Jane Austen and Vibrators

I've spent much of this week immersed in nineteenth century women, so to speak. A business trip to Denver provided me with a rare opportunity to read a novel in one fell swoop. (Ordinarily I read novels during my commute to work--unfortunately, my commute is less than ten minutes long [two subway stops], and so it takes me quite some time to finish each book.) Based on a recommendation from Debbie Atherton (River Writers of Manhattan and friend from Yale), I decided to read Jane Austen’s PERSUASION, her last novel (published posthumously in 1818). Although it’s not the kind of book normally thought of as a page-turner, I couldn’t put it down. I knew that the protagonists Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth would eventually wind up together, but I was eager to find out how that would happen. The psychology of the characters was the most interesting aspect of the book. Each one’s self-doubts, hopes, fears, calculations and miscalculations were fascinating and provided much of the drama. Many scholars apparently consider this Austen’s most mature book--and its maturity is an indication of what the world lost when she died.

I suppose you could say the novel is in some respects gushingly romantic--and maybe I was no better than an addicted Harlequin Romance reader--but it contains enough cynicism, skepticism, and humor to make it something greater than or different from a romance. Whatever the case, I’ve rarely been as thrilled as I was at the moment when the lovers’ shared interest is finally made explicit and all the obstacles thrown in their path melt away. How do I explain my reaction? Was I reacting as a gay man? Are straight men also drawn to the work of Jane Austen?

Good questions, but back to the nineteenth century. The world has certainly evolved in some ways since then. I hope it’s no longer the case that a woman of 28 is seen as barely marriageable and that the thought of a life outside of marriage is beyond tragic. Our heroine is not pathetic in this sense--you know that she would do just fine on her own--but she is clearly the exception in her world and seen by some as quite odd, or sad. We’ve also moved beyond the issue of social rank (in Austen’s case meaning primarily the hierarchy of good versus lesser families--and to some extent wealth), though even in New York in the 21st century I know that some women (and men) factor rank (now meaning primarily occupation, education, wealth, and earning potential) into their consideration of possible mates. (Then again, the contemporary equivalent of social rank--the Social Register--has little to no significance anymore. For example, did you know I was in the Social Register? [Long story.] Do you think more or less of me now? Do you care? Probably not. And I hope not. But am I trying to impress you by mentioning it? Probably. Yes, I’m that pathetic. Another indication of our ambivalence toward social rank today.)

Flash forward 50 or 60 years to the age of Sarah Ruhl’s new play, IN THE NEXT ROOM OR THE VIBRATOR PLAY (at the Lyceum Theatre, presented by Lincoln Center) -- the dawn of the age of electricity. In this fascinating (but less than fully satisfying) play, women apparently are baffled by the treatments they receive from doctors who stimulate them with a new medical invention, the vibrator. These women have never experienced orgasms before. With their tightly corseted and multi-buttoned dresses, they seem to have little familiarity with their own bodies. The men are even less familiar with anatomy. We hear one anecdote (apparently really attributable to John Ruskin) about a man who is horrified and disgusted to discover that his bride has pubic hair, because all of his experience up until then has been based on sculptures, which had no such thing.

Women react differently to this newly discovered phenomenon (the organism). In the process of observing this world, we discover how cut off from each other--and themselves--men and women once were. There is an interesting discussion with a male artist who can’t abide making love to women whose souls aren’t visible in their eyes and prefers (in theory) the companionship of prostitutes if there can’t be anything more than pure physicality between the sexes (though it doesn’t sound as if there’s even much of that in this milieu). In the final scene (SPOILER ALERT), the doctor-husband is stripped naked by his now-orgastic (is that a word?) wife, and we see them attempt to launch a more intimate relationship, in every sense of the term.

Taken together, this novel and this play paint an unflattering picture of the life of women in that century. In Jane Austen’s world we have women whose only real option for either social intercourse or self-definition is marriage (something which requires a great deal of calculation--and luck); meanwhile, on this side of the pond a few decades later, we see women who are almost completely cut off from their own physicality. Would any woman opt for either situation rather than what they confront today? Then again, if we looked at Italy during these same periods, we might see a very different picture of female sexuality.

