David Mosedale

Catalyst creates outstanding ‘Streetcar’

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By Wendy Carson and John Lyle Belden

With all of the winter weather we are having, it is satisfying to have Catalyst Repertory bring us a steamy trip to 1950s New Orleans with its imaginative production of Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

The first clue to the uniqueness of the show is the inventive set design of Nick Kilgore. He has basically cut apart the walls and rooms of an apartment house to make them easily flow into each other without losing each location’s identity. The actors enter, exit, and perform within the full 360 degrees of set as well as multiple levels available to them. With the size of the stage, you might think this is incredibly cramped, but it never feels claustrophobic. In fact, the layout causes a rare intimacy to occur between the troupe and audience, seated “in the round,” which makes the whole a more enjoyable evening. A couple of pieces – a bedroom vanity, a nearby bar piano – even extend into the audience space naturally. The concessions bar for patrons at intermission is even part of the set, suggesting a piece of nearby Bourbon Street.

For those unfamiliar with the tale: Fading Southern belle Blanche DuBois (Sara Castillo Dandurand) turns up on the shabby doorstep of her younger sister, Stella (Anna Himes) and Stella’s husband Stanley Kowalski (Ian McCabe). Blanche lives in a world of delusion she consistently concocts to keep her from realizing that she is desperate, alone, old, and without any other place to go. After months of living with her disdain and lying, Stanley is determined to send her packing.

This description, of course, doesn’t do justice to the genius of Williams’ drama, and in the practiced hands of director Casey Ross – herself an artisan of plot and dialogue – narrative richness and tension as thick as Louisiana humidity imbues the play from start to finish.  

Dandurand transforms into Blanche, wearing her pride like a fading flower, masking dysfunction with flirtatious charm so well it fools everyone – except Stanley. For his part, McCabe ably puts on Kowalski’s working-man swagger. He is devoted to Stella, but has issues (to put it mildly), complete with a low-simmering rage fed by a lifetime of being called a Pollack, among other things. Perhaps the fact he has to present a public mask helps him detect Blanche’s. The two circle each other throughout, like a pampered cat and a mangy dog, claws out, fangs in their smiles. Himes is also wonderful as a Stella who sees the good in Stanley, is eagerly the yin to his yang, and tries to be at peace with the fact her debutante days may be gone forever.

Making a stunning dramatic debut is Brian DeHeer as Mitch Mitchell, Stanley’s bowling and poker buddy who knew him since their WWII service together. Feeling lonely as he tends to his ailing mother, Mitch starts falling for Blanche – it won’t be a soft landing. 

In excellent support are Audrey Stonerock and Matt Kraft as neighbors Eunice and Steve Hubbell, as well as Tom Alvarez as poker buddy Pablo, Mitchell Wray as a boy who comes around, and Viviana Quinones as a local flower-seller. Alvarez’s partner in Magic Thread Cabaret (a co-producer), Dustin Klein, tickles the ivories at the corner piano, with old tunes and his new compositions to underscore the action. At the club microphone is the exquisite voice of Courtney Wiggins. David Mosedale and Wendy Brown complete the cast, mainly in the final scene.

For either those new to “Streetcar,” or Williams fanatics looking for something fresh, we cannot recommend this production enough. There are adult themes and herbal cigarettes (though perhaps the first-ever Ross-directed play without an F-bomb), yet if you can take the heat, you won’t regret the experience of this scorching masterpiece.

Performances run Fridays through Sundays, through March 19 at the IndyFringe Basile Theatre, 719 E. St. Clair, Indianapolis. For tickets, go to IndyFringe.org.

This is ‘Happy’

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By John Lyle Belden

Decades before the popular “This is Fine” meme showed a cartoon dog smiling through a burning hellscape, famed Irish author and playwright Samuel Beckett penned the play, “Happy Days.” If pressed for a quick explanation of this unusual two-person show (completely unrelated to the 1970s TV sitcom), I would say it is as if the unfortunate but contented pooch had two acts to elaborate on how “fine” things are, and were.

Long considered by commenters an excellent example of Theatre of the Absurd, “Happy Days” is presented by Clerical Error Productions this weekend (through Feb. 26) at the District Theatre.

