Lookingglass Theatre is one of the city’s most prominent and most loved companies, with 70 world premieres, more than 160 Jeff Award noms, and the 2011 Tony for Outstanding Regional Theatre to its credit. It came as no shock, then, that its reopening received a rash of good publicity last week, with a ceremonial ribbon-cutting attended by Gov. J.B. Pritzker and founding member (and Friends actor) David Schwimmer. Housed in the historic Water Tower Water Works, the theater celebrated its major renovation that included an expanded lobby with a cafe/bar and larger restrooms, funded by a $2 million Illinois Arts Council grant.

Lookingglass co-founder and Andersonville resident David Catlin, who also teaches theater at Northwestern University, worked with his wife Kerry to adapt and direct Circus Quixote. Catlin has worn multiple hats at the company during its 37-year history, including writing and directing Moby Dick, Frankenstein, and the signature Lookingglass Alice. For this new show, based on the legendary tale by Miguel de Cervantes, he’s again working with his longtime collaborator Sylvia Hernandez-DiStasi, who provides circus and movement choreography. Catlin spoke with Chicago about the show — which runs through March 30 — and the company’s new trajectory.

Lookingglass was the highest-profile Chicago theater institution to go fallow in the wake of the pandemic. While many other companies shuttered completely, Lookingglass always said it would return — and here you are. How’d you manage it?

We had to do some very serious reflection. What any theater company does is ephemeral; it’s not meant to last forever. When we were starting in ’88, somebody told us that the average lifespan of a theater company was five to seven years, and honestly, I didn’t think we would last that long. And then time passed, and we were still here, and we started getting pretty good at making theater that was bold and visual. Sometimes it included elements of circus, sometimes live music. We wanted to tell stories in all the ways that an audience might experience them — to make theater that people could feel kinesthetically, as well as in an auditory way.

When we went fallow, we asked ourselves: Should we still be making theater, or is it time for us to let it go and move on to something else? So we came together as a board, a staff, and an ensemble, and we met in a series of retreats over the course of a couple months. As a company, we said yes. We believe what we could do is still contributing to the theater landscape, in this city of 200-some theater companies. It’s about investigating the human experience, ideally in all its breadth and variety and diversity.

Now that the company has taken this long hiatus, how will it move forward sustainably?

We set about looking at a new business model. We’re a 200-seat house, so in terms of number of tickets we can sell, we have a very low ceiling. And when you add circus, which we sometimes do, or develop new work, the costs are high. We want to continue to make new work, so we’re reducing to a couple productions a year.

Another thing that’s come out of our new business model: We want to tour at least every other year. We want to do co-productions with other companies. We want to get our work out into the world, with the hopeful idea that people will then want to come to Chicago and see a Lookingglass show. We got to take Moby Dick to St. Louis. There hadn’t been anything like that there — it was so exciting.

You know, it’s one thing for Melville, with just a few key strokes, to write about an 80-ton whale breaching overhead. The reader’s imagination fills it in. One of the exciting things that I love about Lookingglass is: That’s true in the theater, too. If we activate your imagination, your whale is going to be so much bigger and scarier than any whale we could make. Our audience is a very important collaborator in the kind of madness we’re making. They have to do a bit of work, which you don’t have to do at home watching Netflix. Sitting in the dark with 200 other people, and suddenly we are seeing something that we know isn’t there, but together, we’re all believing — that’s a fricking powerful thing to be a part of. 

The company returns with a well-considered show: Circus Quixote. It’s another world premiere for you, but of course it’s an adaptation of Cervantes’s much-loved La Mancha tale, and you’re delivering a classic Lookinglass experience with circus arts. Walk me through your collective decision on returning to the stage with Quixote.

At Lookingglass, we pitch shows to each other. We vetted it in our normal way, with the ensemble. We ask questions: Why does this need to be told? Why do we need to tell it? Does this satisfy the Lookingglass mission? With elements of circus, there’s a levity to it — and of course, a levitation too, when performers are in the air. It creates a sense of wonder. It fits the moment, both for Lookingglass as a company, and also for our community and society as a whole. Deep down, it’s a story about wanting to be somebody else, dreaming about being somebody better. 

What about this old fable resonates with you?

I hope that this story — and the experience of it, finding joy in the room — helps people get in touch with their better angels. We need it now, right now, in the biggest way.

I came out of the pandemic feeling a little stuck. I really liked being in my house. It became harder to go out. I would make plans and cancel them — and don’t want to be that person. I want to show up for my friends. Quixote is very much about that: He’s stuck in his chair, reading his books until his brain dries up, and he’s like, I’m gonna go out into the world and do something. And he does, and often he fails spectacularly. He attacks windmills thinking that they’re giants; he attacks herds of sheep thinking they’re invading armies. But there’s something beautiful about failing, getting up, and doing it again. 

After Quixote is beaten, here comes Sancho Panza. He’s a farmer who’s uneducated, but he’s not unintelligent. He reaches out his hand and says, Let me help you up. He’s there for him. The two couldn’t be more opposite. Quixote has his head in the clouds; Sancho is a salt-of-the-earth man. You can trace any oddball pairing back to these two.

What can you reveal about the stagecraft in Circus Quixote?

There will be windmills that spin, and human beings fighting to stay on them as they rotate. There are knights who battle, battles that move from the ground into the trees. We have moments of beauty: Dulcinea ends up high above our heads, radiating down at us, singing. There are moments of pure silliness, flights of fancy, and lots of clowning.

Something I noticed about this production: It appears you have assembled a majority Latino cast. That’s a way to honor the story’s roots, yes?

Some of our actors are native Spanish speakers, and it’s beautiful to hear this language. This novel is deeply important to all of his Hispanic culture. You know, as we’re rehearsing, the federal government is taking Spanish off the White House website. Instead of celebrating and expanding how amazing our world is, we’re shrinking and talking about building walls and removing people who are different. 

This was originally published in 1605, at a time where the Spanish Inquisition has already removed non-Catholics from Spain. They’re trying to root out anybody who does not have “pure blood.” There’s a book-burning sequence in this story — one of the elements that feels very present and prescient.