Displaying items by tag: Eric Slater

Spaceman, presented by [producingbody], touches down at The Edge Off-Broadway with a quiet, unnerving force, pulling audiences into the fragile headspace of an astronaut drifting far from home and even farther from certainty. Under Eric Slater’s beautifully calibrated direction, playwright Leegrid Stevens’ one‑woman odyssey becomes less a sci‑fi spectacle than a psychological excavation, using isolation, sound, and the illusion of the vastness of space to illuminate the even vaster, far more treacherous terrain of the human mind. What unfolds is intimate, disorienting, and strangely beautiful - a mission that feels as internal as it is interstellar.

Commander Molly Jennis, played with raw precision by Ashley Neal, anchors the entire piece, and Stevens places her in a cockpit that feels less like a command center and more like a sealed chamber where every thought ricochets back at her. Seven months from Earth and en route to Mars on a mission meant to help establish the first human colony, Molly exists in a liminal space where even the simplest exchange with Houston (a.k.a. Rob, voiced by Slater) arrives with a ten‑minute delay. That communication gap becomes its own form of psychological erosion - a constant reminder of how far she’s drifted from help, from home, and from anything resembling real‑time human connection.

But Molly’s mission is no longer just scientific. It’s personal. In this adaptation, the script’s original husband Harry is affectingly reimagined as Ari, Molly’s wife - also an astronaut - who died in a catastrophic space mishap, a loss that shattered her sense of purpose and left her clinging to a belief that borders on spiritual desperation. Convinced that Mars is the gateway to the afterlife, she pushes forward not only to complete her assignment but in the hope of finding Ari waiting for her on the other side of the red planet’s dust and silence. That longing becomes the engine of the play, fueling her resolve even as it accelerates her unraveling.

Life aboard the ship only intensifies that disintegration. Molly faces a barrage of indignities and challenges that chip away at her humanity: the crushing loneliness of months without touch or immediacy; the numbing boredom of endless routines; the hygiene compromises of sponge baths and wipes in place of a shower; and the messy, often humiliating realities of zero‑gravity bathroom logistics that turn even basic bodily functions into small disasters. These details aren’t played for cheap laughs - they’re reminders of how fragile the body becomes when stripped of comfort, privacy, and gravity itself. Each inconvenience compounds her grief, her remoteness, and her growing conviction that the only meaningful destination left is the one where Ari might be found.

Neal channels all of this with remarkable control. Her Molly is a woman split between duty and delusion, the clipped professionalism of a trained astronaut slowly fraying into paranoia, longing, and hallucinatory hope. Neal’s performance is built on micro‑shifts - the tightening of her jaw, the flicker of yearning behind her eyes, the way her voice strains to maintain authority even as her internal compass spins. She makes Molly’s belief in Ari’s presence feel both irrational and heartbreakingly human.

The plot circles her in increasingly suffocating loops, blurring memory, mission, and metaphysical longing until the audience is never quite sure what’s real and what’s the product of a psyche pushed past its limits. Yet even within that pressure, the play finds brief, unexpected flickers of levity - small human moments that remind us Molly is still fighting to stay tethered to herself. It’s a performance - and a character - shaped as much by silence, distance, bodily strain, and cosmic grief as by the script itself.

Ashley Neal in SPACEMAN from [producingbody] now playing through June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway.

The production design at The Edge Off‑Broadway becomes an essential partner in Molly’s unspooling, transforming the cozy 50‑or‑so‑seat venue into an airtight capsule that pulls the audience directly into her orbit. A lone captain’s chair sits at the center of the cockpit, surrounded by glowing computer screens that flicker with data like a heartbeat she’s trying desperately to trust. Her only living friend is a small, responsive plant that tilts and bends as though it’s trying to understand her, a fragile tether to something organic in the endless dark. But she also has Jen (Sadieh Rifai) - the ship’s AI voice whose constant presence fills the silence with a companionable, sometimes unsettling intimacy. Throughout the play, the low, constant hum of the rocket engine underscores every moment, a sonic reminder of the machine that keeps her alive even as it isolates her. Lighting is used with surgical precision: tight, concentrated beams that lock onto Molly and amplify her intensity, then suddenly widen into sweeping celestial washes that pull the audience into the vast, indifferent expanse outside her ship. When a meteor strikes the hull, the sound design erupts with visceral force, rattling the space and Molly’s nerves in equal measure. And in one of the production’s most ingenious touches, Allyce Torres - dressed entirely in black and nearly invisible against the cockpit’s shadows - moves objects with ghostlike stealth to create the uncanny illusion of zero gravity. That she also portrays Ari adds an extra layer of resonance, as if her presence is haunting the space even when Molly can’t see her. Every element works in concert to heighten the story’s tension and fragility, making the production not just a backdrop but a powerful, immersive engine driving the narrative forward.

Amy Carpenter, who helps shepherd the production as a producer, also understudies Molly Jennis - a dual role that underscores her investment in the piece’s dramatic and technical precision.

The production’s technical artistry is anchored by a trio of designers whose work deepens the play’s immersive pull. Taylor Dalton (executive producer/set design/costume design), Angela Joy Baldasare (sound designer), and Garrett Bell (lighting designer) craft an environment that feels both meticulously engineered and emotionally charged, each element reinforcing the story’s tautness, precariousness, and sense of cosmic seclusion.

Ashley Neal in SPACEMAN from [producingbody] now playing through June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway.

Even before the lights go down, Spaceman begins tightening its grip. Audience members are required to seal their phones in Yondr pouches - those soft, magnetic lock bags used at concerts and comedy shows - and the effect is immediate. In such an intimate venue, the simple act of surrendering your device creates a subtle but unmistakable shift: the outside world goes quiet, your digital bind snaps, and a faint echo of Molly’s own isolation settles in. It’s a small, clever pre‑show ritual that primes the audience for the loneliness, disconnection, and suspended‑in‑the‑void feeling that defines her journey. By the time you take your seat, you’re already living in a version of her world - cut off, contained, and waiting for contact that won’t come quickly.

