There are a lot of substantive and weighty criticisms to be levied at the RuPaul’s Drag Race franchise and its global juggernaut influence over drag culture. Then there are petty ones, like mine: the series sucks at showcasing scripted camp. Nothing hushes even the most raucous, shoulder-to-shoulder packed bar viewing parties quite like the competition’s sketch challenges, wherein befuddled queens work their way through some of the worst skits ever hastily written by producers against the din of Carson Kressley yelling nebulous directions like “Bigger!”  

A Fine Feathered Murder: A Miss Marbled Mystery
Through 7/31: Thu-Sat 7:30 PM, Sun 3 PM; Chopin Theatre, 1543 W. Division, handbagproductions.org, $32 ($27 advance, $50 VIP reserved seating with drink ticket)

Those bleak segments give me a special gratitude for queens like David Cerda, whose legendary high-heeled stage presence and rafters-rattling dulcet rasp have exemplified and built upon the comedic traditions of artists like Charles Ludlam and Charles Busch in Chicago now for decades. Hell in a Handbag Productions—and its recurring stable of players, including Ed Jones, Caitlin Jackson, and Danne W. Taylor—is synonymous with witty, brash, high-quality camp comedy that stylistically weaves Hays Code Hollywood and mild-mannered late-night debauchery via fabulous male and AFAB drag performers. Those strengths are present but a bit dimmed in this Agatha Christie-style whodunit now closing out the company’s 20th season in the upstairs space at the Chopin Theatre.   

Tracking the actual goings on in A Fine Feathered Murder is akin to mapping out the plot of HBO’s Westworld, but the gist is a parody of Miss Marple/Downton Abbey/anything where the phrase “Dowager Countess” gets said a lot, plus bird puns. Murder-solving author and spinster ​Jane Marbled (Jones) and her confidante, Vivian Birdsong (Jackson), attend the Fine Feathered Ball at a cartoony, quasi-anthropomorphized wealthy poultry estate, where a villianous industry mogul (Shane Roberie) meets his end at the hands of one of a dozen-plus motivated goofballs. The ornithological setup serves as not only a volley to spike 10,000 chicken jokes (no complaints), but also to craft some inspired and really fun and feathery costume designs by Bill Morey and Beth Laske-Miller. 

There are plenty of solid laughs in director Cheryl Snodgrass’s production, including some great, wryly delivered throwback-y joke-jokes, a sight gag involving a chicken GMO’d into an eldritch horror, and Tyler Anthony Smith’s entire turn as a foppish, berries-and-cream-dandy heir who is screwing up his entire family bloodline. In a background gag—maybe the funniest onstage bit I’ve seen this year—Smith dances a burlesque-ish routine in a skintight bird suit while each foregrounded character soliloquies their anger. It’s part pageant talent show, part Lucky Horseshoe Lounge routine, and fully, brilliantly deranged. 

But manic madcap is a sprint, not a marathon, and at two hours-plus, there’s not a ton to cling to story- or character-wise that justifies that running length. Apparent line issues during opening night also kept some key scenes from taking off. Feathered Murder almost presents itself as too much of a real mystery rather than the absurdist and silly parody that it is. And while no show is defined by its venue, (I’ve no doubt that part of Hell in a Handbag’ssurvival has been its openness to adapting to different spaces) this does feel more like a 70-minute experience in a lounge or bar than a multi-act one in a traditional proscenium. At twice that length, it somehow comes out half-cocked.

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The four years that young adults spend in high school are widely recognized as some of the most formative (and cringeworthy) years of their lives. It’s a space where they come face to face with their insecurities on a daily basis. For many, this space is a common site for first-time struggles related to academics, identity, and sexuality. 

This is undoubtedly the case at the Charles R. Drew Prep School for the Boys, the fictional setting for the new staging of the Tony Award-nominated play Choir Boy by Steppenwolf ensemble member (and Oscar winner for best adapted screenplay for Moonlight) Tarell Alvin McCraney. The production, directed by Kent Gash, follows high school senior Pharus Young (Tyler Hardwick) and four of his peers. Together, they navigate life as young Black men attending a prestigious and painstakingly traditional boarding school. 

