Barb and I decided to wing it and chance seeing a play today. Joan allowed as to how she had the day off and agreed to meet us at the Ticketrex in Times Square. I'd stated I was only interested in something that was going to entertain and lift spirits. The gals nodded their approval and we set out to obtain entry to either a Comedy or a Musical.
Lucky us! We snagged 7th row tickets for "Blithe Spirit" currently starring Broadway legends, Angela Lansbury, Rupert Everett, and the wonderful Christine Ebersol! (I was beside myself!) The Schubert Theater, like most Brodaway houses has no bad seats, but once again, we got wonderful!
Written by Noel Coward, the script was witty and filled with quips, double entandre and innuendo. Once placed in the hands of theater royalty such as these, it was molded into a thing of classic beauty! Slapstick beauty, that is. Angela Lansbury is regal and absolutely timeless. She moved around the stage completely belying her years, and every syllable she uttered was shear delight! Combine her eloquence with the impeccable comedic timing of Everett and Ebersol and you have struck gold.
I was so grateful for their talent and the laughter they gave us, I wanted to hug them all!
If you live near the City, hurry and get your tickets for this timely shot in the arm. You'll have your first laugh within seconds of Curtain with no let-up until standing ovation and final bows.
What a perfect way to spend the day!
All for now,
Cm
Showing posts with label Broadway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Broadway. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Thursday, February 7, 2008
GABRIEL BYRNE: TV's Sweet Treat!
Okay, I admit it. I've been watching TV. I have become completely hooked on HBO's new half hour drama, In Treatment.
I'll be writing my thoughts on the show as it progresses, but, today, I'm just making note of how delighted I am to see Gabriel Byrne again!
I first saw him a few years ago in NYC. He was appearing in Eugene O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten, and I was utterly mesmerized by his performance. Since then, I miss no opportunity to see him. A fan? Me? Well, glory be, I guess I am. ... and I dare suggest you will be, too, once you experience his work.
It was the spring of two-thousand. I obtained tickets to the (sold out) play which was onstage at the Walter Kerr Theater, one of the medium sized houses. Eugene O'Neill happens to be one of my favorite playwrights, and the idea of seeing the exquisite Ray Dotrice in the role of Phil Hogan made it an irresistible must-see. (Now that I think of it, I'm fairly certain Mr. Dotrice won the Tony for this portrayal in the Best Actor in a Featured Role category).
It was the first time I ever saw Gabriel Byrne. He was the brave soul who took on the challenging role of James Tyrone, Jr. and I had no idea what to expect where he was concerned. Not terribly ambitious about learning, I checked briefly online, and read that he was an Irish Actor. Saints preserve us! Being the Anglophile that I am, this pleased me immensely, and enough said. (As it happens, I am also fairly certain that Mr. Byrne was nominated for a Tony for this part, but I do not believe he took the statue home...)
Cherry Jones, another under appreciated, superbly brilliant actress rounded out the cast as Josie Hogan. This put me over the moon. I was just desperate for the days to pass until I would see it!
__
Sitting in the theater, in my center section aisle seat in the tenth row, I checked my watch repeatedly as the auditorium filled to capacity. Finally, the lights lowered and the audience hushed as the curtain began to move. I held my breath...
There is no way for this writer to separate one performance, that Sunday afternoon, from the other. Each acted and reacted to the other in perfect harmony, if you'll forgive me the cliche: like an impeccably rehearsed symphony.
Gabriel Byrne stood out for me because I had never seen him before and, forgive me again, I can be an awful snob when it comes to live theater. He took hold of that character and transported me and, I think, everyone else to the 1940s. It was not just O'Neill's words that took us away; Byrne's body language, his very demeanor, was of a time gone by. What a lovely, magical partnership!
Byrne's obvious love of the material shone through. So many actors simply say lines and move about the stage, gesturing as instructed, and they get rave reviews for doing it. I have been guilty, too, of this kind of acceptance - and as long as I am entertained, this is all right with me... uh, most of the time. It's a given, our Mr. Byrne could have gotten away with giving much less than he did. Fortunately for his audience, however, it would not have been enough for him! He didn't perform Tyrone; he channeled him. There was no definitive line between the here and now and the once upon a time. The assemblage around me disappeared, and I was taken into the story, the proverbial fly on the wall of a real happening.
