Given that the new Pope hails from Chicago, it’s likely you’ve heard an uptick of talk of that town in the last week or so. But let me tell you: There’s another Chicago you ought to be talking about, because the current production running at the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse, directed and choreographed by Ashley Becher, is a visual spectacular and features, I wager, some of the best dancing I’ve ever seen on that stage.

Defined as a comedic work that employs buffoonery and horseplay, farce typically includes crude characterization and ludicrously improbable situations. And on opening night, director Elizabeth Shaffer hit the nail on the head, because her production isn’t trying to be anything else.

Based on the kids’ picture book written by Melinda Long and illustrated by David Shannon, this upbeat little musical will leave you practicing your pirate vernacul-arrr and perhaps even wishing to sail the seven seas in pursuit of doubloons.

The art-deco ties for the gentlemen and lovely dresses on the ladies made the whole evening feel like a true blast from the past.

It’s rare to find a piece of theatre that’s endearingly sweet without being schmaltzy, but that is exactly what the Black Box Theatre currently offers with Ken Ludwig’s Dear Jack, Dear Louise.

Everyone knows that Christmas is a time for peace on Earth and goodwill to men. Unless, of course, you’re an ever-opinionated but lovable first-grader who, in director Kiera Lynn's Junie B. Jones in Jingle Bells, Batman Smells, is brought from page to stage, hilariously, by portrayer Natalie Scheers.

Directed by Dana Skiles, My Son Is Crazy, but Promising boasts 15 actors, and while about half of the characters don’t especially move the plot along, there wasn’t anyone who didn’t bring their “A” game.

The scenes featuring Savannah Bay Strandin and Stephanie Moeller were particularly engaging highlights of this Dial M for Murder.

“Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.” Or so goes the quip famously attributed to Benjamin Franklin – and 157 years after Franklin’s death, Tennessee Williams’ renowned A Streetcar Named Desire was first performed, perfectly embodying Franklin’s quote.

I’ll admit it: When I read the plot description of the Richmond Hill Barn Theatre's latest offering, The Money in Uncle George’s Suitcase, I presumed it was going to be a slightly predictable but funny little story.

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