Play Review: She Loves Me by Masteroff, Harnick, and Bock, directed by Rebecca Traichman

Georg Nowack and Amalia Balash, coworkers at a parfumerie, have a contentious work relationship—but they are also one another's secret pen pals who met through a lonely hearts newspaper ad. When the pen pals decide to meet, Georg discovers Amalia's identity and everything he thought he knew is thrown into turmoil. This familiar story is the fifth adaptation of Miklos Laszlo's play Parfumerie, and it's a musical. The Oregon Shakespeare Festival's 2010 production of She Loves Me is, in a word, delightful. It's by no means flawless: The plot is slightly bloated by the romantic foibles of another parfumerie employee, whose quest for love is intended to function as a foil to the relationship between Georg and Amalia but instead feels underdeveloped and contributes the musical's worst numbers. The production, meanwhile, falters at the close of the first act, when the café meeting scene becomes a rancorous, physical comedy. She Loves Me is something of a subdued musical—not quiet precisely, but the characters are realistic and a little dorky, the romance is more private than grand, and so the loud comedy comes as a surprise and feels out of place in the otherwise understated production.

But these are small, forgivable distractions in view of the entire production, which is joyful, clever, and a pure pleasure to watch. It doesn't offer remarkable depth—it is, after all, a romantic comedy, and though the romance is enduringly unusual the story doesn't break much new ground and it comes to such a swift conclusion that it almost feels simplistic. But the musical offers brilliantly funny, catchy songs about topics as mundane as shopping and eating ice cream, the main characters are refreshing in their simple and adorably flawed humanity, and the production's clever set design, colorful costuming, and strong musical performances are a joy. OSF's new trend towards musicals has had a rocky start, but with She Loves Me they meet their usual standard of excellence. My entire party loved this play without reservation. A joy from the second song (the first is good, but the second is great and it's where things get rolling) to the ovation's refrain, this is not OSF's biggest, best, or most brilliant production—but it may be one of the most enjoyable to watch. I recommend it with enthusiasm.

(Photo: Georg interrupts Amalia while she waits for her "dear friend." By Jenny Graham, copyright OSF.)

Play Review: Well by Lisa Kron, directed by James Edmondosn

Well is not a play about the playwright and her mother. Well is "a multicharacter theatrical exploration of issues of health and illness both in the individual and in a community." Playwright Lisa Kron puts her chronically unwell mother on stage and hires four actors in order to revisit the desegregation of her childhood neighborhood and her own time spent in an Allergy Unit, but as the play begins to disintegrate around her she scrambles to pull together fragmented memories and repressed emotion in order to eke out meaningful themes on the issue of wellness. Performed at Oregon Shakespeare Festival's 2010 season, Well is a performance of great intention and middling success. Split the play into approximate thirds, and it goes like this: a unique but initially ineffective concept, an unexpectedly successful evolution, and a hasty and disappointing conclusion. That middle third hides some wonderful gems, but the entire play is something of a disappointment.

Well is as much about the constructs of a play as it is about issues of family, wellness, and race, and so it opens with play-acting running concurrent to the living room "real world" where Lisa's mother sits. Significant time and energy go into establishing the unusual premise, which makes for an intriguing but unsatisfying beginning. The play within a play is exaggerated—brightly colored, over the top, and farcical—and you could call it "stylistic suck" because these rowdy, unrealistic scenes often tread the line of aggravating (and on a personal note the farcical humor left me cold, making these scenes all the worse). But when the constructs of the play first begin to crumble, Well reaches a golden period: it slips back and forth between "real" and "play," breaking character, interweaving stories, and throwing the audience into a thoughtful, meaningful tumult of confusion and concept. This is when it realizes it finest moments—which sometimes come too hard, fast, and clearly delineated, but still ring with meaning and truth. These moments address issues which are close to my heart, and so I found Well to be at times personally meaningful; viewers without this connection may find these moments well-realized but perhaps not as moving. Regardless, it is this middle period that shines. It excuses the lackluster beginning, but suffers in the play's troubled conclusion.