Choir Boy
Through 7/24: Tue-Fri 8 PM, Sat-Sun 3 and 8 PM; also Wed 7/13, 2:30 PM; Sun 7/17 and 7/24, 3 PM only; Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted, 312-335-1650, steppenwolf.org, $20-$98

While the five boys are far from the best of friends, they all sing in the school choir. For Pharus in particular, choir is an essential artistic outlet, as he struggles to reconcile his queer identity with the stifling, outright homophobic environment of Drew Prep. 

McCraney’s script is sharp and poignant, allowing the cast to flourish in their respective roles as their characters bare their souls to the audience. While every Choir Boy actor shines fully in his own right, a standout performance comes from Sheldon D. Brown, who plays AJ, Pharus’s roommate. Thanks to Brown’s portrayal, AJ becomes a rock not just for Pharus, but for the entire audience as he demonstrates the invaluable nature of empathy and humor. 

McCraney’s words are only amplified by the breathtaking inclusion of a cappella gospel hymns that pay homage to historically Black traditions and struggles. Additional memorable aspects of the production include dynamic step-inspired choreography by Byron Easley and innovative set design from Arnel Sancianco. 

For far too long, many coming-of-age stories have done a poor job of centering the experiences of young Black men, especially as it relates to queerness. This is not the case for Choir Boy. McCraney’s work is a refreshing and bold take on a classic tale with grit and undeniable soul. 

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There are a lot of substantive and weighty criticisms to be levied at the RuPaul’s Drag Race franchise and its global juggernaut influence over drag culture. Then there are petty ones, like mine: the series sucks at showcasing scripted camp. Nothing hushes even the most raucous, shoulder-to-shoulder packed bar viewing parties quite like the competition’s sketch challenges, wherein befuddled queens work their way through some of the worst skits ever hastily written by producers against the din of Carson Kressley yelling nebulous directions like “Bigger!”  

A Fine Feathered Murder: A Miss Marbled Mystery
Through 7/31: Thu-Sat 7:30 PM, Sun 3 PM; Chopin Theatre, 1543 W. Division, handbagproductions.org, $32 ($27 advance, $50 VIP reserved seating with drink ticket)

Those bleak segments give me a special gratitude for queens like David Cerda, whose legendary high-heeled stage presence and rafters-rattling dulcet rasp have exemplified and built upon the comedic traditions of artists like Charles Ludlam and Charles Busch in Chicago now for decades. Hell in a Handbag Productions—and its recurring stable of players, including Ed Jones, Caitlin Jackson, and Danne W. Taylor—is synonymous with witty, brash, high-quality camp comedy that stylistically weaves Hays Code Hollywood and mild-mannered late-night debauchery via fabulous male and AFAB drag performers. Those strengths are present but a bit dimmed in this Agatha Christie-style whodunit now closing out the company’s 20th season in the upstairs space at the Chopin Theatre.   

Tracking the actual goings on in A Fine Feathered Murder is akin to mapping out the plot of HBO’s Westworld, but the gist is a parody of Miss Marple/Downton Abbey/anything where the phrase “Dowager Countess” gets said a lot, plus bird puns. Murder-solving author and spinster ​Jane Marbled (Jones) and her confidante, Vivian Birdsong (Jackson), attend the Fine Feathered Ball at a cartoony, quasi-anthropomorphized wealthy poultry estate, where a villianous industry mogul (Shane Roberie) meets his end at the hands of one of a dozen-plus motivated goofballs. The ornithological setup serves as not only a volley to spike 10,000 chicken jokes (no complaints), but also to craft some inspired and really fun and feathery costume designs by Bill Morey and Beth Laske-Miller. 

There are plenty of solid laughs in director Cheryl Snodgrass’s production, including some great, wryly delivered throwback-y joke-jokes, a sight gag involving a chicken GMO’d into an eldritch horror, and Tyler Anthony Smith’s entire turn as a foppish, berries-and-cream-dandy heir who is screwing up his entire family bloodline. In a background gag—maybe the funniest onstage bit I’ve seen this year—Smith dances a burlesque-ish routine in a skintight bird suit while each foregrounded character soliloquies their anger. It’s part pageant talent show, part Lucky Horseshoe Lounge routine, and fully, brilliantly deranged. 

