If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you’d recall how a couple of years ago, I called into question the existence of a Jeff Awards for excellence in Chicago theater that ignored shows and performances that could be described as “brazen, risk-taking, intellectual, original, rockingly-fresh”. As a passionate and informed Chicago theater-goer, the Jeff Awards were about as relevant to me as a swim clinic was to Michael Phelps. I never felt that these awards consistently and impactfully honored the theater that passionate and informed Chicago theater-goers also embraced. Well, until today. I was so pleased to read the nominations for this year’s Equity wing awards that I nearly broke into a showtune in the middle of my three-hour conference call on defining HR system fields (yep, I live such a glamorous life!). I was especially thrilled that, after many, many years of being ignored, TUTA Theater Chicago, where I am currently a board member, was recognized for the flawless ensemble of Bertolt Brecht’s The Wedding. I was also excited that truly great Chicago productions of the past season, productions that could tower over any production in other theater capitals like New York City and London, such as Steppenwolf’s landmark, urgently resonant The Brother/Sister Plays, Victory Garden’s should-have-won-the-Pulitzer-masterpiece The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity, Court Theatre’s powerful Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom and hilarious The Mystery of Irma Vep (with a special shout-out to the Best Actor nominations of its quick-changing, multiple-character playing lead actors, the priceless Chris Sullivan and Erik Hellmann), and Writer’s Theatre’s brilliant, nearly-definitive, David Cromer-helmed A Streetcar Named Desire, received well-deserved multiple nominations. Of course, the Jeff Awards wouldn’t be the Jeff Awards without any gasp-inducing oversights, and this year, the single, biggest, almost-criminal omission is that of Matt Hawkins’ fresh, inspired, little boy toughie take on Stanley Kowalski for Cromer’s Streetcar, a performance that metaphorically blew me out of the Glencoe theater and deposited me somewhere northwest of the train tracks by Writer’s, a performance so brilliant, the New York Times’ resident curmudgeon, Charles Isherwood, was slobbering all over it in a front-page review that was carried by both the New York and National editions of the paper. I guess Isherwood and Francis Sadac wouldn’t cut it as Jeff voters this year.
Tags: Jeff Awards
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