Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party starts with a crisp old English gent taking a seat at the dining room table in his house by the sea. He’s been perusing the morning paper for a minute or two when a voice from offstage asks, “Is that you, Petey?” The gent doesn’t react. “Petey, is that you?” Still no response. “Petey?” “What?” he finally says. “Is that you?” “Yes, it’s me.”
Early critics tagged this narrative vertigo the “comedy of menace,” and productions of The Birthday Party have tended to locate that menace in Goldberg and McCann, who are typically depicted as a couple of genial gentleman thugs—pros in sharkskin suits, sent by who knows who to punish Stanley for who knows what.
Through 4/28: Tue-Fri 7:30 PM, Sat-Sun 3 and 7:30 PM, Steppenwolf Upstairs Theatre, 1650 N. Halsted, 312-335-1650, steppenwolf.org, $20-$78.
