As far as I can tell, Tracy Letts has two basic points to make in his new dark comedy The Minutes, getting its world premiere now in a compellingly strange production at Steppenwolf Theatre. One of them is fairly obvious, almost banal given the current cultural moment. The other not so much.
The Minutes unfolds over the course of a single meeting of the Big Cherry city council on a portentously stormy night. Letts, director Anna D. Shapiro, and their ensemble of strong veteran actors (from Kevin Anderson, who’s ending what he calls an “acting fast” here, to the constantly working, endlessly admirable Francis Guinan) do a great job of teasing out the ethos of this particular civic ritual. The pregavel pleasantries at the refreshment cart, the public personas, personal agendas, parliamentary pomposities, thin skins, and opaque grudges are all hilariously true to life. Jeff Still’s Mr. Assalone and William Petersen‘s Mayor Superba constitute the nexus of power as the men who know why and how the levers of authority get thrown; Anderson’s Mr. Breeding is their hail-fellow, golf-playing jester. Danny McCarthy’s Hanratty is a man on a hobbyhorse, foolishly thinking he can get his accessibility proposal passed on the merits. James Vincent Meredith’s Blake has a hobbyhorse of his own: the Lincoln Smackdown, which is, oddly enough, exactly what it sounds like. As the longest-serving, least-informed council members, Guinan and Penny Slusher are constantly batting away proofs of their incompetence. And Brittany Burch’s city clerk is at once supremely efficient and deeply pissed off. Only Sally Murphy has no clear mishegoss as Councilwoman Matz—but she manufactures one, creating a ditzy fundamentalist.
Through 1/7: Thu-Fri 7:30 PM, Wed 2 and 7:30 PM, Sat 3 and 7:30 PM, Sun 3 PM, Tue 7:30 PM Steppenwolf Theatre 1650 N. Halsted 312-335-1650steppenwolf.org $50-$105
