The Story We Steal: 'Keerah' and the Ethics of Narrating Lives
There’s something deeply unsettling about the way we consume stories today. In an era where every personal anecdote can be commodified, every vulnerability monetized, and every life dissected for clicks, the question of ownership becomes a minefield. Who gets to tell whose story? And at what cost? These are the questions that linger long after the curtain falls on Keerah, Netta Walker’s world premiere at Definition Theatre. But what makes this play particularly fascinating is how it doesn’t just ask these questions—it forces you to confront them through the lens of a summer fling, gentrification, and the messy intersection of art and exploitation.
A Love Story, But Not Just That
On the surface, Keerah is a meet-cute between Ciara, a young Black woman working in a Logan Square restaurant, and Cormac, her Irish coworker on a J1 Visa. It’s a story of passion, cultural collision, and the kind of chemistry that makes you root for the couple. But what many people don’t realize is that beneath this romantic veneer lies a sharp critique of gentrification—not just in Chicago, but in Dublin as well. This dual perspective is a refreshing twist, as gentrification narratives often stay confined to American urban centers. Walker’s decision to draw parallels between these two cities adds a layer of global relevance that’s both unexpected and necessary.
Personally, I think this is where the play shines brightest. By weaving together issues like mental health, addiction, and immigration, Walker creates a tapestry that feels deeply personal yet universally resonant. It’s not just a love story; it’s a generational portrait of the struggles and contradictions that define young adulthood today.
The TV-Like Pace: A Double-Edged Sword
One thing that immediately stands out is the play’s pacing, which feels more like a television show than traditional theater. Director McKenzie Chinn’s background in film and TV is evident, but this choice is a double-edged sword. While the first act is undeniably fun, it’s also overly long, with scenes that linger past their welcome. If you take a step back and think about it, this pacing mirrors the way we consume media today—binge-worthy, fast-paced, and often superficial. But theater demands something different: it asks us to sit with discomfort, to let the heavier moments breathe.
The second act’s plot twist, which I won’t spoil, justifies this pacing in a way that’s both clever and unsettling. It raises a deeper question: Are we complicit in the exploitation of stories when we consume them without questioning their origins? This is where Keerah becomes more than just a play—it’s a mirror held up to our own voyeuristic tendencies.
The Ownership of Stories: A Moral Quagmire
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Walker, herself a budding writer, explores the ethics of storytelling through her characters. Both Ciara and Cormac are writers, and their bond over literature—from Greek mythology to Shakespearean sonnets—feels like a love letter to the power of words. But what this really suggests is that storytelling is never neutral. It’s always an act of interpretation, and sometimes, appropriation.
The play’s central conflict revolves around the question of who owns a story. In a world where content creators profit from the lives of others—often without permission—this is a question that feels urgent and unresolved. From my perspective, Keerah doesn’t offer easy answers, and that’s precisely what makes it compelling. It forces us to grapple with our own complicity in the storytelling economy.
Chemistry, Culture, and the Need for Editing
The chemistry between Walker and Beck Nolan is undeniable. They mesh cultures, languages, and vulnerabilities in a way that feels authentic and raw. But here’s the thing: as much as I enjoyed their performances, the play’s length—over two and a half hours—feels excessive. There are scenes, especially in the first act, that could be trimmed without losing their impact.
This raises a broader question about the theater industry: Why are we so afraid of editing? In a medium that demands focus and immersion, every moment must earn its place. Keerah is a strong debut, but it’s also a reminder that even the most talented writers need a critical eye to refine their vision.
Why This Matters Beyond the Stage
If you’re thinking this is just a review of a local play, think again. Keerah taps into something much larger: the tension between art and ethics, between storytelling and exploitation. In a world where anyone with a smartphone can become a narrator, the lines between inspiration and theft have never been blurrier.
What this play really suggests is that we need to rethink how we consume and create stories. It’s not just about entertainment—it’s about responsibility. Personally, I left the theater with more questions than answers, and that’s exactly what great art should do.
Final Thoughts: A Logan Square Love Story with Global Echoes
As someone who lives in Logan Square, I’ll admit I’m biased. There’s something special about seeing your neighborhood on stage, its quirks and contradictions laid bare. But Keerah is more than just a local love story. It’s a global conversation about the stories we tell, the stories we steal, and the stories we owe to each other.
In my opinion, this is a play that deserves to be seen—not just for its humor, its heart, or its impressive performances, but for the questions it dares to ask. It’s messy, it’s ambitious, and it’s unapologetically human. And in a world where stories are currency, that’s exactly what we need.