Recent Theatergoing

I’ve been to a lot of plays recently. Here are some of my reactions and impressions:

SUPERIOR DONUTS. (Broadway) Tracey Lett’s first outing on Broadway since August: Osage County. A smaller play than August, but nevertheless similarly filled with extremely well-drawn characters in quirky situations. Great performances by virtually everyone in the cast. A poorly choreographed long fight sequence near the climax of the play was the only weak element of the evening. (This was the first preview, so perhaps the fight has been perfected since then.) In the end, the whole thing didn’t amount to all that much, but I thoroughly enjoyed the play.

LET ME DOWN EASY. (Second Stage) Anna Devere Smith’s one-woman show about death and health care. I was late in discovering the incredible Anna Devere Smith--not until she appeared in Nurse Jackie on Showtime (as the very odd hospital administrator). In this play, as in her other solo pieces, she plays all the characters, which are based on real people she has interviewed at length. Some are famous; most are obscure. Her mimetic talent is extraordinary. The individual monologues run the gamut from hilarious to heart-wrenching. A perfect way to weigh-in vicariously on the health care reform debate.

THE ROYAL FAMILY. by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber. (Manhattan Theatre Club) Looking around the theater during both of the evening’s intermissions, I kept telling myself that this is my idea of heaven--attending a brilliantly acted, well-constructed play presented in a beautiful theater. My demands are simple. The cast is great. The play is a comic classic about--what else, my favorite topic--the theater. If you’re built like me, you have to see this. It’s not a choice; it’s an addiction.

TWO UNRELATED PLAYS BY DAVID MAMET. Although this is the year of Mamet (with two productions now on Broadway--after having 2 different productions on Broadway last year), this off-Broadway effort (at the wonderful Atlantic Theater Company) is fairly underwhelming. Probably the shortest evening in New York at the moment - 70 minutes. The first play (a 10-minute effort) is completely forgettable. A bit of wordplay between two characters that goes nowhere and isn’t that interesting along the way. The second one, Keep Your Pantheon, is much better, though still not great. In the spirit of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (without the music), it’s bawdy, slap-sticky Roman fare that works well much of the time. Brian Murray is great, as always. His performance alone probably makes the evening worth seeing. On the other hand, the whole thing is probably too broad for most people’s taste, and it’s uneven.

AFTER MISS JULIE. (Broadway) A re-telling of Strindberg’s Miss Julie starring Sienna Miller. I saw this twice. (I went a second time because my older daughter is a fan of Sienna Miller.) I was impressed the first time and even more impressed the second time. Fantastic performances by all three members of the cast. Sienna is gorgeous to look at, and for the first half, you think she’s getting by on her looks, easily acting the haughty, self-involved Miss Julie. But then she breaks out and does a breathtaking job as this seriously deranged woman. (My daughter says she always plays beautiful deranged women--but what do I know?) This play is meticulous in its presentation of the details. There are some stretches where nothing is spoken, but simple actions (cleaning up, cooking on a stove) are mesmerizing. (Marin Ireland gets much credit for that.)

WISHFUL DRINKING. (Studio 54 - Roundabout) by and starring Carrie Fisher. Funny, funny, funny. What a wonderful woman! Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening with this whip-smart woman and the tales of her bizarre life in and out of Hollywood? I know two guys who walked out at intermission and I just don’t get it--do we belong to the same species? My only complaint is that she doesn’t go quite deep enough in exposing the pain of her addictions and mental problems--it’s all kept on the very droll surface. But give the woman a break--she’s been through hell. (And regarding the complaint that she trashes her family--everyone trashed gave their permission and supported her efforts.)

BRIGHTON BEACH MEMOIRS by Neil Simon. (Broadway). I’m not a big Neil Simon fan. I loved some of his early works--but I was very young then. The later ones I mostly stayed away from--including this one. But now that I’ve finally seen a production, I have to admit that it’s a very, very good play. Wonderfully acted here by Laurie Metcalf et al. Especially young Noah Robbins--remember that name. A star is born.

THE LADY WITH ALL THE ANSWERS starring Judith Ivey. (Cherry Lane Theatre) A one-woman show about Ann Landers. A bit thin as a theatrical conceit, but Judith Ivey pulls it off extremely well. She’s a great actress. I could watch her read the phone book. If you have any interest in this quasi-historical figure, this show is for you. Lots of fun (and some audience interaction). If neither Ann Landers nor Judith Ivey interest you, you can skip this.

