Reality versus illusion is no mere theatrical device for Richard Maxwell. But it’s an entirely new concept for actors–one that peels away the artifice of acting technique to reveal the person behind the performer. The dramatic innovator, formerly based in Chicago, is known for teaming up trained artists with non-actors–thus, forever toggling that ambiguous sphere between the real and the imagined.

Since moving to New York City in 1994, Maxwell has impressed the critics with his rare, boundary-blurring vision. entertainment weekly named him one of the "100 Most Creative People in Entertainment" in 2001. The New York Times compared him to Sam Shepard and, in a review of his Obie Award-winning play-installation, House, declared Maxwell "a talented young theatre artist who specializes in what might be called the sterile pause." In his critique of Maxwell’s Boxing 2000, the Times’ Ben Brantley noted how the audience "may also experience the quickened, hopeful heartbeat that comes from watching that rare phenomenon, a genuinely original new talent at work."

Yet, ironically, Maxwell is pushing the dramatic form forward by scaling backwards toward the origins of conversation itself. Within the inevitably stylized field of theatre, he aims to return the artificial form of stage performance to its unforced human essence.

The writer-director and his New York City Players just presented the local premiere of Maxwell’s Boxing 2000 at the Athenaeum Theatre under the auspices of Performing Arts Chicago and the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Set in a boxing ring (designed by Chicagoan Stephanie Nelson, one of Maxwell’s frequent collaborators), with audience members seated on stage in the midst of the meditative "non-action," this performance piece mirrors the rhythms of everyday speech and gesture as a Latino family from Brooklyn wages pugilistic and romantic battles.

"What drew me to boxing was the movement," says Maxwell, 34, during a phone interview from Columbus, Ohio–one of Boxing 2000’s tour stops. "But I was interested in the idea of reducing blocking to its essence within the livelier context of boxing.

"The tendency is for actors to add attitude to their movement. I got into the habit of breaking down the task to something meditative. It’s as simple as 'I am walking across the stage.’"

The result is a style critics have consistently perceived as "deadpan," "monotone" and "slow moving."

Maxwell shares his insights into this terminology: "The public and press perceptions…have a logic I understand. My work (more specifically, the performers’ and director’s work) has been described as 'deadpan,’ 'emotionless,’ 'without effect,’ 'wooden,’ 'monotone’–which are provocative terms, but don’t accurately illustrate what is going on, at least for me.

"There is a common misconception I finally realized: To say that the work is deadpan is not to say deadpan in the context of real life, but in the context of theatre. Because, actually, there is a great deal of life in these 'lifeless’ characters; and, in fact, these actors are anything but passive. They are constantly active in the moment, constantly working."

He continues, "So I don’t dispute these views. I instead provide a clause: Yes, it is perhaps deadpan; and yes, I can see that it can appear without effect, but not in comparison to real life–only in relation to plays which the viewers have seen in the past; inconsistent not with reality but only in relation to a viewing history."

Boxing 2000, which was workshopped at New York University’s experimental wing, developed about the same time Maxwell moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan. He began exploring the differences between the two boroughs: the former, working class; the latter, a glossy metropolis. And he began listening to the cadences people from Brooklyn employed to express themselves.

Focusing on a Latino family prompted Maxwell to address the issue of actors doing accents. He did not want that "put-on" aspect to the production. So he mixed non-theatre-trained individuals from Brooklyn with actors (including his long-time collaborator Gary Wilmes) to "bring a new energy to the stage."

As a director, Maxwell fosters these unconventional combinations as a way for actors to become more truthful and non-actors to grow comfortable "performing" before a live audience.

"The reason I like to use the non-actor, paired with the trained actor," explains Maxwell, "is that their palette is completely unforced. A certain part of actors’ training has to do with overcoming fear of performing. My request to actors is that they allow themselves to be honest with themselves–admit you’re afraid.

"That’s hard because most people want something like technique to hide behind. But, by bravely admitting that fear, actors are allowing a very heightened experience to be shared. You’re vulnerable because you really are; you’re not trying to be vulnerable."

Therefore, a lot of what Maxwell does at the beginning of a rehearsal is "stripping away." If, for instance, an actor is unconsciously shuffling while reading his or her lines, the director will point that out and examine why that’s happening. A larger question he poses to his performers is "Why are you up on stage?" One of his most revealing exercises involves asking an actor to simply get up on stage for two minutes. He finds that the actor’s first impulse is to do something.

"The power to entertain is so strong," says Maxwell. "But I like reminding people that’s not necessarily why they’re up there. I think it’s important for actors to go into the profession in order to communicate."

He traces his intense interest in "communication" back to the Cook County Theater Department, which he co-founded in Chicago in 1992. "At Cook County," he recalls, "it was not possible to not communicate. It was all about creating awareness."

