What It's Like Seeing The Normal Heart During Another Pandemicby Randi / October 26, 2021Jed! It’s a play about suicide Jed!
(Yes, sorry, this is my Stockard impression, based on her West Wing persona, Jed!)
Marsha Norman’s Pulitzer Prize-winning drama ‘Night, Mother (ahh ahhh ahhhhh fighter of the Day Mother ahh ahhh ahhhhh) feels like it’s happening in real-time. Now playing at London’s Hampstead Theatre, the four-hander (remember) manages to create 80 minutes of straight intensity, like a tightrope of drama created by the question posed in the beginning that you wait until the very end to have answered: Is she actually going to kill herself?
The ‘she’ in question is Jessie (Rebecca Night), the adult daughter of Thelma (Stockard Channing (yes really) (she’s gonna be big you heard it here folks))(Jed! I’m gonna be in ‘Night, Mother, Jed!), who opens the action by asking her mother for old towels or plastic sheets for keeping a coming mess in check before announcing the type of mess she intends to make by the end of the night. Her mother, obviously, thinks she must be joking or exaggerating at first, but Jessie’s calm, measured, almost detached and monotone demeanor shows otherwise. She has been deliberating for a while and she has long since decided: she will commit suicide tonight.
True confession, while I have long been familiar with the existence of ‘Night, Mother, and equally the decades-long rumor of an ‘imminent’ production starring Audra McDonald and Oprah (huge if ever true), I never saw it before. I knew it was ‘about suicide’ but I didn’t know that it was entirely about a specific suicide and waiting to see if it would happen or not. And so I had no idea what the resolution would be, and this ignorance made for a gripping albeit stressful af experience, a waiting game to see which of these women would prevail in getting what they wanted. I thus can’t say whether the play would have as dramatic an effect on people who know how it ends, but the strong performances definitely made the intensity of the drama more harrowing. Stockard really is such a presence, and Rebecca held her own. It was like a subtle tug of war between the two women playing a game with no real winners, with Thelma little by little trying to get through to her daughter but using ideas and concepts that Jessie has long since rejected as being able to be swayed by.
The familiarity of their everyday routine, as Jessie fills all the various candy jars and goes through instructions for the milkman and the garbage collection, provides a kind of alarming contrast to the main subject of their discussion. A lot of their evening has threads of humor, like when Jessie requests a cup of cocoa even though neither of them like it, but the context keeps it all unsettling. The play’s structure takes the emotional family drama and heightens it with this overarching question, so you have the mother-daughter-conflict dynamic, with its familiar and unfamiliar aspects, and it’s put on this crazy other level when so much rides on their conversation, all the little things they say or don’t say having the power to determine what comes next. Everything they say creeps them closer to a final something. As the night wears on and as Thelma has fewer means of delaying Jessie’s plan, the anxiety increases. It’s like a (mostly) calm constant battle between the two about whether Jessie can be overruled, until the very end. Thelma uses what she knows – routine and familiar comforts and topics – to try to get through to her daughter, when these are exactly the things she wants no more of. The ways Thelma tries to make her realize how much life contains reveal how little their lives actually contain, and while for Thelma this is everything, and enough, it isn’t for Jessie.
I don’t know how I feel about what the play is saying, or trying to say. They show someone set on committing suicide who explains matter-of-factly that it is a logical and fine decision, as though it’s not in and of itself the sign of a need for mental help, as though the making of the decision doesn’t necessarily show that the person is not of sound mind (I know I just forked you right up there with double negatives, Jed!). Maybe the whole success of the play is in that strange uneasy confusion, about what shape our remorse is supposed to take, and for which character and why. Overall, you feel bad for everyone, and when you were distracted by the candy jars the provocative framing of the subject sneaks in through their mundane lives.
‘Night, Mother originally premiered in the UK (after Broadway) at the Hampstead in 1985, so it’s nice that this solid new production of such an important play in the canon is here, and with such a star as Stocks McBocks. It would be a great first production of the play for newbies like me. For people who know the show well, I am really interested in knowing whether it’s ever as interesting as the first time.
