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ejreadswords's Reviews (100)
adventurous
challenging
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
“People are like planets, you need a thick skin. Things get to me, Joe stays away and now… Well look. My dreams are talking back to me.”
“It’s the price of rootlessness. Motion sickness. The only cure: to keep moving.”
I’m a huge Mike Nichols fan, as he’s one of my favorite directors, storytellers, etc. ever. He directed the HBO miniseries of Angels in America, and what a masterpiece — Nichols considered that miniseries his proudest achievement, and you can’t fault him there.
In the continuing adventures of studying at Adler, we received our new scenes for our Scene Study class and I got… Louis! The scene is Act 1, Scene 4 of Millennium Approaches, so yes, it’s the bench scene. It’s certainly a 180 compared to being Satan in The Last Days of Judas Iscariot. The scene itself begins with a lightness, and Tony Kushner’s wit leads to some very funny and clever lines which will be fun to say or play off of; but when Prior drops the hammer on Louis… oh it’s just devastating.
I’m not going to call Louis “Satan,” but he’s arguably one of the most selfish people in the play; however, he’s absolutely HUMAN. He believes he deserves pain, he knows he’s being selfish. But I understand him; it’s easier to be away from death. One still has desire — in a way, who knows how Prior would’ve acted if Louis was the one diagnosed with AIDS. Would Prior also leave Louis because he has desires that need to be satiated?
It’s a heartbreaking scene, and my scene partner Romeo I’m very excited to work with. They are such a huge Kushner fan, and Romeo would be such a good Prior. It’ll be so educational acting opposite Romeo, but most importantly, I know it’ll be so FUN to do so.
“It’s no fun picking on you Louis; you’re so guilty, it’s like throwing darts at a glob of jello, there’s no satisfying hits, just quivering, the darts just blow in and vanish.”
So I haven’t read Angels before, and as I was reading, it’s proof how scrumptious or memorable watching the miniseries was; I remembered so much of this! Nichols adapted it so faithfully for the miniseries. Rich characters, human scenarios. Gosh, I love Harper. She’s absolutely my favorite character. But everyone is beautiful in their own, flawed way. Even Joe. Even Roy! Roy Cohn says some of the most intelligent things (even if they were informed in… strange ways). At the very least, we can understand how a monster becomes a monster; or, we can understand the idea that sickness & death takes pity on no one.
“…so now, there are no gods here, no ghosts and spirits in America, no angels in America, no spiritual past, no racial past, there’s only the political, and the decoys and ploys to maneuver around the inescapable battle of politics, the shifting downwards and outwards of political power to the people…”
“POWER to the People! AMEN! (Looking at his watch) OH MY GOODNESS! Will you look at the time, I gotta…”
Extremely politically-charged. Though it’s about life in the 80s, call it Reagan, call it Trump — this all applies. The importance of community is paramount, and the injustices served to certain communities that will unfortunately continue under this new administration… it’s tragic, but it reiterates the importance of art. Because art transforms, art INFORMS, and art can really shift the way we think. It’s vital. I’m so happy to be doing some Angels in America for class, and I’m going to start Perestroika this afternoon!
“You can be numb and safe here, that’s what you came for. Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions.”
“You mean like no Eskimo in Antarctica.”
“Correct. Ice and snow, no Eskimo. Even hallucinations have laws.”
“It’s the price of rootlessness. Motion sickness. The only cure: to keep moving.”
I’m a huge Mike Nichols fan, as he’s one of my favorite directors, storytellers, etc. ever. He directed the HBO miniseries of Angels in America, and what a masterpiece — Nichols considered that miniseries his proudest achievement, and you can’t fault him there.
In the continuing adventures of studying at Adler, we received our new scenes for our Scene Study class and I got… Louis! The scene is Act 1, Scene 4 of Millennium Approaches, so yes, it’s the bench scene. It’s certainly a 180 compared to being Satan in The Last Days of Judas Iscariot. The scene itself begins with a lightness, and Tony Kushner’s wit leads to some very funny and clever lines which will be fun to say or play off of; but when Prior drops the hammer on Louis… oh it’s just devastating.
I’m not going to call Louis “Satan,” but he’s arguably one of the most selfish people in the play; however, he’s absolutely HUMAN. He believes he deserves pain, he knows he’s being selfish. But I understand him; it’s easier to be away from death. One still has desire — in a way, who knows how Prior would’ve acted if Louis was the one diagnosed with AIDS. Would Prior also leave Louis because he has desires that need to be satiated?
