The notion of audiences at a play sitting still and attending to every minute of the onstage agenda is a relatively new practice, as accounts of theatrical performance in, say, Cyrano de Bergerac, or The Knight of the Burning Pestleamply illustrate. Nobody is suggesting a return to strolling vendors or shell-gamers, but the entertainment genre dubbed "interactive theater" can be said to trace its origins to this venerable tradition.
This latest venture into interactive amusement is located in a theater cobbled out of an industrial building where the acoustics, even boosted by amplification, tend to blur over distance, so here's the premise: When Chicago's archbishop ordered St. Dominic's predominantly Italian congregation and St. Patrick's predominantly Irish community to merge into a single parish or be absorbed into that of St. Stanislaus(!), the plan was for both to occupy the latter's larger, newer facility.
A misunderstanding on the part of the demolition crew resulted in the wrong house of worship being razed, precipitating a charity event in a German beer hall to raise money for a new church. The projected activities encompass a lasagna dinner, singing and dancing contests and bingo—the only gambling-connected sport permitted the pious.
The interaction begins with our welcome by parish personnel as the house polka band plays Blondie's "Heart of Glass" in 2/4 time. We are then invited to participate in the rites associated with the classical game-of-chance—arcane specialty rounds, raucous chants, cryptic proclamations by the victors and orchestrated vilification by the defeated.
Should the crowd appear momentarily fatigued, it may be called to its feet for novelty dance medleys and sing-alongs, or assigned individual tasks like the preprandial selection of one occupant at each table to act as server for the remaining seven—an inspired stratagem speeding up distribution of the Giordano's-prepared repast. (If you're lucky, your dining companions will include an experienced caterer, as ours did.)
Accomplishing all this in a swift two-and-a-half hours without descending into chaos requires the 14-member cast to keep the physical and verbal pace at high velocity, while simultaneously maintaining control of 200 "parishioners" doing the macarena or joining in an accordion-led rendition of "Happy"—duties they execute with unwavering stamina and professional panache. Whether its wholesome humor appeals to urban sensibilities remains to be seen, but the increased tourist-trade opportunities arising from the addition to the Belmont Theater District's array of intimate auditoriums of a party-sized one-stop venue cannot be overlooked.