TRIGGER WARNINGS
The Hampstead, like all good theatres, provides content warnings on their shows. For this one it said simply “The play includes themes of suicide throughout.”
Now, I’ve noticed in recent years that shows’ warnings will include things like loud bangs, fireworks, flashing lights, and gun shots to help prepare audiences. And I am ALL FOR thorough warnings. However, I realize there is a line that many do not want crossed, for when warnings give too much away. When warnings are spoilers.
I have always argued for the balance to be on the side of people who need to be mentally prepared for certain content, and who can then make a more informed decision about whether they can safely consume the content or whether they should avoid it. And I still do believe that, for sure; it will always be more important to help protect someone’s emotional and/or mental state than to keep a show completely spoiler-free. (And theatres like the Hampstead have a great system: On their website, you have to click on a separate page for the content warnings for each play, so that people who have no trauma concerns and don’t want anything close to spoilers will never have to see the warnings if they don’t want to.)
However, for this show, I’m a little stuck on how they would ever do a more complete, and helpful, warning. Hampstead got around it by simply saying ‘themes of suicide’. But if the theatre decided to address the inclusion, or not, of gun shots, then they would be telling us how it ends. Whether or not there is a gun shot in this play, it would be spoiled by whether or not the trigger warning includes gun shots. (A literal trigger warning.) I don’t want to spoil this particular play (even though I’m sure I’m the only person who didn’t know what was going to happen), but my entire experience of this play was the suspense, that tension in not knowing how it would end. If the trigger warning had said “warning; contains gunshots” well, then, the suspense is gone, isn’t it? I’d assume what was going to happen. And that’s too bad. But, if I’m someone who has stressful reactions to gun shots (and I am!) and I wasn’t told that a play had one, then I would be upset at that too. I’m not sure how you could ever give a complete content warning for this play without spoiling the action. It’s an interesting problem to consider, I guess. I really don’t know how to solve it. This might be the first time I’m ending a theatre post by saying I DON’T know exactly what to do to make this experience better!
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Six the Musical: Divorced! Beheaded! Live! And Here to Save British Musical Theatre
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is the new musical Six, playing at London’s Arts Theatre.
Longtime Laughfrodisiac readers (or people who have spoken to me in real life for more than five minutes) have heard me bitch and moan about the sorry state of British musical theatre before, and often. The only great shows for literally decades came courtesy of Andrew Lloyd Webber (and he wasn’t immune to some straight-up horseshit), and a random few from Elton John (Billy Elliot) and Tim Minchin (Matilda). Matilda premiered in 2010, so that’s almost a decade without a great new British musical. And people wonder why I always say musical theatre is better on Broadway. While that’s still true, finally, forking g-d FINALLY, a new, original, fantastic musical written by Brits has arrived. It seems what the world of British musicals needed wasn’t another old white man (honestly when has that ever been the answer), but two young Cambridge students ready to make their mark before even graduating (I know, I hate them too). Six the Musical is a girl-power retelling of the stories of Henry VIII’s six wives, a concert-style show that is fast and furious in its remarkable ability to share history through modern pop music that is funny, inspired, and absurdly catchy.
From just the tagline – “Divorced, Beheaded, Live!” playing on the famous rhyme for remembering how the wives died – I knew this was going to be fun, but I was not ready to be blown away by the brilliant music. The six wives, onstage with their all-female band, are outfitted in the coolest of costumes, a shiny modern slant on medieval garb, kind of like it’s Halloween and they decided on ‘sexy Tudor.’ They’ve gathered now to have a sort of contest, to see which of them suffered the most and ‘wins’ that dubious title of most unfortunate of the six wives, kind of like how Monica won the title of giving the best bad massages. As soon as they begin singing “Welcome to the show, to the histor-remix” I was like OH DIP (because I speak like Jason Mendoza as a rule now), WORDPLAY, this is going to be spectacular. And from that opening number, “Ex-Wives”, I was enthralled and honestly elated at how good the music was.
