Category: community and culture

  • No Holiday For Me

    Chicago theater critics seem more entertained by Holiday, which has been extended reportedly by popular demand than I was.

    This Goodman Theatre production is a “contemporary adaptation” of a 1928 “classic play” by Philip Berry that had also been twice adapted into movies, including a second in 1938 with Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant. This version, which was adapted by the late Richard Greenberg and is directed by Robert Falls, has been billed as a romantic comedy but is neither passionate nor amusing.

    Julia Kincaid (Molly Griggs) and Johnny Case (Luigi Sottile), two otherwise cautious people who meet at a no-cell phone retreat, decide to marry allegedly before Johnny realizes that Julia is a wealthy Seton, and that he already knows her siblings Linda (Bryce Gangel) and Ned (Wesley Taylor). Julia’s widower father Ed (Jordan Lage) after having Johnny investigated invites him into the family banking business.

    Julia, who is like her father, is intent upon becoming a successful businessperson and launching her own product line. Linda in contrast is still mourning their mother’s death, and Ned’s self-destructive behavior, whom she hopes to rescue.

    Julia thinks she is marrying a similarly committed professional, yet discovers that her fiancé is searching for meaning. Meanwhile, Linda and he connect, and when he cannot compromise his plan run off together once Ned has convinced her to chase her own happiness and leave him in their family home.

    The plot has all the conventions of a romantic comedy. The characters however are unconvincing in their attraction, and the performances are rarely more than amusing. The problem in part is the script although the actors seemed to be still searching for their characters.

    The set (Walt Spangler) and costumes (Kaye Voyce) were appealing but not noteworthy, especially given the budget. Other elements, such as the more current music selections and even a virtual assistant appearance, seemed jarring and out of place.

    Chicago critics generally praise production primarily in terms of the adaptation as if it alone is sufficient reason to see it. This version might have shifted the focus as one critic suggests from Johnny to the siblings, but it never sells the central romances among Julia, Linda, and him, which even this critic acknowledges.

    Moreover, it cannot get to its central themes, which are worthwhile, if it does not offer a plausible premise, Why would these characters, who otherwise conduct online searches for other information or even speak smart speakers into streaming music, not in fact know more about the people to whom they’ve pledged to devote their lives, and their fortunes, for the foreseeable future?

    I’m not suggesting that attending this performance was an awful experience, and actually did want to see more of the central question. This same critic thinks it’s the “essential paradox” of “the adult children of the American urban rich.” I however believe that it’s the amount of money that is too little, too much, and just right.

    In this, Julia and Johnny disagree. Johnny wants enough, but Linda wants as much as she can get. As such, these two characters represent a challenge within the dominant economic in the West, and most of the world, a system that has never achieved its potential for most and yet is ruining the environment for all.

    This debate is lost in the muddled mess that is this production at least when I saw it. As a result, its extension surprised me until I wondered whether it might be a way of eliciting desire in more people to see it.

    Chicago theater might be struggling in ways that are different now than usual. Still, its critics aren’t helping matters when they won’t offer more forthright accounts even when they’re writing about a late playwright, an accomplished director, and a mainstage of this scene.

  • A Money-Hungry MLB

    Major League Baseballs reminded me again at the start of spring training this year how much more it cares about money than fans.

    It notified me last week that MLB at Bat, which is its online radio subscription, was now called MLB+. It also indicated that the annual cost had been doubled.

    I have always been ambivalent about this service. However, I cannot get a good AM radio signal in the building where I live, cannot find an online radio stream that isn’t substantially delayed, and am not always within the broadcast area or even near a radio.

    For these reasons, I had been reluctantly spending about thirty dollars each season, or about five dollars a month, to stream the Cubs radio broadcasts, and to listen to Pat and Ron without trouble, anywhere I was. Why not spend a little to avoid complicating one of the perennial joys of life?

    This answer was complicated by this notification from MLB. The online renewal price, which I checked after receiving this news, was still the same as it was last year, so I called MLB customer service.

    The rep insisted that MLB hadn’t actually doubled the price — it technically had more than doubled it, I guess, but why would he highlight that? — and reported that it hadn’t added any features or services.

    This rep claimed he would disable my auto-renew, but I thought I already had done that. I then also removed my credit card and deleted my account.

    MLB wants its radio subscribers to spend twice as much for the same service. This one hundred percent increase moreover is happing at a time that many are predicting a lockout after this season as owners and players squabble over a salary cap, especially after the Dodgers signed Kyle Tucker in the offseason and continue spending for a three-peat.

