At Capacity--Scene 13: Soda to the face

(Cassie is on the phone at the bar.  It’s empty, middle of the day, that time between lunch and dinner when things are really slow in bars.  She wipes down the bar as she talks.)

CASSIE
I’m getting the dolls, Ma. . . . . I know that’s what she wants. She told me three times over the weekend. She even called me in to the living room to show me the commercial on TV. . . . Yes, I told her that she should ask Santa. . . . No, I already told you I’m not getting that freaking Elf on a Shelf. I don’t have time to move him. . . . Yeah, I know you would, but you do enough already. . . . And you like to remind me how much you do, just like . . . You did so! You just said--. . . . Fine. Whatever.

(Mark comes into the bar and sits down at the end of the bar. Cassie does not see him. He listens to the conversation.)

CASSIE
Ma, I told you that Sophie does not need anything else from you. You bought her so many gifts last Christmas, and she’s getting really spoiled. You and dad need to cut it out. . . . Why don’t you buy some gifts for kids who don’t get any? . . . . Yeah, she’s your only one, but save your pennies.  Jesus…!  . . . I’m just saying you don’t need to spend so much money on the holidays. Sophie and I are fine. . . . We are so fine. . . . Yes, I’m looking for another job. . . . . You’ve told me that many times, Ma. It’s the best I can do right now. . . . Fine. . . . . No, I have to work dinner too.  . . . . Yeah the other girl called out sick. . . .  Right, yeah, she and I are it.  But she owes me now so maybe I can get her to cover me for Christmas eve. . . . Yeah, no promises, but I’ll try. (rolling her eyes) I know it would make Aunt Sally really happy. . . . . Uh huh. . . . I know. . . . (she turns and see Mark who waves at her). Uh, Ma, I gotta go. . . . Yeah, customers. OK, bye.

(Cassie turns her full attention to Mark. It's awkward. They haven't seen each other since the last time when they had sex.)

CASSIE
Hey.

MARK
Hey, what’s up?

CASSIE
Nothing. Just in between shifts.

MARK
Yeah.

CASSIE
Waddya have?

MARK
Nothing. Er, how about just a club soda. Why didn't you answer my texts?

(Cassie fills a glass with ice and sprays in club soda.)

CASSIE
Lime?

MARK
Yeah, great. I've been texting you for two days now.

(Cassie gets the lime, serves the glass on a bar nap, and then goes back to wiping the bar top. Mark takes a sip and sets it down.)

MARK
I leave first thing tomorrow morning.

CASSIE (not looking up)
And?

(Mark takes another sip.)

MARK
Who’s Sophie?

CASSIE (stops wiping down the bar)
Were you listening to my conversation?

MARK (shrugging)
I came into the bar for a drink.

CASSIE (walking to the other end of the bar)
You’re a real jerk.

MARK
Who is she?

CASSIE
None of your business.

MARK
She your daughter?

CASSIE
Shut up.

MARK
It’s not a big deal if she is.

CASSIE
I said it's none of your business.

MARK
We’re both adults. I have a girlfriend, you have a daughter and--

CASSIE
I think you should go.

MARK
--we have pasts, its—

CASSIE
Fuck you, OK! It's none of your goddamned business, so shut the hell up and get out of here before I call the cops.

MARK
Wow!  What's your problem?

CASSIE
You’re the one with the problem. Now get out!

MARK (reaching for his wallet)
I have to pay for my club soda.

CASSIE
It's on the house! (she picks up the club soda and throws it in his face) Now get the fuck outta this bar before I punch you in the head.

MARK (shocked and dripping wet)
Is this how you treat Sophie?

CASSIE
FUCK YOU!

(Mark backs out of the bar, hands raised, and then turns and leaves. Cassie gets a mop from behind the bar, and comes out front to clean up the mess. She mops for a moment, sits on the stool where Mark was sitting, and starts to cry.  Lights fade out. End of scene.)

Artists I admire: Harper Lee

Last week we lost a great American writer, Harper Lee. To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite novel and has been for a long time. Since the summer of 1989.

I'm not going to try to eulogize Lee here, as I don't know enough about her as a person. I will say that the fact that she produced one international sensation and then essentially nothing else of note until the recent release of Go Set a Watchman implies something about her as an artist: that maybe she found satisfaction from telling her one very important and impactful story of Scout Finch and her father Atticus and didn't feel that she needed to say anything more. I envy Lee's ability to feel satisfied with just one story. But beyond that, I have deep feelings of gratitude to Harper Lee because her story saved me at a critical time in my teenage years.

