Poetry & Blindfolds | Performing Arts Review | Chicago Reader

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Poetry & Blindfolds

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Body Gun, Ltd., at Stage Left Theatre.

Vincent Mulvihill is one of a strange breed of actors. Catch him after a show or watch him explain the rules for an improv he directed and you'll think, "Here's an interesting, intelligent, nice person. I'll bet he's great onstage."

You'd be wrong. Because more often than not when Mulvihill is in character he hides behind an arsenal of self-indulgent, off-putting master thespian tricks: raised eyebrows, wide-open eyes, eccentric gestures, god-awful accents.

These habits aren't so bad when he's part of an improv show, because his work is balanced by that of others in the troupe. But when Mulvihill has to carry the show, as he does in his excruciating one-man Poetry & Blindfolds, a series of character sketches, it isn't long before you wish this fool would drop the fake Michael Palin voice, stop whimpering like a "widdle" boy, throw away his act (most of which is pretty bad anyway, especially when he plays God giving an orientation to a busload of the recently deceased), and just be himself for an hour or so.

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