“Doubt,” a play opening this weekend at the Rep’s Quadracci Powerhouse Theater, proved to be all the things I hope for in  a night at the theater. It was thought provoking, funny, intense and thoroughly  entertaining.

I was quite glad that it was 90 minutes without an intermission, because I really don't know how I could have lived through a break. I was that into the story line, and the suspense probably would have killed me.

“Doubt” starts with a powerful sermon about the crisis of faith by Father Brendan Flynn (played by Rep company member Brian Vaughn), around whom the plot of the play revolves.

It is set at St. Nicholas, a Catholic church and school in the Bronx, in 1964. Change is in the air. Sister Aloysius is the straight-laced nun who has set her sites on bringing the man down. She believes such things as “art is a waste of time” and that “a restless mind is bad.”  (Hmm, where have I heard these things before? Must be my Catholic upbringing.) Caught in the crossfire is the innocent Sister James.

The sets are simple and extremely well done. I definitely spent my share of time staring at just those same colored, two-tone walls that defined the principal's office, and the courtyard between the convent and the rectory looked just about exactly that way. It really is incredible that there are so many people out there with these same memories. It's kind of creepy, actually.

The play examines the issue of certainty and uncertainty, and suggests that it is doubt itself that inspires us to grow. The play has a very well-written script that operates on a variety of levels, ventures into the territory of racial tension, and even manages to call into question the origins of homosexuality. Nora Cole, as the strong character of Mrs. Muller, does an outstanding job of calling Sr. Aloysius on the carpet. Bravo, Mrs. Muller!

The play is all about if, how and when we are brave enough to cross lines. I mean, was …

I went down to the United Community Center to catch Bobi Céspedes and her band last night and was pleasantly blown away by her authentic vocals and heartfelt rhythm. Bobi sported long, gray dreads to frame her  angelic face and wowed the crowd with her powerhouse voice. Her band consisted of musicians on piano, (baby grand) stand-up bass, guitar, bongos and congas (with liberal dose of cowbell and gourd thrown in). The talented pianist did double time on the trumpet. What they created together was nothing less than amazing.

Bobi sings in English, Spanish and Lucumi, the mother tongue of the descendants of the Yorubas of West Africa in Cuba. She was born the youngest of a musical family of 14 in a town on the outskirts of Havana, Cuba and grew up with music and magic all around her. Bobi is a priestess in the Yoruba-Lucumi tradition and her music is consequently spirit-filled and inspired. She left Cuba in 1959 for New York, and currently resides in California.

One of the first numbers the group played was “Rezos” (the title track to her latest CD) a musical prayer for tranquility, money and health. Bobi was off to a jammin' start. It quickly became quite clear that she could surely shake it.

Just when I was feeling proud to be a sort-of Hispanic American (by marriage that is) Bobbi broke out with “Buenos Días America” and the trumpet sounded, and the drums beat, and there was no way I could stop my feet. Bobi taunted, “Bailén! Bailén! Bailén!” but alas, no one was dancing. “Don't make the gringa be the first one to dance,” I thought, because I am going to have to do it, and it's not going to be pretty. Bobi set the crowd straight after that and said, “We are going to have to come to a little understanding about what that extra space in the aisles is for.” Thank you, Bobi.

Bobi then broke into a gorgeous ballad, one of those songs that she claimed didn't even know she knew, but had somehow seeped into her veins. Ah! The trump…

An amiga dragged me along to see the Martin Ramírez show that recently opened at the Milwaukee Art Museum, and I am so glad she did! I had never heard of him before, but now he ranks among my favorite artists.

The works in the show were incredible and inspiring. Ramírez made them while locked in an insane asylum, gluing together paper he dug out of the trash at night with mashed potatoes, oatmeal and spit (among various other substances). He drew them using mostly pencil, at times incorporating crayon, tempera paint, colored pencil, collage or whatever he managed to get his hands on. He repeated shapes and lines within drawings, and he repeated drawings themselves, with only slight variations between them. His main themes were a guy on horseback, trains and tunnels, and the Virgin Mary. Some of them have cars in them, some even look like VW vans. Most of the works in the show are quite large. I liked the Madonnas best.

Art made by people without formal artistic training is referred to as "outsider" or self-taught art. Ramírez would fit into this category, although some of his design elements may lead one to wonder. He was a Mexican immigrant who migrated to the United States in the 1920s to try to find work mining and on the railroads to send money back to support his family in Jalisco, Mexico. He didn't talk much while he was in the mental hospital, although he reportedly had a pleasant demeanor. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia, tending toward catatonia.

Some of the drawings seem to have a subtle art nouveau characteristic to them. Some of the horses reminded me of Picasso. It leads me to wonder if Ramírez had been exposed to his work, or if there was a sort of collective consciousness going on that they were both tapped into.

Ramírez's works are both accessible and expressive, and they struck me as happy. They spoke to me about things I could relate to, as my son is hard core into trains right now, and the churches and Madonnas harkened back…