I read To Kill a Mockingbird in the summer of 1989, between my junior and senior year in high school, while I was away from home for a week at American Legion Jersey Boys State. Boys State is a program where boys selected from various communities attend a week-long leadership experience on the campus of Rider University. Delegates are assigned to "cities," and then elect governing officials at every level, up to electing a governor for "Boys State." Four delegates were selected to attend Boys State from my high school, and I was one of them.

My parents dropped me off on a Sunday in June, and I would be there practicing civic engagement and responsibility until Friday. I was nervous about going, as that point in my life, I didn't have many friends that were boys, so the idea of spending a week with only boys and men felt a little terrifying. The boys at my school kind of gave me a hard time. Not as bad as other people, but I got called "gay" and "fag" a lot. Or asked if I supported gay rights, and when I said "yes" because I thought it was the right thing to do, there were a lot of snickers and jokes. And while I was advised by adults to just let all the names and jokes roll off my back, they stuck there, feeling very heavy and embarrassing. I didn't know I was gay at that point, so getting called those words really frustrated me. My one hope for Boys State was that maybe if I was around a bunch of boys who didn't know me, I would escape these labels that had been assigned to me by my hometown peers.

Boys State started off alright. I somehow became the Election Board Official (EBO) for my city, which was plenty of responsibility for me, and I played in the Boys State Concert Band. The rest of the time was spent marching from place to place as a city, chanting marching slogans, wearing khaki pants and official Boys State polo shirts, and I can't remember much else. It clearly left no impression. But other things did. Like the name calling.

My quest to leave behind the slurs and jokes from my hometown ended rather abruptly within the first couple days at Boys State. For some reason, the slurs started to fly at me, most notably when we were trying to nominate boys to run as representatives to the Boys State House, and I was called a "faggot" for counting the votes accurately rather than fixing it for someone to win. A great example of how the boys of Boys State learned appropriate civic responsibility. None of the adults stopped that behavior, or no one that I could see, so it continued throughout the rest of the week.

I responded to this development by attending band rehearsals and spending the rest of the time in my dorm room reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm not really sure why I even had a copy with me as I don't remember packing it, but reading that book that week saved me. I took great solace in the lessons learned by Scout Finch and the justice fought for by her father, Atticus. All of this against the back drop of supposedly learning about the great mechanisms of democracy while being called a faggot.

To this day, I haven't gone back and re-read Harper Lee's book. I've often thought about it, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it. I have a distinct memory of one of the guys from the band coming back to my room with me and trying to engage me in a wrestling match, and as he pinned me, I just let him. In retrospect, he may have been trying for something more than wrestling, but that's beside the point. When he released me out of the headlock, I remember him saying, "You don't even fight back." And he was right. I didn't. I didn't know how. But I think reading Lee's book started to teach me how to fight back in ways that stay with me today, almost 27 years later. I fight back through my creative and educational work, hoping to affect even just one person at a time. By telling stories that matter to me. By telling the truth about the way I experience the world, hopefully in a way that people can hear and see. Just like when Scout finally sees Boo Radley for the first time. She sees him for what he is. She sees the truth, rather than something fabricated or assumed.

Boys State was one of the worst experiences I had as a teenager, truly sad and disappointing. But those circumstances gave me a reason to read Harper Lee's novel, and my life changed as a result. For being an artist who shaped so many other artists yet who seemed satisfied with just one accomplishment, for giving millions of people the gift of Scout Finch and her discoveries about her world, and for teaching an unknowing gay kid what it means to live in a democracy where all people matter, Harper Lee is the artist I admire for this week.
 

What is greatness? And what happens after that?

I'm hearing a lot of questions about America's diminished greatness in this election cycle, and in some ways, I think this speaks to legacy as well as to our current situation. As I listen to people who keep talking about how bad off America is, I can't help but wonder about the point of comparison. What is their point of reference? These people appear to have working body parts, shelter, consistent food on the table, steady income or government subsidies that arrive on a regular basis. Some people projecting this message even seem to have power and prestige. So what is it specifically that we need to make great again? And who are we making it great for? Is it for all men who are created equal? Are we substituting in "people" for "men"? Just curious. I like to be clear about these things.

Also, how long does greatness have to last? History tells us that societies rise and societies fall, and this cycle happens repeatedly. Do we always have to be nostalgic about how things used to be? Or is the sign of true greatness cultivating an understanding and acceptance that people evolve and what matters to the individual and to the collective changes over time?

