There’s no doubt about it. If you’re a regular reader of this column, you know I’m a cynical man. I’ve had my heart broken one too many times by unprofessional actors and selfish clients. But rejoice! My faith has been restored. I feel like I’ve been born again.
Last week, I spent a few days in Chicago visiting a friend I haven’t seen in ages. The two of us ate our way through that wonderful city, heard some amazing music on Halsted, and even squeezed in a night at the theater.
The show we saw wasn’t at the Goodman or anyplace fancy like that. It was a small company’s production, and the space was off the beaten track. My friend explained the play was getting rave reviews, so I agreed to go. Naturally, being the pessimistic agent from Hollywood, I had low expectations. I’m pleased to announce my instincts were wrong.
As the play began, I found myself dreaming about Chicago dogs and those amazing Italian beef sandwiches they love to eat out there. But those thoughts were quickly replaced by genuine interest in the performance. The actors onstage were doing a terrific job, and I found myself getting caught up in the story. Two hours later, I jumped to my feet and cheered.
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