From the opening onward, the lyrics are clever and the music is fun and memorable. Throughout all of it, there are amazing nerdy history jokes peppered in, which, as nerds, we adored, and straight up historical lessons on things we never knew. Since English people are super nerdy about knowing and loving their history (would be cool, America!), there’s an immediate sense that everyone is sharing inside jokes, which is a surefire way to solidify audience engagement and enjoyment, and guarantee positive word of mouth. In fact, this is the first show in a while where the audience was so engaged that there wasn’t much extraneous chatter or phone use, which is a g-d miracle.
Pretty much every musical number – and since it is a concert-style show, it’s a series of musical numbers with limited dialogue in between – delivers, with the badass energy of “Ex-Wives” continuing into the first solo, Catherine of Aragon’s (Jarneia Richard-Noel) “No Way”, about how she was not about to give this jackass the annulment he wanted. “No Way” is one of the catchier songs, one I could see being played on the radio (it’s even on my running playlist). It is a forking great time and Richard-Noel has a blast with it. The girl-power vibe remains into the second wife’s solo, but in a much different way. If you know your history, you know that second wife is the most famous one, Anne Boleyn. Where Catherine #1 had self-assurance, Anne goes for cheeky and trades in on innocent-seeming adorableness to gloss over anything she may have done wrong in the funny “Don’t Lose UR Head”. Definitely the millennial character of the bunch, Boleyn (Millie O’Connell) sings how she’s “sorry not sorry bout what I said…I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, lol.” It’s a bold move to show Boleyn as a naughty young girl trying to make her actions seem cute, and I liked that even though she’s the most famous wife, she doesn’t get the most attention or development. We have more interesting wives to learn about.
Like Wife #3, Jane Seymour, or as the other wives mock her, “the only one he really loved.” To have a needed break from all the loud fast songs so far, Jane gets the slow Adele-like power ballad about her “Heart of Stone”. Natalie Paris does a fantastic job with this well-placed song and gets to really show off, while selling a convincing and honestly heartbreaking take on why she wasn’t lucky just because Henry loved her. I love that this show makes you reconsider all of your assumptions about these women. Like Wife #4, Anna of Cleves. First of all, I always thought it was Anne. Second of all, obviously liberties were taken, but I adore thinking of her as having made out like a g-d bandit after Henry divorced her. In her hilarious song, “Get Down”, Anna (a great Alexia McIntosh) says since Henry divorced her rather quickly because she wasn’t actually as hot as she looked in her profile pic (erm, oil painting), she put up with a few months of his crap until he divorced her and then she got to live like a queen for the rest of her life. Not a bad deal at all, she admits, taking herself out of the competition with her proud acknowledgement that her life post-Henry was theeee shit. And nothing is funnier and more perfect than the group number introducing Anna – “Haus Of Holbein”. In it, we learn how Henry turned to Germany for his next wife, and what better way to tell us than in a spot-on spoof of a German club anthem, absolutely hysterical and perfect.
Of course, Anna was the lucky one, and after he divorced her he was right back to treating his wives horribly. Next came Katherine Howard, my favorite of the bunch, with her incredible number “All You Wanna Do”, which has her channeling Ariana Grande while bragging about her promiscuous past in the beginning and then turning it into a devastating post-mortem on how her whole life was about being used and abused by men. Aimee Atkinson, with this show since the beginning, was the standout for me, and in one song she achieved the kind of character development most shows dream about. It doesn’t hurt that this song has some of the cleverest lyrics, and the greatest use of the phrase ‘birds and the bees’ maybe ever.