I want to share about the one jarring moment, that afternoon, that sealed my bond as a fan of this man's work and talent. It was near the play's conclusion. Gabriel Byrne was in the midst of the emotional third act monologue where James Tyrone speaks loving words of confession and apology, revealing the depth of his personhood to Josie Hagen. It is a heart wrenchingly serious time in the play which has, up to this point, been peppered with O'Neill's perfectly placed moments of comedic hilarity.
One of the male audience members, up front and to the actors' right, (my left), made it abundantly clear that he had no knowledge of the story and no realization of the depth of what was happening. He misunderstood the character's intent and let loose a startling guffaw at the precise moment when the actor was escorting the audience to the story's emotional crescendo. The outburst seemed extremely loud, but that may have been because the theater was silent, except for Byrne's voice. My heart sank for the actor as the explosive disturbance caused every head in the audience to turn. I wondered how he would be able to maintain his momentum and the integrity of the scene. Feeling generous, I decided no matter how he chose to handle it, my admiration for his performance would remain intact.
To my astonishment, Mr. Byrne did not need my forgiveness. His hold on the character, the time and space, and the audience never faltered. Without any sign on his face or in his cadence that he heard the young man's misguided outburst, he skillfully ushered us along on our journey to the story's conclusion and kept us unscathed.
To this day, I remember that moment, and I don't know how he did it. I have seen things like this happen to other performers and felt just as heartsick for them as I did for Mr. Byrne. Some chose to step out of character and acknowledge the evil-doer, with humor or admonishment; others hesitate, regroup, and start the scene from a previous point. One actor actually forgot the next few lines and took a moment to re-compose himself, but he had lost his focus and the character - and the scene fell flat. All these reactions were understandable. Things happen in live theater, and I feel it would be unjust to hold the actors accountable. (It's a certainty I could not do it.)
I simply do not believe the talent and presence of mind Gabriel Byrne exhibited that afternoon comes along every day. The point I mean to make is: even though I was affected emotionally in that I was so relieved and happy for Byrne because he was not yanked out of character, he continued with such impeccable timing and grace that my exuberance was shelved. It did not come through until after I had thoroughly experienced the emotion and sensitivity O'Neill intended.
Cherry Jones as Josie Hagen comforts Jim Tyrone played by Gabriel Byrne
Eugene Oneill's A Moon for the Misbegotten
Walter Kerr Theater - Spring of 2,000
It was very personal. I shudder just thinking about it, and I know my words fail miserably to express how amazing it was! An unforgettable gift to witness it first hand! Someday, I hope to thank him for his love of the material, his selfless generosity to his audience, and his desire - or was it determination - to share both with us that day.
__
Recently, I saw the play again... with Kevin Spacey in the role of James Tyrone, Jr. Normally, I cannot be objective where Spacey is concerned, because he is one of my favorite actors. In this case, however, I have to confess, he could not inhabit the person of Tyrone for me. It belongs forever to someone else. I found myself longing to see Byrne again.
I'm thinking In Treatment may turn out to be treatment for me!
There. Now that I have that out of my system, I'll move on to discussing the show: Uh, I like it. *chortle* It satisfies some seedy sense of voyeurism I never knew I had in me...
More later.
CM
Photo: Courtesy NY TIMES
© Copyright 2008 Carol Marsella. All rights reserved.
I'll be writing my thoughts on the show as it progresses, but, today, I'm just making note of how delighted I am to see Gabriel Byrne again!
I first saw him a few years ago in NYC. He was appearing in Eugene O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten, and I was utterly mesmerized by his performance. Since then, I miss no opportunity to see him. A fan? Me? Well, glory be, I guess I am. ... and I dare suggest you will be, too, once you experience his work.
