Review - Forever

I've long been an admirer of Dael Orlandersmith - I met her at an awards ceremony years ago and she was just a delight.  I've worked with her on several projects since and just find her to be one of the smartest, most giving people around.  I've always wanted to see one of her plays, but haven't yet.  I read Yellowman, which is amazing, but when I heard that she was doing her latest show, Forever, at New York Theater Workshop, I begged a very handsome friend to please take me, since he can get tickets to their events.  I'm very fortunate this very handsome friend said yes.

Last night, even though my very handsome friend was a little under the weather, we went downtown to see the show.  The play has received great reviews, but for some reason, there's very little buzz about it.  The house wasn't full, which was disappointing, but at least I had a marvelous time.  Well, except for one tiny thing (which I'll mention later)...

Forever is Orlandersmith's solo piece about the terrible relationship she had with her mother, juxtaposed with a trip the author took to Paris and the Pere Lachaise cemetery, to celebrate the people she considers her 'true' family, artists and great thinkers who gave her hope during the bleak moments of her youth.  The show is very spare, poetic and powerful, with brutal honesty and moments of great insight.  Spoilers about the show will now abound.

photo credit: Joan Marcus

I marvel at an artist who can tell such raw, powerful stories about themselves, about how they found themselves in their art even when they had to live through terrible experiences to get through to the other side.  Even though there's no real catharsis or forgiveness in this piece, I felt very hopeful and grateful that Orlandersmith chose to tell her story.  It's quite inspiring, while at the same time it's terrifically sad.  I always find stories about terrible parents to be just so awful, since my parents were (and are) so great.  But even hearing the pain that's still in Orlandersmith's voice as she retells these stories was moving because Orlandersmith acknowledges that her mother, with all her horrible behaviors and treatments, was still the one who taught her to read and to appreciate art and pursue beauty.

Orlandersmith is a powerful and engaging performer, yet could still make herself small and insignificant with each put-down by her mother.  And the stark horror of the retelling of her rape at the age of fourteen is something I won't soon forget.  Let me also say:  I've been describing a very serious show and you're probably thinking, wow, that sounds too dark and grim for me to see.  I want to point out there's a lot of humor and humanity in the piece, too, so it's not just sad sad sad.  I promise.  And there may not be a more touching piece of theater anywhere right now than Orlandersmith describing how she responded to the Irish detective who came to see her after the rape.

The stage is spare, with a desk and two chairs, and a record player on the desk.  We're frequently hearing music that inspired the author, or music that helped her get through tough times, like the music of The Doors (which is how the play circles around Pere Lachaise, since Jim Morrison is buried there).  The walls are covered with personal photographs of Orlandersmith's family.  After the show, you're invited to come on stage and look at the photographs and to even leave a message for a departed loved one.  I thought that was a nice touch and wished I could've thought up something wonderful enough to represent my grandmother on a stage (she is who I would've written about).  But it was nice to try to think of something all the same.

WARNING:  Gross factor coming up...the previously-mentioned tiny problem of the evening was my very handsome friend's seat neighbor.  OH.MY.GOD.  I don't know what his problem was, but it was so distracting and rather gross.  He maybe had a cold or sinus infection and did that noise, I don't know the word for it, where it kinda sounds like they're going to hock and spit out but instead breathe back in through their nose?  You know what I mean.  The sound of phlegm?  It's making me gag just to think about it again.  I understand when people are sick, but this was constant.  And so gross.  If it had been me, I would've stepped out to kinda try to take care of it in private.  It may have even been a rather nervous tic as well, because it seemed to get even more pronounced during the section where Orlandersmith talked about her rape.  I just...it made it so hard to concentrate on the show.  Eighty minutes of that sure can weigh on your psyche, even when the show in front of you is terrific.  There was a talkback after the show, but I had to get out of there.  I need to invent a device that keeps the noisy awful seat neighbors muted, but the show is heard clearly and well.  Is there an app for that?  :)

Go see Forever, people, please.  I don't think you'll regret it.  On the future blogging front, I promise to get that last Dublin report out soon.  And there are so many shows going on right now, how will I ever get to them all?!  I need to strategize, stat...