tempting alternative to 'everyone work harder' - Kerry Reid, Chicago Tribune 9/15/15.
- "Moonshine, mothers and music — and ultimately mayhem — swoop and soar in Damon Kiely's "The Revel," his Appalachian approach to Euripides' "The Bacchae," now in a foot-stomping world premiere with the House Theatre of Chicago. Featuring a rousing country-gospel score by Jess McIntosh (with lyrics by McIntosh and Kiely), the show is at its very best when the chorus of downtrodden Depression-era factory women — Kiely's replacements for the women of Thebes driven mad by Dionysus — take to the hills and lift every voice and sing. (They also accompany themselves on banjo, fiddle and bass.)

The women are in flight from a clothing factory run by Peter (Chris Mathews), whose hard-charging demands for productivity are embodied by his nickname — "Quota." Since the coal mines have tapped out, the factory is the only economic engine in town. But the drudgery has taken over every aspect of the women's lives, awake and asleep — they even dream of sewing suits.

Small wonder that they are primed for the words of Deacon (Andy Lutz), who sings to them of souls set free and sympathizes with the hardship of their lives. "The darkness says it's your fault," he tells them. "The darkness says you need to work harder." (A message that certainly resonates these days, when a 40-hour work week is a relic of the past.)

Kiely's update, laden with class consciousness, gets a bit overstated at times. But it also makes sense — who hasn't wanted to stand up and walk out from their factory or cube farm in favor of day drinking with friends? While Deacon is clearly a Dionysian figure, he lacks the vengeful motivations of his Euripidean model, who wanted to punish Pentheus (the Peter antecedent) for Thebes' failure to worship him. Lutz plays Deacon more as a naif than a manipulator, which means that free will factors into the women's ultimate actions.

Sarah Charipar as Agatha, Peter's mother, (Agave in the original) is the primary conflicted force in Leslie Buxbaum Danzig's staging. She begins as a pragmatic soul, waiting for the factory whistle while dropping hints about why she wants to use her bonus check to replace the bed she shared with her now-dead husband. Throughout, Charipar layers the protective mother instinct with the darkness and meanness brought on by "too much of nothing," as Bob Dylan once sang.


A narrative subthread about Agatha and Peter as descended from former titans of the town now laid low by outside economic forces could use more development. But it also suggests that things are not as simple as the us-vs.-them, outsiders-vs.-natives view that so often colors social debates in America. But as of now, there is a bit of a Socioeconomics 101 feel to these segments. Seeing more of the resentment lingering underneath the relationships between Agatha and the rest of the women would heighten the irony and tragedy of the ending.

Danzig, a vet of 500 Clown and Lucky Plush, has a sharp physical and visual aesthetic that comes through in her use of Grant Sabin's set — a series of wooden steps and bleachers and walkways that embody the mountain lair of the fleeing women and symbolize both the reach for a spiritual and communal higher light and the descent into darkness and madness. (Gorgeous stylized painted mountain backdrops frame the playing area, set off by Lee Keenan's autumnal lighting palette.)

That split identity literally comes into play when Cadie, frightened by the excesses she has seen, returns to talk her brother into dressing up as a woman to infiltrate the women's encampment. Mathews dangles from a catwalk, his legs stretched into splits as Christine Mayland Perkins' Cadie moves the stairs out from under his feet to force a decision. Perkins delivers a sensitive and subtle performance as she moves from girlish excitement over Deacon's exhortations to a tragic understanding of what unexpected consequences his words have caused.