But manic madcap is a sprint, not a marathon, and at two hours-plus, there’s not a ton to cling to story- or character-wise that justifies that running length. Apparent line issues during opening night also kept some key scenes from taking off. Feathered Murder almost presents itself as too much of a real mystery rather than the absurdist and silly parody that it is. And while no show is defined by its venue, (I’ve no doubt that part of Hell in a Handbag’ssurvival has been its openness to adapting to different spaces) this does feel more like a 70-minute experience in a lounge or bar than a multi-act one in a traditional proscenium. At twice that length, it somehow comes out half-cocked.

Read More

The four years that young adults spend in high school are widely recognized as some of the most formative (and cringeworthy) years of their lives. It’s a space where they come face to face with their insecurities on a daily basis. For many, this space is a common site for first-time struggles related to academics, identity, and sexuality. 

This is undoubtedly the case at the Charles R. Drew Prep School for the Boys, the fictional setting for the new staging of the Tony Award-nominated play Choir Boy by Steppenwolf ensemble member (and Oscar winner for best adapted screenplay for Moonlight) Tarell Alvin McCraney. The production, directed by Kent Gash, follows high school senior Pharus Young (Tyler Hardwick) and four of his peers. Together, they navigate life as young Black men attending a prestigious and painstakingly traditional boarding school. 

Choir Boy
Through 7/24: Tue-Fri 8 PM, Sat-Sun 3 and 8 PM; also Wed 7/13, 2:30 PM; Sun 7/17 and 7/24, 3 PM only; Steppenwolf Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted, 312-335-1650, steppenwolf.org, $20-$98

While the five boys are far from the best of friends, they all sing in the school choir. For Pharus in particular, choir is an essential artistic outlet, as he struggles to reconcile his queer identity with the stifling, outright homophobic environment of Drew Prep. 

McCraney’s script is sharp and poignant, allowing the cast to flourish in their respective roles as their characters bare their souls to the audience. While every Choir Boy actor shines fully in his own right, a standout performance comes from Sheldon D. Brown, who plays AJ, Pharus’s roommate. Thanks to Brown’s portrayal, AJ becomes a rock not just for Pharus, but for the entire audience as he demonstrates the invaluable nature of empathy and humor. 

McCraney’s words are only amplified by the breathtaking inclusion of a cappella gospel hymns that pay homage to historically Black traditions and struggles. Additional memorable aspects of the production include dynamic step-inspired choreography by Byron Easley and innovative set design from Arnel Sancianco. 

For far too long, many coming-of-age stories have done a poor job of centering the experiences of young Black men, especially as it relates to queerness. This is not the case for Choir Boy. McCraney’s work is a refreshing and bold take on a classic tale with grit and undeniable soul. 

Read More

The grounds are defined by meandering turns of grass and dirt, a rainfall of lightbulbs, a shining blue curve that sometimes picks up projections and reflections of what might be ghosts or clouds, and a dotted line made of glass bottles of water. Amid these clear and reflective surfaces, natural elements and their simulations curbed and contained, stands Madeline Fielding Sayet, Acokayis. Named for Fidelia Fielding/Flying Bird/Jeets Bodernasha, the last fluent speaker of the Mohegan language, and renamed Acokayis, “blackbird,” Sayet has been tasked from every saying of her name to contemplate this language and its loss. 

Where We Belong
Through 7/24: Wed-Thu 7:30 PM, Fri 8 PM, Sat 2 and 8 PM, Sun 2 PM; also Sun 7/3, 7:30 PM, Tue 7/12, 7:30 PM, and Thu 7/21, 2 PM; touch tour and audio-described performance Sun 7/7, 2 PM (touch tour at 12:30 PM); Spanish subtitles Fri 7/15, 8 PM; ASL interpretation Sat 7/23, 2 PM; open captions Sun 7/24, 2 PM; Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn, 312-443-3800, goodmantheatre.org, $15-$45

Where We Belong, written and performed by Sayet, directed by Mei Ann Teo, with production design by Hao Bai, presents Sayet as Sayet, a descendant of Uncas, “known historically (to the colonizers) as ‘friend of the English,’” who enabled the survival of the Mohegans by allying with the invading enemies in an effort to make peace. 

