At the 2017 IRNE Awards

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By Robert Israel

The Independent Reviewers of New England (IRNE) held their 21st annual celebration of all that is praiseworthy in Boston’s theater community on April 24 at the Brookline Holiday Inn. An annual rite of spring, the event is noisy and raucous. The capacity crowd, fueled by toxic libations at two well-stocked bars, is unruly. Boisterous enthusiasts greet each of the winners – you can read the list of winners posted here — with huzzahs and catcalls as they sashay up to the podium to receive their awards.

I am a voting member of IRNE. Each spring the IRNE award night caps a year of reporting and reviewing the Boston area’s many offerings of theatrical brilliance. As such, I am only one voice among several critics who judge the productions we’ve seen in a search of that elusive blend of derring-do, talent, and stagecraft that goes into making each theatrical production – from large, well-financed companies to smaller, ragtag troupes — vibrant and memorable. The annual awards night is our collective way of applauding how proud we are to be living in such a lively, ever-changing, and growing artistic community.

IRNE critics argue among themselves regarding what we think are the best, the brightest, and the most award worthy of these dozens and dozens of productions. Given the plethora of troupes and performers, there is no way any one critic can see them all. The list of nominees, it seems, grows longer each year. This year we had to return to to the negotiating table to break several tie votes among the categories. And while some who attended the award ceremony criticized us (vocally!) for not seeing all the shows on the docket, there is no human way any of us can. We grapple with the difficulty of this issue each year as we hunker down to make our final selections.

Highlights of the award ceremony included presenting the Solo Award to the outstanding actor Eugene Lee for How I Learned What I Learned, August Wilson’s autobiographical ramble staged by the Huntington Theatre Company, and Milk Like Sugar, also staged at the Huntington. Local playwright Kirsten Greenidge’s script paid homage to August Wilson, capturing the confused lives of a group of Gloucester, Massachusetts teens who had joined together in a “pregnancy pact.” And SpeakEasy Stage Company’s riveting production of Scottsboro Boys was the big winner: the production walked away with the most awards including best set design, costume lighting, projection, sound, choreography…you get the idea: the whole shebang.

There was a special shout-out to the late Derek Wolcott, Nobel laureate, poet, dramatist, and Boston University professor who died last year, and a pause to remember the late playwright Edward Albee.

The evening would not have been complete without some lobbying by the publicists in attendance who greeted me in the reception area among the tipsy revelers, asking when I might attend their upcoming shows. Boston’s theatrical offerings are a Mobius strip: there is never an end, only new openings on the horizon, and it’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once, and it’s what we do — year after year.

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