"Pam Gems in her new translation of The Lady From the Sea makes a concerted effort to downplay its stagy side. She's pruned much of Ibsen's lengthy exposition, transformed his speechifying into poetic vernacular, and focused on the overwhelming stasis of these characters' landlocked lives. In essence she's aimed to turn Ibsen into Chekhov--an apt choice given both playwrights' fascination with the dark undercurrents of genteel everyday life. The attempt may enrage purists, but the script is bright and eminently playable. Greasy Joan & Company director Julieanne Ehre seizes every opportunity for Chekhovian realism--and comedy--that Gems hands her. Matthew York's coolly spare set resembles a Soho art gallery, and Ehre creates a world of stolen glances and guarded language where everything unsaid speaks volumes. Seldom produced, it's perhaps the only Ibsen play that can be characterized as a comedy, complete with happy ending. But it's comedy of the Chekhovian sort, focused on trapped and unfulfilled characters. A group of people gathered at Dr. Wangel's remote estate discover that cupid's arrows have pierced all the wrong targets. Wangel is concerned about his high-strung wife, Ellida, and invites an old family friend, Dr. Arnholm, for a visit. Arnholm misunderstands the nature of his friend's request and believes that Wangel's teenage daughter Bolette--once Arnholm's student--pines for him. But Bolette has no thoughts of romance with her slightly balding former tutor: she's planning an escape from her backwater town. Still, she's got eyes--sort of--for Hans, a consumptive young man who drapes himself over the furniture and calls himself an artist. Hans has eyes for anyone in a skirt--Ellida, Bolette, her younger sister Hilda--but is most taken with the idea of being adored". Justin Hayford, Chicago Reader 4/30/04