Spaceman is a singular, deeply immersive theatrical experience, the kind that sneaks up on you and refuses to let go. I felt myself drawn in further with each passing minute, the tension tightening and the stakes rising as Molly’s journey pushed deeper into the void. What lingered with me was the sensation of being slowly enveloped - not by spectacle, but by atmosphere. The production creates a kind of emotional gravity, a pull that grows stronger the longer you sit with Molly’s loneliness, her determination, her fraying edges. By the time she reaches the farthest point from Earth, I realized I had traveled with her, carrying the same weight, the same longing, the same fragile hope that something - anything - might answer back.

At just 100 minutes with no intermission - and no re‑entry if you need to leave the theatre - Spaceman demands and rewards full immersion. It’s a tightly calibrated, deeply human piece of sci‑fi storytelling that lingers long after the final blackout, and it comes recommended. Spaceman runs May 19 - June 13 at The Edge Off-Broadway, with tickets priced $15-45. Tickets and additional information are available at www.producingbody.com.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Theatre at the Center brings back ‘Over the Tavern’ fourteen years after the 1950’s comedy brought audiences to their feet. Finely directed by Ericka Mac, ‘Over the Tavern’ is set in 1959 and is a comedy centered around the Pazinski family. Devout Catholics, young Rudy (Logan Baffico) is a precocious twelve-year-old who spends much time in detention where he repeatedly challenges the teachings of Sister Clarissa (Janet Ulrich Brooks). Rudy is not trying to be confrontational or funny, he is genuine when asking why he shouldn’t shop around for a more fun religion. Of course, Sister Clarissa and her ruler doesn’t see it that way and finds Rudy to be a troublesome kid with attitude. 

We often get to experience Rudy under the Sister’s guidance and the banter between the two is quite riveting, and humorous, at times, though it is in the home amongst his family that we really get an inside look at Rudy. Rudy’s father, Chet (Eric Slater), is tough, no-nonsense and, though he can show his temper on occasions, can also be warm and loving. He runs the bar below the family’s upstairs apartment and sometimes forgets to pick up dinner from the nearby Italian restaurant, much to the irritation of his patient and sensible wife Ellen (Corey Goodrich). Eddie (Seth Steinberg) is the older brother and is exactly that, the conventional older brother. He may tease his younger siblings but will also protect them without a second thought. Isabelle Roberts plays Annie, the middle child. 

The play does a great job of creating a late 1950’s setting and gives us a stereotypical Catholic family of that time period – the stay at home mother, the breadwinning, hardworking, middle-class father and their three children who find safety with their mom while distant and fearful of their dad. The play also hits home for many of us that attended Christian or Catholic schools when it was okay, and even expected, for faculty to physical punish heir students. 

Tom Dudzick’s semi-autobiographical play not only has a strong script, but Theatre at the Center gives this production some extra oomph by putting forth an all-around excellent cast. 

Janet Ulrich Brooks is nothing short of sensational as hard-nosed Sister Clarissa and is enjoyable to watch in each of her scenes. Logan Baffico makes a fine impression in his TATC debut as Rudy as does Eric Slater as Chet. Both steals scenes at moments and are thoroughly engaging. Most who follow this terrific theatre in Musnster, Indiana are already aware of Corey Goodrich’s talents, and she delivers once again in this, her 14th Theatre of the Center production. It is always a pleasure watching such talent grace the stage.

Loaded with laughs and touching moments and a few life lessons, ‘Over the Tavern’ is just as fresh and relevant today as it always has been. Kudos to such a gifted cast, the show’s flawless direction and a set that takes us back to middle-America 1959.

Recommended.

‘Over the Tavern’ is being performed at Theatre at the Center through August 11th. For more information, visit www.TheatreAtTheCenter.com.

Some people can only see what's right in front of them. Abe Koogler explores this theme in his play "Kill Floor" making its Midwestern debut at American Theater Company. The slaughterhouse is a setting once familiarized by Upton Sinclair in his novel "The Jungle." Koogler is updating this disturbing classic for our modern era. While we'd like to think we've evolved since 1906, perhaps we haven't. Maybe because we can't see the inside of a slaughterhouse, we don't think about how horrible factory farming really is. 

"Kill Floor" tells the story of Andy (Audrey Francis) who has been recently released from prison. Rick (Eric Slater) is a foreman at the slaughterhouse and gives Andy a job after taking pity on her. A flirtation develops despite that Eric is married, and it's suggested that Andy won't be promoted off the kill floor unless she sleeps with him. B, or Brendan (Sol Patches) is Andy's fifteen year old son who lives with foster parents. B struggles with a closeted homosexual crush, and the reality that most people ignore what makes them uncomfortable. B is also a vegan, making even it harder for Andy to reconnect with him. 

Under the direction of Jonathan Berry, this ensemble cast is killing it. Audrey Francis delivers a heartbreaking performance as a woman trying to reclaim her life. She falters naturally between assertiveness and crushing trauma. There's an emotional honesty in her performance that makes for a rare theater experience. Eric Slater and Sol Patches make for an excellent supporting cast. 

Koogler's play makes some intriguing points without browbeating the audience with his message. Particularly the comparison between mass incarceration and meat processing. In a way, we're all like the cattle - blindly following one another through winding tunnels, unsure of what's ahead. There's a certain degree of understanding he expects from his viewers. The script strays away from melodrama, leaving some stories untold and ideas unfinished. What's more human than that? 

Through May 1st at American Theater Company. 1909 W Byron Street. 773-409-4125