With all these truly amazing songs, it was inevitable that there would be a slight dip in quality, and that happened when we got to the sixth wife, Catherine Parr (Courtney Stapleton, on as alternate). She didn’t get to really shine as the others did, because her song is the weakest. It also ends abruptly as she decides to change their focus, so it’s not as crucial to have strengthened since it segues into a group number. And that group number is pretty moving, as the wives decide to change their perspective, and ours. Maybe instead of regarding them as being famous just because they were married to Henry, they say, maybe we should consider that hewas only famous because he was married to them. Whenever you have a show that sets out to be ‘girl-power’, it runs the risk of pandering for applause, and while they came close to that line, the way they presented this discussion saved it.
The downsides are few: For one, the sound in the Arts Theatre isn’t great. It’s a tiny almost-black box of a theatre, with acoustics that do not measure up to what a West End theatre should have. It was often hard to make out the extraordinarily clever lyrics, which is a shame, because they are extraordinarily clever. Whether it was solely due to the sound engineering or a mix of sound issues plus enunciation needs, I don’t know, but it would be wise to shore up the clarity on either front. My only other issue is that, because it is so strong, it’s a shame it’s not a full-fledged book musical. With equal focus on six different characters, you’d think they would have had trouble cutting it to a suitable length for modern audience’s attention spans. Instead, it presents the opposite situation, with an adoring audience eager for more. At 75 minutes, it’s great that it never overstays its welcome – always leave them wanting more, I guess – but it could easily take another 15 minutes, flesh out a few of the more superficial characters, and still be a breezy show. But I guess it’s best to count our lucky stars that there is nary a weak moment in this show, and that the audience was fully rapt (and off their phones, praise be) the whole time, so who am I to dare risk all that magic? Six is a joyous, provocative, inspired show and I will gladly see it again and again, which is something I have never said about a British musical.
INFORMATION
The Arts Theatre is tiny, so it is a madhouse in the lobby. The bathrooms are tiny so get in line early. This is one show where it’s fun to be super close.
“Speed-the-Plow” is in the West End with Lindsay Lohan: Cool
“Speed-the-Plow”, the David Mamet play best known for the celebrities attached to its various productions because they’re the only reason to sit through its vacuity, is now on the West End. Remember how a few years ago, Jeremy Piven was set to star on Broadway but he had to bow out due to mercury poisoning because he ate too much sushi? That was this show. And that’s the most interesting thing about it! Now it’s on the West End, starring Lindsay Lohan in her Redemption Tour™ sponsored by Oprah. (Oprah was there opening night, and I didn’t know. I’m so BT about it. Though it’s probably for the best because if I ever met her I’d be like “Ah’s snitting next to Borpo!”)
Lohan not only showed up, but remembered all her lines and, less condescendingly, was actually decent. She was well cast as a young attractive woman who messes with a Hollywood exec’s head because of all her wimmininess, which I’m sure she has done often in her real life but due to her failure circa 2007 to show up to work rather than wimmininess.
“Speed-the-Plow” is about two Hollywood executives who are preparing to pitch a terrible-sounding but sure-to-be-money-making prison film to the studio head. They only have the option until the next morning, which is quite the forced timeline for allowing all sorts of dramatic things to happen. We only have 24 hours to pitch this to the boss! Oh no! He’s going to NYC for the day? Well let’s just meet him tomorrow morning and hope he’s not late, instead of mentioning anything about the film to him on the phone! Idiots.
Bobby is the newly minted head of production, and Charlie is his longtime, long-suffering associate. I say long-suffering because we get the idea that the two friends have been working together for a long, long time, but Bobby is the only one who has been promoted or paid well. So what is that about? Judging this production, I would say it’s because Americans think British people are smarter because of their accent, and Bobby (despite the understudy’s best efforts), is clearly British, so he got the promotions. Charlie, on the other hand, can do a super impressive American accent, so his studio bosses assumed he wasn’t as smart or cultured as Bobby. My blurring of the lines between the actors and their characters seems only fitting given the nonsense of this flimsy play and how much my mind wandered throughout. And indeed, Charlie’s accent was so impressive (especially compared to Bobby’s FAILURE TO SAY HIS R’S) that I almost thought he could be a compatriot. But then I saw his name was Nigel Lindsay. Nope. Not American. Can’t be more British than that. (Nigel was actually quite great in the role. But he acted like and physically resembled Norbert Leo Butz enough that I couldn’t help dreaming of how amazing Norbert probably was in the Broadway revival.)
