Pontiac Theatre IV’s ‘Chicago’ Is Criminally Good

There is something wonderfully ironic about a musical that celebrates murder, manipulation, and the absolute moral bankruptcy of celebrity culture being so ridiculously entertaining. Then again, that’s all part of Chicago’s magic. It takes some of humanity’s least admirable qualities, wraps them in fishnets and glitter, throws in a little jazz, and somehow finds audiences begging for more. It’s a theatrical contradiction that shouldn’t work nearly as well as it does. Yet when the right performers take it on, the results can be downright intoxicating. Pontiac Theatre IV’s production of Chicago proves that.

You don’t need Broadway’s bright lights to deliver an evening worth celebrating. Sometimes, all you need is a talented company, a love for the material, and performers who understand the fine line between playing a character and owning one. In this production, that distinction becomes especially clear through exceptional performances and the love and guidance of director Tina Robinson.

The result is an enormously entertaining interpretation of one of Broadway’s most cynical creations. It’s funny, wicked, unapologetically theatrical, and populated by characters you probably wouldn’t want to encounter in real life but would happily watch from the safety of a theatre seat. The real crime here? That the evening eventually has to end.

[Warning: spoilers from Pontiac Theatre IV’s Chicago are below!]

For anyone unfamiliar with the quintessential Broadway musical, Chicago takes audiences into the scandal-soaked world of the 1920s, where fame is fleeting, justice is negotiable, and the quickest route to celebrity status apparently involves a smoking gun and a sensational newspaper headline.

At the core of all the chaos is Roxie Hart, an aspiring performer whose dreams of stardom take a rather unfortunate detour when she murders her lover. Rather than letting a little thing like homicide derail her ambitions, Roxie discovers notoriety can be every bit as valuable as talent. With the help of a slick attorney and a media world more interested in spectacle than substance, she begins transforming herself from accused killer into the latest public obsession.

It’s an outrageous premise, but the musical’s greatest trick is how effortlessly it persuades audiences to enjoy the ludicrousness. Beneath the infectious score and vaudeville-inspired presentation lies a pointed examination of celebrity worship, media manipulation, and a justice system that occasionally seems more concerned with appearances than actual justice.

Of course, the material alone isn’t enough to guarantee a successful production. Chicago requires performers who can handle its exaggerated personalities without reducing them to caricatures. The characters may be larger than life, but their motivations need to remain recognizable. That’s where Pontiac Theatre IV finds some of its greatest strengths.

If one performer deserves her name illuminated in enormous Broadway-style lights, it’s Analisa Thomas. Taking on Roxie Hart is no small undertaking. The character is ambitious, manipulative, insecure, selfish, and strangely endearing. She wants the world to love her, even if she has to manufacture an entirely different version of herself to make it happen.

Balancing those contradictions is essential because Roxie can easily become insufferable in the wrong hands. Thomas, however, makes the character thoroughly compelling. What distinguishes her portrayal is the way Roxie’s unrelenting ambition becomes part of her appeal. Audiences aren’t necessarily supposed to admire this. She’s capable of terrible decisions, possesses a remarkably flexible relationship with the truth, and seems convinced that fame will somehow absolve her of responsibility.

Yet something about her desperation to be noticed is irrefutably captivating. Thomas embraces that contradiction, allowing Roxie’s questionable choices to coexist with the theatrical charisma that makes her such an irresistible central character. Rather than asking audiences to excuse Roxie’s behavior, the performance invites them to enjoy the spectacle of someone whose confidence frequently exceeds her common sense. And that’s precisely where the humor lives.

Roxie is both the architect of her increasingly ridiculous circumstances and a product of a society that rewards attention above virtually everything else. Her ambition isn’t particularly noble, but it is recognizable, especially in a world where fame often seems far more important than talent. Thomas understands that Roxie doesn’t need to be likable every moment to remain fascinating. The character’s flaws are essential to the comedy, and softening them would only diminish the satire. The role demands personality, confidence, and a willingness to embrace the ridiculous. She gives Roxie a presence that anchors the production while keeping the character’s contradictions front and center. Roxie Hart wants to be a star, and with Thomas in the role, she gets her wish.

Every aspiring celebrity needs someone who understands how to manipulate public opinion. Enter Billy Flynn, a lawyer whose relationship with justice is about as sincere as a politician’s campaign promise. Billy is one of musical theatre’s great charming scoundrels, a man who knows winning a case has far less to do with facts than with controlling the narrative. He’s polished, persuasive, and seemingly able to turn even the most damning circumstances into a public relations triumph. Collin Moore is an excellent fit for the character.

Where Thomas’s Roxie operates through ambition and desperation, Moore’s Billy represents calculated control. He’s not scrambling to become famous. He already understands the machinery of celebrity and knows exactly which levers to pull. That distinction makes the character especially entertaining.

Billy isn’t simply a lawyer. He’s a ringmaster, a salesman, and a performer who views the courtroom as another stage. Every argument becomes an opportunity for showmanship, and every client a chance to show how easily public perception can be manipulated. His portrayal captures the character’s essential appeal without losing sight of the absurdity beneath his polished exterior.

There’s something inherently amusing about a man who treats criminal defense as a carefully choreographed publicity campaign. Billy could probably convince an audience to purchase tickets to its own trial, then charge extra for preferred seating. And somehow, everyone would thank him afterward. The character’s signature number, “Razzle Dazzle,” might as well serve as the musical’s philosophical manifesto. Distract the audience, overwhelm them with spectacle, and hope nobody notices what’s actually happening. It’s terrible legal advice, perhaps, but tremendous musical theatre.