Sure, let's worry about the next generation and consider what we're leaving them to deal with. But history certainly tells us that no matter how much we worry about and plan for the future, it always comes up with something even more disruptive or destructive. Example: Nuclear arms race ends; people figure out how to crash planes into buildings. All the planning in the world doesn't stop the inevitable quest for power and the evil that emerges as a result. Planning for the moment seems far more pragmatic than planning for the future.

And finally, what ever happened to acknowledging that America's greatness emerged on the backs of immigrants? Am I aware of this because I live in a city where I walk past historical buildings built by immigrants?  Or because I encounter immigrants every day on the subway? And actually shouldn't I be saying "people who immigrated to the US" rather than simply defining someone by where they were born or is that too politically correct? And shouldn't I be considering that my great grandparents emigrated from Italy and Ireland? Or that my ancestors came to the New World on the Mayflower because of religious persecution? Is that why I have empathy when I look at all the people around me today? Or should I forget about all that history and make America great again by building walls, ostracizing people who have a dream, who are willing to work jobs that others aren't willing to take? Again, I'm just trying to get clear on this.

See, I have a problem. I can't forget about history. Maybe some people can, but I can't. History is how I know who I am and why I have what I have and why I'm #grateful for all of it. But I refuse to get stuck in nostalgia or self-pity or simple flag waving at a rally. America has always been and continues to be about action. Mud slinging and cheering at a rally is not action. Yes, voices are getting heard, but what happens after that?

You see, this is where I have this problem again. What happens after that?

What happens after that?

My prediction?

Nothing.

At Capacity--Scene 12: Julia in charge

(Julia’s hospital room. She’s in a hospital bed, heavily sedated. The railings of the bed are up high so she can’t get out. Claire sits in the corner, reading a magazine. Steve stands at the foot of the bed, staring at his sister. Every time Julia stirs, Steve tries to get close to hear what she’s saying. But she’s not saying anything. Steve sighs and then resets, and the same pattern happens again. Julia sort of looks off into space, eyes half open, looking away from Steve. She starts to mutter.)

JULIA (garbled and slurred)
I don’t want that to happen… I don’t want that to happen… I don’t want that to happen…

STEVE (jumping closer)
What?  Julia?

(No response)

STEVE (quietly, tentatively)
Julia?

(No response. Steve waits for a moment then tries again.)

STEVE
Julia? Can you hear me?

(No response. He signs again.)

CLAIRE
They told us she wasn’t going to answer if we talked to her. They have her on a lot of meds. They said to wait for her to talk.

STEVE
Yeah, but she just did.

CLAIRE
That was in her sleep.

STEVE
But her eyes are kind of open. How can she be asleep?

CLAIRE
You two always did that. Slept with your eyes half open.

STEVE
We did?

CLAIRE
Yeah, it was like you didn't want to miss anything.  You still do it.

STEVE
I do?

CLAIRE
Yeah, you do. And it’s weird. You're asleep in the living room at night when I come to the house, but you’re eyes are sort of open. I feel like you’re watching me.

STEVE
I don’t remember seeing you.

CLAIRE
Right. Because you were asleep. Just like Julia is now.

(Steve continues to stare at Julia. Claire goes back to her magazine. Steve signs again.)

CLAIRE
Why don’t you sit down? Standing over her like that isn’t going to make her talk.

STEVE
I want to be here for her when she wakes up.

CLAIRE
Crowding her is not going to make her want to wake up any faster.

STEVE
She should know that we’re here.

CLAIRE
She knows.

STEVE
How do you know?

CLAIRE
People know. Sick people have a lot of control. She knows. She’s the one who’s in charge right now.

STEVE
She looks really helpless.

CLAIRE
Looks can be deceiving.

STEVE
Are you saying that she’s faking this? How could you say that?

CLAIRE
That’s not what I’m saying at all! Jesus, Steve, give me some credit. She’s our sister. What I’m saying is that you trying to control what happens with her is pointless cause she’s the only one that can make anything happen right now. That’s how it works. The doctors think they know what they’re doing, but they’re just doing what worked for another person. Julia is Julia, and she’ll come out of this when she’s ready.

STEVE
But don’t you think that—

CLAIRE
No. I don’t. I think that maybe if you leave her alone, she might actually start to come out of it.

(Steve stands there, looking at Julia.)

CLAIRE
She never liked that kind of attention. Especially after the stuff with Uncle Steve and—

STEVE
Don’t talk about that in here. Please?

CLAIRE
Why not?