    Such disregard for fans isn’t new. Major league baseball for example has had nine strikes or lockouts since 1972. The longest, which occurred in 1994-1995, canceled 938 games, and the entire 1994 postseason. The most recent, which happened in 2021-2022, didn’t cancel any games but delayed the 2022 opening day.

    This disregard appears in other ways. For example, the Chicago Cubs and the Chicago White Sox have their own sports networks, and now charge local fans who want to watch games from the comfort of their living rooms, which many previously had done on free television, about twenty dollars a month.

    Neither even offers good reasons for such expenses. The Cubs have lost the division title to the rivals Brewers or Cardinals, who play in smaller markets, for the last five seasons. The Sox have lost over one hundred games for the last three.

    The problem is that enough fans will likely spend for the radio and television subscriptions, and the tickets, concessions, and merchandise. Such expenses, whatever the costs, seem especially appealing in the middle of February.

    I however might have an alternative this season. One of my kids recently gave me a solar-or-crank-powered portable radio with an extendable antenna. With it, I might be able to find a crackly yet discernible sound of the play-by-play from Hall-of-Famer Pat Hughes, who will begin his forty-third season calling Cubs games, and his most recent partner, and former Cub from the metro-Chicago area, Ron Coomer.

    I gotta get cranking, and searching for the strongest signals. Spring training games start tomorrow.

  • Unto Ourselves?

    The movie Islands, which was written by Jan-Ole Gerster, Blaž Kutin, and Lawrie Doran, is an engaging exploration of appearance, reality, and aloneness that never quite coalesces into clear conclusions.

    Tom (Sam Riley), a former tennis pro and current resort coach, has an apparently ideal life at least to Canary Islands tourists. The sun is constant, his obligations are limited, and even these can be avoided when he wants. Nevertheless, he suspects that something is missing, especially when a local family, with whom he has become friends, announces their imminent retirement, and return to their former homeland.

    Tom soon befriends a family on holiday, who also have their own needs. They’re struggling with infertility, and perhaps infidelity, and as a result questioning their choices, including their marriage. A second child seems to be Ann’s (Stacy Martin) answer, but her husband Dave (Jack Farthing) is less certain of what they’re doing and who they are.

    Tom agrees to escort Dave to a nearby club where he disappears. Any uncertainty Tom might have been feeling evaporates as he assists with the search for the missing husband, who had disclosed his suicidal intention to Ann. Tom later supplies a false, and unsolicited, alibi for, and subsequently has sex with, her.

    Dave, dehydrated and exhausted, is eventually found while swimming toward a volcano where he intended to throw himself over its crater. Tom and Ann have a moment in the hospital just before she returns to Dave’s side. Tom then returns to his previous life, and recreates a former moment of glory on the courts for the latest group of mouthy, boisterous tourists.

    There he passes out, and is found by Dave, who has brought the payment for his son Anton’s tennis lessons and some additional money for Tom’s efforts, including Dave tells him caring for his family. Tom in other words is still hired help whereas Dave, Ann, and their son are returning to their own lives.

    Audiences are to be attracted to Tom’s experience, which has the outward appearance of Eden or heaven. The sun is constantly shining. His responsibilities are minimal, especially when he can eat and stay at the resort when he wants. He has a constant churn of female companionship and court-mates.

    This movie succeeds as a psychological thriller, and also explores an almost palpable loneliness in all of their lives. Moreover, it suggests that Tom’s desperation isn’t as much malicious as perhaps opportunistic, which makes it all the more poignant.

    The ambiguity almost seems borderline excessive, but the only obviously false moment is the conclusion. Tom back in his own apartment is eating the cereal he purchased for Anton when he swipes his wallet and keys and then races to the airport. Once there, he asks if he can still purchase a ticket, which he can, and then is asked to where.

    Perhaps he intends to follow this family although that seems less likely than the possibility that he could be fleeing from his unsatisfying life. The details however are wrong. He seems not to have a passport for example perhaps because he in his haste left it at home.

    The bigger problem is the emotional resources he will need to leave. Are audiences to think that he is ultimately incapable of escaping as his camel-farm friends did? Or that Tom has acted rashly again?

    Even his front desk friend has had enough of his shenanigans. Has he learned anything from escaping his self-manufactured legal jeopardy?

    Is his motivation even the point? Perhaps not, the title seems to suggest. Maybe all of us in contrast to the line from the John Donne poem are islands unto ourselves, and perhaps forever are so.

    That could be the conclusion of this movie. All the ambiguity while not ruining the experience unfortunately makes that unclear.