I don't know. Ask Vanessa Redgrave. But I don't know Vanessa Redgrave!
Mystery solved! My aunt was trying to get in touch with me out of the blue because she had an extra ticket to This!
I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had a hair appointment in Brooklyn at 6:00 PM that I could not cancel so there was a bit of a mad dash to make it to the theater in time to meet Laura before the 8:00 PM show. Or, rather, I assumed there would be a mad dash, but in truth I arrived to the theater with ample time to duck around the corner and grab a hamburger before the planned meeting time. Laura seemed somewhat timid when she approached me, shy, I suppose, because we only see each other once ever other year or so. She was holding a large Starbucks cup and it was immense in her small hand. She is a couple of inches taller than me and she was wearing heels but she still seemed very petite. I have never thought of her as small, I guess because I usually see her in jeans and a tunic and she tends to be somewhat tomboyish in her movements, but dressed for taking meetings in her black and white Diane Von Furstenberg dress and soft leather knee length boots, she seemed impossibly petite. On our way into the theater a woman and her friend wanted to know where they knew Laura from and she explained that she "was on a television show called ER for many many years." The other woman congratulated her friend for having the nerve to ask. They were older women, early 60s at least, a mess of frizzy highlighted hair, and the friend patted her pal on the shoulder and said several times over, "Good for you for asking, good for you."
The play itself was engrossing but not very good. Ms Regrave has massive broad shoulders, she looks incredibly sturdy, a woman built with two by fours. Joan Didion is the picture of petite. One imagines Didion fitting comfortably into an overnight bag. Vanessa Regrave, on the other had, looks as though she could hook that overnight bag over her pinkie, Joan Didion and all, and carry it a great distance. (Ah, and here is what I'm now seeing in my head: Vanessa Redgrave carrying Joan Didion across a desert in an overnight bag, Ms. Didion's little face peeking out, and the two chatting comfortably as they traverse the barren land.) Accepting Regrave as Didion was an impossible task. I also found Regrave's manner to be distracting and ill-suited for the material. I was at all times very aware that I was watching Vanessa Redgrave. Fortunately, however, that in itself is an unforgettable treat. The adaptation was a strange one, and it suffered toward the end -- There were too many many moments of near catharsis, starts and stops, on and on, and in the end I was left unfulfilled. 20 minutes of dreadful sex, good but dissapointing.
Afterward Laura and I had drinks at a shadowy overdone bar near the theater. She ordered a Martini in such an impressive fashion that all I could do was follow it up with, "that sounds perfect, I'll have the very same." We had an incredible time talking and reconnecting, and I was sad when it was time to see her off in a taxi. She rolled down the window and peeked her head out to wave as the car pulled away. She looked tiny and lovely. I imagine she looked very much like a young Joan Didion would were she to peek out from inside an overnight bag.
I couldn't believe my good fortune. I had a hair appointment in Brooklyn at 6:00 PM that I could not cancel so there was a bit of a mad dash to make it to the theater in time to meet Laura before the 8:00 PM show. Or, rather, I assumed there would be a mad dash, but in truth I arrived to the theater with ample time to duck around the corner and grab a hamburger before the planned meeting time. Laura seemed somewhat timid when she approached me, shy, I suppose, because we only see each other once ever other year or so. She was holding a large Starbucks cup and it was immense in her small hand. She is a couple of inches taller than me and she was wearing heels but she still seemed very petite. I have never thought of her as small, I guess because I usually see her in jeans and a tunic and she tends to be somewhat tomboyish in her movements, but dressed for taking meetings in her black and white Diane Von Furstenberg dress and soft leather knee length boots, she seemed impossibly petite. On our way into the theater a woman and her friend wanted to know where they knew Laura from and she explained that she "was on a television show called ER for many many years." The other woman congratulated her friend for having the nerve to ask. They were older women, early 60s at least, a mess of frizzy highlighted hair, and the friend patted her pal on the shoulder and said several times over, "Good for you for asking, good for you."
The play itself was engrossing but not very good. Ms Regrave has massive broad shoulders, she looks incredibly sturdy, a woman built with two by fours. Joan Didion is the picture of petite. One imagines Didion fitting comfortably into an overnight bag. Vanessa Regrave, on the other had, looks as though she could hook that overnight bag over her pinkie, Joan Didion and all, and carry it a great distance. (Ah, and here is what I'm now seeing in my head: Vanessa Redgrave carrying Joan Didion across a desert in an overnight bag, Ms. Didion's little face peeking out, and the two chatting comfortably as they traverse the barren land.) Accepting Regrave as Didion was an impossible task. I also found Regrave's manner to be distracting and ill-suited for the material. I was at all times very aware that I was watching Vanessa Redgrave. Fortunately, however, that in itself is an unforgettable treat. The adaptation was a strange one, and it suffered toward the end -- There were too many many moments of near catharsis, starts and stops, on and on, and in the end I was left unfulfilled. 20 minutes of dreadful sex, good but dissapointing.
Afterward Laura and I had drinks at a shadowy overdone bar near the theater. She ordered a Martini in such an impressive fashion that all I could do was follow it up with, "that sounds perfect, I'll have the very same." We had an incredible time talking and reconnecting, and I was sad when it was time to see her off in a taxi. She rolled down the window and peeked her head out to wave as the car pulled away. She looked tiny and lovely. I imagine she looked very much like a young Joan Didion would were she to peek out from inside an overnight bag.