Joseph Cillo

A sunlit Italian romance deepens into a tender, quietly powerful, almost operatic musical about how—and when—we let go of the people we love.

What starts as a chance meeting in an Italian piazza gradually reveals itself as something more layered—a story about a mother’s fear, a daughter’s awakening, and the fragile persistence of love.

At first, everything feels easy. Clara falls quickly, completely, and without hesitation for Fabrizio. But beneath that openness lies a complication her mother Margaret understands all too well. Clara’s past—an accident that altered her development—casts a long shadow, shaping how Margaret sees the world and how tightly she holds on.

As the relationship deepens, the real question emerges: not whether love exists, but whether it will be trusted.

The Score Lifts the Story
The music by Adam Guettel is lush, expressive, and closer to opera than traditional musical theater.

Rather than pushing the story forward in obvious ways, the score reveals what the characters cannot easily say. Emotions rise and resolve in waves, sometimes demanding patience, but often delivering moments of striking beauty.

More a continuous emotional current than a collection of songs.

A Notable Choice
A significant portion of the dialogue and lyrics is delivered in Italian, reflecting the cultural setting and enhancing authenticity—a mixed blessing.

For many of us in the audience, meaning must often be inferred through context and performance. Unlike opera, where surtitles guide understanding, the Italian here is left untranslated—requiring us to rely on tone, gesture, and staging to follow the meaning.

At its best, this deepens immersion; at times, it creates distance.

Performances
The production is anchored by a strong emotional core.

Clara (Emma Sutherland) is portrayed with openness and sincerity, capturing both innocence and resolve, while Margaret (Daniela Innocenti Beem) carries the greater dramatic weight, navigating the difficult space between love and control with credibility and restraint.

The cast is uniformly excellent, with rich voices and a striking combination of physicality and expressiveness.

Fabrizio (Malcolm March) brings warmth and conviction to the romantic center, while the Naccarelli family adds energy and texture, providing both humor and contrast to the more introspective moments.

Uniformly excellent—vocally assured, physically engaged, and fully expressive. 

Direction & Design
Sonoma Arts Live keeps the staging intimate and suggestive rather than elaborate. The design leans on atmosphere—lighting, costumes, and carefully chosen scenic elements—to evoke Italy without overwhelming the story.

The approach works. Nothing feels overdone, and the focus remains where it belongs—on the relationships.

Final Thoughts
The Light in the Piazza is not a conventional musical. It moves at its own pace, asking the audience to lean in rather than sit back.

In return, it offers something quieter but more lasting: a story about trust, vulnerability, and the difficult grace of letting go.

A quiet, lingering story about the courage it takes to let go.

How to See

The Light in the Piazza
Sonoma Arts Live
Andrews Hall Theatre, Sonoma Community Center
276 E Napa St, Sonoma, CA

April 24 – May 10

• Thu–Sat at 7:30 PM
• Sun at 2:00 PM
• approximately 2 hours — one intermission

Tickets

• $42 (Riser / Opening Night)
• $37 (Floor)
• $25 (Balcony / select performances)

Info & Tickets
sonomaartslive.org | 707-204-9990

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

In storm-battered Louisiana, a surprise visit turns a family reunion into a suspenseful standoff.

What begins as a quiet early-morning reunion, gradually unfolds into a darkly comic mystery about oil, activism, and family loyalty.

At first the situation feels purely familial — a relative returning home after years away. But as the conversation deepens, something larger begins to surface beneath the humor: a carefully constructed puzzle about trust, motives, and how far someone might go to defend what they believe.

Playwright Patricia Milton builds tension patiently, allowing the story to reveal itself piece by piece as family affection collides with environmental conviction.

Historical Context: The Real Stakes Beneath the Story
After Happy taps into tensions now shaping many communities tied to fossil-fuel industries.

For families whose livelihoods depend on oil and gas production, climate activism can feel like a direct challenge to economic survival and identity.

By framing global environmental debates inside a single family relationship, Patricia Milton explores how generational change, political belief, and personal loyalty intersect.

The hurricane may be fictional — the conflict surrounding it is not.