But it's the songs that stir us and the women, whether soothing or inciting the savage beast within. McIntosh and Kiely's signature hymn in the show, "I Am Renewed," captures the evergreen desire for rebirth and freedom that drives us on to greatness and darkness alike. "Love is a fortress to drive out the faithless. Troubles so endless and old bitterness." Despite some narrative shortcuts, this production shows us tantalizing glimpses of the journey from revel to revelation to revolution — and the price each step demands"

The House Theatre of Chicago sets The Bacchae in the backwoods:But when all hell breaks loose in The Revel it comes out of nowhere - Justin Hayford, Chicago Reader 9/16/15 - The House Theatre of Chicago's premiere of The Revel, Damon Kiely's backwoods Depression-era reworking of Euripides's classical tragedy The Bacchae, has almost everything going for it. Leslie Buxbaum Danzig directs a nimble, grounded 11-person ensemble who for the most part imbue potentially stereotypical hillbilly hicks with psychological depth. Grant Sabin provides a striking, spartan set design that reinvents the often unwieldy Chopin Theatre and places the audience smack in the heart of the action. Jess McIntosh contributes period-perfect revival hymns. And Kiely writes with grace, assurance, and—most impressively—respect for southern rural characters.

But Kiely pays inadequate attention to the world just beyond the scenes he puts center stage. It's a key omission, ultimately causing a well-paced, intelligently acted production to collapse into unconvincing hysterics.

Kiely sets his play in an imaginary corner of what appears to be 1930s Appalachia (although no one in town seems to care the sheriff has an African-American wife). An itinerant self-described deacon armed with a guitar, a bowler, and a jug of "salvation drink" opens the show seated atop a set of interlocking stair units (they're shuttled around throughout the evening to suggest various locations, often creating more clutter than clarity). He launches into a hymn, warning us in  the aw-shucks way that makes him both charismatic and unctuous that his singing "is gonna sound terrible and it's gonna be amazing." He's come to lead the town out of darkness, although it quickly becomes clear he's mostly interested in helping the town's women see the light. It's a savvy overhaul of Euripides's opening, in which the god Dionysus appears and explains that as part of his revenge strategy against Thebes's widespread disbelief in his divinity he's driven all the women there mad.

The town here has hit on hard times. The coal mine closed years ago, and now Peter, son of the former strong-arm sheriff, has opened a clothing factory that seems  to employ every woman around. To keep the hamlet solvent, Peter's made a bank deal so desperate that closing the factory for even one day threatens complete ruin  (it's a critical plot point that's never really made plausible). So once the deacon's lured the women up the mountain, Peter and his new hand-puppet sheriff plot  to destroy the deacon—both to rescue the town and to preserve their newly threatened manhoods.

The linchpin of the impending disaster is Agatha, Peter's mother, who initially pleads with the women to return to the factory but quickly falls under the deacon's  spell. She's so zealous that when the deacon must temporarily abandon his flock he puts Agatha in charge, setting up a mother-son confrontation that should unleash the epic passions Kiely tries to pack into the play's grand climax.

On paper it's nearly perfect. But onstage that murderous climax feels wholly out of proportion with everything that's preceded it (and not surprisingly, the actors  scream their way through it trying to put it across). That's largely because, unlike Euripides, Kiely hasn't created a world of epic scale. In fact, it's difficult to discern what in this world would stoke such titanic passions.

In Euripides, a bit of supernatural intervention does the trick nicely; when a god drives women crazy, there's no telling what they might do. But here, about all  we know is that the women work in a factory, and they hated the old sheriff whose son they now call boss. Kiely never dramatizes the women's lives before the arrival  of the deacon, so there's no palpable sense of the struggles they face—and those struggles had better be monumental if they're going to cause mass defection from the only employer in town in the middle of the Great Depression.

It doesn't help that Kiely's plot is short on complications. We spend a lot of time listening to the deacon preach, watching the women "find the spirit," and eavesdropping on Peter's scheming with the sheriff. But there's little sense of compressed time or mounting urgency—until all hell breaks loose all at once near the end. With more adept plotting and a clearer sense of stakes, The Revel might live up to its name."


