Review: Rediscover “Steel Magnolias” at Drury Lane Theatre

2022-06-18 21:09:58 By : Mr. Lianyong Wang

Once upon a time, I reviewed “Steel Magnolias” so often, I felt like I deserved my own chair in Truvy’s Chinquapin Parish salon. Now this Robert Harling story truly feels like a “blast from the past,” as the ordinary Louisiana women in the play like to say, the kind of work nobody would write today and few still would produce. Beyond, at least, the Drury Lane Theatre.

You’ve got a sympathetic portrait of a rural Southern town, a comedy entirely populated by female characters and yet gently penned by a man, a play sympathetic to rural Christians and working-class folks, a play focused on women of maturity, a play that makes no mention whatsoever of any political or contentious issues and makes no apology whatsoever for its own sentimentality. “Steel Magnolias” is like the Dolly Parton of the American theater, except Dolly has more courage to speak to everyone than theater producers.

But, you know, “Steel Magnolias” well understood some timeless truths. Older women dominate theater audiences. Plays in which characters struggle not with each other but with the mortality of one of their number are able to unify audiences of all races, creeds and ages. And communities under stress make for great shows because the audience becomes part of their fight. Just consider “Fiddler on the Roof.”

Cordelia Dewdney, Lillian Castillo, Janet Ulrich Brooks and Amy J Carle in "Steel Magnolias" at Drury Lane Theatre in Oakbrook Terrace. (Brett Beiner / HANDOUT)

Plus Harling knew how to construct comedy. Take for example this delicious little bit from matriarch Trudy, salon owner, hair washer and chief confessor to all who walk through her doors with their problems. She’s been offered a pair of shoes.

“I wear a size 6 but 7 feels so good I wear a size 8.”

The delightful Elizabeth Ledo, who sports a bespoke beehive hairdo she might borrow for parties, delivers that crawfish boil of comedy with pitch-perfect timing, feeling the laughs roll through the theater as she lovingly goes.

If you’ve never seen the movie (speaking of Parton), know that this comedy is set entirely in a beauty shop (Lillian Castillo plays Annelle, Truvy’s bumbling, neophyte assistant) and probes the feisty, truth-telling, vulnerable women who find community there along with escape from their irritating menfolk. Events center on the pending marriage and then difficult pregnancy of Shelby (Cordelia Dewdney), daughter of M’Lynn (Amy J. Carle), friend of caustic Ouiser (Janet Ulrich Brooks) and Clairee (Susie McMonagle). The women laugh, cry, support each other and feel surrounded by the kinds of friends we all wish we had, despite our mutual imperfections.

Cordelia Dewdney, Elizabeth Ledo, Susie McMonagle, Janet Ulrich Brooks, Lillian Castillo, Amy J. Carle in "Steel Magnolias" at Drury Lane Theatre in Oakbrook Terrace. (Brett Beiner / HANDOUT)

Director Johanna McKenzie Miller doesn’t mess with what works and she has an all-star cast at her summer disposal, all brimming with experience and comedic aplomb. With the exception of a couple of lulls that need more pace, I laughed my socks off all night and even shed a requisite tear or two, which seemed to appear even against my will.

The best aspect of this warmhearted, affectionate production, which features a set by Angela Weber Miller that looks more like a home than a salon (smart idea), is that not one of these fine Chicago performers condescends to their characters nor looks down upon their lives. That absence of camp and stereotype make this a superior “Steel Magnolias” compared to some I recall, but here you also have Carle, wrestling with M’Lynn’s emotions as if she were playing King Lear.

After all, it’s just a matter of degree.

You’ve likely had a good, long break from this play (and the film, too). You may well find it a happy little rediscovery this summer.

Chris Jones is a Tribune critic.

Where: Drury Lane Theatre, 100 Drury Lane in Oakbrook Terrace

Tickets: $64-$79 at 630-530-0111 or www.drurylanetheatre.com

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