Fascinating Dynamic
Jan Zvaifler delivers a vividly entertaining performance as Brenda Barrow. Her character carries herself with the confidence of someone accustomed to running both a family business and a community festival. Zvaifler fills the role with animated gestures, sharp timing, and a wonderfully colorful Louisiana drawl.

Brenda’s dialogue is laced with memorable Southern expressions such as:
Plain as a beetle bug in a sugar bowl.
Obnoxious as a fart in an elevator.
Butter my butt and sell me as a biscuit.

Hearing these delivered with Zvaifler’s perfect timing drew some of the evening’s biggest laughs.

Lauren Dunagan’s Katherine provides the emotional counterweight. Her Kat arrives nervous and determined, clearly pursuing a plan that she reveals only gradually. Dunagan allows flashes of vulnerability beneath the character’s activist resolve, suggesting that family ties remain more complicated than Kat might like to admit.

Watching the two circle each other — part affection, part suspicion — becomes one of the play’s compelling dynamics.

A family reunion slowly transforms into a suspense story about climate activism, corporate power, and divided loyalties.

Desire Shapes Perception — and Perception Reshapes Truth
Director Gary Graves uses the intimacy of Central Works’ stage to great advantage.

The play unfolds almost like a chamber mystery. Small details begin to accumulate significance — a bag placed in the corner, a hurried phone call, a detail that doesn’t quite add up.

Rezan Asfaw enters as Steph, Katherine’s collaborator, bringing a tightly wound intensity that increases the sense of urgency.

At that point we all lean forward, sensing that the morning visit might not end as simply as it began.

Milton structures the play like a mystery — the tension lies in discovering what might happen next.

Scenes move easily between humor and suspense.

Arguments about pirate costumes, family history, environmental responsibility, and corporate reputation swirl through the room while we try to piece together the visitors’ real intentions.

Milton carefully releases information, allowing us to assemble the puzzle gradually.

By the final moments, the pieces fall together in a resolution that feels both surprising and inevitable.

We laugh often, but the questions beneath the humor grow steadily sharper.

When Tradition Meets Activism, the Real Conflict Becomes the Future
Central Works has built its reputation on producing thoughtful new plays that engage contemporary issues.

After Happy continues that tradition by exploring the uneasy intersection between family loyalty, environmental politics, and economic survival.

Milton’s script avoids easy answers. Instead, she places three characters inside a moral crossroads where every choice carries consequences.

As I left, I found myself thinking less about who had “won” the argument and more about how complicated the questions really are.

That lingering uncertainty is part of what makes this world premiere so engaging.

Central Works once again proves how compelling new theater can be when strong writing meets strong performances.

How to See

After Happy
Central Works
Berkeley City Club
2315 Durant Ave., Berkeley

February 26 – March 29

Runtime: 70 minutes — no intermission

Tickets: $35–$45
centralworks.org

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

A guitar. A glance. A pub ceiling lit by hanging whiskey bottles.

When I walked into Berkeley Playhouse, I looked up before I looked at the stage.

Whiskey bottles hung from the ceiling, catching the light like amber constellations. Below them, musicians were already in place — tuning, testing, beginning. The room didn’t feel like it was about to start. It felt like it had already begun.

Then a guitar line slipped into the air. I felt myself lean forward.

Guy repairs vacuum cleaners by day and sings on Dublin streets by night. His songs carry the echo of a recent heartbreak. He performs them as though he’s still deciding how much of himself to reveal.

Then Girl hears him. She doesn’t applaud politely — she listens.

She sits at the piano and complements his melody — completing phrases he leaves suspended, filling emotional spaces he hasn’t quite dared to name. I could feel the shift the moment her notes joined his.

In Once, music isn’t background. It’s oxygen.

What begins as encouragement becomes collaboration.

They rehearse. A violin joins. A drum answers. One musician becomes several. A band forms right in front of us. Together they prepare for a recording session in London — an opportunity that feels both exciting and fragile.

As the music deepens, so does their connection — layered, restrained, unmistakable.

Both carry responsibilities. Both sense possibility.

That tension hums beneath every harmony.

Midway through a duet, I stopped observing and simply listened. The theater felt suspended — two voices aligning, two lives quietly pivoting.

