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!
Related Posts
An Inspired Production of The Last Five Years at Southwark Playhouse
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is the amazing The Last Five Years by Jason Robert Brown, which officially opened last night.
Whether you are new to The Last Five Years (what, how but welcome!) or know it better than you know your phone number (me)(UK numbers are hard), the new, dazzling production of this beloved work is a necessary treat for musical lovers, theatre lovers, and even regular lovers who feel like being depressed but like in a beautiful way. A song-cycle of a show, Jason Robert Brown’s The Last Five Years shares the love story a divorcing couple, but the two characters famously share their stories in opposite directions: Jamie goes in chronological order, starting at the beginning of their courtship and ending at their divorce, while Cathy goes backwards, starting after their relationship has fallen apart and ending after their first date. IT IS HEAVY, YES, but it’s some of the best music in modern musical theatre, and this unique, inspired production does a commendable job.
There are a few (maybe like 50) musicals I feel very protective about because of how much I love them. The Last Five Years is one of them. I remember all of us in the plays in high school listening to the original off-Broadway album with Sherie Rene Scott and Norbert Leo Butz (only people with three names were allowed to be involved originally) and being completely obsessed. So, I’m even more critical than usual about this show because it’s impossible not to compare to the originals, and no one can compete with them. And because the score is so g-d beautiful and emotionally raw and funny and moving and amazing (though it’s always a tad uncomfortable to remember that this show is fairly autobiographical) so I’m always like DON’T FUCK IT UP OR I WILL FUCK YOU UP. But the Southwark’s production, with fairly flawless direction from Jonathan O’Boyle, doesn’t try to compete through sheer vocal ability in the usual stand-and-plant manner of running this show. Instead, they’ve created a distinctive version that keeps both actors onstage most of the time, and – spectacularly – makes them each other’s accompanist.
That’s right, Cathy (Molly Lynch) plays the piano for all of Jamie’s (Oli Higginson) (literally just realized their names rhyme) songs, and vice versa, adding the nuance of an extra layer of responsibility for what the other experienced (along with extra chances at seriously impressing us with their talents). It’s an exceptional move, making for a more vibrant and energetic version than usual, for a show that doesn’t usually have the characters interact until the wedding crossover point. While it would be impossible to get performers who are superb singers, actors, and pianists, especially for a small production like this, Lynch and Higginson (who I often thought was Matt Doyle undercover) are often great. They shine brightest as pianists, but they are more than serviceable singers. Lynch excels during Cathy’s faster numbers, when she can show off her humor, like in “A Summer in Ohio”, staged cleverly with her playing the ukulele to Jamie over a video call. Higginson’s slower songs (the more depressing ones I guess) gave him the breath for stronger belting so he sounded best in the second half. They’re both probably working harder than anyone on a London stage right now, and it’s a joy to watch.
In addition to the novel accompaniment, this production’s use of props was interesting. The actors were always doing something active with their books or picture frames or, my favorite part, the subtle and genius use of the gift box for Cathy’s watch in “The Schmuel Song” (very Jeannette Bayardelle in Shida), which could end up distracting but I thought always added to the scene positively. There were also lyric changes that I think were in the last production I saw but always surprise me but then I’m like oh no it’s okay (changes include “Russell Crowe” replacing “Linda Blair” which is meh, and “who you could say looked like Tom Cruise” replaced with “with some very well placed tattoos” which I’m fine with). All I know is if anyone ever changes the Sonny Mehta line I will stand up and walk out (RIP).
It’s not a perfect production – I actively disliked how long the pause in The Schmuel Song during ‘limbovitch’ was (I prefer no pause! it’s funnier!) (also, speaking of, this song features ‘funny’ use of a prayer shawl, which reminded me that I don’t know if any Jews are involved and Jamie is a verrrry Jewish role so like yeesh I hope because ahh). And, as I’ve increasingly seen in young performers, there was a bit too much swallowing of lyrics and speaking lyrics instead of acting emphasis out through song. In the second half, I thought Cathy reacted too much in real time to Jamie’s songs, confusing the opposite timelines (I don’t think people unfamiliar with the concept would have any idea that she was at the beginning of their relationship for a good 20-minute chunk, until her “I Can Do Better Than That”). And while I can’t pinpoint why, this is the first production I’ve ever seen that didn’t make me cry the entire time, with extra heaving during the wedding scene and the end. I just didn’t feel the emotional pull I usually do, which might be due to the prioritizing of the performers’ musical skills over their acting skills. However, for this production, I enjoyed the change of pace that that prioritizing created.