Clerical Error founder Kate Duffy is Winnie, just your typical Irish woman who is buried at least to her waist in a burning desert. A bell sounds to awaken her, and another will signal the end of the day. She awakens with a beaming smile and declaration that this is a happy day – as time passes she will, with optimism that borders on delusion, reiterate that the day is indeed happy. She has her routine. She has her black bag. She has her toothbrush. She has her hat, parasol, tonic, lipstick, Brownie the gun, and her music box. She has her song, but best not to sing it too soon.

She also has her husband. Just over the dirt mound is Willie, played with surly patience by David Mosedale. Where she is endlessly talkative, he is a man of few words, or sometimes none at all. Unable to stand, Willie makes his way in and out of his own tunnel. “What a curse, mobility,” Winnie chides him.

One gets a sense that for this couple, and perhaps the world in general, there is little future, so for our lady there is always the past, with frequent reflections on “the old style.” There is the recent memory of their last visitors, and a long-ago story of a girl and a doll.

Among actors, this play is held in the same esteem as Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” and for the same reason: with limited physical action, this becomes the supreme test of a thespian, to engage and hold an audience for two acts with just endless talking. Duffy seems to relish the challenge, and comes through with a performance that draws you in. Directed by Jon Lindley, she accepts and goes with the absurdities in such a way that you come to feel that no matter how odd things get, this is just the way they are. Then, when the next day dawns and things have shifted, you can’t help but feel for her, wish her to have the former weirdness we had grown accustomed to in the first act.  

While observing, it is only natural for us in the audience to try to make sense of it. Beckett’s cleverly vague composition gives room for endless interpretations and metaphors. Hints and clues abound, but resolution? We are left stuck, like Winnie. Perhaps it’s best to just find an answer we are happy with.

For fans of Mr. Beckett, Ms. Duffy, or the curious open to it, this is a fascinating experience. Wendy and I found it quite entertaining – though our tastes do run to the weird, like dogs in hats in ironic webcomics.

The District is at 627 Massachusetts Ave. in downtown Indy. For information and tickets, see ClericalErrorProductions.com or IndyDistrictTheatre.org.

Play based on Hank Williams’ final ‘tour’

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By John Lyle Belden

Playwright and retired journalist Garret Matthews incorporates aspects of people he has known and interviewed into his plays. In his latest, “Opening Hank,” he includes the story of someone more familiar to most of us.

On New Years Day 1953, country music legend Hank Williams Sr. rode his Cadillac into eternity. In a body weakened by a hard life that included alcohol and painkillers (mainly to deal with chronic back pain), his heart gave out on the way to a Jan. 1 concert in Ohio, discovered dead in the backseat in Oak Hill, West Virginia. This necessitated another ride, in a hearse from there back home to Montgomery, Alabama.

On that route, in Mathews’ play, is the town of Bluefield, where you can get gas, car repairs, and “a free Coky-Cola with a fill-up” at the West Main Esso. Willie T. McClanahan (Taylor Cox), a savant with car engines but largely seen as a kind but simple soul otherwise, barely notices the news on WHIS radio as he challenges himself at checkers, but his second-shift manager Steve Tatum (Zachariah Stonerock) has heard and is not taking it well. Williams’ music and songs inspired him to take up writing for the first time since his horrific experiences in World War II a decade earlier.

A nicely dressed gentleman, Hiram Ledbetter (David Mosedale, who also directs) enters what he declares to be the “gasoline emporium” not seeking fuel but rest, and offering a proposition. He pilots Williams’ transport, and while he finds a meal and a nap elsewhere in town, he says, he would leave the coffin at the service station for safekeeping and in exchange for a fee, Steve could then charge the townspeople to get their last look at the hillbilly music superstar.

Having a dread fear of the trappings of death, Willie is sent away, leaving Steve, who takes up the undertaker’s offer, but for his own reasons.

While fictional, this story contains characters, events and anecdotes based on actual stories Mathews reported, and we get an excellent refresher on Hank Williams’ life, struggles and music, with several songs featured before and during the play. There is much heart and humor, with moments of dire drama. We get a feel for the brotherly relationship between Willie and Steve long before we learn their connection, as well as how they are essential to each other’s wellbeing. Cox and Stonerock have a natural chemistry, borne of talent as well as working together before. Mosedale cuts an interesting character himself, with hints of the Devil-in-a-suit archetype but with Southern charm and a grudging bit of good conscience. Ol’ Hank is a bit stiff in that box, but does sound good on the old radio.