WEST SIDE STORY. (The Palace) Finally got to see this very hot revival. New York theatergoers have nitpicked this one to death. Some hate it; some love it. I lean more toward the latter camp. You can’t go too far wrong with this material, and I don’t think this production goes very far wrong at all. My nits are minor. A few excellent performances (including Karen Olivo). The leads have beautiful voices. And that amazing Jerome Robbins choreography is still stunning. One scenic moment gave me chills--the lowering of the scenery with the highway running over the site of the rumble.

THE UNDERSTUDY by Theresa Rebeck (Roundabout - off-Broadway). Very, very inside theater story. Must-see for actors--and anyone working in theater. Others may find it a bit boring. It does wander and become repetitive. Justin Kirk (from Weeds) is great. Julie White--who is mostly great--gets a bit tiresome after a while, especially since she wanders out and around the audience (playing a stage manager) too much. Enough with the whining from the back of the theater already!

FINIAN’S RAINBOW (Broadway). The first production I’ve ever seen of this classic musical. Great, great score. That’s reason enough to see it. It’s an odd, quirky, very old-fashioned musical. Pretty strong cast. Cheyenne Jackson is hunky. Kate Baldwin sounds good but is a bit bland. I don’t know if I would recommend it to a wide audience or not. But I might go back to see it again. And again--that score! Can’t get it out of my head.

OLEANNA by David Mamet. Starring Julia Stiles and Bill Pullman. Just saw this tonight. Wow!Very intense. You will definitely have a reaction. I was fascinated and very angered by much of this tale. It’s infuriating! It makes me want to hit people. I think that means it works. (I wish I could write like this.)

False Advertising?

How much thought goes into coming up with the title for a book? Obviously that varies wildly from case to case. To give one self-serving example, the title of my doctoral dissertation was: Hegel's Aesthetics and the Explosion of the Arts: A Hegelian Account of the Arts in the Twentieth Century. It took some time—and the consideration of several variations—to come up with this title. In the end, I felt it worked fairly well, because it gave a sense of the content of the thesis and, with the use of “Explosion,” had a more interesting ring to it than many other dissertation titles. A few years later, when approached by a publisher who wanted to publish it as a book, I took the opportunity to make some revisions to the content as well as the title, settling on: A Hegelian Account of Contemporary Art. Gone was the notion of an explosion, with its confusing but intended double meaning. Gone also were thirteen words, relative brevity being a desired commodity in the world of book titles. Yet still the title seemed a fairly accurate indication of what the reader would find inside.

Which brings me to the point of today’s sermon. Many titles are the result of much consideration and calculation. However, when thoughts of marketing seep into the process—an unfortunate but almost unavoidable thing these days—the result can sometimes be deceiving, or at least misleading. Case in point: Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick (2006). I had the qualified pleasure of reading this book recently (or more accurately—having it read to me via an audiobook played during a long drive from Manhattan to Ann Arbor, Michigan and back). Having just been in Provincetown, MA, where I took a walking tour that was filled with references and tributes to the Mayflower and its travelers (whose first stop in the New World was in fact Provincetown), I thought I would enjoy hearing about the famous transatlantic trip and the pilgrims’ adventures setting up a new colony in America.

The book certainly delivered on my expectation. However, these topics were quickly exhausted during the first 40% of the book and then we were on to something related, but quite different—the so-called King Philip’s War of 1675-1676, a war between the natives and the colonists that resulted in a major shift in population and power in the New World. This is clearly an important and compelling historical event. However, not only is it not really about the Mayflower (which, by the way, had long since returned to Europe and eventually been scrapped), the whole tone of the book shifts dramatically as we enter a long, detail-filled account of every battle and strategic decision. A fine example of military history writing, perhaps, but not what I was expecting or particularly interested in at the moment.

A more accurate title would have been something like, “The Adventures of the Pilgrims en Route to and in the New World from 1609 to 1676.” Or maybe “The Mayflower and Then What Happened.” Terrible titles, I admit, but not misleading. So, was this a marketing decision to take advantage of people’s interest in the Mayflower coupled with the realization that most people are not interested in reading about King Philip’s War?

How about fiction? Does the writer have an obligation not to be misleading in the choice of title? I wouldn’t have thought so until I read (yes, this book was read, not listened to) the novel World’s Fair by E.L. Doctorow (1985). Having just read The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (not a novel) about the Chicago World’s Fair (Columbian Exposition) of 1893, I was curious to learn more about my own city’s world’s fair (not the one I visited in 1964-65, but the one my parents visited in 1939-40). To my astonishment, the fair wasn’t even mentioned until page 193 (out of 288) and then didn’t become a narrative topic until the final 10% or so of the book. I should also mention that I didn’t think it was a particularly good novel. It seemed more like a “book for young adults” than a novel—another question of expectations.

