A presentation of fine art photography from DeLean's Body Botanic series and Hart's Sicily of Stone series.
Featuring David Berner, Rosalie Riegle, and Sam and Peter Stamatis.
Andrew J. Pond stars in MadKap Productions' one-man show about how early-onset Parkinson's affects both the patient and the caregiver. Written by Marc Jaffe and Eric Coble. $20http://madkapproductions.com
Interactive exhibit featuring IEA's collection vintage encyclopedias. Reception Mon 10/25, 6-8 PM.
In the early hours of July 23, 1967, officers of the notoriously brutal Detroit police department raided a "blind pig"—an unlicensed bar—on the city's black west side, touching off riots that killed 43 people and burned out hundreds of buildings. That catastrophe is just the backdrop for Dominique Morisseau's drama. In the foreground are grown siblings Lank and Chelle, who run a blind pig of their own and fall to fighting over what Chelle regards as Lank's reckless optimism. Not only does he want to invest their small inheritance in a legit bar (shades of Raisin in the Sun) but he starts falling for a white woman he rescued when he found her wandering the streets, badly beaten. Some elements don't mesh in Ron OJ Parson's production. Chelle and Lank listen to the previous year's music and their wardrobe looks more '65 than '67, Chelle's cautious temperament doesn't jibe with professional party-giving and Caroline—the white woman—seems to recover awfully fast. But the emotional integrity is there. To borrow a simile from the script, I loved Parson's five-member cast like potato salad. —Tony Adler $25-$72
Piccolo's annual panto, now in its 13th year, is a participatory and family-friendly form of musical comedy. In this adaptation by Jessica Puller, with music and lyrics by Rich Maisel, the troupe brings slapstick and topical humor (Ventra jokes seem to be everywhere these days) to a decidedly scary fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen—to much success. The supporting roles are the strongest: as the Snow Queen, Vanessa Hughes is Ursula the sea witch combined with Aretha Franklin, welcoming the audience's boos like a true diva. Joshua Allard, the show's choreographer, adds some gender-bending fun as Dame Grandmother, defending young Gerda with a pair of giant tweezers while she embarks on a quest to save her true love, Kai. Be careful or you'll find yourself shouting "Look out behind you!" to Gerda louder than the kid next to you. —Marissa Oberlander $10-$25
This exhibit features textiles, clothing, home decor, and more from the British World War II-era to investigate the war's influence on fashion and beauty.
Dublin-born playwright Conor McPherson is best known for dramas that touch on the uncanny—a haunted widower in Shining City, a satanic poker game in The Seafarer—while heading for something deeper. His 2001 Port Authority displays a similar MO. Its three intertwined monologues dance around the romance of kismet yet open out into hard questions about assertion and passivity, happiness and regret, will and the willingness to go with the flow. Basically, that is, about how each of us earns his fate. Those questions are embodied by three Irishmen, Kevin, Dermott, and Joe. The first is a twentysomething hipster living on the periphery of the local music scene, the second a would-be breadwinner with an overweight wife and a strong taste for booze, the third an old widower living in a rest home. McPherson makes a few perfunctory gestures toward connecting their lives—more for our amusement, I'd say, than anything else. But the real bond among them is that each has arrived at an uncomfortable self-awareness, having been tested, as the famous writing on the wall says, and found wanting. Theirs is the painful, oddly dignified passion of the loser. In William Brown's plain, exquisitely orchestrated, 90-minute production, actors Rob Fenton, John Hoogenakker, and Patrick Clear listen to one another like fellow confessors at an AA meeting. Each one is vivid and true—though I may be most partial to Hoogenakker, inasmuch as his Dermot has the farthest to fall and the ugliest trip down. The show is funny and often tender, but entirely capable of inflicting wounds. It's worth it. —Tony Adler $35-$70