The spunky six-foot-two, "fluty"-voiced daughter of a staunch Republican from Pasadena, California, may not seem the stuff of heroism—isn't she famous, not for her work with the secret service during WW II, but for her COOKING?—so why is Julia McWilliams Child remembered today even by feminists too young to have seen her anywhere but on television? Co-authors of To Master the Art Doug Frew and William Brown acquaint us with the reasons in this shamelessly romantic biodrama of the woman who, once embarked on her chosen path, never veered from her convictions or her commitment to her beloved husband—defying global politics, homeland unrest, Red Scare-predators, chauvinistic mentors and sexist publishers, all in pursuit of ensuring that even the most humble of citizens ate well. At the play's 2010 premiere in Timeline Theater's cozy basement playhouse, audiences entered to the tantalizing aroma of buttery shallots warming in a skillet, and an early review declared "You will leave this play wanting to visit Paris, eat something delicious (preferably French), and tell the person that you've loved your whole life that you don't regret it for an instant.” The current stay-home conditions may render the first task impossible and the second, more of a DIY project, but would-be sybarites can accomplish the third from the comfort of their own couch while viewing this 2103 revival production, filmed with surprising cinematic sophistication (close-ups that allow us to read the labels on the bottles, for example), and featuring a time-traveling performance by Karen Janes Woditsch as the mighty Julia herself, flanked by Craig Spidle in the role of the stalwart Paul Child and an ensemble of Chicago's best character actors displaying Eva Breneman's exquisitely-enunciated dialects. Note: The virtual playbill includes a list of local French-cuisine restaurants offering carryout/delivery, but Pepperidge Farm madeleines and Faux Frog wine from Target, augmented by enough imagination, will do in these straitened times.
