Trying to Get Back in the Groove

Hello, friends.  As theater tries to get back to normal, so do I.  But it's hard.  After spending eighteen months either alone or with tiny groups of family, the experience of being in crowds, masked or no, is hard to get re-used to.  I find myself uncomfortable in crowds, suspicious of everyone, and afraid of having some sort of spontaneous health crisis.  I had intended to ease into my return to theater-going, having purchased one ticket per month, starting in August.  My first indoor production was supposed to be Antoinette Chinonye Nwandu's Pass Over, but circumstances kept me from seeing it in September.  I guess I can talk about those circumstances later.  That is, if I can get my brain to work - I'm having so much trouble coming up with interesting things to say, so there's more of a groove than watching theater to re-enter, I guess...

My October show was Sanctuary City, written by the incredible Martyna Majok, Pulitzer Prize-winner for Cost of Living.  To be honest, this is actually the second time I've seen Sanctuary City.  The day after NY theater shut down, I was very fortunate to receive an invite to watch the show as it was being filmed for archival purposes.  That day, the Lucille Lortel was socially distancing audience members, so it felt safe to me (though we weren't masked, this was early in the pandemic).  I loved seeing the show that day (Martyna's plays are always BRILLIANT) and I loved the feeling of solidarity, that the entire theater community was in this together, and we would all be back in a few weeks, better than ever.

Eighteen months later, going back to the Lucille Lortel was a totally different experience.  Everyone was cheerful, sure, the lines moved quickly, but I didn't feel the same sense of community and excitement.  I guess it's me, but I haven't felt the joyful anticipation as the lights go down yet.  This is totally on me.  I was glad the house was full, yet it made me nervous, too.  I didn't like having someone seemingly sitting right on top of me.  I had purposefully chosen the back row, on the aisle, for my comfort.  I guess I assumed there wouldn't be anyone next to me.  That's on me, too.

Thankfully, once the fabulous show began, I could relax a little and concentrate on the story unfolding.  Though, of course, because I'm me, I did begin to worry about the many light changes in the show - I've developed a rather irrational fear that vertigo will be triggered by anything anytime.  The lights began to worry me, but I just began to either close my eyes or avert them and was fine.  I seriously worry for no reason.

photo credit: Sara Krulwich

Anyway, about the wonderful play:  Sanctuary City is a unsparing look at teens who are living inside the undocumented immigrant experience.  Martyna has such a unique gift of building character through fantastic dialogue.  With few words, we know her characters, intimately.  And then we want more of their words.  We meet B and G in various scenes throughout their teens, sometimes short bursts of little dialogue (or no dialogue) and sometimes in little scenes.  Sometimes the scenes replay with a word changed or a different body position.  We learn so much from hearing so little.  Once one character goes off to college, things shift and then the play ends with one long continuous postscript-type scene.

I thought this structure was brilliant - it was a memory play and not, all at the same time.  You know when you remember things, you remember bits and pieces, and each time, a little more gets filled in and maybe some of the bits and pieces change?  That's exactly what Sanctuary City is like.  It's real and unreal, at the same time.  Which I'm sure is like the immigrant experience in America.  That's the voice that Martyna writes about so beautifully.  She actually writes beautifully about many marginalized voices, which is one of many reasons you should see everything she writes. Sanctuary City is a thrillingly moving play about an important topic; it's beautifully directed and the acting is off-the-charts incredible.  Please, everyone, go see this play.

I have another show coming up in a couple of weeks, by one of my very favorite playwrights, but last Sunday, I had the overwhelming feeling that if I didn't go to see Pass Over's final performance, I would never forgive myself.  I have seen a couple of other iterations of the play, and I had already bought tickets (money shows support too, right?) but how could I miss Antoinette Nwandu's Broadway debut?  I've worked with her before and have known her for years.  I couldn't miss it.  After looking at the seating chart on the ticketing app, I saw I could buy a ticket in an otherwise-empty row.  That convinced me to go.  In my opening paragraph above, there's a link to my thoughts on the LCT3 2018 production of the play.  It speaks to the plot pretty well, I have to admit.  But Antoinette has made more changes to the play since then, which makes total sense to me.  The ending of the play before spoke to the futility of trying to reason with police on behalf of young Black men's lives.  This time, there's more...I don't want to say 'hope' exactly, but more nuance and opportunity for change and transcendence.  And not.  

photo credit: Joan Marcus

As strongly as I felt about the play before (which was REALLY strongly, I was tremendously moved and thrilled by the play before), I felt even more strongly this time.  I feel Antoinette, and the entire production team, has really leaned into the absurdist and expressionistic aspects of the play to provide audiences with a totally new and completely unique theatrical experience that's just as moving as anything that's more realistic.  The three performers, who have been with the play for years, have honed their performances to brilliant sheen, and they're even more touching, even more funny, even more insidious, even more terrifying than before.  I laughed a lot, I cried a lot, and I was terrified.  A lot.  All in the best theatrical way, of course.  I'm so glad I fought through my weekend laziness and got myself to the August Wilson Theatre for Pass Over.  I cannot wait to experience what Antoinette brings us next.

I think I'll save my family stuff for another post.  Maybe.  I do want to mention that I was fortunate enough to attend the great and wonderful Micki Grant's memorial service last night.  It was a beautiful send-off for a beautiful, amazing, talented, generous mentor and friend.  I'm so grateful that my work organization celebrated her with our Lifetime Achievement Award a few years ago, to show her how much writers everywhere honor her.  And I'm even more grateful that I had the chance to see her seminal musical Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope not once, but twice.  I now put it into the universe that Broadway needs to see this work again - I practically levitated with joy as I watched it, yet starkly felt the toughness and unrest underneath.  The time is now for Micki's genius, her empathy, and her activism.  I will miss her always, but thankfully, her gorgeous work will stand the test of time.