What I saw: "The Beauty Queen of Leenane" at BAM on Fulton Street in Brooklyn, a venue that appears to be a crumbling relic but it turns out that's ok because it's a decorative choice.
|Used to be called the Triboro Bridge|
What I did beforehand: drove down from Bedhead Hills, ate at a Korean brasserie, because this was Brooklyn. Probably had too much rice wine, or dry riesling, or maybe it was whatever they brought us after dinner because they thought it was the Graduate’s birthday, even though the only reason he got a present from me was this wooden mallet had been backordered at Xmas.
|Not my cocktail, tho|
What I wore: gold hoop earrings from the 80s, black Doc Marten shoes from the 90s, James jeans, black tissue weight Proenza Schoule dotted tee, my mother's bracelet, black summer-weight Eileen Fisher cardigan because climate change is real, a Marimekko scarf because Finland has a representative democracy with principles of parliamentarism, and the scowl of crushing despair that we fucking don't.
|Just in case you think I kid|
Who went with me: the Bacon Provider
How I got tickets: online, in mid-December, when people were still able to pretend that maybe everything was gonna be ok somehow.
Why I saw this show: this ad. Their expressions.
Where I sat: Row G, Seat 2, next to a couple that was arguing.
Things that were sad: the play, like all plays (according to my cousin) was about loneliness. Also, just how crazy we are just under the surface.
|I'd rather get a picture|
of someone getting a picture
Things that were funny: quite a bit of funny business, including quips and gestures. Really, it was a master class in actors making exquisite choices for their physical expression. Surprises, weirdness, simultaneously natural and unnatural.
|Theater may not be as decrepit as it appears|
Things that were not funny: in this play, Chekhov’s gun is portrayed by a fire poker.
Something I ate: I think it was halibut. Or maybe flounder. One of those. It was white. Did I mention they brought these little shots at the end of dinner, because they thought it was the Graduate’s birthday? Also, carmel-popcorn on ice cream, which I have to now learn to make.
|When you're this Brooklyn,|
it's always your birthday
What it is: a disturbing, much-celebrated play, from the mid-90s. Set in the gritty sort-of-now-ish Ireland where everyone is poor and almost unintelligible to an American audience, and where everyone is fecking nuts.
Who should see it: theater lovers seeking the sort of two hour and fifteen minute escape that will not restore their faith in humanity in any way
What I saw on the way home: one couple that wasn’t fighting, and one that was.