It was the spring of two-thousand. I obtained tickets to the (sold out) play which was onstage at the Walter Kerr Theater, one of the medium sized houses. Eugene O'Neill happens to be one of my favorite playwrights, and the idea of seeing the exquisite Ray Dotrice in the role of Phil Hogan made it an irresistible must-see. (Now that I think of it, I'm fairly certain Mr. Dotrice won the Tony for this portrayal in the Best Actor in a Featured Role category).
It was the first time I ever saw Gabriel Byrne. He was the brave soul who took on the challenging role of James Tyrone, Jr. and I had no idea what to expect where he was concerned. Not terribly ambitious about learning, I checked briefly online, and read that he was an Irish Actor. Saints preserve us! Being the Anglophile that I am, this pleased me immensely, and enough said. (As it happens, I am also fairly certain that Mr. Byrne was nominated for a Tony for this part, but I do not believe he took the statue home...)
Cherry Jones, another under appreciated, superbly brilliant actress rounded out the cast as Josie Hogan. This put me over the moon. I was just desperate for the days to pass until I would see it!
Sitting in the theater, in my center section aisle seat in the tenth row, I checked my watch repeatedly as the auditorium filled to capacity. Finally, the lights lowered and the audience hushed as the curtain began to move. I held my breath...
There is no way for this writer to separate one performance, that Sunday afternoon, from the other. Each acted and reacted to the other in perfect harmony, if you'll forgive me the cliche: like an impeccably rehearsed symphony.
Gabriel Byrne stood out for me because I had never seen him before and, forgive me again, I can be an awful snob when it comes to live theater. He took hold of that character and transported me and, I think, everyone else to the 1940s. It was not just O'Neill's words that took us away; Byrne's body language, his very demeanor, was of a time gone by. What a lovely, magical partnership!
Byrne's obvious love of the material shone through. So many actors simply say lines and move about the stage, gesturing as instructed, and they get rave reviews for doing it. I have been guilty, too, of this kind of acceptance - and as long as I am entertained, this is all right with me... uh, most of the time. It's a given, our Mr. Byrne could have gotten away with giving much less than he did. Fortunately for his audience, however, it would not have been enough for him! He didn't perform Tyrone; he channeled him. There was no definitive line between the here and now and the once upon a time. The assemblage around me disappeared, and I was taken into the story, the proverbial fly on the wall of a real happening.
I want to share about the one jarring moment, that afternoon, that sealed my bond as a fan of this man's work and talent. It was near the play's conclusion. Gabriel Byrne was in the midst of the emotional third act monologue where James Tyrone speaks loving words of confession and apology, revealing the depth of his personhood to Josie Hagen. It is a heart wrenchingly serious time in the play which has, up to this point, been peppered with O'Neill's perfectly placed moments of comedic hilarity.
One of the male audience members, up front and to the actors' right, (my left), made it abundantly clear that he had no knowledge of the story and no realization of the depth of what was happening. He misunderstood the character's intent and let loose a startling guffaw at the precise moment when the actor was escorting the audience to the story's emotional crescendo. The outburst seemed extremely loud, but that may have been because the theater was silent, except for Byrne's voice. My heart sank for the actor as the explosive disturbance caused every head in the audience to turn. I wondered how he would be able to maintain his momentum and the integrity of the scene. Feeling generous, I decided no matter how he chose to handle it, my admiration for his performance would remain intact.
To my astonishment, Mr. Byrne did not need my forgiveness. His hold on the character, the time and space, and the audience never faltered. Without any sign on his face or in his cadence that he heard the young man's misguided outburst, he skillfully ushered us along on our journey to the story's conclusion and kept us unscathed.
To this day, I remember that moment, and I don't know how he did it. I have seen things like this happen to other performers and felt just as heartsick for them as I did for Mr. Byrne. Some chose to step out of character and acknowledge the evil-doer, with humor or admonishment; others hesitate, regroup, and start the scene from a previous point. One actor actually forgot the next few lines and took a moment to re-compose himself, but he had lost his focus and the character - and the scene fell flat. All these reactions were understandable. Things happen in live theater, and I feel it would be unjust to hold the actors accountable. (It's a certainty I could not do it.)