For as it continues, Well's constricts continue to disintegrate and this golden period also crumbles. The fallacy of the play is destroyed one too many times, and the effect is ironically unbelievable. In part, this is because, while Well makes the laudable effort to avoid a simple, neat conclusion to its heavy, complex themes, it unfortunately settles on a trite, short conclusion which does its themes no service and undercuts the brilliant moments achieved in the play's middle period. As a whole, however, I expect that Well is different—and much better—when Lisa Kron stars as Lisa Kron (as was the case for many East Coast productions). In that case, when the play dissolves completely Lisa is there to stand—stripped to nothing but a woman in a bright light—as her authentic self. Such is not possible in this OSF production, so when the last foundations of the play crumble, no authenticity is revealed beneath: the protagonist remains an actor. Metatheatre is an unruly beast: it has great potential which it finds difficult to achieve, perhaps because—ironically—it gazes so hard at its own navel that even as it disregards the false trappings of theatre, it loses any sense of universality and timelessness. So it is with Well: Well takes on too much—play constructs, family issues, health, and race make for an overfull platter, and racial issues in particular go underaddressed; what is addressed sometimes displays a glimpse of something meaningful, but is often wrapped in a busy, messy, if well-intentioned setting which never quite convinces. I applaud it as a brave and complex effort, and appreciate some of its themes and messages, but I came away with troubles and a sour taste. Ultimately, Well is a failed effort, and I don't recommend it—but I will quote from it.

LISA: Hi, Kay.

KAY [an Allergy Unit patient]: Hello

LISA: Is your cousin coming to pick you up?

KAY: No. My sister.

LISA: That's good.

KAY: Yeah, I guess it's good.

LISA: No?

(Kay slams something down on the bed.)

LISA: Do you think you're having a reaction?

KAY: I don't know. Maybe. I guess.

LISA: Do you want me to go get you some alkali salts?

KAY: No. Lisa ... it's not fair. I don't want to be sick. My sister is cleaning my house for me, getting my safe room ready. She is good to me, but I can't help it. I don't want her going through my things. Oh, I don't know, I don't know. I'm not reacting. I'm angry. I'm so angry, Lisa. I know she thinks if she were me she'd be better, but do you know what the problem is with being sick? It's that you're sick. People who are healthy think they know how you could get better, because when they imagine what your life is like they imagine having your sickness on top of their health. They imagine that sick people have all the resources they do and they're just not trying hard enough. But we don't. I don't. I know my sister is only trying to help me, but I can't help it. I think, You suffer for one day the way I do. I want you to feel like this for just one day. Then you tell me how to get better.

(Photo: Lisa introduces her play in the "play" section of the stage; in the background, her mother sits in the "real" section. By Jenny Graham, copyright OSF.)

Ashland Trip: the weather, a Moleskine page, good food, and other particulars of the visit

It is, perhaps (after two play reviews just posted: She Loves Me and Well), obvious that I spent the weekend in Ashland with my family. The plays were not my heart-beating life-changing picks for the season but this was one of the better trips we've made. I could say much about it, but instead I give you a page I wrote in my Moleskine* on May 15th, written with a pen** making a swift journey towards death, concerning—largely—the weather:

We're at a different hotel this time, one further out of town. The rooms are much larger, with the bedroom and sitting room partitioned; Mum and Papa have one room, while Allie and I share a room far down the hall. And these change are a blessing—it is so much more comfortable here.

Lighting just flashed out the window. I sat down to write not of the rooms—though they do occasion mention—but of the weather. Early summer sun has given way to early summer storms, gusting wind and thick gray sky (still silver with the last of the afternoon's sun), splatterings of rain and now the first rumble of thunder, while wind buffets warm and thick.

