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‘Night, Mother at the Hampstead A Strong Production of a Provocative Play, + TRIGGER WARNINGS

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Jed! 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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