CheekyChicago

My childhood best friend and I were reunited last night at a small café. The last time I saw her I was about seven, perched in the balcony of a Broadway house, soaking up her every move and sound from afar. And then she disappeared, preserved only on my parents’ double vinyl and, eventually, my iPod. OK, yes, she did call that one time in the mid 90’s, but she seemed a shell of her former self – like an 80’s pop star trying to imitate Patti LuPone. It didn’t count. It seemed my cherished Evita would remain years and yards away, just a squishable little dot on a stage I once saw.

Then last night, ten singers blew the roof off the No Exit Café. From their first choral outburst in “Requiem Evita”, it was clear that Evita is back, up close and personal, in Theo Ubique Theater Company’s current production.

Why not Evita in a small cafe? It’s a sexy, late-70’s mix of class war, politics, syncopated beats and minor keys. And Che Guevara! His t-shirts are already for sale across the street at the Heartland. It works.

So there we were, chatting with the strangers at our communal tables. In the true spirit of café theater, much of the cast takes turns as front-of-house staff (Peron served me dinner) with none of that creepy “in character” shtick. And then they take the stage, a few feet away.

Under Fred Anzevino’s direction, complex traffic patterns and prop business flow seamlessly, and no nook or cranny goes unused – there are some especially funny bar bits. Importantly, the production never tries to pretend it’s anything but a show in a café. Everyone can just chill out and enjoy the tunes.

In an otherwise rustic production, I did wish for a real piano and some strings instead of the electric keyboard sound. But the fabulous musicians and vocalists more than make due.

As Evita, the spunky Maggie Portman’s belting voice nails numbers like “What’s New Buenos Aires?” Jeremy Trager’s stellar, multi-layered Peron remains cool as a cat through the delicious musical chairs game in “Art of The Possible”; but when he wins his seat, he reveals not bravado but panic.

Chris Damanio’s Che, our trusty narrator, runs the show with a balance of outrage and humor. And the multi-tasking ensemble changes characters on a dime. Michael Wheelwright delivers both the machismo of Magadli and the sass of Eva’s dresser.

Then there’s Jenny Lamb as the Mistress, Peron’s dumped lover, who sings “Another Suitcase in Another Hall.” I’ve always wondered why the play stops for a ballad by a character who never returns. But in watching Lamb’s raw, teary-eyed portrayal, I realized we’re getting a harsh look at the social-climbing Eva Duarte’s worst nightmare. The Mistress is Eva’s bad karma – and that certainly returns. Thankfully, so has Evita.