My point? I don’t know. Buyer beware? Don’t judge a book by its title? We’re entitled to something less misleading?

Books to Drive By

With a couple of long distance solo drives ahead of me this summer, someone suggested that I try listening to audiobooks. A good idea, I thought, so I checked out the selection at Barnes and Noble, but discovered that it was somewhat limited (i.e., mostly bestsellers). Nevertheless, I found a book that I had heard about and was interested in but probably wasn’t going to get around to reading - The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (subtitled “Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair That Changed America”). Having lived in Chicago and being a fan of World’s Fairs (having attended two so far), I found the topic interesting.

The experiment proved to be a huge success. The 10-hour drive to and from Ann Arbor, Michigan flew by as I practically raced back to the car after each break to hear the next installment. The story itself was fascinating. I was particularly interested in the story of the fair--its development, architecture, crises, etc.--but the intertwined story of a serial killer who lived near the fairgrounds was also compelling.

For my next trip, I put together a collection of several titles. I successfully completed Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick (“A Story of Courage, Community, and War”) and once again the time flew by, although the book was somewhat disappointing (as I’ll explain in a separate entry). To mix things up, I also brought along a 14-CD Berlitz Spanish course and made it through the first 4 or 5 CDs. (Though don’t ask me to spell much of what I learned, since it was an all-audio course.) I also began a biography of Marlon Brando--Somebody by Stefan Kanfer (“The Reckless Life and Remarkable Career of Marlon Brando”)--but it will take another couple of long drives to get through the next 11 CDs.

I also bought some other titles, which I probably won’t get around to for a while, since I don’t have many long drives planned at the moment: A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut. The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs (“One Man’s Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World”). The Giants of Philosophy: Aristotle read by Charlton Heston. Hegel in 90 Minutes (that’s a laugh!) by Paul Strathern.

Some final thoughts: I’ve chosen to concentrate on non-fiction rather than fiction, because you have less control over the experience with an audiobook--you can’t stop it and go over a phrase or short passage whenever you want, something I like to do when I read. Also, the somewhat distracted attention (meaning that I have to focus SOMEWHAT on the driving) I find to be less suitable for fiction. I really like to luxuriate in the world of a novel. I also only select unabridged versions (watch out for the abridged versions also on sale) since I don’t want someone else deciding what I will or won’t find interesting.

So start driving and listening to a book!

Theater is Alive and Well in Provincetown

I recently returned from 10 days in Ptown where I was reminded of one of the things I like the best about that magical place. Amidst all the street activity in Ptown--the crowds of tourists, the drag queens on bikes, the speeding pedicabs driven by kids from Eastern Europe, the barkers barking their shows--there’s one of the most thriving theater communities in America. First, of course, there are examples of what we think of as traditional theater--The Provincetown Playhouse was running three plays in repertory: Take Me Out, Studs Turkel’s Working, and Gross Indecency: The Trials of Oscar Wilde. Then there were a couple of plays at other venues. There was the one-man play, Blanche Survives Katrina in a FEMA Trailer Named Desire written and performed by Mark Sam Rosenthal (a poetic, moving, witty and profound theater piece), which ran for 9 weeks in New York earlier this season, a return of the two-hander (with nudity), 2 Boys in a Bed on a Cold Winter’s Night by James Edwin Parker (which, despite the lure of the promise of nudity is quite moving and romantic), and the perennial Naked Boys Singing. But that’s just the beginning. There are innumerable drag shows--Varla Jean, Miss Ritchfield (who deserves the award for best in-the-street barking), Dina Martina, Showgirls, etc. This year I saw Hedda Lettuce’s show, Eat Me. (Hedda is a hilarious, smart, quick-witted, and raunchy performer--as well as a great singer.) There were also the comics. I saw Kate Clinton (surely one of the smartest comics alive--and incredibly political--Rachel Maddow is a big fan, need I say more?) and Jennifer Kirson (who contorts her face and body in outrageous ways--her baby is not to be missed). And the amazing comedy troupe, The Nellie Olesons. (They're like Saturday Night Live without censors--plus dancing.) Hedda Lettuce (in full Joan Crawford drag) also hosted an interactive screening of Mommie Dearest--with running commentary and audience participation. The lead member of the group Betty was also in town with a one-woman theater piece. And those are just the shows that I remember.

