Red Fern show- final week!

17 Mar

OK, I finally got to NY to see my short play FISH BOWL in the evening of seven plays that Red Fern commissioned under the rubric +30NYC. (The brief: Imagine NY in 30 years’ time.)

And I thought the evening was great overall– You know how in an evening of short plays there are usually one or two duds? There really weren’t, and some of them were knock-out funny, imaginative, creepy, poignant… I still have the image of a cryogenically frozen head, resurrected from a foul-mouthed frozen relative, on a stick (“No, a stem” said the smarmy salesman).

I was proud to be in the company of these writers and creative time and hope you can go see it. I’m also still processing the amazing inverse relationship I’ve experienced in the past week between production bucks and size of venue, and talent and smarts in what’s on stage. It’s almost Swiftian material for satire.

I’ll write about this more fully another day, but (referring back to some thoughts in an old post, Fear, Bad Teeth and Comedy) I think it’s to do with WHERE the fear is located in the theatre. When the terror is of biting the hand that feeds (the patrons, the donors, the subscribers) because then the entire pack of cards would collapse, then all fear, uncertainty, anxiety, darkness and ambiguity must be surgically excised from what appears on stage. Instead it circulates in the dark, in the smiling unctuous tone of the solicited “talkback”, in the lobby, and in the office computers where the Excel spread sheets crunch the numbers, as little cancerous particles of free floating dread.

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One Response to “Red Fern show- final week!”

  1. Elisabeth Lewis Corley March 21, 2010 at 12:15 am #

    Maybe it’s the encapsulization (is this a word? it ought to be.) of those “little cancerous particles of free floating dread” that made the evening so liberating? It was all scary and creepy and for a minute one was afraid to leave the theatre, but when out in the street — a curious elation, akin to relief. Someone touched the monster. And then such floods of admiration for the brave folks making that theatre happen. And such openness in one’s own heart. So, dear Christine Evans, thanks for that.

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