The Power of Theatre

 

Brighton Beach Memoirs by Neil Simon had their preview at Lakeshore Players last night. I won't pretend to be unbiased. I am associated with the theatre, I am friends with the director and know many in the cast. So this is not a true review but rather some thoughts on what the power of theatre can do for you.

 

On September 15, 2001, I had tickets for Nunsense. I was still reeling from the attacks, driving with my headlights on, lighting candles and piling up the NY Times. The TV glowed at all hours. I did not want to spend my time with silly, singing nuns. A cast member gave a curtain speech. She acknowledged the tough week. She mentioned that it was acceptable to smile. That even in hard times one is allowed a little laughter. "Not me," I thought. "I'm not in the mood." Of course, in the course of the evening I did smile. It felt as if my face would crack. I had gone through days with my lips pursed. A constant look of worry. Of dread. It was the grandest release in the world to find I could smile again - even if I didn't want to.

 

Last night I had a phone call from a family that I was very close to in my childhood. My friend and her family welcomed me into their home. I lived there. I knew where the plates and silverware were. I learned about keeping a Kosher home. I was there for Seders and my friend slept in my home on Christmas Eve. I went to her Saturday services and she came to mass with me. My friend and her family enriched my childhood and adult life. But my friend is gone. A victim of 9/11. I later wrote about her in a play. The play went on to have its own life. But I never let go of the fact that I wrote the play after she died. That I was too late in telling her that our childhood friendship remained one of the treasures in my life. I left a note telling her that on a memorial website. And her family found me. First her brother and last night - I connected with her mother. I could hear the tears as she acknowledged how hard the month was for her. And it turned to squeals when she blurted out she is a great-grandmother. This woman has been through the holocaust and 9/11. Enough. We chatted about everyone from our past and finishing each others sentences happily told of the new family members. Exchanging addresses and promises of sending letters and photos and arranging visits, we could not figure out how to end the conversation. It was awkward when we hung up. But we had reconnected - in large part because of theatre.

 

On the eve of September 11,2009, I sat in a dark theatre watching Brighton Beach. I could crawl inside this family. I knew where they kept their silverware and plates. I could blend in so easily. As the play evolves and the pressures of an extended family living together mount, I felt a familiar warmth. As directed by Brian Sherman, the ability to work with the cast to reveal both their strengths and vulnerabilities beautifully serves Neil Simon's autobiographical script.  Kristen Mathiesen as Kate was family to me. A woman with the strongest most brittle backbone -who struggles to keep the home fires burning was a comforting presence. Gini Adams was a gentle, apologetic Blanche who yearns for her own home but is lost in how to accomplish that.  James Crews' uneasy patriarchal Jack conveyed the seemingly unwavering strength of a man who would rather dispense advice than make a clear-cut decision. 

 

While the play is centered around the "coming-of-age" of Eugene (portrayed by Kyle Decknadel who easily alternates between delivering Neil Simon's one-liners with his own telling confusions about puberty), it is also the coming-of-age for the other teenagers living in the home. Aliza Warwick's Laurie is finally going to be brought of out her delicate bubble. Michelle Hernick's Nora needs to come to terms with growing up without a father and always giving way to the needy attentions of her sickly sister. And D.W. Surine's Stanley has to cross the path from the know-it-all teenager who too easily gives in to his own foibles to becoming a true adult.  The actors delicately step through a net of careless ease that family members have with each other. The relationships fragment. I am part of their lives. I have no thoughts about watching a friend or a student onstage. I am watching the family. In Act II when all is said that can never be taken back, the ache onstage and in the audience was unmistakable.  The threads that kept this family together were fragile and unravelling. But as the characters carefully rebuild their relationships with stronger stuff, there is such beauty in the healing process.  And I am reminded that one can make a choice to cope and heal. 

 

On the eve of 9/11, it was comforting to spend my evening with a family who were all coming-of-age. Whose humanity was laid bare, could tear and also mend. Eight years after the 9/11 attacks, so many of us are still in the journey of healing. For me, theatre has been instrumental in the process. It has taken me out of my own self-induced knot, brought me back to a time of magic in my childhood, restored a loving family back into my life and last night reiterated the importance of compassion.   

 

For further information on Brighton Beach Memoirs: http://www.lakeshoreplayers.com