Lindsay plays Karen, a role – originated on Broadway by Madonna, never forget – that is both thankless and demeaning, but with great shoes. She’s a temporary secretary for Bobby, and we know she is new to the movie business and quite naïve about its operating because she tells everyone she meets how ‘naïve’ she is every five minutes. It’s a super short play, less than 90 minutes, and half the words were Lindsay saying ‘naïve’. The other half was Bobby the Britman saying “entuh-tainment”. (And “unduh-stand”. SAY YOUR R’S. It’s the ONE rule of doing American accents.)
Bobby has been given a book about radiation and the end of the world and humanity and stuff to provide a ‘courtesy read’, which means he will read it to be nice but there’s no way in hell the studio would ever make it as a film. He tells naïve Karen this, and naïve Karen is like, but why? “Because it wouldn’t make money.” But why? “Because no one wants to see a movie about that.” But why? “BECAUSE I SAID SO DO YOU UNDUH-STAND?”
But Karen won’t take no for an answer, so she goes to his house at night, even though he’s gross and old, to discuss the enormous long book that she somehow read in its entirety and tabbed between finishing her work day and dinner time. Karen loved the book, to say the least. She thinks it’s the most brilliant piece of writing that e’er touched her heart and thinks it would somehow make a great movie. This is where Mamet gets both lazy and annoying. Karen reads SO MUCH OF THE BOOK out loud to us in her attempt to convince Bobby of its brilliance. All the parts she reads sound like the Dalai Lama when he is in a drug-induced dream fighting off Ewok-shaped clouds. Then the tables sort of turn, and even though we know Bobby is trying to seduce her, she starts seducing Bobby. It’s gross because Bobby is old and can’t say his r’s. Karen just keeps reading high Dalai Lama passages until Bobby says he’ll make the movie with her and then they doooo it. So gross.
Obviously this play is blargh. The only possible theme or moral you can take from it is that Hollywood values money over boring stories (ooh burn!) and that women ruin everything. David Mamet is like a more jackassery version of Aaron Sorkin, which makes sense because a smart friend of mine (not the internet) told me that Sorkin was inspired by Mamet. But Sorkin is better because at least “The West Wing” had solid female characters that weren’t just wimmins being vagina-havers that bother the men, as all female characters in Mamet works turn out to be because he seems a misogynist at heart. Lindsay’s character here exists only to mess up the bro dynamic between the two male leads, and then when the men realize that she messed with their heads (seemingly not with bad intentions), they dispose of her. OH no they don’t kill her, they just kick her out and say “Try getting another job in Hollywood ever again, missy!” which is maybe worse. Like what jerks.
If anyone can explain to me why this play is called “Speed-the-Plow”, and why hyphens, I will give you a cookie. Is this a famous phrase that other people know about and I just never learned, like wag the dog or get the pip? Don’t know it. (Interestingly, Mamet wrote “Wag the Dog” as well. But that one doesn’t have hyphens! Why not! Why is he messing with our minds?) So, in closing, you should see it. I think that’s what I’m trying to say.
“Speed-the-Plow” is about two Hollywood executives who are preparing to pitch a terrible-sounding but sure-to-be-money-making prison film to the studio head. They only have the option until the next morning, which is quite the forced timeline for allowing all sorts of dramatic things to happen. We only have 24 hours to pitch this to the boss! Oh no! He’s going to NYC for the day? Well let’s just meet him tomorrow morning and hope he’s not late, instead of mentioning anything about the film to him on the phone! Idiots.