It was in this experimental troupe, located at 23rd and Michigan Avenue, that Maxwell began weaving between two standards: theatrical speaking and real speaking. Believing that "truths can emerge from real speech," he is initially sparked by conversations–or an unfinished sentence–he hears on the street or subway. The rhythms then inspire a character. So Maxwell’s plays, in his words, are essentially "a pastiche of conversations, real or imagined."

He then puts these conversations in the context of a play, which evolves based on ideas that emerge from the actors and non-actors he casts. All the while, Maxwell heeds the advice of Elmore Leonard: "If it sounds like writing, re-write it."

At Cook County Theater Department, Maxwell and his colleagues reimagined classic stage works within the context of a less presentational reality. Puccini’s Tosca featured non-trained opera singers; and Swing Your Partner was a deconstruction of Oklahoma!–what the ensemble believed epitomized American musical theatre. But, instead of treating Oklahoma’s seemingly stilted libretto ironically, the creative team delivered their lines with the utmost sincerity.

"We set about the task of dealing with the material in a way that felt sincere and truthful," notes Maxwell.

Interestingly, he seeks a similar honesty in his current work–despite the fact that it is often regarded as stylized. And, returning to the "deadpan" description, Maxwell finds the term redundant in regards to everyday conversation because he believes most people speak in a deadpan manner.

"As stylized as my work appears," he clarifies, "and as far from conventional it appears, I feel it’s real. That alleviates the burden of manufacturing reality.

"It’s a slippery slope, though, when you introduce narrative and characters. Plot machinations demand emotion and a response. And, for example, the response to a typically tragic moment will be predictably sad. But as the writer and director, I have learned I can pull back from decisions I’ve made as a writer, and, as a director, betray myself–creating new layers and new possibilities."

Originally from Fargo, North Dakota, Maxwell moved with his family to unincorporated Niles at the age of 13. He attended Maine East High School and graduated with a theatre degree from Illinois State University in Bloomington-Normal. He credits ISU with exposing him to a wide spectrum of dramatic approaches and methodology. After college, he was awarded a fellowship to work with Steppenwolf Theatre. And, while living in Chicago, he was influenced by Remains Theater, particularly director Neel Keller.

Maxwell tracks as his epiphany for the real-imagined dichotomy that would shape his future work experiencing a performance by the late actor Ron Vawter of New York’s groundbreaking Wooster Group. "With Ron," says Maxwell, "you could not tell where he as a person ended and the character began. He was capable of brilliantly merging both. You didn’t know where to draw the line between reality and fiction."

The Wooster Group prompted Maxwell’s move to New York, where he hooked up with several receptive and innovative downtown underground artists. Burlesque, his first play, was produced by the Ontological Theater; and his Clowns Plus Wrestlers debuted at The Kitchen.

He also admits that he "hit a ceiling" in Chicago. "At the time," Maxwell contends, "the novelty of doing shows at 23rd and Michigan had worn off. It was a real drag to perform for six people. I always felt Chicago was an actors’ town, and New York was more of directors’ town."

With the New York City Players, where he serves as artistic director, Maxwell has been able to hone his theatrical style that challenges certain principles of traditional acting and conveys his "less is more" approach. His current pieces within this new genre rooted in a suspension of real and artificial boundaries include: House, a non-violent depiction of underlying violent suburban domestic life; Cowboys and Indians, inspired by Wild West epics; Showy Lady Slipper, a critique of teenage coming-of-age films; and Boxing 2000, about a family caught in the clutches of discrimination and emotional setbacks.

Maxwell’s work has been seen at theatre festivals worldwide, including the Buenos Aires Festival, Vienna Festival and Holland Festival. His next project is a collaboration with a theatre in Amsterdam. He is working with two retired ensemble members on a play revolving around the theme of a good samaritan. The piece is being translated and performed in Dutch–further underscoring Maxwell’s interest in linguistic cadences.

For Boxing 2000, Maxwell was interested in paring down the timeless relationship of a father and son to its essence. He also looked back at his own relationship with his father, who had participated in exhibition fights. When Maxwell was very young, his dad told him he was a natural boxer and had the potential to be a champion. He was willing to train his son and asked him to decide if this is the career he wanted. If that were the case, Maxwell would be expected to "live and breathe boxing and sacrifice everything in order to become a champion." Recalls the writer-director, "I ultimately turned him down because I was horrified at the prospect of giving my life over to a sport like boxing."

The experience, however, became a metaphor for Maxwell’s life: "Basically it’s about a struggle," he states. "You couldn’t get more primal than that. I’m always trying to find new ways to challenge myself and the theatrical form."

To that end, he is a firm believer in not dividing theatre into performers and audiences. All merge into a deeply human arena of storytelling.

"One of the best compliments I ever got," shares Maxwell, "was when somebody said that they kept flipping, like a switch, from determining in their mind that a play was in front of them to determining that something real was in front of them."