Photo of the cast of Woman in Mind (July 2024) courtesy of Albion Theatre.
“We’re all addicted to our screens!” “The art of conversation is dead!” “Nobody wants to do anything in meatspace anymore!”
You’ve heard these sentiments expressed many times, in many different ways. No doubt the subject came up at your holiday gatherings, when your boomer relatives despaired at the imbalance between facetime and screen time; in the background, your twentysomething cousin was slumped over their smartphone, like Ennui from Inside Out 2.
On January 1st, we reflect on the good and the bad of the year behind us. We make grand resolutions to be better people and live better lives (let’s check in around March and see how that’s going – I have full faith in us, I swear).
One thing that I certainly don’t regret from 2024 is the time I spent in our local theater scene. And here’s one resolution I know I can keep: to see more shows and interview more of our stunningly talented local actors and directors.
I wasn’t exactly a theater nerd growing up. No, I never tried out for the school production of Seussical; I didn’t watch Hamilton until 2021, way after Hamilton hysteria had peaked; and I still can’t quite remember how “Defying Gravity” goes. I am, however, the son of a big-time theater nerd. My work with the Arts STL is a sort-of tribute to my father and a continuation of his legacy. (By the way, he also wrote a piece for the site—check out his review of As You Like It, 2024’s mainstage play for St. Louis Shakespeare Festival).
If you were asked to imagine a “theater critic,” you might picture this: a genteel man with a pocket square and horn-rimmed glasses, sipping his martini by the concession at intermission, pontificating on what it all bloody means. Chuck Von Nordheim does not quite match the physical description, but he certainly has the attitude. A retired Air Force officer who now lives in Palmdale, CA, Chuck is more likely to wear sweatpants and a tie-dye Grateful Dead hoodie than any fancy threads. He’s far more focused on ideas than appearances, although he certainly has an eye for aesthetic design.
I accompanied Dad to dozens of plays as a teenager, along with my twin brother David (who also writes for the magazine—it’s become a real family affair). The evening’s entertainment would usually be followed by a lengthy debriefing over pie and coffee at a local restaurant (or, more often than not, the nearest Denny’s). I would nod along to Dad’s theatrical discourse while my mind wandered back to whatever Japanese role-playing game I had been playing during the car ride—it seemed important at the time. Little did I know, my dad was prepping me for my future career as an English teacher—and for my side hustle as a theater critic.
During my first year with the Arts STL, I mainly reviewed concerts. I was a wannabe indie hipster type in college, complete with a vinyl record collection (about half of which came from Goodwill—they’re not exactly collector’s items). Live music was way cooler, and the occasional free ticket was a nice perk. But I had nagging doubts about my reviews, chased by writer’s block. I didn’t feel much of a connection to the story. The artists I reviewed toured nationally and St. Louis was probably not their most exciting or lucrative venture. Perhaps their time in our mid-sized, suburbanized Midwestern city conjured the same feelings as my airport layovers during the holiday travel season. And while I knew plenty of trivia—like the major releases of first, second, and third wave goth rock—I didn’t really know anything about how music is made. I was a marching band dropout who played the clarinet like Squidward; I couldn’t help but feel like a poser.
But in the summer of 2024, opportunity came dressed in a black turtleneck. I had just wrapped a surprisingly successful unit of Romeo and Juliet with my freshman English class. My students rarely read anything longer than 280 characters, yet they were hooked by that timeless story of dangerous passion. If I could break down Shakespeare and make it interesting to a teen audience, what else could I do?
One month into my summer break, I learned that my coworker, Emily Baker, would star in a play: Woman in Mind. Ms. Baker played a delirious woman who has a chance encounter with a garden rake; the ensuing concussion weakens her sense of self and her grip on reality. I can’t resist that sort of high-concept psychodrama, nor can I resist some pithy, British-accented dialogue. The play was charming and poignant, and I became a regular at the Kranzberg Black Box Theater. I made three more visits in 2024—one more show with Albion Theatre Company, and two with the experimental First Run Theatre group.
I was searching for a creative outlet and hadn’t written a concert review since summer ‘23. This seemed as good an opportunity as any. I contacted Robert Ashton, the creative director of Albion Theatre company, and set up an interview. The conversation that followed was one of the warmest and most engaging I’ve had during my time at the Arts STL. Mr. Ashton schooled me on the play; its author, Alan Ayckbourn; and the state of British theater from the 20th century onward. He invited me to the company’s fall production (LUNGS) and introduced me to two other local directors: Joe Hanrahan (Midnight Theater Company) and Gwennyth Rausch (First Run Theatre Company).
At the outset of summer ‘24, I didn’t have any ambitions grander than 1) sleep in; 2) binge Tears of the Kingdom; and 3) drop some Uber riders off at the airport for a quick buck. To my surprise, I had instead become embedded in St. Louis’s thriving theater scene. I began to introduce myself as a “local arts & entertainment journalist”—pretentious, perhaps, but more-or-less accurate. And in September, I finally reached that important theater nerd milestone—I saw Hamilton live. The show was stunning, and the seats—in the orchestra, ten rows from the stage—were the best I’ve ever had. Props to the fabulous Fox and its press office pros—they were a pleasure to work with.
We’ve all become a little antisocial and a little addicted to our devices in these post-pandemic years. Maybe a little local theater can help us all to unplug and engage with one another. Live theater is slowly, but surely, recovering from that 2020 slump, but we’ve got to show up. Our city has plenty of options. You can have that off-Broadway experience with a big-budget musical, or you can have a more intimate evening at one of our black box theaters. Whichever you choose, you may find me during intermission—more likely in a flannel shirt than a suit with a pocket square, but always wondering what it all bloody means. | Rob Von Nordheim