Bobby is the newly minted head of production, and Charlie is his longtime, long-suffering associate. I say long-suffering because we get the idea that the two friends have been working together for a long, long time, but Bobby is the only one who has been promoted or paid well. So what is that about? Judging this production, I would say it’s because Americans think British people are smarter because of their accent, and Bobby (despite the understudy’s best efforts), is clearly British, so he got the promotions. Charlie, on the other hand, can do a super impressive American accent, so his studio bosses assumed he wasn’t as smart or cultured as Bobby. My blurring of the lines between the actors and their characters seems only fitting given the nonsense of this flimsy play and how much my mind wandered throughout. And indeed, Charlie’s accent was so impressive (especially compared to Bobby’s FAILURE TO SAY HIS R’S) that I almost thought he could be a compatriot. But then I saw his name was Nigel Lindsay. Nope. Not American. Can’t be more British than that. (Nigel was actually quite great in the role. But he acted like and physically resembled Norbert Leo Butz enough that I couldn’t help dreaming of how amazing Norbert probably was in the Broadway revival.)
Lindsay plays Karen, a role – originated on Broadway by Madonna, never forget – that is both thankless and demeaning, but with great shoes. She’s a temporary secretary for Bobby, and we know she is new to the movie business and quite naïve about its operating because she tells everyone she meets how ‘naïve’ she is every five minutes. It’s a super short play, less than 90 minutes, and half the words were Lindsay saying ‘naïve’. The other half was Bobby the Britman saying “entuh-tainment”. (And “unduh-stand”. SAY YOUR R’S. It’s the ONE rule of doing American accents.)
Bobby has been given a book about radiation and the end of the world and humanity and stuff to provide a ‘courtesy read’, which means he will read it to be nice but there’s no way in hell the studio would ever make it as a film. He tells naïve Karen this, and naïve Karen is like, but why? “Because it wouldn’t make money.” But why? “Because no one wants to see a movie about that.” But why? “BECAUSE I SAID SO DO YOU UNDUH-STAND?”
But Karen won’t take no for an answer, so she goes to his house at night, even though he’s gross and old, to discuss the enormous long book that she somehow read in its entirety and tabbed between finishing her work day and dinner time. Karen loved the book, to say the least. She thinks it’s the most brilliant piece of writing that e’er touched her heart and thinks it would somehow make a great movie. This is where Mamet gets both lazy and annoying. Karen reads SO MUCH OF THE BOOK out loud to us in her attempt to convince Bobby of its brilliance. All the parts she reads sound like the Dalai Lama when he is in a drug-induced dream fighting off Ewok-shaped clouds. Then the tables sort of turn, and even though we know Bobby is trying to seduce her, she starts seducing Bobby. It’s gross because Bobby is old and can’t say his r’s. Karen just keeps reading high Dalai Lama passages until Bobby says he’ll make the movie with her and then they doooo it. So gross.
Obviously this play is blargh. The only possible theme or moral you can take from it is that Hollywood values money over boring stories (ooh burn!) and that women ruin everything. David Mamet is like a more jackassery version of Aaron Sorkin, which makes sense because a smart friend of mine (not the internet) told me that Sorkin was inspired by Mamet. But Sorkin is better because at least “The West Wing” had solid female characters that weren’t just wimmins being vagina-havers that bother the men, as all female characters in Mamet works turn out to be because he seems a misogynist at heart. Lindsay’s character here exists only to mess up the bro dynamic between the two male leads, and then when the men realize that she messed with their heads (seemingly not with bad intentions), they dispose of her. OH no they don’t kill her, they just kick her out and say “Try getting another job in Hollywood ever again, missy!” which is maybe worse. Like what jerks.
If anyone can explain to me why this play is called “Speed-the-Plow”, and why hyphens, I will give you a cookie. Is this a famous phrase that other people know about and I just never learned, like wag the dog or get the pip? Don’t know it. (Interestingly, Mamet wrote “Wag the Dog” as well. But that one doesn’t have hyphens! Why not! Why is he messing with our minds?) So, in closing, you should see it. I think that’s what I’m trying to say.
