Magical Grieving

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When my mom passed away several years ago, which had to be one of my watershed life experiences, I sent out an email to my close friends all over the world to let them know, and I included this quote from Joan Didion’s autobiographical book about coping with the sudden death of her husband, the writer John Gregory Dunne, and the prolonged illness of their daughter, Quintana, “The Year of Magical Thinking”:  “…when we mourn for our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves.  As we were.  As we are no longer.  As we will one day not be at all.”  I think it’s a beautiful quote, so articulately and delicately crystallizing with a minimum of words that almost indescribable state of tremendous grief, that sense of losing huge chunks of one’s self and one’s past and future with the loss of the loved one.   “The Year of Magical Thinking”  is one of the most important and memorable books I’ve ever read in my life; I finished it a couple of months before my mom entered the hospital for her very rapid, and ultimately failed, battle with kidney ailments, and I couldn’t have realized how prescient the book would be for capturing my emotional responses to my own forthcoming loss.  For Didion, in the book, powerfully, expressively, and relentlessly paints the various emotions that you go through when dealing with the loss of a loved one, and the terrifying possible loss of another – the anger, the discombobulation, the helplessness, the overwhelming pain, the sometimes gratuitous but always searing self-pity.  So I was very excited and curious to see how Didion adapted the book, so emotionally frank, so introspective, into a theatrical piece, now being given its Chicago premiere by the Court Theatre.   Although The Year of Magical Thinking, the play, is extremely well-written, and in the hands of Court Artistic Director Charlie Newell and actress Mary Beth Fisher, is masterfully, at times exquisitely, staged and performed, I missed some of the emotional clarity of the book.  I felt that the play was indeed a portrayal of “magical thinking” versus “magical grieving and feeling” which the book so invaluably, and unapologetically, provided.

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2009’s Theatrical Treasures

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cchad-deity-2.jpgI’m not a theater critic, nor a theater practitioner.  I’m just a regular, passionate theater aficionado who writes a blog (and who pays for most shows that I go to see).  And it was wonderful to be a regular, passionate theater aficionado who wrote a blog in 2009 in Chicago, when great-not merely good, not just serviceable-theater was available every weekend night.  2009 began with the Goodman Theatre’s Eugene O’Neill Festival, a singular, unsurpassable program of theatrical bravado that I will always remember, and which even long time Chicago residents marveled at.  But 2009, for me, was also a year of getting a thrilling first look at world premieres; of seeing plays in random places, whether it was in a warehouse in Ravenswood, inside the rehearsal hall of the Goodman theater, or on the actual stage of the MCA; of discovering new theater companies putting on plays with so much impressive, balls-out fierceness; of finally being validated in my very firm, vocal belief that it is Chicago, not New York City or any other self-proclaiming town, that is the theater capital of the US. 

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Quicksilver

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irma-vep.jpgWhen I got home a couple of Sundays ago from a performance of the Court Theater’s latest production, Charles Ludlam’s The Mystery of Irma Vep, directed by hyperkinetic wunderkind director Sean Graney, my Twitter and Facebook feeds were full of reactions to Adam Lambert’s performance at the American Music Awards (AMA). Although some of those tweeting and Facebooking were shocked (feigned or real, I’m not sure), most, including myself, thought the whole performance was derivative, non-provocative, and somewhat tired and yawn-inducing (we’ve already seen everything he did before, and it’s not like he was singing strapped into a sling!).  I think my friends’, straight and gay, jaded reaction to Lambert’s shameless self-promotion was indicative of how much gay iconography (man-on-man kiss; man-face-on-man-crotch; man-leading-man-on-a-dog-leash), regardless of how fringe they might be, had seeped into our pop culture moments since the year Ludlam premiered his cross-dressing parody of penny dreadfuls and early Hitchcock films in 1984.  But leave it to Ludlam’s brilliance that 1980s-era Irma Vep is, ironically, fresher, queerer, and yes, more subversive than the 2009 attempt of an American Idol runner-up to hog headlines.  And Graney has given this first-rate theatrical material, that is also trickier than a landmine detonation, a flawless, hysterically funny production, and thrown in a couple of his own unique innovations, including a brilliant final scene.  It’s a handful of a play, but a welcome one.

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Four Plays: Old, New, Borrowed, Blue

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I’ve seen so many theater openings over the past three weeks, I’ve actually been able to pull some of them together with a clever (or in my mind, at least) blog post theme.  Here are my impressions on four season openers currently playing on Chicago stages:

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Welcome Wintry March

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our-town-warming-up-new-york.jpgIs it March already?  It seems like I spent most of the first quarter that is about to end waiting in tundra-like winter weather for the Brown line to get me to and from the Goodman Theater.  Although I’m out of town this weekend, and will have to miss the final entry in the brilliant Eugene O’Neill Festival, the Neo-Futurists’ four and a half hour production of Strange Interlude directed by Greg Allen, I have to say that the Festival is an unqualified success.  This city owes a tremendous amount of gratitude to Bob Falls and the Goodman staff for enriching our artistic lives permanently, and here’s hoping to more world-class theater in the future!

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