STEVE
I want her to wake up. Not go further away. She can hear us. That’s what they said. I don’t want her to ever hear that name again.

CLAIRE
Oh, Steve. God, you really need to get a grip on all of this.

STEVE
I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do about this. I can’t believe that I didn’t know about any of this. All these years and no one ever told me.

CLAIRE
Look at how you’re reacting. Maybe that’s a clue as to why

STEVE
I’m her twin. She should have told me.

CLAIRE
Well, maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew how hard it would be for you. Sixth sense and all?

STEVE
But I could have helped her.

CLAIRE
No one can help her, Steve. I told you. She’s got to do this. Her recovery is in her hands. No one can do it for her. It’s hers to do.

(Steve stands looking at his sister in the bed.  Julia starts to stir, sits up, eyes open wide, then lays back down.)

STEVE
Julia, are you ok?  Julia?

JULIA (garbled and slurred)
Get the dolls.

STEVE
What?  What did you say?

(Julia turns her head and looks at him, directly into his eyes.)

JULIA (slowly with a little more clarity)
Get. The. Dolls.

(Julia takes one more big intake of breath and the she shuts her eyes. She’s breathing, but now she’s deeply asleep. Or passed out.)

STEVE
Get the dolls? What the hell does that mean. Get the dolls… Claire?

CLAIRE (still with her magazine)
I don’t know, Steve. She’s working it out on her own.

STEVE
Get the dolls…  Get the dolls. (realizing that she’s talking about the carolers). Get the dolls. OK! Got it!  On my way!

(Steve grabs his coat and starts to exit.)

CLAIRE
Where are you going?

STEVE
To do what Julia said. Sixth sense.

CLAIRE
What?

STEVE
I’m getting the dolls.

(Steve exits and Claire looks after him, completely bewildered.  She goes back to her magazine as the lights in the hospital room fade, and the lights all around Julia’s bed begin to glow brightly, then fade.  End of scene.)

Artists I admire: the cast and creative team of The Color Purple

This past Wednesday evening, I had the distinct pleasure of seeing the current Broadway revival of The Color Purple. I went with a friend from work who I often see theatre with, andthese artistic experiences that we have together fuel all sorts of discussions and thinking that we do about current events, cultural trends, and social justice issues. Given our interests and past production choices, The Color Purple seemed like a great choice. The revival, directed by John Doyle, had received a positive review in The New York Times, and I personally was curious to see Jennifer Hudson. I wouldn't call myself a fan, but I'm interested when "big names" make Broadway debuts.

Well, within the first five minutes of the show, I knew we were in for it, in the very best way possible. The staging immediately set the tone for an experience that would be ensemble-driven and focused on storytelling. A simple scenic design kept our focus on the acting and the singing, and the singing was extraordinary. This company of performers may be the strongest group of singers I've ever seen on Broadway. A lot of power and precision, led by the incredibly gifted Cynthia Erivo as Celie and Jennifer Hudson as Shug Avery. Jennifer Hudson sang effortlessly, alone and in her duets with Erivo, and then when it was time, she stepped back into the line and blended beautifully with the other female ensemble members. Erivo stepped out and up, and suddenly we were presented with this extraordinary singing force, filled with powerful interpretation and nuance. It was there all along, but Erivo was so skilled at calibrating her performance to mirror Celie's journey, that when she revealed the depth and power of the character, the vocal matched it in a transformative way. Her performance is a master class in playing a character's arc, one that I want every one of my acting students to see. It was an unforgettable experience from start to finish.

I've highlighted Ervino and Hudson, but the entire ensemble deserves praise and recognition. All of the principals, including Isaiah Johnson (Mister), Danielle Brooks (Sofia), Kyle Scatliffe (Harpo), and Joaquina Kalukango (Nettie) are fantastic, and the company as a whole is great. After the curtain call, I heard someone say, "I've never been to a Broadway show where everyone could sing so well." Totally agreed. If you want to hear some power and moving voices, then you should get a ticket to this show. Pronto.

Unforgettable. And an absolute privilege to witness. Particularly in a season when one show is getting so much popular attention and praise. Well-deserved I'm sure, but seeing The Color Purple illustrated just how important it is that I pay attention to everything that's happening.

For bringing such joy and power and commitment to their performances, for showing what clean and focused direction and design can achieve, for sharing an amazing story that needs to be heard now more than ever, for stopping the show twice for standing ovations (Cynthia Erivo), and for giving me another evening in the theatre that I'll never forget, the cast and creative team of The Color Purple are the artists I admire for this week.