I simply do not believe the talent and presence of mind Gabriel Byrne exhibited that afternoon comes along every day. The point I mean to make is: even though I was affected emotionally in that I was so relieved and happy for Byrne because he was not yanked out of character, he continued with such impeccable timing and grace that my exuberance was shelved. It did not come through until after I had thoroughly experienced the emotion and sensitivity O'Neill intended.
Cherry Jones as Josie Hagen comforts Jim Tyrone played by Gabriel Byrne
Eugene Oneill's A Moon for the Misbegotten
Walter Kerr Theater - Spring of 2,000
It was very personal. I shudder just thinking about it, and I know my words fail miserably to express how amazing it was! An unforgettable gift to witness it first hand! Someday, I hope to thank him for his love of the material, his selfless generosity to his audience, and his desire - or was it determination - to share both with us that day.
Recently, I saw the play again... with Kevin Spacey in the role of James Tyrone, Jr. Normally, I cannot be objective where Spacey is concerned, because he is one of my favorite actors. In this case, however, I have to confess, he could not inhabit the person of Tyrone for me. It belongs forever to someone else. I found myself longing to see Byrne again.
I'm thinking In Treatment may turn out to be treatment for me!
There. Now that I have that out of my system, I'll move on to discussing the show: Uh, I like it. *chortle* It satisfies some seedy sense of voyeurism I never knew I had in me...
More later.
CM
Photo: Courtesy NY TIMES
Saturday, April 21, 2007
BROADWAY BOUNDS...
A few weeks ago, I had an urgent phone call from my friend, Barb, who was completely beside herself. I was able to decipher that what she was trying to convey was the
news that Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey were appearing at the Lyceum Theater in previews of INHERIT THE WIND. Without hesitating, I immediately began to stammer and stutter along with her. Somewhere in that unintelligible conversation we decided that we would not be able to go on living (not happily anyway) if we missed this.
Next day, I went online and made the purchase. In order to get the perfect seat for a show of this caliber, one must sometimes wait… I booked us second row, dead center… but we would have to wait eleven days. And I am not even going to write what I paid for those tickets. I’ll simply quote Bing Crosby from WHITE CHRISTMAS and say it was “somewhere between ouch and boing”!
Two days before the show, we spoke again deciding to make our way into the City on our own and meet at Penn Station outside of a certain shop.
One day before the show, I phoned Barb to let her know this was frightening to me. I don’t mind traveling into the City in daylight hours but the idea of traveling home in the dark, alone, after midnight was daunting. I feared it would have affected my psyche enough to interfere with my enjoyment of the show. Barb understood and we agreed that rather than walk two blocks from my house and catch the train, I would make the forty minute drive up to her office and make use of one of her computers to do some writing while she closed up for the day. Sounds easy enough, yes?
I left my home at three-thirty for what should have been, as I have said, about a forty minute drive to her office. Barb works for Pierre Deux, the decorating house, and her office is in Secaucus. About ten minutes by train from Manhattan. We’d leave my car at her office and take hers to the train station. Within minutes we’d be in the City and could take a nice leisurely walk to the Lyceum. (What’s that they say about the best laid plans?)
I phoned Barb at about four-thirty to say I was not even out of town yet. Traffic was at a complete standstill and no one seemed to know why or how long it would be this way. She wasted no time logging on to her computer to check it out. In a minute she let me know there was a several alarm fire in one of the towns I needed to pass through. Traffic there was being diverted and onlookers were also contributing to the tie-up. We had no way to know how long this would take but I felt that it would work out since I had left so early, uh, to avoid traffic.
By five-thirty, we’d moved two miles. Now the tickets were at the box office… in my name. Barb would not have been able to get them because she wouldn't have had the proper credentials. Telling her to go on ahead without me and I would catch up was not an option. I phoned her again just to fret. (Walking into a theater late is a horrible thing to do in any circumstance, but when your seat is down front, dead center, it’s simply unacceptable. Combine that with my concern over these two princes of the theater seeing two empty seats directly in front of them and you can sense my anxiety. What could I do? I put my convertible top down, cranked up the music and sang with Stevie Wonder… Baby everything’s all right. Up tight…Well, you get the picture.)