Sayet walks a similar line in her story, in which she begins as a PhD student studying Shakespeare in England. She travels back in time to her adolescent discovery of escape and belonging in the world of the Bard, when “to be Native in CT, is basically to be told every day that you don’t exist, and decide whether or not today’s the day it’s worth fighting about.” (“Sooooo, you think you’re a white person now?” says her mother before sending her to confront her teachers with a history it pains all parties to remember.) And yet, to forget is the greatest pain: to learn your own language from a dictionary and never to speak it natively; to find your ancestors jumbled in a crude catalog of the British Museum’s collection of 12,000 human remains (not counting hair); to be represented as an artifact, a curiosity, a mocking stereotype in redface, or not at all; to stand on the border of your own land and wonder if the law will allow you to enter. All these are confronted with humor and sadness in Sayet’s story.

Sayet speaks throughout with urgency, rapt with a need to recite the words that otherwise may be lost and keep speaking a language that she says may make her a madwoman to us, just as Flying Bird continued to speak her language though there were no longer any living listeners. The lights stay on in the house throughout the performance, and though we listeners sit beneath the stage, she addresses the air above us—perhaps in defiance of the unnatural border of the stage and what it creates of the human before us making an art of her own story.“My career began—because I created a show—that asked: What would happen if Caliban could get his language back?” she says. “Would anyone have cared about those Mohegan words—if they didn’t come from Caliban?”

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Walk into an NBA front office in 2022, and you won’t have to go far before you spot a treatise on management theory resting on a bookshelf. Concepts like organizational culture and asset management have taken hold. League executives devote a lot of thought into forming an identity for their basketball operations shops.

The NBA might still be an exceptional business in which winners and losers are decided on a literal playing field, but it has never been more like other multibillion-dollar enterprises. Squint hard enough, and the cubicle farm in that NBA front office could just as easily be in Silicon Valley, if you got rid of the thundersticks and bobbleheads resting on the desks.

The NBA’s 30 front offices are every bit as stylistically diverse as the teams on the court. Some lead execs like to run set plays in a highly structured offense, while others prefer to read and react.

The Oklahoma City Thunder‘s front office will pore over small details that would never enter the consciousness of the Boston Celtics, who think in terms of decades. The Los Angeles Lakers cherish tradition, whereas the Phoenix Suns are explicit in their distrust of it. Decisions big and small are made at the very top of the Miami Heat‘s organizational hierarchy, but in Golden State, consensus is built in a more collaborative process (though owner Joe Lacob is still the boss).

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Most fans, at one time or another, imagine how they’d perform the job of general manager of their favorite team. That exercise usually begins and ends with whom they would’ve drafted in the first round last week, or which deal they’d execute in ESPN’s Trade Machine.

But the high-profile transactions that dominate the chatter are just a small slice of the portfolio. The job isn’t swashbuckler or dealmaker — it’s basketball CEO. Anyone interested in the job must be able to answer the following questions: What kind of people do you value in an organization? Apart from player salaries, where do you want to spend your finite budget? How much disagreement can you honestly tolerate? What’s the best way to manage an unhappy superstar or temperamental owner? How do you assess risk? When the true, make-or-break-the-franchise decisions are on the line, how do you gather the information to make the call? Or is information overrated when you trust your gut instincts?

That’s where you come in! While you’re waiting — or doomscrolling — for the next big signing or trade to drop, take our quiz. We’ve done the work for you, canvassing the league to come up with six teams that possess distinct managerial styles and principles: the Los Angeles Lakers, Miami Heat, Boston Celtics, Oklahoma City Thunder, Phoenix Suns and Golden State Warriors.

So which front office should you run? Take our quiz to find out.

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The NBA offseason is in full swing. With trades being finalized and rumors going around, it’s safe to say that every team has something to look forward too. The Chicago Bulls have already been linked to multiple names in free agency with Mo Bamba being the most recent.

Bamba, a first-round pick in 2018, averaged 10.6 points, 8.1 rebounds, and 1.7 blocks per game last season with the Orlando Magic. Bamba put up these numbers while only playing 25 minutes a game.

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Everyone is going to have an opinion on the new coaching situation for the Chicago Blackhawks with Luke Richardson named as the guy. He seems to have a resume worthy of getting an NHL opportunity with a team in the shoes that the Blackhawks find themselves in.

Richardson is not expected to come in this year and win them the Stanley Cup. However, as a rebuilding team, he is expected to come in and help them groom some young talent into good NHL players.

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