Tuesday, February 16, 2016

I saw “Buried Child”

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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