Allie is out of the room, exploring with Papa. I've been reading a pair of books interchangeably. The bedsheets here are soft, I found the extra pillows, and I've been wearing my more comfortable PJs for a clothing break before dinner. All is silent but for the ghost of the storm and the sound of the fan, which mimics the wind outdoors.

I was not looking forward to this trip for many reasons—but in this moment, it is wholly worthwhile.

The hotel in question is The Village Suites at Ashland Hills, which I much recommend. Shortly after writing the above we went to dinner at the Thai Pepper, which only provides their vegetarian menu upon request, is a little small, needs a better seating arrangement, and is still my favorite restaurant in town because their Garlic Tofu with Broccoli is exquisite—buttery but not heavy, lots of garlic but slightly roasted by the butter to mellow out the flavor, fresh and plentiful and absolute delicious. Everyone had a great meal, actually. We saw She Loves Me on Saturday and Well on Sunday, matinées both which makes for a bit of hurry to get there but relaxes the pacing on the whole, especially in the evening. Both days were summer-tempestuous: sunny and warm but slightly overcast and muggy, refreshed periodically with warm rain. And so, on the whole, while I can make any vacation stressful for myself, despite unrelenting back pain, always in the midst of thinky-thoughts on my family, this was a lovely, beautiful, and peaceful visit.

* This is the reverse of my large ruled notebook. I have story drafts in the front and sundry notes, reviews, and scraps in the back. One day, they shall meet in the middle.

** The deep dregs of my Pilot V Razor Point Extra Fine pen in black. These are my pens of choice because they're liquid and felt-tip, which means they glide over the page and have a deep, wet, slightly feathery ink; when the pen is empty, though, it makes for a moment of fat wet lines followed by a fine gray scrawl—which I can't help but use anyway, because I don't toss a pen until it stops writing.

Book Review: Gerald's Game by Stephen King

Title: Gerald's Game
Author: Stephen King
Published: New York: Signet, 1993 (1992)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 415
Total Page Count: 89,325
Text Number: 256
Read Because: recommended and given to me by sisterite
Review: After her husband dies of a heart attack in the middle of a sex game, Jessie is left handcuffed to their bed, abandoned in an off-season summer home, with only his corpse for company. Without hope of rescue, she must free herself to survive—an effort which takes her back through her traumatic childhood memories. Gerald's Game is in many ways a deviation from King's usual novels. There's no sprawling, here: the bulk of the story is the events of a single character in a single location over a single day; the journeys into her memory also hold to a limited scope. As a result, the novel is comparably short—a mere 400 pages. Furthermore, Jessie's story is more personal than supernatural, with some exceptions (including the questionable inclusion of voices in her head, which repopulate the book with characters and dialog but feel more cliché than convincing, and the specter that haunts—and weakens—the conclusion). The local, personal, realistic story has the potential to do what many King novels do not: provide a tense, tight, and authentically frightening story. If King doesn't usually work for you (he doesn't for me), consider giving Gerald's Game a try.

That said, while Gerald's Game is a successful exception to King's usual style, it never becomes an exceptional book in its own right. Jessie's physical predicament is claustrophobic and convincing, which makes the book authentically frightening but also makes it uncomfortable, if not painful, to read. The many frustrations and flashbacks on her way towards escape slow the book's pacing, so it doesn't have the unputdownable suspense of a thriller. In short, there are moments when the reader wonders: Why exactly am I reading this? Perhaps more importantly—not to the process of reading, but to the reader's judgement upon conclusion—is that Jessie's struggles tie together a little too well. The neat knit of current quandary, past trauma, and the psychology bridging them creates a story of suffering and survival that, even though it avoids a cheap and easy conclusion, never feels entirely real. I often take issue with King's wordiness, huge casts, and excessive length, so Gerald's Game is for me a refreshing, and concurrently much more effective, change of pace. But at the same time, the book never quite satisfied me. It's authentically frightening, but fails to be authentically meaningful, and so I can give it only a halfhearted recommendation.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.