But one of the things that always strikes me about the wealth of theater in Ptown is how casually it’s all handled. Most performers have to promote their show in the street or in front of their venue right before curtain time, because most decisions to attend shows happen at the last minute and almost by accident. For example, when I couldn’t get into Miss Richfield’s show, I just went down the street to see Hedda Lettuce. And at these prices (I paid between $15 and $35 per show), these shows are accessible to almost anyone. Sitting in the audience waiting for Eat Me to begin--having plunked down my $20 just moments before--I suddenly realized that this must be what theater was like in many places before movies came along: a wide selection, affordable prices, the decision to attend made at the last minute while out looking for something to do. All of which makes the experience a far cry from what one goes through on Broadway. In the course of my stay, I saw 7 shows and probably paid a total equal to one or one-and-a-half Broadway tickets.

All of this is just one more reason why I think Provincetown is the center of the universe. (But please don’t tell too many people about this--especially families. This Camelot might not survive the influx of even more hordes of tourists.)

For more go to www.williamfowkes.com

THE URGE TO GIVE NOTES

Why do we feel compelled to give notes when we see a play? (Or read a book, for that matter?) There’s nothing wrong with being perceptive and analytical and sharing our discoveries and thoughts with others, but I find that many people are so quick to offer their notes, they fail to enjoy the work--or at least fail to help others enjoy the work, too. 

Last night, I saw a hysterical play at the Midtown International Theater Festival here in New York--ASSHOLES AND AUREOLES by Eric Pfeffinger. The title says it all--this will probably be an outrageous play. Keep your distance if you’re easily offended. I found it to be hilarious and brilliant. It consisted of 8 scenes, or vignettes. Each of them was filled with surprises, outrageous situations, and clever dialogue. The two actresses were beyond brilliant--as talented as anyone on Saturday Night Live, a show that shares some similarities with this play. 

As I followed two men out of the theater--both of whom seemed buoyed by the play--I couldn’t help listening in on their conversation. I didn’t hear, “That was great!” “How funny!” “Very clever.” Or anything of the sort. Instead I heard, “Boy the last two scenes weren’t as strong as the rest. That middle scene certainly needs to be cut.” And so on. 

I’m not saying these observations were off the mark. I’m just wondering why these are the first thoughts out of their mouthes. Why can’t they take a moment to savor the experience--to tell each other what they liked about it. Then rip it apart, for all I care!

Just a thought from a playwright who goes to the theater to enjoy the wonder of live theater and not to hand out grades. At least not in the first 30 seconds after the curtain falls.

The Northern Writes New Play Festival Experience

My full-length play, THE BEST PLACE WE’VE EVER LIVED, was admitted into the Northern Writes New Play Festival at the Penobscot Theatre Company in Bangor, Maine--a festival of readings of new plays--and scheduled to be performed Friday evening, June 26, 2009. I decided to drive up to Bangor from New York to attend the reading because this was the first time any of my plays was being presented outside New York and because this was the first time someone was putting on a play of mine without my direct involvement. (While some playwrights may insist on directing, producing, or otherwise being deeply involved in any presentation of their work, I welcome the opportunity to hand my script over to someone else and let them deal with all the logistics of actually putting it on.)

I decided to break the drive up by spending the first night in Ogunquit, Maine, just barely over the border. I’d heard that this was an emerging gay vacation destination, so I was curious to take a look. Fortunately, after a month of clouds, gloom and rain in most of the Northeast, in Ogunquit the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the waves were crashing over the rocks on cue, providing the picture-perfect experience of the Maine coast. For dinner, I ate upstairs at The Front Porch, lured by the sound of show tunes. Seated around a grand piano were several older men and one or two women singing their hearts out. I figured this must be the heart of gay society in Ogunquit. (Some of the voices were excellent, by the way.) After dinner I went to the main gay bar in town, where I was one of only two customers--and where the bartender reported that the place was probably not going to get much more crowded that night. So much for the new gay mecca.