In a post-show talk, Mathews and the cast give hearty thanks to stage manager Aaron Henze for his contributions, so we will as well.

Remaining performances are today and tomorrow (Nov. 19-20) as I post this, at the Cat, 254 Veterans Way in downtown Carmel. Get info and tickets at thecat.biz.

Bard Fest: Scott edit does ‘Measure for Measure’ justice

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By John Lyle Belden

“Measure for Measure” is classified by Shakespeare scholars as one of the Bard’s “problem plays,” fitting not quite into the comedies (though using many of the familiar devices) yet not quite a tragedy, as it doesn’t end with someone dying on stage. In adapting the drama for Bard Fest, director Paige Scott lets us know the true “problem” is injustice and misogyny.

In a mythically modern Venice, the Duke (David Mosedale) notes that many laws, especially dealing with vices, have gone unenforced for years. In a bizarre experiment, he charges pious Angelo (Zachariah Stonerock) with taking charge of the Duchy and its ordinances while away on a journey. However, he doubles back, and disguised as a priest, observes how justice is meted out. 

Things get serious quickly, as Claudio (Bradford Riley) is arrested for fornication with now-pregnant Juliette (Brittany Magee) and Angelo coldly sentences the man to death. But when the condemned man’s sister, novice nun Isabella (Morgan Morton) goes to plead for his life, Angelo agrees to do so only in exchange for the woman’s virginity. Appalled, but desperate, Isabella finds herself torn between bad options. Fortunately, a kindly priest offers a solution.

We also have a sense of Angelo’s character in the way he treats his loyal assistant Escalus (Miranda Nehrig), who takes her bruises against the glass ceiling with grin-and-bear-it frustration. 

Magee also plays sex-worker Mistress Overdone, as well as Angelo’s nearly-forgotten fiance Marianna. Further good performances from Aaron Henze as Lucio – a good friend to Claudio, but a flair for exaggeration is his undoing – and Daryl Hollonquest Jr. as Pompey, a “bawd” barely a step ahead of dogged constable Elbow (Tracy Herring).

Stonerock plays his calculating villany chillingly straight, his contemporary suit and tie reminding us that not much has changed in the last 400 years with men in charge. Morton bristles as a woman in a conflict she should never have to endure, finding her Churchly authority useless, cheapened to a powerful man’s fetish. 

There is humor and an imperfect happy ending, but Scott’s skillful edit leaves us appropriately unsettled, focused on three women bravely looking for their fair “measure.” 

This stunning, conversation-starting production has performances Friday through Sunday, Oct. 29-31, at IndyFringe Basile Theatre, 719 E. St. Clair, Indianapolis. Info and tickets at indybardfest.com.

Don’t ‘fiddle’ and miss this one

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By John Lyle Belden

“Seneca and the Soul of Nero” is a new play by Southbank Theatre Company artistic director Marcia Eppich-Harris, but stands well in style and content with other great historical tragedies. I sense it could have been written at any time between now and the 900s, when the myth that Emperor Nero “fiddled while Rome burned” became popular. 

The premiere Southbank production of the play, at the IndyFringe Basile stage through Oct. 2, resembles a Bardfest event in its excellent handling by director Doug Powers and a cast that includes David Mosedale as Stoic philosopher Seneca and Evren Wilder Elliott as teenage “Princeps” Nero. 

Despite the abundance of written material in the First Century, much of it surviving to today, the true history of Nero is anything but clear, with contemporary accounts often written by those who didn’t like the young tyrant and centuries passing to add myth and legend to his story. The fiddle didn’t even exist at the time, but it was possible to draw a bow across a lyre, an instrument that Nero did enjoy playing — and he embraced music and theatre at a time when its practitioners were in lower regard than prostitutes (never mind an alleged god-king). Just as we don’t mind the words that Shakespeare put into the ancients’ mouths, Eppich-Harris is perfectly entitled to her well-researched dramatic license, especially as she captured the spirit of the era and its abundant lessons for today’s social and political climate. 

Seneca was Nero’s tutor when he ascended to the throne, and the boy, feeling immediately in over his head, smartly kept the philosopher on as principal advisor and speechwriter, as well as trusted military leader Afranius Burrus (David Molloy) to head his guard. Also on the scene were his ever-hovering mother Agrippina (Rachel Snyder), naive half-brother Britannicus (Brant Hughes), and dutiful but suspicious stepsister/wife Octavia (Bra’Jae’ Allen) whom he would ignore in favor of the beautiful and ambitious Sabina (Trick Blanchfield). At Seneca’s side were faithful wife Pompeia Paulina (Jenni White) and his nephew, the famous poet Lucan (Noah Winston).

