As the organization's annual Greek dramas always do, Genesius Guild's presentation of Electra begins with a processional. During this preamble, the cast members, accompanied by a majestic anthem, slowly make their way across the Lincoln Park stage, and those who'll be wearing the traditional headpieces of the period carry them at waist level, giving us an early peek at Ellen Dixon's costumes, Earl Strupp's masks, and, for the last time before the curtain call, the performers' faces. (Only the play's choral figures remain unmasked throughout the production.) It's a lovely touch, as reassuringly familiar as Genesius Guild's nightly T-shirt giveaway and the shrieking from the children playing on the neighboring swing sets.

HANCOCK

It's been a couple of days now, and I find that my feelings toward the Will Smith blockbuster Hancock remain naggingly unresolved. And unfortunately, those feelings aren't going to be resolved through writing a review, because most of what I find troubling is troubling because of a mid-film plot development that I wouldn't dream of giving away. In the end, I found Hancock to be funny, smart, silly, exciting, preposterous, maddening, and unexpectedly haunting, but until it becomes safe to discuss the movie in full, it'll be tough to explain exactly why.

As the youngest of five children growing up in rural Lettsworth, Louisiana, blues musician Phil Guy, now 68, recalls that "our father always had the blues playing on an old phonograph. We would listen to Muddy Waters and John Lee Hooker and Lightnin' Hopkins and Smokey Hogg and people like that, and that stuff just got into my skin - it would just get into you and make you feel happy."

As you'll see in these pages, I attended five theatrical productions between Thursday and Sunday, and after writing some 4,200 words on my experiences, my editor asked if I wouldn't mind writing a couple hundred more as an introduction.

That bastard.