INFORMATION
The Last Five Years plays at the Southwark Playhouse until March 28.
The show is about 90 minutes straight through. My performance ended about 9:15pm because it started about 15 minutes late but that’s okayyyy things happennnn I didn’t get a utiiiii (or did I). The setup this go round (the Southwark changes layout for each show) has the audience on three sides and the only door blocked by the stage area so leaving is difficult at the end. If you need to make a fast exit your only real option is A1-10, the front row of the section by the door (because it’s stadium-style seating with barricades, the first seat of the other rows don’t count as aisles for me unless you are willing to jump through the railings) (which I am but I don’t know your life).
“When We Were Young And Unafraid” at City Center: Harrowing & Timely Portrayal of the Wimmins
|
*Okay, I know this show is no longer on the boards. But I wrote this while it was still playing. And it’s a great play.
So, let’s just get this clear straight off: This show had nothing to do with Les Mis! Even though every time I think of the title I’m singing it, there was no reference to old timey France at all. I know! WWWYAU (this is not a good acronym I won’t use this again) is effectively a character study amid various growing ideals of feminism. Four women, with wildly different ideas about where and how women fit in the world, interact in a safe house in the 1970s, run by the president of all things Acting, Cherry Jones. |
The inimitable Queen Jones plays Agnes, a strong, independent woman running a B&B that we quickly learn doubles as a safe house for battered women when they finally (though not always permanently) leave abusive relationships. Agnes fought through two wars as a nurse, and her resulting strength and no-bullshit style is evident at all times. We learn that this badass mofo lost her nursing license by providing abortions. So you are just totally pulling for her to win, even though there’s no real contest to win or lose, just life. Also, she lives on a very remote island in I think Washington state surrounded by what’s appropriately called “Useless Bay” because it’s too shallow for ships to pass through. So I don’t know what she could win at besides the silent game.
She also rocks at not taking bullshit. This is one of my favorite qualities in a person, so Agnes was like my jam. One of the characters says to her, “Anger is like an art form with you,” and it’s true both of Agnes and Cherry Jones. Jones is one of the best stage actresses alive, probably the best non-singing one, and she does complicated and diverse levels of yelling like you can’t even imagine. It’s a treat to watch her perform and bring whatever she is in to a higher level. I never watched “24” but I imagine she made that almost like 25.
A lot of her yelling comes about because of her 16-year-old daughter Penny, played by Dana Brody playing Dana Brody. Her acting style was apparently learned from the school of speaking breathlessly and fast in such a way that you know her brain is pushing words out faster than her mouth can keep up so it sounds like gargling gibberish…but somehow it always works. Her bad enunciation and too fast brain make her a very believable teenager. She should play teenagers her whole life. Her words come out like she has a slushee machine instead of an esophagus. You catch the gist and she spews so well but the whole time she’s speaking you’re thinking why am I suddenly covered in slushee?
Penny introduces herself to us as a very headstrong, very awesome future writer for Jezebel, lamenting the idea of prom and wearing dresses in general as traditions – in her words (paraphrased) – developed by the patriarchy that place females on display and require looking nice and demure as they apologize for having a vagina. She says some pretty amazing stuff like that, but I can’t remember any more because it was covered in slushee.
Anyway, like most teenagers, she disappoints. Most of her energy soon switches focus to getting the captain of the football team to ask her to prom and then be her way-too-serious boyfriend. The whole football team captain is kind of clichéd but then again so is everything in life. She accomplishes her goals by ignoring and skipping good chunks of school, which is really stupid because she says she wants to go to Yale. (Which is also really stupid HEYOOO).