By six-thirty I’d established myself on a first name basis with my traffic clique. Yes, we’d begun to form cliques. I phoned to give Barb my hourly update and introduce her to my new friends… Just then, a man in a red car accidentally cut me off and as we waved our we’re-all-in-this-together understanding to one another, the traffic vanished. (I will never understand how it does that.)
“The traffic’s gone.” I announced I’d be there in a few minutes and indeed, I was at her office in less than fifteen. She closed the place while I used the facilities. As we exited the building and were triumphantly approaching her car, one of her coworkers stopped us to say she’d heard that there was no parking at the train station. The lots were jam-packed. Secaucus is not a place to park your car just anywhere unless you want it to disappear – or parts of it to disapp… nevermind.
We decided to try it anyway. Coworker had been correct. There was no parking at all. What to do. Holland Tunnel was backed up for miles; it would have taken way past Curtain just to get through the tunnel let alone navigate the City and then park... It was already past seven. (Am I glad I left my house at three-thirty!) Barb suggested we head over to catch the Ferry. Sounded good to me. Parking was a dream. As we walked from the car to the terminal we could see that the Ferry was heading for New Jersey and there was no line. We looked at one another in disbelief. Could our luck be changing for the better? We stepped up to the counter, purchased our tickets, walked outside, stepped onto the boat, sailed across the Hudson, disembarked, caught a bus to the theater, walked in, picked up our tickets, sat down. CURTAIN. (Definitely worth a good solid HIGH FIVE and tension relieving giggle!! Talk about the nick of time!)
The Lyceum is a beautifully appointed, smallish theater with a cozy, intimate feel to it. One of those theaters where there are no bad seats, but, as in all theaters, there are wonderful seats. We had wonderful.
When Brian Dennehey walked onto the stage, not eight feet away from us, the audience burst forth with such a rousing applause, I wondered how he would manage to continue. He did stand still for just a moment while the mirth quieted. He then went on to give a performance that was so stellar, I say with all sincerity it was bested only by Christopher Plummer’s. I finally understood the coinage of the word "star" when referring to an actor of a certain quality and magnitude. These two great actors lifted each other up to such amazing theatrical heights that they took us right along with them as though we were in some gravitational pull. Willingly. The woman to my left said in astonishment as the curtain closed after the final bows, “I knew I was going to see Christopher Plummer tonight, but I did not know I was going to experience this.” All I could do was nod my agreement; I was completely speechless. I turned to Barb who, also speechless, merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged. We smiled at one another, shook our heads in disbelief and exited with the throng.
I could overhear remarks made by others as we walked along. They validated my heart song. “I don’t want it to be over.” “That was wonderful” “One of the best things I have ever seen” “Isn’t he wonderful” “I love him more than ever”
Everyone with whom we made eye contact as we all poured out into the busy theater district seemed to want to say something and all seemed to feel the same. There was no denying it. We had all shared in experiencing a true once-in-a-lifetime event, and we all knew it! For the first time in my life, I contemplated the pros and cons of waiting at the Stage Door to meet the actors. Thought better of it knowing I was incapable of saying anything worthwhile or sensible and moved on down the road. Remembering that we had not eaten before the play because time had not seemed to have been on our side, we decided to catch the Ferry and go back to “the Jersey side” for dinner.
The ride back across the Hudson was every bit as magical as the earlier ride to the City had been. Earlier, the City had been transformed into shades of pinks and golds as the windows on the magnificent skyscrapers reflected the sunset. Now it was bedecked and bedazzled with the flickering lights of man set against the velvety night sky. There is simply no other city like it. And indeed that view was the crown jewel topping off the evening.
By ten-thirty, we were seated in one of those wonderful diners for which New Jersey is famous enjoying being served by a waitress with a personality that was rivaled only by the rest of our evening! She added a whole new dimension to our experience earning her place as part of the memory. At some point, Barb and I found our tongues and our thoughts. I don’t know who started it but we sat there in that diner talking about the play. The perfect matching of costumes and set to the material. Plummer and Dennehey, the perfect matching of these two actors in the lead roles. And the cast, every bit up to the task of acting alongside and with these two astonishing men. We left the diner at after one in the morning. (Have I mentioned that it was perfect?)