Elliott brilliantly brings us along on the emperor’s journey, as he grows older and more at ease with power, but no more mature. At first troubled by signing off on the deaths of the justly condemned, Nero comes to find a quick murder is an easy solution to an immediate problem — but then more issues pop up in its place. Each death takes a little more of his soul, power-madness devolving to madness, reducing him until nearly no one is left, and the knife is in his hand.

Mosedale stands ever solid, defending his young charge as long as he can while defending himself against the hypocrisy of living large yet espousing Stoic principles. In the end, he must choose between Nero and Rome. White’s Pompeia leads the greater example, steadfast to her husband but never wavering on their moral stand. 

Snyder embodies the complex Agrippina without slipping into villainous caricature, perhaps even engendering some sympathy as the evil she sows grows out of her control. Molloy exemplifies the “good soldier” completely, bearing his orders until his sense of justice can do no more.

An exceptional look at history and the dynamics and hazards of unfettered power, “Seneca and the Soul of Nero” is worthy to stand among the Classics. We encourage all who can to see it, and to those reading this in the future to consider bringing to your own stages.

Find information at southbanktheatre.org and tickets at indyfringe.org. Note that COVID-19 vaccination and masking are required of all audience members. Home viewing via “on-demand” streaming available Oct. 15-Nov. 14 (see Southbank site for details).

Another go-round with the ‘Girls’ in LAFF parody

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By John Lyle Belden

Here we go again! The gang at Loud and Fast Funny Shows present “The Golden Girls: The Lost Episodes, Vol. 2,” Friday and Saturday nights through March 21 at the District Theatre.

It’s been nearly a year since LAFF put on the dresses and thanked us for being their friends. Most of the “girls” return: Dave Ruark as Dorothy, Pat Mullen as Blanche, and Jim Banta as Rose, joined by Frankie Bolda as Sophie. 

As with last year’s show, this is a parody originally by David Cerda and David Lipschutz of Hell in a Handbag Productions of Chicago, complete with mature language and immature behavior. And, to get us in the mood, we’re again treated to old sitcom themes and commercials while we wait for the show to begin. 

For an hour, we are treated to two quick episodes with a Golden Girls trivia game show in between, hosted by Christian Condra, complete with audience participation and prizes.

Condra also returns as sexy Jazzercise Jeff — short-shorts and all — and takes a turn as Rose’s blind sister. Joining the cast in multiple roles are Mark Cashwell (including as Dorothy’s date to the Sadie Hawkins Dance), Kayla Lee (playing Sophie’s rival), Tyler Lyons (roles include Dorothy’s ex-husband) and David Mosedale, whose major part is Jessica Fletcher in a “Murder, She Wrote” crossover.

This heartfelt jab at the old TV hits is hilarious as usual, though there seems to be even more sexual innuendo this time around, so it’s best for those old enough to remember the source material. 

Each night has two performances, 7:30 and 9 p.m., at the District, 627 Massachusetts Ave. in downtown Indianapolis. Get info and tickets at http://www.indyfringe.org.

A king’s journey, from fun with Falstaff to hostilities with Hotspur

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This Show is part of Bard Fest, central Indiana’s annual Shakespeare festival. Info and tickets at www.indybardfest.com.

By John Lyle Belden

While I can heartily recommend any of this year’s Bard Fest shows, the one that has the most elements of Shakespeare’s storytelling is the oft-overlooked “Henry IV, Part 1,” presented by First Folio and directed by Glenn L. Dobbs. It combines comedy, drama, adventure, and a bit of actual British history in a rather entertaining package.

It is a story of the misspent youth of “Bonny Prince Hal” (Matthew Walls), the man who would eventually become the legendary King Henry V, as well as the struggle by his father, Henry IV (Abdul Hakim-Shabazz), to maintain a united kingdom.

Hal has his fun with best friend Ned Poins (John Mortell) as they jest with famed drunkard Sir John Falstaff (Matthew Socey) and his minions, cowardly Bardolf (Jonathen Scoble) and berserker Peto (Missy Rump). From these scenes we get a lot of laughs, and are treated to some of the Bard’s more colorfully-written insults.

