People do rash things and don't always have conscious reasons for their behavior. Prisons—where life is intensified, stressful, boring—are full of such men and women. Some deserve their surroundings, according to playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis, while others find themselves caged before they even have had a chance to see where they are going. Life isn't fair, and that goes doubly for the criminal justice system.
How a person survives this environment is dependent on personality, and those who find religion, such as Lucius (Bradford Stevens, a commanding actor who tends to push too hard), claim an inner peace that is at odds with their actions on the outside. A junkie and a bipolar depressive, Lucius casually reveals the details of his eight-person killing spree, and his remorse is a private, perhaps non-existent thing. He is the ultimate conundrum.
The play's primary focus is a young inmate named Angel (Esteban Andres Cruz, raw in just the right way), who is charged with attempted murder after shooting a cult leader—a crime born of recklessness and frustration. His jaded public defender (JoAnn Montemurro, grinding her New Yawk accent to a pulp) sees a kind nobility in Angel's vigilantism (and by extension, so does Guirgis), and her handling of the case is a strategic risk that will likely blow up in her face.
It's meant to be reality, heightened just a smidge. The Raven production (directed by Michael Menendian) manages to be both overacted and underwhelming, with an awkward underscoring that gives the show a cheesed-up quality. The fault lies mostly with the script, which fails to make any of this dramatically interesting. Every thought and every fear are expressed, but all the real action happens offstage. These men are introspective to the max, but good luck caring about them in a meaningful way.
When: Through Dec. 6
Where: Raven Theatre, 6157 N. Clark St.
Running time: 2 hours, 15 minutes
Tickets: $25 at 773-338-2177
or raventheatre.com