No spectacle. Just something true.

Why This Production Works

Director Josh Marx lets the story breathe. Music Director Michael Patrick Wiles keeps the sound alive and immediate. Choreographer Erin Rose Solorio shapes movement that feels discovered rather than arranged.

What struck me particularly was the ensemble.

This is a large cast of musician-actors — and they are uniformly strong at both. They don’t switch between “acting” and “playing.” They live in both simultaneously. A character delivers a line and flows directly into a fiddle phrase. Someone crosses the stage and becomes percussion. Storytelling and musicianship move as one.

That dual fluency elevates the evening. Energy circulates constantly. Transitions feel organic, almost inevitable.

Sitting beneath those hanging whiskey bottles, I felt surrounded by collaboration — not theatrical display, but shared creation.

Some connections arrive quietly — and rearrange everything.

By the final moments, I wasn’t watching a romance conclude. I was watching two people step into clarity — shaped by the music they created together.

I walked out feeling as though I’d been allowed to witness something private.

A song can open a door. What you do next is the story..

How to See It / Get Tickets

Julia Morgan Theater
2640 College Ave
Berkeley, CA

February 20 – March 15
Approx. 2 hours 30 minutes (including intermission)

Tickets: $19–$66
Box Office: (510) 845-8542
berkeleyplayhouse.org

Reserve early for immersive seating and weekend performances.

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

A seduction built on illusion — and the cost of believing it.

M. Butterfly at San Francisco Playhouse begins with elegance and ends somewhere far more exposed.

A French diplomat in Beijing meets a Chinese opera singer of striking poise. The early encounters feel refined, almost ceremonial. Words are measured. Gestures restrained. Desire moves politely at first.

Then something deeper takes hold.

What unfolds becomes a meditation on longing — on the stories we construct about who we are and how powerfully we want them confirmed.

Love, illusion, politics, self-mythology — the play absorbs all of it and reshapes it for the stage.

Illusion doesn’t announce itself. It arrives dressed as destiny.

Fascinating dynamic
Dean Linnard portrays Rene Gallimard with finely calibrated restraint. His transformation happens gradually. Shoulders square. Confidence grows. The character’s romantic self-image expands with each encounter. Linnard allows us to see a man quietly rehearsing his own importance.

Opposite him, Edric Young gives Song Liling a composed, watchful elegance. The performance feels deliberate and controlled without ever feeling distant. A glance lingers just long enough. A phrase lands softly, then settles. Young sustains a layered presence — alluring, intelligent, and fully aware — that keeps tension alive even in stillness.

Their dynamic anchors the evening.

Desire shapes perception — and perception reshapes truth.

Mesmerizing experience
Directed by Bridgette Loriaux, the production leans into physical storytelling. Movement and proximity carry meaning. The choreography of intimacy feels intentional, reflecting Loriaux’s movement background and steady hand.

This is grown-up theater.

Two nude scenes unfold with composure and dramatic clarity. They underscore vulnerability rather than provoke reaction. Illusion gives way to exposure — literal and emotional. The staging treats these moments with gravity and discipline, reinforcing the play’s central inquiry into identity and belief.

Scenes breathe. Silence carries weight. Political tension and personal longing weave tightly together. By the final revelation, the room grows quiet in a way that feels earned.

When illusion falls away, what remains is the story we chose to believe.

Involving production
San Francisco Playhouse delivers a disciplined staging centered on performance. Lighting and scenic design frame intimacy and interrogation with clarity. The ensemble supports the central arc with tonal balance, moving fluidly between romantic suggestion and political reckoning.

The pacing builds deliberately, almost imperceptibly at first, until the emotional stakes stand fully revealed.

What it adds up to
M. Butterfly explores ego, desire, and belief with unsettling precision. Its power lies in watching how a cherished narrative gathers strength — how repetition becomes conviction, how conviction becomes identity.

This production leans into that progression. It draws you in gently, almost courteously, and then begins removing layers. By the end, what remains feels stark and human.

You leave carrying more than plot. You carry the recognition that illusion rarely feels false while you’re inside it. It feels persuasive. It feels flattering. It feels like love.