Meanwhile, the King has to deal with a plot led by Henry Percy (Matt Anderson), known as Hotspur for his fiery temper, aided by relatives Worcester (Sara Castillo Dandurand) and Mortimer (Eric Mannweiler), the Scottish Earl of Douglas (Andy Burnett), and Welsh rebel Glendower (David Mosedale). On Henry’s side stand Sir Walter Blunt (Eli Robinson), Lord Westmoreland (Brian Kennedy), and eventually Hal, the Prince of Wales himself, having sworn off his prior foolishness.

The decisive battle that ensues gives the narrative a sense of completion, especially in Hal’s arc from boy to man, but leaves sufficient details to be resolved in the more serious “Henry IV, Part 2.” Still, this play easily stands alone.

Our cast inhabit the roles naturally — perhaps Socey is just an alias for Falstaff? Hakim-Shabazz is appropriately noble, Walls slips easily into Hal’s many modes, and Anderson can play a villain like no other. Also notable are Afton Shepard as Percy’s bitter wife (as well as a sweet “working girl” at the tavern), and Michelle Wafford as a Welsh lady betrothed to a man she loves but whose language she can’t understand, and especially as the in-charge Hostess of the Boar’s Head Tavern.

Remaining performances are 8 p.m. Thursday, 8 p.m. Saturday (with talkback afterward) and 1 p.m. Sunday at the District Theatre, 627 Massachusetts Ave.

DivaFest: Oh, ‘Dear’

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This is part of the 2019 Diva Fest, presented by IndyFringe at 719 E. St. Clair St., Indianapolis, through April 21. All shows are by women playwrights, presented as one-hour one-acts at a Fringe price. For information and tickets, see www.indyfringe.org.

By John Lyle Belden

In “Dear Mavis,” by Enid Cokinos, there are big changes happening at the Rustbelt Herald-Times.

The newspaper’s chief editor has stepped down, replaced by the owner’s son, “Biz” Underhill (Spencer Elliott). The young man, fresh from college, wants to make changes, taking aim at the paper’s longtime advice columnist, Mavis (Forba Shepherd). He has her team up with young blogger Mique’ (Ashley Elliott) to write a new point-counterpoint column, and daily rather than weekly. This will not turn out well.

Holly Stults is Luella, Underhill’s assistant and Mavis’s dear friend; and David Mosedale is the elder Underhill, who comes in to clean up the inevitable mess.

Shepherd radiates dignity and wisdom as the disciple of Miss Manners who always has the right thing to say, and doesn’t mind using an old typewriter to say it. Spencer Elliott — .also the play’s director — contrasts well as the guy with big ideas but little sense. Ashley Elliott’s turn as a clueless Millennial edges towards caricature but gets to learn a bit towards the end.

Having been a newspaper journalist, seeing the industry’s changes first-hand, I felt at first that Cokinos had written a work of horror. But for those who don’t bleed India ink, this is a fun look at how sometimes the old ways are best, and can still win through.

Remaining performances are 7 p.m. Friday and 7:15 p.m. Saturday (April 19-20).

Civic hosts Christie’s deadly countdown

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By John Lyle Belden

Set in the intimate confines of the Studio Theater, rather than its regular stage next door, the Booth Tarkington Civic Theatre invites you to look in on a classic mystery: See those 10 people at the party? They are all guilty of something, and one by one they will die. Who will be standing at the end? Are you sure you know?

The Civic presents Agatha Christie’s “And Then There Were None.” Director Charles Goad (who we are more used to seeing on the stage than behind it) has trusted his talented cast the freedom to bring out the dark humor in the play’s growing suspense. Even when a character is one you wouldn’t mind seeing become the next victim of “Mr. Unknown,” he or she is presented in an entertaining manner.

Matt Anderson and Christy Walker sharply portray the domestics who literally help set the scene in a fine house on an island off the English coast. Vera (Carrie Schlatter at her steadily unraveling best) thought this was just a job opportunity. Army Cpt. Lombard (Joshua Ramsey as a unflappable man proud of all his qualities, good and bad) was advised to bring his revolver, just in case. Anthony (Bradford Reilly, doing upper-class spoiled well) is up for any kind of adventure. Mr. Daniels – or is that Blore? – (Steve Kruze, working the fine line between gruffness and guilt) was, or is, a cop, making him impossible to trust. Retired Gen. MacKenzie (Tom Beeler, showing mastery of a subtle character) can see this for the final battle it is. Emily (Christine Kruze, working a stiff upper lip that could break glass) is as sure of her own innocence as she is of everyone else’s immorality. Dr. Armstrong (David Wood, becoming even more likable as we find the man’s flaws) feels he could really use a drink, though he doesn’t dare. And prominent judge Sir William Wargrave (David Mosedale in top form) knows a thing or two about unnatural death, having sentenced so many to the gallows.