The next day, I stopped in Brunswick to take a look at Bowdoin College. I had seen umpteen colleges and universities over the past few years on various college tours with my daughters, so I knew how to check out a place quickly. Bowdoin--in addition to being the alma mater of Nathaniel Hawthorne and President Franklin Pierce and the site of a summer science program attended by one of my brothers in the summer we first sent men to the moon--is an extremely beautiful campus. I also stopped at Boothbay Harbor, where I had worked as the manager of a bookstore for two summers in the 1970s (and where several scenes in my play THE SEEKER take place.) The bookstore was long gone, but in its place stood a gift shop, Mung Bean, whose proprietor was a very nice man named  Steven Madden (the shoe magnate? hmm?), who was aware of the long-gone bookstore and knew the store’s then-landlady, Pauline Stevens (now deceased). At any rate, for some reason Boothbay Harbor played a big role in my psychological development, and it was both thrilling and disturbing to see it again after over thirty years. (I also found the very cabin on Ocean Point where I had lived my second summer up there.) 

My head reeling and my camera stuffed with nostalgically resonant images, I drove the long way the rest of the way to Bangor--along the coast--passing through picturesque towns (Rockland, Rockport, Camden...) and driving deeper into the clouds. As I entered Bangor on its Main Street, I was stopped at a red light when I realized I was right in front of the Penobscot Theatre Company. The marquee and facade were quite beautiful. After checking in at the Charles Inn, I went out for a walk and decided to peek in at the theater. As it turned out, they were in the middle of rehearsing my play, so I went in and sat in the back. As always, I found it a narcissistic thrill beyond compare to hear my words coming out of other people’s mouths. During a break, I introduced myself to the director and Producing Artistic Director of the festival, Scott RC Levy. The cast he had assembled was excellent (more on this in a moment). When they finished, he dismissed the cast and told them to be back in thirty minutes--odd, I thought, since the curtain time was over an hour and a half away.

When I left, I walked around downtown Bangor, which is a surprisingly handsome place with well-maintained historic buildings, canals, and flowers everywhere. Apparently some of this is thanks to the largesse of Bangor’s most famous resident, novelist Stephen King. For dinner, I found a Pakistani restaurant, where the spicy odors were intense and I realized I would have to shower before going back to the theater. When I arrived back at the hotel, the woman at the front desk told me that the theater had called, concerned that I hadn’t shown up yet--and worried that I might have thought the curtain time was 8 rather than 7. Yes, that’s what I thought--don’t ask me why. And now it was ten after 7. To come all this distance and then miss some of my play was an instant nightmare. Forget the shower. Forget the nice clothes I had brought specifically for the event. Forget the fact that I reeked of Pakistani food. I rushed over there and slipped in half way through the first scene. (By my calculation, I missed the first 7 minutes--not so bad, really, but since every line is like a playwright’s child, you hate to miss any of them.)

The Penobscot Theatre Company owns their building, the former Bangor Opera House. Although they’ve restored the facade and marquee, they haven’t yet begun the interior restoration. The Opera House used to seat 1500 people. The balcony is no longer used, and the theatre is currently configured to seat 366 people. At my reading there were about 30 people. I didn’t know if this was a good turnout for something like this or not, but they were a very responsive audience. It’s always wonderful to hear your lines come to life, but it’s even more gratifying to see your characters come to life before you--to be fleshed out by actors and directors. Although they were all good, I was particularly struck by the son, Ike. A somewhat goofy character, the actor enlivened this role with mannerisms and expressions that fleshed him out in ways that I can’t help thinking were perfect. Ike is now a very real person to me. Ivor the Warrior was played to comic perfection. Where I had envisioned a Jackie Gleason sort of characterization, this was a more modern, twitchy way of playing the role (think Tony Randall) that I think worked even better. The mother--who in the end really is the center of the play (and in fact has the most lines)--held everything together, had great comic timing, and was quite moving in her “Scarsdale soliloquy.” 

After the reading, I was invited up on stage to participate in the talk-back. Fortunately, by my being on stage, no one in the audience could smell my spicy dinner. The feedback was valuable--and has helped me make some changes. I’ve made a crucial change at the end of the play and added a very brief prologue. I was happy to hear that people thought there was a good mix of comedy and drama and that all the characters were fully developed. I was also happy to hear that the audience was never bored and that they didn’t think the mother’s Scarsdale soliloquy was too long. One man in the audience thanked the playwright for an excellent play and the actors for great performances. I decided that HE is the audience I should be writing for (since some people suggest that a writer should envision his or her audience--something I