Illusion persuades. Belief commits. Reality waits.

How to see it / Get tickets
San Francisco Playhouse
450 Post Street, San Francisco

February 5 – March 14

Tickets: $52–$145
sfplayhouse.org
415-677-9596

Approximately 2 hours, 35 minutes, including one 15-minute intermission

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

And now for something very different:
a shared, immersive journey of movement, sound and attention

Let the Wind Sweep Through transports us into a shared, immersive world shaped by movement, sound, and collective attention. From the opening moments, the experience gathers us physically and emotionally, inviting us to stay present as the evening unfolds around us.

The performance stage establishes immediacy right away. With seating on 3 sides, the audience surrounds the action, creating an immersive, up-close environment. Performers move within feet of us, close enough for breath, focus, and intention to register. The room itself participates, shaping how attention flows and how connection forms.

Aerials start the show. From the opening lift, the vertical movement establishes a connective spine for the evening. The aerial work returns throughout the performance, offering lift, suspension, and continuity as individual moments link into a single, flowing journey.

Aerials initiate the action and carry us forward.

Movement is the primary language. The ensemble shifts between solo gestures and flock-like formations, shaping patterns that suggest searching, alignment and shared momentum. Repetition builds rhythm and familiarity, allowing meaning to accumulate through motion and presence. Puppetry and visual motifs add texture and discovery, keeping the experience fluid and alive.

The live music is perfectly matched to this unusual theatrical setting. In such close proximity, sound shapes the room alongside movement. The music breathes with the performers and with us, guiding pace and atmosphere while remaining fully integrated into the action.

A 10-minute intermission arrives as a natural pause. The break offers time to reflect and reset before the journey continues, supporting the thoughtful pacing of the evening and the sense of shared travel.

What I enjoyed most was how welcoming the experience felt. Rooted in Sufi spiritual ideas of seeking, surrender, and collective journey, the production stays grounded in the present moment. Each audience member connects through sensation, movement and shared awareness, carrying away what resonates most strongly.

The evening unfolds as a lived experience. Attention sharpens. Time loosens. Shared focus in the room actively shapes what unfolds.

Let the Wind Sweep Through shows how theatre comes alive when it leans into connection—between performers, audience, music and space—carrying us together through an experience shaped by presence, openness and intention.

The evening unfolds as a shared journey.

How to See It / Get Tickets

Marin Shakespeare Theatre, San Rafael
514 Fourth Street, San Rafael, CA 94901

February 6–15
• Fridays & Saturdays at 7:00 pm
• Sundays at 2:00 pm

Approximately 100 minutes, including one 10-minute intermission

Tickets: Suggested donation (pay-what-you-can)
Advance reservations and full details:
https://www.purplepass.com/events/342236-let-the-wind-sweep-through%3A-a-conference-of-birds-feb-6th-2026

3-sided, immersive staging with close audience proximity
Wheelchair-accessible venue; gender-neutral restrooms.

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

Chekhov in Many Fine Suits

Some productions wear their professionalism like a good suit. This one wears all the suits in the closet at once — and somehow moves comfortably in them.

From the opening moments, this play makes a decision: nothing stays unused. If theater has ever done it, this show does it. Pratfalls happen. Magic appears. Ventriloquism enters the room. Puppets join the action. There is dancing — with people and stick figures. Actors speak directly to the audience, move through the aisles, disappear, reappear, and treat the stage less like a boundary than a suggestion.

At times, the action veers toward vaudeville, flirting with the feeling of a one-ring circus that decides to stay put. And yet nothing feels sloppy or indulgent.

Every element lands cleanly.

Each moment arrives with precision. Timing holds. Execution stays exact. The production operates at full capacity and never loses control. Admiration becomes unavoidable, even when it doesn’t seem to be the point.

Plot
The story follows Liubóv Ranyévskaya, a landowner who returns to her family estate after years away to find it on the brink of financial collapse. The house and its surrounding cherry orchard are burdened by debt and scheduled for auction unless money can be raised quickly.

Lopákhin, the son of a former peasant who now holds the practical power in the situation, proposes a direct solution: cut down the orchard and develop the land. His plan would save the estate and secure everyone’s future — but only by destroying the place that defines their past.

