Sunday evening it was cold and wet. Ada and I took the Blue Line into the city. We huddled under my umbrella and hustled up Dearborn to the Goodman Theatre, where we got to see A Christmas Carol. Clearly I'm not Christian, but I love this story and the Goodman does it better than anyone else.
The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmas Yet-to-Come are so imaginatively realized--as a pale, wiry Cupid, a Victorian Oprah-esque diva and a 12 foot tall empty cloak.
The diverse, all-ages cast isn't huge, so there are a handful of actors playing more than one part. I thought that might prove confusing to my 7 year old, but she was so enraptured by the storytelling magic she didn't notice that the Boy Scrooge looked remarkably like Old Joe's assistant and the ruffian sent off to buy a turkey for Cratchits once Scrooge wakes up from his transformative night.
I was surprised there weren't more children in the audience since I think of A Christmas Carol as a classic holiday tradition for families. Ada found the loud booms that accompanied the arrival of the ghosts a little frightening, but she never once turned to ask me what was happening. In fact, as we were riding home she looked out the train window said "I think was all—the ghosts and everything—they were just a dream for Mr. Scrooge."