I turned on the music as I headed south on the Parkway but turned it off again, wanting to relive the play. I remembered the endearing face of the woman who’d so sweetly said she hadn’t wanted it to be over yet… In the confines of my car, I finally answered her... Audibly. Me neither!
So, what does all this have to do with writing? Simply this: Performances like that, material like that, theaters, conversations, and audience reactions like that inspire me limitlessly. Someone wrote that wonderful, timeless play and these two brilliant men found it worthwhile enough to want to perform it. For a writer, there is no better validation.
Go see it!
Then email me…
Hurry!
CM
news that Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey were appearing at the Lyceum Theater in previews of INHERIT THE WIND. Without hesitating, I immediately began to stammer and stutter along with her. Somewhere in that unintelligible conversation we decided that we would not be able to go on living (not happily anyway) if we missed this.
Next day, I went online and made the purchase. In order to get the perfect seat for a show of this caliber, one must sometimes wait… I booked us second row, dead center… but we would have to wait eleven days. And I am not even going to write what I paid for those tickets. I’ll simply quote Bing Crosby from WHITE CHRISTMAS and say it was “somewhere between ouch and boing”!
Two days before the show, we spoke again deciding to make our way into the City on our own and meet at Penn Station outside of a certain shop.
One day before the show, I phoned Barb to let her know this was frightening to me. I don’t mind traveling into the City in daylight hours but the idea of traveling home in the dark, alone, after midnight was daunting. I feared it would have affected my psyche enough to interfere with my enjoyment of the show. Barb understood and we agreed that rather than walk two blocks from my house and catch the train, I would make the forty minute drive up to her office and make use of one of her computers to do some writing while she closed up for the day. Sounds easy enough, yes?
I left my home at three-thirty for what should have been, as I have said, about a forty minute drive to her office. Barb works for Pierre Deux, the decorating house, and her office is in Secaucus. About ten minutes by train from Manhattan. We’d leave my car at her office and take hers to the train station. Within minutes we’d be in the City and could take a nice leisurely walk to the Lyceum. (What’s that they say about the best laid plans?)
I phoned Barb at about four-thirty to say I was not even out of town yet. Traffic was at a complete standstill and no one seemed to know why or how long it would be this way. She wasted no time logging on to her computer to check it out. In a minute she let me know there was a several alarm fire in one of the towns I needed to pass through. Traffic there was being diverted and onlookers were also contributing to the tie-up. We had no way to know how long this would take but I felt that it would work out since I had left so early, uh, to avoid traffic.
By five-thirty, we’d moved two miles. Now the tickets were at the box office… in my name. Barb would not have been able to get them because she wouldn't have had the proper credentials. Telling her to go on ahead without me and I would catch up was not an option. I phoned her again just to fret. (Walking into a theater late is a horrible thing to do in any circumstance, but when your seat is down front, dead center, it’s simply unacceptable. Combine that with my concern over these two princes of the theater seeing two empty seats directly in front of them and you can sense my anxiety. What could I do? I put my convertible top down, cranked up the music and sang with Stevie Wonder… Baby everything’s all right. Up tight…Well, you get the picture.)
By six-thirty I’d established myself on a first name basis with my traffic clique. Yes, we’d begun to form cliques. I phoned to give Barb my hourly update and introduce her to my new friends… Just then, a man in a red car accidentally cut me off and as we waved our we’re-all-in-this-together understanding to one another, the traffic vanished. (I will never understand how it does that.)
“The traffic’s gone.” I announced I’d be there in a few minutes and indeed, I was at her office in less than fifteen. She closed the place while I used the facilities. As we exited the building and were triumphantly approaching her car, one of her coworkers stopped us to say she’d heard that there was no parking at the train station. The lots were jam-packed. Secaucus is not a place to park your car just anywhere unless you want it to disappear – or parts of it to disapp… nevermind.