Ranyévskaya, her brother Gáyev, her daughters, and the household staff resist. They reminisce, argue, delay, and distract themselves with conversations that circle the problem without confronting it. Hope persists without a plan. Time continues without mercy.

When the auction arrives, the decision is no longer theirs to make. The estate changes hands. The orchard’s fate is sealed. What ends is not only ownership of land, but a way of living that depends on avoiding hard choices.

Production
What the production makes unmistakable is how long people can keep talking while nothing changes. Scenes move briskly. Conversations cycle back on themselves in slightly altered forms. Plans are discussed again and again without being acted on. The energy stays high. The jokes keep coming. The situation remains unresolved.

Forward motion belongs to the play itself, not to the characters inside it.

The ensemble works as a single, responsive unit. Performances feel coordinated without feeling mechanical. As Lopákhin, Lance Gardner brings calm authority and emotional clarity. He understands exactly what needs to happen — and exactly why no one wants to do it. Liz Sklar’s Ranyévskaya radiates charm edged with unease. Anthony Fusco, Rosie Hallett, Anna Takayo, and the rest of the cast handle physical comedy, direct address, and tonal shifts with assurance. Nothing looks accidental, even when it appears spontaneous.

Technically, the production runs seamlessly. The scenery is terrific — elegant, flexible, and quietly expressive — giving the action room to sprawl without losing focus. The costumes are wonderful: sharply observed, character-specific, and visually rich without tipping into excess. Together, they allow the production to be as busy as it wants to be while remaining grounded in a coherent world. The overall effect is one of confident mastery.

Final Reflection
This Cherry Orchard entertains, impresses and surprises. It stays bold, busy and alert. It keeps us engaged and constantly aware of the machinery of theater — all of it operating at full speed.

Here is Chekhov dressed in many fine suits — impeccably tailored — worn with confidence.

To See
Marin Theatre

397 Miller Avenue, Mill Valley, CA

January 29 – February 22

Approximately 2 hours, including one intermission

Tickets: $38–$89
Tickets and information: MarinTheatre.org
Box Office: 415-388-5208

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

A Successful Bafflement

Some plays explain themselves. The Skin of Our Teeth does not.

Instead, it invites us into a state of purposeful uncertainty — and this production understands that invitation fully.

I left the theater amused, impressed and unmistakably baffled. That reaction turns out not to be a shortcoming, but a measure of success. The play doesn’t ask to be solved. It asks to be experienced. This staging leans into that distinction with confidence, coordination, and care.

Confusing, yet compelling — exactly as intended.

The Plot
At the center is the Antrobus family — George and Maggie, their children, and household help — not meant as realistic individuals so much as stand-ins for humanity itself. Over three acts, they survive an Ice Age, catastrophic flood, and the aftermath of a devastating war.

Realism is deliberately ignored. Dinosaurs and mammoths share space with modern conveniences. Characters address us directly. Scenes collapse, restart and loop back on themselves. Time doesn’t progress so much as repeat. What remains constant is the question Wilder keeps returning to: after each disaster, do we rebuild — and why?

Photo credit: Marilyn Izdebski

The Experience
This production embraces Wilder’s controlled chaos with assurance. Rather than apologizing for the play’s strangeness, it trusts us to stay alert and engaged. The fourth wall is porous, the tone shifts quickly, and humor arrives in both broad gestures and quiet asides.

Notably, the play itself anticipates audience confusion. Characters openly question the action, complain about the play they are in, and force scenes to restart, making bafflement part of the design rather than a byproduct of it.

What makes this staging especially effective is how well it handles scale. With a large cast, the production remains well coordinated and clear, even as the play ricochets between eras and theatrical modes. Group scenes are disciplined, allowing disorder to read as intentional rather than cluttered.

A large, confident production that embraces deliberate disorder.

The Production
Technical elements support storytelling throughout. Projections are used effectively, helping orient us as time and place shift, reinforcing the play’s collision of eras without overwhelming the action.

Costuming and props are strong, clearly defining character and tone while grounding the production visually. These elements give us something solid to hold onto in a play that resists narrative stability.

