On a frigid and snowy Saturday night, I arrived on a not-very-well-plowed street in an industrial neighborhood filled with semis. I entered the building at 451 Taft Street in Northeast Minneapolis (not too far from the new Crane Theater) and made my way down the stairs to a long hallway that smelled funny and was cold. If not for the signage at various points, I would have been unsure I was in the right place. But I was in the right place, the right place to see a smart new play in a perfectly suited found space with a small cast that was so great and natural I almost felt like I was eavesdropping on a real conversation. This was my first experience with Market Garden Theatre, but not my first experience with a Keith Hovis penned work, and I continue to be impressed with his evolving talents. First he amused with his very Fringey musicals (including Teenage Misery which recently received an encore production), then he moved to tears with the lovely trio of short musicals Pioneer Suite, and now he disturbs and intrigues with a play about our modern world and how quick we are to publicly shame people for their mistakes.