The cast is completed by Dick Davis as Fred, the man with the boat.

These actors give a delicious recreation of the old story which doesn’t feel dated, considering a strong storm on a remote island would cut off smartphone reception just the same as past means of communication. The plot is propelled by the old poem “Ten Little Soldiers” (a more palatable version than the frequently used “Ten Little Indians” or its original, more controversial, title). Ten tin soldiers stand on the mantle, their number decreasing throughout the play as the victims accumulate. The verse is on a plaque by the fireplace, and reprinted in the program for us to follow along.

I don’t want to give spoilers, but bear in mind that Christie wrote more than one way to end the story. See for yourself at the Center for the Performing Arts in downtown Carmel through April 8. Call 317-843-3800 or visit civictheatre.org.

TOTS hosts a play for the masses (literally)

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By John Lyle Belden

“Well, of all things!” A 1959 French play by a celebrated Romanian absurdist about the destructive but seductive effects of mass conformity finds resonance in Indianapolis, U.S.A., in 2017.

No Holds Bard and Catalyst Repertory present Eugene Ionesco’s “Rhinoceros” on the Second Stage of Theatre on the Square through Aug. 13. The play is set in a near future in which most animals are extinct and most color is gone – frowned upon, even – but the people deal with it in a very orderly black-and-white world in which logic can be argued to the point that facts can mean anything.

Slovenly, drunken Berenger (Zachariah Stonerock) doesn’t fit in. And worse, he has gotten into an argument with his only friend, proud, self-sure Jean (Tristan Ross). But suddenly, a rhinoceros comes charging up the street. Did everyone see what they just saw? Of course not. There are no zoos, there are no circuses, there are no rhinoceroses. Then, a rhinoceros comes charging down the street in the other direction. Thus the question becomes: Is it the same rhinoceros? And are one or both African or Asian? This latter point, and the counting of horns, naturally becomes the most vital issue.

The next day, Berenger comes in late to work, but Daisy (Abbie Wright), who he is sweet on, covers for him with the boss, Mr. Papillon (Josh Ramsey), who, in turn, is upset with Duduard (Tim Fox) and Botard (John Mortell) not getting to work as they argue whether the rhinoceros sighting was real. Duduard has seen the beasts and is more accepting of events; while Botard did not, assumes its a hoax, and if anything did happen, it was part of a grand conspiracy by dark forces. Then Mrs. Beof (Denise Jaeckel) arrives, saying she can’t find her husband, and she’s being pursued by a rhino – when the animal destroys part of the building, she discovers the beast is her husband, somehow transformed.

After this, nearly everyone starts changing into rhinoceroses. As you do.

Stonerock garners our sympathies as the individualist everyman – misunderstood, put down and unsure of what he wants and how to get it. He, and we through him, are never on solid ground as the more sober he gets, the more mad the world becomes.

His castmates deal well with the play’s broadly-drawn characters. Wright embodies the contradicting impulses of dependence and independence women have dealt with in the nearly 50 years of this play’s existence, showing her own strength regardless. Fox is appropriately glib, Mortell brightly brusque. Jaeckel throws herself into her role. Ross, who also directs, takes charge on stage as well; and Ramsey is sharp as ever, including his turn as a “professional logician” who tortures language into submission. The cast is ably rounded out by David Mosedale and Sarah Holland Froehlke – who extracts a lot of laughs from a dead cat.

The script’s length, adapted from three acts to two, and pacing can drag at times, but it’s all worth seeing the eventual “rhinoceros parade.” While this a comedy, with plenty of hilarious situations and comic turns of phrase, beneath the mirth is the hint of something strong and violent that can trample to ruin anything in its path.

Good thing it’s only a play, eh?

Join the herd at TOTS, 627 Massachusetts Ave., call 317-685-8687 or get info and tickets at tots.org/rhinoceros/.