Review: Tin Drum Theatre's A DARK WOOD at Greenhouse Theater Center

If you’re not feeling great about the state of the current world, with the increase of mass surveillance, censorship of knowledge, and outsourcing of our humanity to artificial-everything (among other things), then might I invite you to head down to Greenhouse Theater for a venture through even darker woods for a sobering portrayal of how we can stay human. Tin Drum Theatre’s Chicago premiere of A Dark Wood is a biting, thought-provoking dystopian drama written by Eric Coble and directed by Steve Needham. 

A Dark Wood takes place in the remnants of a society after “The Fix” that was supposed to steer things back on track and correct everything wrong with the country. Broken up across three acts, we follow three siblings who have picked different paths and occupy different corners of this world promised to be paradise. 

In Act 1: Inferno, we start in The Mouth, a refugee border camp where people live in tents, bury their backpacks, and hope for their number to be called for the start of a new life. Earthworm (Renzo Vicente) and Montrose (Carlos Andrés Mai) are tentmates, a found brotherhood in a barren transient land. The structure within this act is fascinating storytelling: a series of vignettes capturing the long and unrelenting passage of time as Earthworm and Montrose scrounge for food, daydream about those they hope successfully crossed the river, and talk about their own plans for starting anew. 

Vicente plays Earthworm with such confident, mature gravitas that it makes the occasional moments of childlike vulnerability, hope, and emotions slipping through the cracks that much more heartbreaking as we’re reminded that he’s just a kid — a kid forced to be brave, a kid forced to survive. When paired with Montrose, the chemistry between Vicente and Mai paints an extremely compelling relationship where while the future is uncertain, they may not have much, but for now, they have each other. 

In Act 2: Purgatorio, we’re transported to civilization in The Nest, where Earthworm’s younger sister Hummingbird (Delaney Vallese) visits fugitive teacher Miss Vivian (Shannon Leigh Webber) in her holed-up apartment. Miss Vivian showers Hummingbird with books and nuggets of wisdom as she accepts cinnamon rolls and glimpses into the outside world. When Dipper (Raúl Alonso) barges in, we learn the bleak nature of Miss Vivian’s arrangement with the owner of the building giving her a place to hide, but not without terms and conditions. The fallout of this confrontation leads to scathing accusations, heartbreaking reveals, and a chasm between two women — one older trying to impart the possibility of a better future as best she can, one younger simply moving through the broken world she inherited. 

Vallese plays Hummingbird brilliantly as a young girl full of contradictions doing her best to navigate these institutions she has no control over. Webber’s portrayal of Miss Vivian’s warm and desperate voice of reason and resistance is so compelling as she clings to Hummingbird as her last source of not only company, but also pure hope. As they move through Act 2, it’s hard for your stomach not to flip as you clench and hope for this beautiful mentorship to escape untouched by the brutality of the world. 

In Act 3: Paradiso, we meet Armadillo (Marlee Feacher), the oldest sister in our shattered familial unit who has become an agent of justice shielded by weapons and gear. But even when she’s hardened by the circumstances of the world — even as she chooses a life of safety and convenience to survive — it becomes clear through her monologue that her siblings are never far from her heart and mind, a monologue that Feacher delivers without missing a beat. Across these three glimpses into the world through each sibling, it’s ironic the show ends with a glimmer of hope from the least likeliest of sources: a cop, who is first and foremost — at the end of the day and even the end of the world — a sister. 

Coble’s writing and development of these characters are so complex and layered, adding to the richness of this disturbing world he’s built. From the first bickerings of Earthworm and Montrose, the dialogue is so natural and authentic, the banter exactly what you would find if you came across two boys on the streets today. Miss Vivian perfectly embodies the English teacher in her tuts and warnings and hopes for Hummingbird to become the “best version of herself in the worst version of the world.” The three-part structure of the play works masterfully in capturing the full dimensions of what life is worth living and what choices are made. 

The entire Tin Drum production adds to the ethereal, dystopian feel of Coble’s hellscape. The scenic design by Will Hughes paired with Emma Berry’s lighting design transports us to each place seamlessly, from the border wall and scrappy tents of the Mouth to the confined apartment in the Nest to the cold and sleek Pearly Gates. Kasey Wolfgang’s costume design, such as Montrose’s pieced together scraps of clothing, help draw the contrast between the three environments as well. 

A Dark Wood is a deeply profound play that grapples with the question of how one can keep their humanity when living in a society, a broken system, that rewards violence and brutality, that rewrites history and bans enlightenment, that has taken harmful ideologies and indoctrination to the extreme that we can only hope to be inoculated against. The world Coble created has touches of some great dystopian classics — Parable of the Sower, 1984, Lord of the Flies, Fahrenheit 451 — while making it his own world brought to life on stage. Under Steve Needham’s direction, the show hits all the right marks around the impermanence of circumstances: past, present, and future. Whether you leave the theater with intensified despair or renewed hope is up to you — and that’s what makes this terrifying and achingly sad story, with just the right dose of humor, hope, and humanity, a brilliant piece of art. 

Tin Drum Theatre’s production of A Dark Wood plays at Studio 44 in the Greenhouse Theater Center (2257 N. Lincoln Ave.) through November 1, 2026. The running time is 100 Minutes with no intermission.

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