SINK YOUR TEETH INTO THIS BLOODY CUT OF MEAT

At some time in the future, a band of rebels have staged a successful coup against the United States. The prevailing system of order has been violently overthrown. Cities are razed to the ground, with surviving citizenry housed in camps. Food is scarce. Medicine is scarcer. And in a shiny new palace, bedecked in a shimmering white gown, a young woman named Chelsea is installed as the Queen of North America (one assumes that Mexico and Canada have been overtaken by the revolutionaries).

So begins Jojo Jones’ Veal at A Red Orchid Theatre. Tianxuan Chen’s set is simple; a small stage leading to a court, all overlaid in marble. The backdrop is formed by a set of fun house mirrors (a clever element that unfortunately is underutilized). White chiffon with silver inlay drapes everything; in the center sits a bored-looking Queen Chelsea whose icy stare contributes considerably to the chill in the air of the theatre. On stage with the Queen is a handsome young man in attendance. We will soon learn that he is her concubine and we watch as the two interact wordlessly with a playful intimacy that seems at odds with the uneven power dynamic of their relationship.

Into this scene come three disheveled and physically bruised women, Franny, Noa, and Lulu; friends of Chelsea from middle school, they hope to parlay their childhood friendship with Chelsea into acquiring insulin, desperately needed to save Franny’s diabetic sister. Chelsea — whose visage visibly tightens when the three women appear (clearly their “friendship” was not what it seemed) — agrees, but demands, in exchange, that they participate in a roleplay reenacting scenes from their teenage years.

The word “dystopian” is frequently thrown around to describe this sort of construct. In this case, it’s a misnomer. There is no world-building here and what few details are revealed are barely sketched in. The main purpose of this set-up is to reverse the power structure between these four women to an extreme level. The peripheral member of their social group as a teenager, Chelsea now has complete power over her former friends — and tormentors. And not just over their lives but the lives of those near and dear to them as well.

The ramifications of bullying are rarely explored in the context of an exclusively female cohort — with the notable exception of Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye — and when they are, as in Tina Fey’s sharp comedy Mean Girls, the psychological damage is mostly elided over. Veal is first and foremost a comedy, and a largely successful one at that, but it digs deep into the trauma that has shaped Chelsea’s entire life since age thirteen, when after a cruel prank goes horrifically wrong, she cuts off contact with her friends, removing them from her life, until, more than a decade later, they come knocking at her palace gates begging for her mercy.

The script is consistently funny, and the bits that don’t land — like a Lunchables gag (pun intended) that goes on far too long — are more than redeemed by those that do, including a spectacular high school dance sequence that drew a roar of approval from the crowd.

Red Orchid ensemble member dado handles the directorial duties with aplomb, utilizing the intimate space well. The second half is particularly well-directed as the story moves with dread-inducing determination to its dark end. An end that in hindsight plays as inevitable.

Jojo Brown (Franny), Carmia Imani (Lulu), and Alice Wu (Noa) play the three former friends with an almost manic intensity — at times a bit too over-the-top, especially Imani, who draws the short straw with the Lunchables bit. This sort of material requires a delicate balancing act, and they frequently tip over, particularly in the first half. Brown, however, has a magnetic stage presence — almost feral in her intensity. You can see why the other girls would gravitate toward her as their leader. As Chelsea forces them to reenact her bullying, Franny’s growing desperation mingles with her innate nastiness — there’s no way around it, Franny is not a nice person: a childhood bully who becomes an adult bully — driving her into an almost sociopathic rage that fuels the shattering final confrontation. Brown, using her soulful, expressive eyes to counterpoint her vicious dialogue, is magnificent in this stretch. She may have started out a bit patchy, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

There is no such unevenness in Alexandra Chopson’s wonderful performance as Queen Chelsea. From her frigid hauteur at the opening to her slow unraveling as she digs into her teenage trauma — bleeding the wounds afresh — to her final mania, it’s the work of an actor in full command of her talents and with a complete understanding of her character. She doesn’t get the funny lines, but the comedy would not have worked without her performance.

And a brief nod to Jasper Johnson who gives a sweet, witty, and mostly wordless performance as the Queen’s concubine. The two most (only?) tender moments in the show come from him, at the beginning and at the end. It’s a lovely turn.

This is an ambitious, complex play, both in theme and construction, and if it wobbles a bit on occasion, so what? Scripts can be tightened. Performances can be refined. The beauty of theatre is that one gets to constantly tinker with the material at hand. Imagination and a strong authorial voice are in much shorter supply. Jojo Jones was only 23 when she wrote Veal. I look forward to seeing what else flows from her veins — er, pen.

photos by Evan Hanover

Veal
A Red Orchid Theatre, 1531 N. Wells Ave
Thurs and Fri at 7: Sat at 3 & 7; Sun at 3
ends on November 9, 2025
for tickets, call 312.943.8722 or visit A Red Orchid

for more shows, visit Theatre in Chicago