There were two particular elements that made Ballet Quad Cities' Cinderella (which ran for two Adler Theatre performances on April 20) especially watchable beyond Courtney Lyon's exquisite choreography: clear storytelling, and humor. Not at one moment during Saturday evening's performance did I find it hard to figure out which part of the fairytale was being depicted in dance, even down to the details of what specific characters were doing and feeling at all times.

Under no circumstances would I publicly suggest that you indulge in mind-altering substances before seeing the District Theatre's Hair. I would, however, recommend that you ask for a hit of whatever actor Chris Causer is high on - even if it's just the exhilaration of performing - because, clearly, its side effects include having, and giving, the time of your life.

Scott Community College's Blue Sky Merchants is an interesting idea that doesn't reach its potential, mainly due to its absence of subtlety. Local playwright and actor John R. Turner's play about a man (simply named Deskman, and played by Turner) who listens to, and then green-lights or rejects, ideas for television shows could be a poignant commentary on modern society's tastes in entertainment. Yet while Turner has a laudable knack for dialogue, Thursday's production left me with too-little question as to his intended message, mainly because his Deskman character clearly states the author's intent, rather than allowing the audience to decipher it.

Before the production officially begins and without uttering a single word, Gini Atwell effectively sets the tone for the Prenzie Players' Antigone. On Friday evening, during the ad-libbed pre-show that's a staple of Prenzie productions, Atwell sat at the front of the stage, half-cradling her knees while wearing a far-off look in her eyes and a deep sadness on her face, as though lost in thought on woeful memories or circumstances.

Not long after the play begins, it's made clear that Atwell's expression is due to her character's resignation to her own death. She is passionate during the course of the play - particularly as she attempts to garner her sister's help in burying their brother (who lost his life in battle with their other brother for the throne of Thebes), and as she embraces her fiancé as if it's the last time they'll ever hold each other. But her ability to maintain the cheerlessness at the core of her Antigone is remarkable, creating a palpable pain that's punctuated by her inevitable death.