Ryan Hake Photo by Aaron Reese Boseman Photography

Although the show has always had its skeptics and detractors (sprinkled in among the much more common, and deserved, adulation), it seems clear that Kushner's work has aged much better than some pieces born of the Reagan era in general, and the AIDS crisis more specifically. And yet it would be damning with faint praise to hint that Invictus succeeds here simply as a downstream effect of that commendable staying power. There is a love in this work for thought and for language and for stumbling in the dark to find one's voice and a way forward in a punishing world. Under Askenaizer's direction, this cast honors and realizes that love with skill that is thrilling to watch.

As ever with Invictus, that success in terms of the thing itself rests on care and creativity in how the piece is presented. Kevin Rolfs' set is a dark, moody ruin of America. Much of the upstage wall is dark wood with decaying elements borrowed from classical Greek architecture as a nod to America's selective self-mythologizing. There are vicious bites ripped out of various parts of the set, and the whole of the space is haphazardly shrouded in cloudy tarps. These bleed into the ruin of the stripes of the American flag just above two half-sized prosceniums. One of these opens onto a miniature stage that Roy Cohn dominates throughout Part One and that other characters occasionally cling to the edges of.

The other proscenium, set two steps down and stage left of this, is the floor-level domain of Louis and Prior, and later Prior without Louis, as the former is shuttled back and forth between the hospital and the apartment that Louis has abandoned. The upper-left corner of the stage is occupied by a precarious set of stairs leading to a high platform that variously represents a shadowy corner of Central Park, a bridge overlooking the Hudson, a porch in Salt Lake City, and ultimately, Heaven.

The overall effect is of a city and a nation and a set of lives not just crumbling, but being consumed from the inside out. G. "Max" Maxin IV's projections build on this. They are by turns playful, as when Mr. Lies first bursts on the scene and a hot pink and violent teal grid design that is vintage 1980s splashes across the upstage portions of the set, and beautiful if unsettling as when Prior is gradually drawn further into his connection with the Angel. In the latter case, the set seems to swirl and pulse with life, and Prior's visual sense of the Angel gradually resolves into an enormous eye. In Part Two, as Prior rouses himself to wrestle with the angel, the space boils with the stuff of creation and the language of God.

Brandon Wardell's lighting is also critical to a physical design that works beautifully. The space is mindfully and deliberately claustrophobic, challenging even the polite illusion of privacy. Characters linger on stage, living through their suffering as the anguish of others takes focus and lurches forward. Wardell's lighting directs the audience's attention with skill, but never lets the other tragedies that are constantly unfolding wander far from our minds. Petter Wahlbäck's sound design is equally deft in creating the ever-present sounds of New York and knowing just when to make those sounds push into the audience's consciousness. All of these elements–set, sound, lighting, and projections–work effectively throughout both parts, but the truest culmination comes in a literally earthshaking climax to Part One.

The costume design by Jessie Gowens and the wig and makeup design by Hannah Andruss also succeed across multiple dimensions. Gowens and Andruss certainly capture the essence of the 1980s through the show's women and Belize, nurse and once and future drag queen extraordinaire, even as they nail the static timelessness of male privilege in Joe's suit and camel hair coat. And yet, even these elements are dynamic, as Harper's house clothes are in conversation with the color block dress and wide belt she wears as she leaves New York, and Belize's scrubs with pop speak to the retro getup that Emily, Prior's nurse, sports. But the greatest triumph is in the costuming for the Angel, which is a marvel not just of sight but of sound and sheer occupation of space, whether she is a seemingly benevolent messenger, a fountain statue, or the much darker figure that Prior must later wrestle with.

it's difficult to say enough in praise of both the performers and the direction here. Ryan Hake (Prior Walter) and Michael D. Graham (Roy M. Cohn and others) are the leads, and however orthogonal their characters may seem to one another, and how nonexistent direct interaction between the two is, their performances speak to and complement one another in fruitful ways that are an unexpected delight.

Hake has no fear at all of leaning all the way into the role of the man whose WASP identity affords him a certain amount of cover in adopting the role of the queen. And for as much play as there is with the rhetoric of butch and queen and Marlboro Man and fairy, the drama of the high-powered fixer that Graham brings to his rendition of Cohn bounces off Hake's choices in ways that invite all kinds of delicious introspection.

Both Hake and Graham also excel in their direct scenes with others. Hake's ability to conjure up genuine, gut-wrenching suffering, even as he, bedridden, calls up Dorothy and Blanche DuBois and other high-camp figures, does Nicki Rossi a great service in helping to bring to life not just their blistering, terrifying, deeply awkward Angel, but also their down-to-earth Emily, Prior's compassionate, yet no-nonsense nurse.

In the same vein, Graham's unabashedly wretched Cohn is shot through with pervasive fear. This unnervingly well-done portrait of a soulless abuser gives Joe Bushell the opportunity to add depth to his performance and a modicum of strength of character to Joe Pitt, who alternately resists Cohn and craves his paternal stamp of approval. But Graham's frantic and constant self-justification in all things also puts Renae Stone in a position to be still, silent, and wickedly patient as Ethel Rosenberg.

As Louis, Grant Carriker is, perhaps, the highest expression of the production's embrace of Kushner's language. Certainly, Graham acquits himself beyond well when the audience first meets Cohn, who wishes to be an octopus so that he could better manage all his all-important phone calls. But Carriker is next-level in handling Louis's guilt-ridden, self-doubt-addled soliloquies. And like Graham and Hake, his performance lays a cornerstone for the successes of his castmates. And it is perhaps most important to credit Carriker with maintaining Louis as a sympathetic (if difficult to love) character throughout. As unconscionable as Louis's abandonment of Prior is, Carriker's genuine anguish complicates everything about the situation.

As Belize, Miguel Long absolutely laps up the opportunity to hang back and let Louis (and Roy) hang himself, delivering devastating ripostes at strategic intervals. Long also shows off his comedic ability as Mr. Lies, creating a relationship with Anne Trodden's Harper at her most unhinged that scatters comedic gold just when it is most needed.

Trodden also excels in the dramatic arena. Her sharp, sudden shifts between the valium-addled, perennially afraid housewife and the shrewd, knowing survivor are skillfully navigated. Her interactions with Hake, both on the threshold of revelation and in the bizarre meatspace of the Mormon Visitors' Center diorama room afford her character a genuine three-dimensional existence, where a less invested actor and less skillful direction might have stranded the character in just two dimensions.

In addition to her strong performance as Hannah Pitt, Renae Stone's work as multiple characters renders indispensable service to the overall vibe and perspective. As a rabbi for hire, intent on making sure his worldview gets the publicity it deserves, and as a Bolshevik clinging to doctrine, Stone delivers the incongruous and the absurd.

Invictus Theatre Company's Angels in America, Part One: Millennium Approaches and Part Two: Perestroika has been extended though September 21, 2025, at Windy City Playhouse, 3014 W. Irving Park Road, Chicago IL. For tickets and information, please visit www.invictustheatreco.com.