We decided to try it anyway. Coworker had been correct. There was no parking at all. What to do. Holland Tunnel was backed up for miles; it would have taken way past Curtain just to get through the tunnel let alone navigate the City and then park... It was already past seven. (Am I glad I left my house at three-thirty!) Barb suggested we head over to catch the Ferry. Sounded good to me. Parking was a dream. As we walked from the car to the terminal we could see that the Ferry was heading for New Jersey and there was no line. We looked at one another in disbelief. Could our luck be changing for the better? We stepped up to the counter, purchased our tickets, walked outside, stepped onto the boat, sailed across the Hudson, disembarked, caught a bus to the theater, walked in, picked up our tickets, sat down. CURTAIN. (Definitely worth a good solid HIGH FIVE and tension relieving giggle!! Talk about the nick of time!)
The Lyceum is a beautifully appointed, smallish theater with a cozy, intimate feel to it. One of those theaters where there are no bad seats, but, as in all theaters, there are wonderful seats. We had wonderful.
When Brian Dennehey walked onto the stage, not eight feet away from us, the audience burst forth with such a rousing applause, I wondered how he would manage to continue. He did stand still for just a moment while the mirth quieted. He then went on to give a performance that was so stellar, I say with all sincerity it was bested only by Christopher Plummer’s. I finally understood the coinage of the word "star" when referring to an actor of a certain quality and magnitude. These two great actors lifted each other up to such amazing theatrical heights that they took us right along with them as though we were in some gravitational pull. Willingly. The woman to my left said in astonishment as the curtain closed after the final bows, “I knew I was going to see Christopher Plummer tonight, but I did not know I was going to experience this.” All I could do was nod my agreement; I was completely speechless. I turned to Barb who, also speechless, merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged. We smiled at one another, shook our heads in disbelief and exited with the throng.
I could overhear remarks made by others as we walked along. They validated my heart song. “I don’t want it to be over.” “That was wonderful” “One of the best things I have ever seen” “Isn’t he wonderful” “I love him more than ever”
Everyone with whom we made eye contact as we all poured out into the busy theater district seemed to want to say something and all seemed to feel the same. There was no denying it. We had all shared in experiencing a true once-in-a-lifetime event, and we all knew it! For the first time in my life, I contemplated the pros and cons of waiting at the Stage Door to meet the actors. Thought better of it knowing I was incapable of saying anything worthwhile or sensible and moved on down the road. Remembering that we had not eaten before the play because time had not seemed to have been on our side, we decided to catch the Ferry and go back to “the Jersey side” for dinner.
The ride back across the Hudson was every bit as magical as the earlier ride to the City had been. Earlier, the City had been transformed into shades of pinks and golds as the windows on the magnificent skyscrapers reflected the sunset. Now it was bedecked and bedazzled with the flickering lights of man set against the velvety night sky. There is simply no other city like it. And indeed that view was the crown jewel topping off the evening.
By ten-thirty, we were seated in one of those wonderful diners for which New Jersey is famous enjoying being served by a waitress with a personality that was rivaled only by the rest of our evening! She added a whole new dimension to our experience earning her place as part of the memory. At some point, Barb and I found our tongues and our thoughts. I don’t know who started it but we sat there in that diner talking about the play. The perfect matching of costumes and set to the material. Plummer and Dennehey, the perfect matching of these two actors in the lead roles. And the cast, every bit up to the task of acting alongside and with these two astonishing men. We left the diner at after one in the morning. (Have I mentioned that it was perfect?)
I turned on the music as I headed south on the Parkway but turned it off again, wanting to relive the play. I remembered the endearing face of the woman who’d so sweetly said she hadn’t wanted it to be over yet… In the confines of my car, I finally answered her... Audibly. Me neither!
So, what does all this have to do with writing? Simply this: Performances like that, material like that, theaters, conversations, and audience reactions like that inspire me limitlessly. Someone wrote that wonderful, timeless play and these two brilliant men found it worthwhile enough to want to perform it. For a writer, there is no better validation.
Go see it!
Then email me…
Hurry!
CM
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