I have a theory. It’s anecdotally based at this point, but I think statistics will bear it out, assuming anybody feels like doing the research. It’s this: that when the world starts looking especially bleak, Chicago’s artistic directors start programming German-language plays.
So, when things get bad enough—when we want a vision commensurate with the fucked-uppedness we witness around and inside us—we bring in the experts from Middle Europe.
If all of this is hard to watch, it’s not through any fault of Neil Blackadder’s excellent English translation, Bockley’s austere staging, or an ensemble that manages to give us characters who feel true without getting even a little bit sentimental about it. It’s because Palmesthofer never surrenders his rigor. His script is a labyrinth of Mousetraps: moments unfolding inside moments, realities intersecting dreams that breed new and uglier realities. His point is complex and, yes, pitiless as he exposes the structure of alienation. He’s the right man for the job.
Through 2/22: Mon, Thu-Sat, 8 PM, Sun 7 PM Red Tape Theatre 621 W. Belmontredtapetheatre.org $25, pay what you can on Thursdays
