On a completely different note ....
The other night, Ellen Kushner very kindly invited me to the theater. She knew an actress who was going to be starring in a play about Russian-Jewish emigres, and did I want to come?
DID I EVER.
Okay, ways in which this play won:
1) location, location, location. Look, have you ever been to the Arclight Theater? I didn't know the damned thing existed, and I live around the corner! It's the nicest basement exit to a 1920s multiple dwelling that you ever did see (for context, mine, from the same period, inspired my movers to emit a heartfelt groan). There are fairy lights. There are couches. There is groin vaulting. There are helpful signs telling you that, in fact, you are heading in the direction of the theater, and not some weird fairyland, or to a private party at which you will not be welcome. The whole damned thing is painted by a naive artist of the Old Russian school, and it is awesome, like your great-great-great grandmother's icon as interpreted in oil pastels.
2) Look, I hate interpretive dance as much as the next girl, so I cringed a little during the opening number, but they actually made it work. There are two scenes in particular that stood out, one where a sheet held upright functioned as the wall and the railing of the train during rush hour, and one where the same sheet did double duty as, well, you know, a sheet, only upright, with the actors acting like people during one of those awful where-the-hell-did-THIS-come-from-I-thought-we-were-going-to-SLEEP fights (oh, don't play innocent, you know what I mean), only where they could pace and where even the actors holding/personifying the pillows looked vaguely embarrassed and like they wished they were anywhere-but-there.
3) And this is the kicker. Look, are you Russian? Jewish? Russian-Jewish? From a culture that has that same validating-but-claustrophobic emphasis on succes=family sacrifice=success= ... well, you get the idea. If you are, GO WATCH THIS. It was like having dinner with my parents, which I know is no great recommendation, as you could probably actually have dinner with my parents if you asked nicely and come away well-fed as opposed to having [had your friend] buy[ing] theater tickers, but OHMYGOD THE INSIGHT.
Look, I thought it was just me.
And then I thought they must have been spying on my dad to have gotten it that note-perfect, when the father in the play looks at his son's suit, brushes off the lapels, smiles, and happily proclaims "GAH-vno!" (which is Russian for, "OH, such CRAP!"). Dudes. This is what my father does every time I make a good buy. It's endemic. I actually made a bet with myself during the dinner scene that, nah, there couldn't be a long-winded toast - 'natch - or a bit where the folks weren't satisfied until the kids where harried - done - or where they proved my point about where I was glad I was an only child because they would have played both ends against the middle, like Crowley if he was a daddy (look, seriously, if they can split-i.e., criticize me for having a career/prioritizing my family, I can only imagine how it would have played out with another actor). It was AWESOME, and only heightened by the degree to which they were spot-on with the Russian vernacular, mannerisms, family dynamic, etc.
What I'm saying is, if you relate to this even vaguely, go see "COVERS" at the Arclight.
Also, befriend Ellen, as she is awesome. Hey, I'm just saying ....
DID I EVER.
Okay, ways in which this play won:
1) location, location, location. Look, have you ever been to the Arclight Theater? I didn't know the damned thing existed, and I live around the corner! It's the nicest basement exit to a 1920s multiple dwelling that you ever did see (for context, mine, from the same period, inspired my movers to emit a heartfelt groan). There are fairy lights. There are couches. There is groin vaulting. There are helpful signs telling you that, in fact, you are heading in the direction of the theater, and not some weird fairyland, or to a private party at which you will not be welcome. The whole damned thing is painted by a naive artist of the Old Russian school, and it is awesome, like your great-great-great grandmother's icon as interpreted in oil pastels.
2) Look, I hate interpretive dance as much as the next girl, so I cringed a little during the opening number, but they actually made it work. There are two scenes in particular that stood out, one where a sheet held upright functioned as the wall and the railing of the train during rush hour, and one where the same sheet did double duty as, well, you know, a sheet, only upright, with the actors acting like people during one of those awful where-the-hell-did-THIS-come-from-I-thought-we-were-going-to-SLEEP fights (oh, don't play innocent, you know what I mean), only where they could pace and where even the actors holding/personifying the pillows looked vaguely embarrassed and like they wished they were anywhere-but-there.
3) And this is the kicker. Look, are you Russian? Jewish? Russian-Jewish? From a culture that has that same validating-but-claustrophobic emphasis on succes=family sacrifice=success= ... well, you get the idea. If you are, GO WATCH THIS. It was like having dinner with my parents, which I know is no great recommendation, as you could probably actually have dinner with my parents if you asked nicely and come away well-fed as opposed to having [had your friend] buy[ing] theater tickers, but OHMYGOD THE INSIGHT.
Look, I thought it was just me.
And then I thought they must have been spying on my dad to have gotten it that note-perfect, when the father in the play looks at his son's suit, brushes off the lapels, smiles, and happily proclaims "GAH-vno!" (which is Russian for, "OH, such CRAP!"). Dudes. This is what my father does every time I make a good buy. It's endemic. I actually made a bet with myself during the dinner scene that, nah, there couldn't be a long-winded toast - 'natch - or a bit where the folks weren't satisfied until the kids where harried - done - or where they proved my point about where I was glad I was an only child because they would have played both ends against the middle, like Crowley if he was a daddy (look, seriously, if they can split-i.e., criticize me for having a career/prioritizing my family, I can only imagine how it would have played out with another actor). It was AWESOME, and only heightened by the degree to which they were spot-on with the Russian vernacular, mannerisms, family dynamic, etc.
What I'm saying is, if you relate to this even vaguely, go see "COVERS" at the Arclight.
Also, befriend Ellen, as she is awesome. Hey, I'm just saying ....