 

 

Agatha’s husband died, the coal ran out, and the town went bust. Her son Peter promises renewed prosperity if the town will only put its nose to the grindstone in his shiny new factory. But when Deacon rolls in preaching salvation through song, spirit, and moonshine, the town’s hungry, worn down mothers and daughters take his message to heart -- and to their thirsty lips. Foot-stomping, heart-shaping mountain music fills the air. But what happens when the search for light and love leads to fire and brimstone? Sister Cadie seeks redemption, but fears she won’t measure up. Agatha steers her new-found flock toward frenzied freedom. Can Peter bring women of the town back without risking bloodshed and chaos? Chicago composer and fiddler Jess McIntosh creates all-new, old-time country gospel score for a unique chorus of women’s voices who have finally seen the light.
 

From House Theatre - Agatha’s husband died, the coal ran out, and the town went bust. Her son Peter promises renewed prosperity if the town will only put its nose to the grindstone in his shiny new factory. But when Deacon rolls in preaching salvation through song, spirit, and moonshine, the town’s hungry, worn down mothers and daughters take his message to heart -- and to their thirsty lips. Foot-stomping, heart-shaping mountain music fills the air. But what happens when the search for light and love leads to fire and brimstone? Sister Cadie seeks redemption, but fears she won’t measure up. Agatha steers her new-found flock toward frenzied freedom. Can Peter bring women of the town back without risking bloodshed and chaos? Chicago composer and fiddler Jess McIntosh creates all-new, old-time country gospel score for a unique chorus of women’s voices who have finally seen the light. 


From the Director - Several years ago I was riding my bike along the lakeshore listening to Hank Williams belt out his rousing hymn I Saw the Light. I sang along feeling full of joy. It struck me—not only was I swept up by the music, but by the spirit and message. No more darkness, no more night. Now I'm so happy, no sorrow in sight.  I felt closer to something larger than myself, closer perhaps to something divine. As a person who's fallen in and out of the Catholic faith—I was pretty surprised—I wasn’t expecting revelation via ipod. I thought about it and realized that I feel the most religious when I sing, and specifically when I sing old time country gospel music. There's something about the simplicity of the tunes and lyrics that helps me cut through dogma and channel something more pure.

 

Singing in church is like being a part of a chorus—for a moment we all agree to profess the same faith. To lift our voice up to the unknowable. This reminded me of classic Greek theatre and specifically The Bacchae. In Euripides’ original play the god Dionysus wreaks revenge on a town for not worshipping him correctly. He whips a group of women into a religious frenzy—with tragic results. Dropping The Bacchae into a mythical version of 1930s Appalachia, with newly minted old time country gospel music, allowed me to dramatize my own struggle with faith.

 

Some Sundays I’m challenges by the readings, touched by the singing, and heartened by sharing an hour with my neighbors. Some days it all seems ridiculous—hokey at best and destructive at worst. There are moments where I’m certain I’ve experienced something larger than myself—and I’m better for it.

 

I do know that when I hear Jess McIntosh’s music sung by our talented chorus that I feel touched by God. The hairs go up on the back of my arm and I nod my head a bit—A body filled with spirit. Set my soul free. Oh my soul. Set my soul free.

Author
Damon Kiely and loosely adapted from

Director
Leslie Busbaum Danzig

Performers
Chris Matthews; Andy Lutz, Bridget Rue, Courtney Jones; Kamille Dawkins; Michael E. Smith, Alex Stage, Casey Morris, Christine Mayland Perkins, Eunice Woods, Jeanne Arrigo, Sarah Charipar,

Production
Grant Sabin (Scenic Designer); Izumni Inaba (Costume Designer); Lee Keenan (Lighting Designer); Barbara Silverman (Clogging Instructor); Jess McIntosh (Composer, Co-lyricist); Matthew Muniz (Music Director); Dan Carlyon (Sound Designer); Matt Hawkins (Fight Choreographer); Christine Adaire (Dialect Coach); Aileen McGroddy (Asst Director); Brian DesGranges (Stage Manager); Jerica Hucke (Costume Manager); Jon Woelfer (Scenic Supervisor); Eleanor Kahn (Props Master); Amalie Vega (Asst Stage Manager); Ivy Rreid (Master Electrician); Emily Arnold (Asst Costume Designer);

Tags: Theater, American, 2015