"Another Day in the Empire," the bitterly savage comedy from Steve Spencer, might be one of the best off-Loop productions of the year. Like Brett Neveu before him, Spencer is a local playwright with big potential, if his current effort is any indication.

Short, punchy and funny, the show is performed with sporting gusto by actors who know a good play when it smacks them in the face. Do not pass up the chance to see this show from Black Sheep Productions, a new company working in association with Reverie Theatre. Rarely are fringe productions this sure-footed. Spencer has written a piece of agitprop masterly cloaked as a dark burlesque about America's culture of accumulation -- as seen through the eyes of a young real estate broker named Jack (Kevin Stark, full of zing and bluster) who suffers a meltdown during an open house.

He is a man felled by divorce and tequila. And in the person of Stark, with his bantam weight and boyish features, Jack might as well be a teenager trapped in an adult life and dishing out cynical haymakers.

Directed with a firm grasp of tone by Vance Smith, a series of prospective buyers stroll through the house, gazing out at the strip malls, big box stores and restaurant chains. "It's like an ant farm for the obese," Jack says. When someone comments on the neighborhood's potential, Jack sneers, "Potential for what? Postpartum depression? Army recruitment?"

Among those wandering in are Ron, a recently divorced house hunter (underplayed beautifully by Sean Sinitski), who sees a kindred spirit in the sweating realtor. His silent demand that Jack share the booze -- just a hand gesture and imploring stare -- is the kind of acting that makes this production such a kick.

Angry and discerning, the script is exceedingly quotable, like post-modern Noel Coward. One buyer complains that talking to her spouse is "like kicking a Coke machine." And I hope you weren't browsing through nearby Crate & Barrel before the show, because it might feel as if the play's barbs are aimed specifically at you. Neo-cons get lashed, but so do self-congratulating Democrats -- TiVos and Swiffers know no political affiliations. All the hardwood floors and cozy suburban fantasies can't shield you from the ugliness of false hope and shattered dreams. Life can be awfully nasty underneath all that stuff in our homes.

Spencer's contention -- that the desire to live in a nice house in a nice suburb belies something more sinister in the American condition -- may be arguable. But whether or not you agree, his points are hilariously expressed. Which is more than you can say about most things in life.

--Nina Metz, Chicago Tribune

Steve Spencer's new comedy, in which a depressed real estate agent suffers an anti-capitalist breakdown in the middle of an open house, is thoroughly enjoyable satire. Jack has been on the skids for months; he needs to sell this house or his old buddy Will is going to fire him. An episode with a potential buyer sends Jack over the edge; he decides on the spot that he can no longer shovel the bullshit of modern capitalism. The rest of the day’s househunters don’t know what they’re in for.

Spencer’s riffs on suburban homogenization and corporate chains are well played if not terribly fresh; it’s to his benefit that Smith has pulled together a top-notch cast for Black Sheep’s inaugural production. In the hands of pros like prototypical sad sack Sean Sinitski, throwaways like "My wife is the reason babies cry" transmute into gold. The whole shebang rests on the shoulders of Kevin Stark, whose Jack barely leaves the stage. It’s a virtuoso performance, though Stark can’t plug the script’s one gaping hole. Jack raises all the right questions, but he doesn’t get any answers - Spencer admits there may be none. When one buyer flashes her good-liberal credentials and asks Jack, "What more am I supposed to do?" he has nothing for her. As Will points out, Jack can’t extract himself from the system. So what are we supposed to do? The lack of answers keeps it on this side of the profound, but a play that gets us laughing and thinking is worth more than hardwood floors and a breakfast nook.

--Kris Vire, TimeOut Chicago

A despairing realtor falls apart at a suburban open house in Steve Spencer's hilarious dark comedy. After his wife leaves him, Jack's a mess. He passionately embraces another man's wife, prods a couple in physically assaulting him, and downs tequila with a prospective buyer. But only a liberal couple at whom Jack spews a dark tirade of distrust, contributes -unwittingly- to his rapid downfall. Jack's not alone in his angry unhappiness, which makes it easier for audiences to laugh at Spencer's acerbic commentary on globalism, commercialism and sweet hopes for the American Dream. Even small gestures speak volumes in Vance Smith's attentive staging for Black Sheep productions; the fine cast is led by Kevin Stark as caustic Jack.

--Jenn Goddu, Chicago Reader

It’s an older new house that sells itself, positioned on a suburban rise with a fine view of what used to an orchard. "It has everything anyone with disposable income could need," realtor Jack tells prospective buyers who delightedly observe the nearby franchise stores, among them Krispy Kreme, Pottery Barn, Midas Muffler, CompUSA, Jenny Craig, Olive Garden, White Castle and Cheesecake Factory. No wonder every potential buyer wants to make an offer.

And yet Jack can’t close. An anarchist at heart who is an insidious provocateur and entirely self-destructive, he can’t stop himself from throwing each buyer’s bourgeois complacency back in his/her face, escalating his mocking to the level of violent reaction as he describes contemporary values as "a perfectly closed system of denial, junk food and pornography."

At only 65 minutes, this world premiere is a pungent, explosive, dark little comedy, and it’s rather brilliantly performed by a veteran crew for the new Black Sheep Productions. Pumped up by Vance Smith’s astute yet brassy direction, Kevin Stark turns in an astonishingly hyper-energized performance as Jack. He succeeds in looking bland but acting on the edge. He’s supported by a strong eight-person ensemble that never overdoes the farce elements.

--Jonathan Abarbanel, Windy City Times