#148. Every once in awhile, I run into someone I haven’t seen in years. Inside, I’m momentarily transfixed by their agedness. Outwardly, I try to compose a polite nicety. I say to them, ‘you look fabulous!‘ I think to myself, ‘you got old… really old!‘ I like to pretend I didn’t.... didn't age! I color my hair, flirt with twenty-somethings, and flub my way through pop references. But the truth is I’ve reached that tender age where you have to own it or look ridiculous trying to deny it.
Dead Writers Theatre Collective presents their inaugural production The Vortex. Florence is old, rich and married. She thinks she’s young, beautiful and single. Her illusion is supported with the cash to rent the adoration of young men. Her son use to be one of her biggest admirers, but something has changed. He has returned home newly engaged and slightly deranged. What’s mom going to do? Or does she even notice? The Vortex is sharply witty, exquisitely pretty and uncomfortably gritty.
Read the rest of my review at Chicago Theater Beat.
Filed under: Dead Writers Theatre Collective
Tags: Ben Muller, Betsy Pennington, Bob Douglas, Bonnie Hilton, Bradford Lund, Brenda Killanski, Catherine Dildilian, Charlie McGrath, Danny Pancrantz, Dead Writers Theatre Collective, Edward Matthew Walter, Elizabeth Wislar, Greenhouse Theater, Hillary Sigale, Jessica McCluskey, Jim Schneider, Joanna Riopelle, Kaelan STrouse, Kari Wakefield, Katy Walsh, Kris Kontour, Linda Bugielski, Matthew Bonaccorso, Noah Sullivan, Noel Coward, Peter Bosy, Peter Esposito, post, Rob Cramer, Skye Shrum, Teri Schnaubelt