Pacing and transitions are handled with care. Even at its most unruly, the production maintains momentum, striking a difficult balance between freedom and control.

The production keeps a steady visual and emotional hand. Staging is clean and purposeful, giving the actors room to work and the story space to breathe. Scenes move along with easy confidence. The lighting knows exactly what it’s there to do — handled with care and restraint, shaping mood and momentum, then stepping aside before anyone feels the need to notice.

What It Adds Up To
Ultimately, this production succeeds because it refuses to tidy itself up. It leaves questions unanswered. Meaning accumulates rather than resolves. History falters, resets and continues.

Wilder even allows the play to argue with itself — and with us — before choosing, once again, to go on.

That lingering bafflement isn’t a flaw. It’s the point. Civilization wobbles. Language fails. History repeats. And yet — somehow — we persist.

NTC delivers a Skin of Our Teeth that earns its disorientation honestly. It is lively, well executed, and quietly affirming — a reminder that humanity doesn’t endure because it understands everything, but because it keeps going, by the skin of its teeth.

Something very different — you’ve been warned.

TO SEE

Novato Theater Company
5420 Nave Drive, Novato, CA 94949

Dates:
January 22 – February 15, 2026

Performance Times:
Fridays at 7:30 pm
Saturdays January 24, 31 & February 14 at 7:30 pm
Saturday February 7 at 2:00 pm
Sundays at 2:00 pm

Tickets:
www.novatotheatercompany.org

Box Office:
(415) 883-4498

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/

Master Music Storyteller in Full Flow

The Piano and Me is built around storytelling — intelligent, personal, and absorbing — that flows naturally into music of the highest order.

Hershey Felder guides us through a life shaped by composers, history, and memory, letting stories lead and allowing the piano to arrive exactly when it matters. The result is a salon elevated to the concert hall: ideas, insight, and world-class music woven into a single, seamless experience that rewards close attention.

Felder arrives at this piece after decades of inhabiting great composers onstage, a journey that has made him a familiar and trusted figure for audiences at TheatreWorks Silicon Valley. In this world premiere, that accumulated experience turns inward. The result offers context for the artistry audiences already know, revealing how music, memory, identity and history move together across a life.

Hershey Felder has the room — and keeps it.

Here, Felder emerges as a master raconteur — a modern salonier — guiding the room through stories about composers, Jewish identity, inheritance and survival. The storytelling is conversational yet deliberate, shaped by wit, insight, and a respect for our attention. Ideas arrive clearly, connect naturally and continue to resonate as the evening unfolds.

At key moments, Felder turns to the piano and the narrative continues in sound. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Bartók, and others appear as companions rather than set pieces. The playing is fluent, expressive, and grounded in long familiarity.

Storytelling sets the course — the piano carries it forward.

What gives The Piano and Me its distinctive power is the way these elements are interwoven. Spoken word and music move seamlessly together, creating a steady rhythm of listening and reflection. We remain fully engaged, following the thread as it unfolds with ease and confidence.

Background projected visuals contribute with equal care. Images of a young Hershey, his mother, and the shadowed presence of Auschwitz arrive precisely, deepen the emotional register, then step aside. Each image adds resonance and allows space for reflection, strengthening the experience without drawing focus away from it.

A master raconteur and modern salonier — guides the evening through music, memory and meaning.

Humor threads throughout — dry, knowing, lightly worn — balancing the weight of the themes with warmth and humanity. The tone remains open and generous, guided by curiosity and trust in our shared attention.

Staging supports the evening beautifully. Lighting, sound, and projections frame the performance with restraint and clarity. The Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts provides an ideal setting for this kind of listening theatre — intimate enough to feel personal, expansive enough for the piano to breathe.

By the end, our lasting impression comes from time spent inside a focused and alert mind. The Piano and Me leaves us engaged, enriched, and glad to have followed where the evening led.

Very highly recommended.

How to Get Tickets

Hershey Felder: The Piano and Me
📍 Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts, 500 Castro Street, Mountain View
📅 January 17 – February 8, 2026
🎟️ Tickets: $34–$115
🌐 theatreworks.org
📞 877-662-8978

Joe Cillo

www.forallevents.com/