Penny also gets some really cringe-worthy advice and assistance from Maryanne (a gripping Zoe Kazan), the latest abused wife to seek refuge at Agnes’s. Maryanne seems like the quintessential ‘60s-‘70s housewife, apologizing for male chauvinism like it’s her fault for existing in their world, and teaching Penny how to charm any man: by using a babyish voice, acting stupid and needy and unable to survive without him around to chew up food and spit it in her babybird mouth. It’s all very upsetting because there are women today who still think it’s best to act like that and sacrifice any semblance of independence or ability in order to keep men happy, and of course there are shittastic men who fancy that kind of behavior as well. F the patriarchy.
So we hope that Penny will realize, like, hey Maryanne…look where your advice got you, with a crazy abusive husband who doesn’t respect you as a real person even a little bit and gets crazy violent when he realizes he might not have full control over you like a toy. But instead Penny’s like yay he plays football and I’m going to cheer for him instead of doing homework and we’re going to prom which is like the coolest and we’re gonna get married even though I’d need parental consent and Agnes would never because she’s smart.
In the midst of all these new family problems, we learn that Agnes is not actually her mother. Penny’s birth mother was one of the battered women who came to Agnes for help (and was actually friends with her beforehand), gave birth in the room of the house that we stare into the entire show, and then abandoned the baby and ran back to her abuser, who promptly killed her. Penny KNOWS ALL OF THIS. So it’s all too sad when she makes the same mistakes and follows the same path as Maryanne and her mother. It shows how ingrained the subservient role of the woman was (and still is), and how her main role was to find a husband, and even if that husband beat her it was better than being unmarried. This sick world. And there are too many people who still think like that, or blame the woman for doing exactly what the world told her she was supposed to do. Grahhhhhh.
Looking at all of this awfulness and shaking her head is Hannah (Cherise Boothe, completely awesome), a black super feminist searching the region for a group she heard was establishing an all-female lesbian commune. While Hannah’s version of ideal feminism is troubling as well (pretty much, if you aren’t a lesbian, you aren’t a feminist), it’s somehow so much better than Maryanne and Penny’s little game. Hannah would have loved Lorena Bobbit. Hannah is kind of crazy but in a fun way – she enters the house by climbing through windows and making everyone fear a burglar, and she doesn’t know how to be respectful of others or say thanks but eh she’s alright. Most of all, she’s a necessary counterpart to Maryanne.
The most powerful and the most depressing part of the show came when a celebratory Hannah stopped by to inform Agnes of the Roe v. Wade decision. She excitedly shouts “Things are changing!” and Agnes calmly takes a breath and responds, “They’ll change back.” The jaw-dropped silence that swept the audience said more about our current society than any words can. This tiny line and its reading perfectly described the past few decades and what is constantly happening to abridge womens rights.
Another very emotional and realistic hit came when Maryanne and Paul, a guest at the B&B, start to flirt with each other. Paul is an extreme suspenders kind of guy, very mild-mannered and seemingly ‘nice’. Later, Paul kisses Maryanne, not knowing any of her history, and she understandably freezes and then pushes him away. This guy we thought was so nice yells at her for being a tease, saying that she was begging him for this and now she’s tricking him with her female trickery and big eyes. So we thought Paul was one of the good ones but he was just another assclown wearing an asshat who thinks women only exist to satisfy men’s needs and doesn’t like when he is proven wrong. It was revolting but accurate. But then of course poor weak Maryanne is like “No Paul don’t call me names I’ll do whatever you want and then we can leave here together and have babies in San Francisco”. Ughhhhh why are peopleeeeeeeeeee.
So yeah, this play is intense and can be disturbing in its very complicated and accurate depictions of various sorts of mindsets. If anything, it tells the audience that we have so much work still to do, to not only achieve gender equality but to just get people to realize that yes we do want that.
Or at least I think that’s what it was about; there were a lot of phones going off. Seriously people these are your tasks: a) Realize that being a feminist just means not being an asshole, so yes you do want to fight to be one and be proud to be one, and b) turn off your phones in the theatre.
