What I saw: Sam Shepard’s “Buried Child” at the
Pershing Square Signature Center
What I wore: wool skirt and tights
What I did beforehand: ate shrimp with the legs
and heads on at a tapas place
Who went with me: a close friend
How I got tickets: online, full price
Why I saw this show: I had a good friend in
college that I have fallen out of touch with. Her father was a famous American
poet (as if that’s a thing people are). I think I have seen her twice since I
moved to New York, but she appears not to remember me. I believe the reason I
know the name of playwright Sam Shepard is because of this friend. Was she an
admirer of his? Did her father know Sam Shepard? She looked right through me
when I saw her last, in a café in the West Village. I returned the favor to Sam
Shepard himself, who was waiting ahead of us to see his play on Wednesday
night. I recognized him, and looked right through him.
Where I sat: front row, balcony, in
uncomfortable seats that did not improve with uncomfortable subject matter
Things that were sad: everything about “Buried
Child” is sad
Things that were funny: almost everything said
by the character Dodge, played by Ed Harris, is funny, and he never leaves the
stage; corn shucking and carrot peeling; hollering from upstairs
What it is: a masterfully crafted play about
family dysfunction, with no intermission
Who should see it: people who like Sam Shepard
plays; people who feel like their families don’t know them
What I saw on the way home: empty taxis we
didn’t take
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