Moore’s Billy provides an effective counterpart to Thomas’ Roxie. One desperately wants the spotlight, while the other knows how to operate it. Their relationship becomes a wonderfully cynical transaction in which innocence matters considerably less than the ability to sell a convincing story. This dynamic speaks directly to the musical’s central themes, and he makes Billy a particularly enjoyable figure within that theatrical machinery. After all, why bother with the truth when you’ve got a perfectly good song and dance?

For all the murder, manipulation, and theatrical extravagance that define Chicago, one character offers something the rest of the cast seems determined to avoid: genuine humanity. That character is Amos Hart, and Ian Campbell’s portrayal is one of the production’s most welcome achievements.

Amos is perhaps the musical’s most quietly devastating creation. While everyone around him scrambles for attention, influence, and celebrity, he’s the unfortunate soul who simply wants to be acknowledged. He’s loyal to a fault, painfully overlooked, and perpetually caught in circumstances he seems unable to control. In a show populated by people desperate to be seen, Amos is the man nobody notices. It’s a cruel gag, but also one of the musical’s most effective emotional observations.

Campbell brings a different energy to the production, giving Amos a vulnerability that contrasts beautifully with the larger-than-life personalities around him. Unlike Roxie or Billy, Amos isn’t particularly interested in manipulating the world. He just wants someone to acknowledge that he’s part of it. And in the morally compromised universe of Chicago, that almost makes him an endangered species.

The character’s famous “Mr. Cellophane” number represents one of the musical’s most poignant departures from its otherwise gleeful cynicism. Here is a man who has spent so much time being ignored that invisibility has practically become his defining characteristic. The humor is unmistakable, but so is the sadness underneath.

Ian Campbell’s contribution is especially valuable because Amos requires a different kind of theatrical strength. The role isn’t about commanding attention through flamboyance or calculated charisma. It’s about making an audience care for someone whose entire existence seems to revolve around being forgotten. That emotional honesty gives the musical the breathing room it needs.

Without Amos, Chicago risks becoming an endless parade of entertainingly terrible people doing entertainingly terrible things. His presence reminds us that consequences lie beneath the comedy, even if the characters responsible couldn’t care less. Campbell makes that contrast meaningful. Sometimes, the most affecting person onstage isn’t the one demanding the spotlight. It’s the one quietly standing outside it.

One of the main reasons Chicago remains so enduring is that its satire has become almost uncomfortably prophetic. The musical’s obsession with celebrity trials, carefully manufactured public personas, and the commercialization of scandal feels less like a historical curiosity and more like a particularly entertaining examination of contemporary culture. Replace the newspaper reporters with social media influencers, add a few viral videos, and suddenly the distance between 1920s Chicago and modern America shrinks alarmingly. That’s part of the brilliance John Kander, Fred Ebb, and Bob Fosse created. Beneath the infectious musical numbers lies a remarkably sharp understanding of how easily entertainment can overwhelm truth. And what a collection of musical numbers it is.

From the sultry confidence of “All That Jazz” to the darkly comic brilliance of “Cell Block Tango,” Chicago possesses one of musical theatre’s most recognizable scores. Songs like “We Both Reached for the Gun” and “Razzle Dazzle” aren’t just opportunities for musical spectacle. They extend the characters’ carefully constructed public performances. The vaudeville-inspired structure is particularly clever because it makes the audience complicit in the very behavior the musical is criticizing. We know these characters are manipulating us. We recognize that their actions are frequently reprehensible. And yet, we’re having an absolutely marvelous time.

That tension is what gives Chicago its distinctive identity. The show never asks audiences to abandon their moral judgment. Instead, it challenges them to consider why such outrageous behavior becomes so entertaining when presented with enough charm, music, and theatrical flair. Pontiac Theatre IV benefits from that material’s enduring strength, especially when its performers find the spirit beneath the satire. The musical’s appeal isn’t simply that its characters are outrageous. It’s that their motivations remain disturbingly familiar. And that’s a joke that hasn’t lost its punchline.

Ultimately, Pontiac Theatre IV’s production of Chicago is a thoroughly enjoyable reminder of why this musical has remained a theatrical favorite for decades. It’s wickedly funny, delightfully cynical, and built around characters whose questionable behavior somehow becomes part of their considerable charm. But the evening’s greatest rewards come from the people bringing those characters to life.

Analisa Thomas gives Roxie Hart the charisma and personality necessary to make her reckless pursuit of fame irresistible. Collin Moore brings Billy Flynn’s calculating showmanship into focus, providing a terrific contrast to Roxie’s impulsive ambition. And Ian Campbell gives Amos Hart the emotional sincerity that prevents the musical’s cynicism from overwhelming its humanity.

Each performer contributes something distinctive, and together they help make this production particularly memorable. There’s an undeniable pleasure in watching Chicago work its theatrical mischief. It urges audiences to celebrate characters they probably shouldn’t admire, laugh at objectively horrifying situations, and recognize how easily notoriety can be mistaken for importance. It’s scandalous. It’s outrageous. It’s wonderfully entertaining.

And perhaps the most amusing part is that nearly a century after the events that inspired its story, the joke still lands with remarkable precision. Pontiac Theatre IV has plenty to celebrate with this production. Its strongest performances demonstrate the appeal of community theatre at its best: familiar material brought to life by artists who make it feel worth experiencing all over again.

Check out Pontiac Theatre IV’s website to learn more about upcoming productions, including Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street! Did you happen to catch their production of Chicago? What did you think about their razzle-dazzle? Share your thoughts on social media and tag @bsb.insider to keep the conversation going!

Exclusive Interview: Cast and Director of Pontiac Theatre IV’s Chicago