Are there ghosts here?”

A young, fresh-faced, naïve prostitute in the late Lanford Wilson’s play, The Hot L Baltimore, asks this question about her temporary home — a large, run-down Baltimore flophouse that she’s just learned has been scheduled for demolition.

The answer is “yes.” A sharply-dressed, fedora-sporting specter roams the hotel, weaving through its rooms, on occasion breaking into mournful song. But he’s not the only one haunting the Hotel Baltimore.

A baker’s dozen of flesh-and-blood lost souls mingle through the hotel. From the transients searching for their place in the world to the complacent folk eager to simply step off of life’s cycle, they make strong connections — both to the hotel and between themselves.

Running at Steppenwolf through May 29, Lanford’s classic 1973 play is an interesting study of disenfranchised fringe-dwellers surrounded by constant change, from the soon-to-be-destroyed hotel and the unreliable (and near irrelevant) passenger train that passes by, to the ever-present social, artistic and political upheavals of the early 1970s that manifest via television broadcasts of Nixon proclaiming innocence and new sounds by Jimi Hendrix and Curtis Mayfield jamming on the radio.

Nothing is permanent in the Hotel Baltimore (the “e” missing in the hotel’s exterior neon sign speaks volumes) — straight down to the characters’ pastimes and professions.

Prostitutes sell temporary love and affection. Chess games devolve into fisticuffs before they can properly finish. Searches for family members become dead ends. Even the big dreamers — a brother and sister heading west to claim land for environmental farming — find hopes dashed. They may seem a sad sack lot, but they’re surprisingly happy and content, enjoying the simplicity of champagne toasts, dance and song. The smiles mask pain and fear, no doubt, but in the face of such uncontrollable changes, laughter amongst friends often heals the soul better than solitary tears.

Steppenwolf’s ensemble brings the hotel’s residents to life wonderfully. They’re perfectly fleshed-out characters possessing the comfortable (and often combative) chemistry of those forced to live in close proximities.

Kate Arrington, de’Adre Aziza and Allison Torem own the show as the sultry and sassy Suzy, the imposing and brash (yet sweet) April, and the talkative hummingbird known as The Girl, respectively — hookers who trade in verbal quips as easily as they serve sex.

Namir Smallwood is another scene-stealer as Jamie, the mousy but assertive teen tagging along with his older sister to farm country. His mid-chess fight with Yasen Peyankov’s elderly curmudgeon Mr. Morse is one of the show’s most hilarious moments.

The true star of The Hot L Baltimore is the exquisite set, though.

The massive hotel interior comprised of a large lobby, staircase, an upper level of functional rooms and a third level of implied living quarters is a character unto itself. Its chips, cracks, watermarks, peeling wallpaper, busted furniture, odd assortment of hung photos and random knick-knacks hint at a once-grand life. The hotel is hopelessly stuck in the past, telling stories of generations come and gone even while gathering tales from its present residents. The exposed rooms on the second floor allow the audience to voyeuristically witness these privileged new stories first-hand.

Stellar performances (and sets) notwithstanding, The Hot L Baltimore goes nowhere, unfortunately. Nothing really happens. Even a modicum of narrative development behind the character studies would have provided enough forward momentum to keep the show moving. Instead, the play just stagnates like a sitcom not worthy of its talent. (Curiously, The Hot L Baltimore did become a sitcom on ABC in the mid Seventies, produced by Norman Lear. It was cancelled after 13 episodes.) The multiple musical interludes, though wonderfully performed, sit awkwardly, as well, slowing down a show already bogged-down by its own meanderings. The Hot L Baltimore is a wonderful look at lives on the outside. If only it had life, though.

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By Suzi from North Center
Posted: 04/15/2011 9:59 AM

Episodic, loosely structure vignettes that add up to an atmosphere-driven narrative was a hallmark of 1970s storytelling.