Chicago learned its lesson with the disastrous summer of 1995, introducing city-wide safety measures to more quickly remedy the hardships associated with unusually high temperatures. This is small comfort to the sweltering citizens in Devil’s Day Off, Jon Steinhagen's panoramic portrait of an urban landscape in 2014 under siege by 112-degree heat indices exacerbated by a 12-hour electrical power failure arising from overloaded cooling systems.
However civilized we may consider ourselves, extreme meteorological conditions have a way of provoking primal responses: bereft of land-lines and portable radios, smartphone owners hoard their precious remaining minutes. When an aged mom doesn't answer her phone, her offspring debate the necessity of a wellness check that entails borrowing a buddy's car. An SRO tenant struggles to evacuate his quarters, while a runaway teen seeks sanctuary at a friend's house. A pair of security guards caught in a locked stairwell contemplate death by hyperthermia. An African-American man is warned to avoid certain neighborhoods. Churchgoers of all faiths pray for deliverance from violent impulses born of despair.
It's not all Y2K-revisited, though—nostalgic memories of gentle rural summers are summoned, children play in the dark with flashlights, and a young buck attempting to cheer up his girlfriend jokes, "It's so hot, the devil took the day off."
Of course, this synopsis is open to—quite literally—individual interpretation. Steinhagen's intent is less a linear narrative than a collection of snapshot scenarios composed of dialogue stripped of its clues as regards setting, character and vocal interpretation—details left for the performers to determine themselves. Thus, an argument over suitable beachwear can be initiated by gay or het partners, dissertations on candles and paper hues conducted in home or office, and appeals for divine intervention invoked in five different languages.
A hazard with this kind of live-action collage is the efficiency with which players must orient audiences to each new dramatic locale. On opening night, not all of these had been wholly developed. (To be fair, some of Steinhagen's minimalist exercises also need to reveal significant information earlier, especially when the actors are of near-uniform age and attire.) That said, the effort required in the creation of 61 instant plays, executed over 90 minutes by only 13 actors, is certainly laudable, as is the commercial appeal of the assemble-it-yourself concept. Anyone who's ever gone slightly bugflake under Mother Nature's merciless wrath—and who among us hasn't?—will likely find their sentiments echoed during this last chance to remember sweat and sunshine before the snow arrives.