It’s a heartbreaking scene, and my scene partner Romeo I’m very excited to work with. They are such a huge Kushner fan, and Romeo would be such a good Prior. It’ll be so educational acting opposite Romeo, but most importantly, I know it’ll be so FUN to do so.
“It’s no fun picking on you Louis; you’re so guilty, it’s like throwing darts at a glob of jello, there’s no satisfying hits, just quivering, the darts just blow in and vanish.”
So I haven’t read Angels before, and as I was reading, it’s proof how scrumptious or memorable watching the miniseries was; I remembered so much of this! Nichols adapted it so faithfully for the miniseries. Rich characters, human scenarios. Gosh, I love Harper. She’s absolutely my favorite character. But everyone is beautiful in their own, flawed way. Even Joe. Even Roy! Roy Cohn says some of the most intelligent things (even if they were informed in… strange ways). At the very least, we can understand how a monster becomes a monster; or, we can understand the idea that sickness & death takes pity on no one.
“…so now, there are no gods here, no ghosts and spirits in America, no angels in America, no spiritual past, no racial past, there’s only the political, and the decoys and ploys to maneuver around the inescapable battle of politics, the shifting downwards and outwards of political power to the people…”
“POWER to the People! AMEN! (Looking at his watch) OH MY GOODNESS! Will you look at the time, I gotta…”
Extremely politically-charged. Though it’s about life in the 80s, call it Reagan, call it Trump — this all applies. The importance of community is paramount, and the injustices served to certain communities that will unfortunately continue under this new administration… it’s tragic, but it reiterates the importance of art. Because art transforms, art INFORMS, and art can really shift the way we think. It’s vital. I’m so happy to be doing some Angels in America for class, and I’m going to start Perestroika this afternoon!
“You can be numb and safe here, that’s what you came for. Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions.”
“You mean like no Eskimo in Antarctica.”
“Correct. Ice and snow, no Eskimo. Even hallucinations have laws.”
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“An angel is just a belief, with wings and arms that can carry you. It’s naught to be afraid of. If it lets you down, reject it. Seek for something new.”
Reading Kushner’s notes prior to diving into Perestroika, it took me for a whirl but it also made sense to see he said that, “Perestroika is essentially a comedy.” This was an interesting lens to attack this play / read with. Because, like I said when describing Millennium Approaches, my foray into Angels in America was through the Nichols miniseries, and while there was a signature lightness at times (life itself isn’t a CONSTANT drag; humans find a way to laugh a little), I never would’ve thought to have categorized Perestroika as a “comedy.”
“The Body is the Garden of the Soul.”
I’m also reducing Kushner’s words, because he was saying this was a “comedy” more or less because things are resolved, relationships are mended… life continues. And by (truly) divine intervention, there are some hilariously ironic comeuppances or reasons why certain characters live on and others… don’t.
“Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that’s so.”
Given that I’m performing as Louis in my Scene Study class, I ended up being really hyper-focused whenever Louis was in the scene — imagining “me,” to an extent. Though I really will never, ever play that part (I mean, who’s to say? But Filipino Jew named Ironson? Lin-Manuel, we’re gonna make Angels in America for the POC’s and make Belize white!) it was great reading deeply into his character’s motivations and actions, because it explains why he reacts the way he does in Act One, Scene Four of Millennium Approaches (the scene I’m studying), and if anything, it’s given me a greater empathy toward the character. As Louis does some morally-heinous things throughout!
“I just want to lie here and bleed for a while. Do me good.”
The Epilogue sequence is just wonderful. Prior’s final, final monologue. I nearly teared up again. And I would have, if I stayed with it! I powered through it, and even looked away from the page — let the words hit me. I’m still remembering Justin Kirk’s beautiful performance in the Nichols miniseries, and I can’t wait to revisit once again. Maybe winter break! Maybe I can convince my brother to watch it with me.
“We can’t just stop. We’re not rocks — progress, migration, motion is… modernity. It’s animate, it’s what living things do. We desire. Even if all we desire is stillness, it’s still desire for. Even if we go faster than we should. We can’t wait. And wait for what? God…”
Geez. I could say so much more, but I’ll just say: this is one of the most important plays ever written! Thank you Tony Kushner! I will try and get to A Bright Room Called Day soon!
“The white cracker who wrote the National Anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word free to a note so high nobody could reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing on Earth sounds less like freedom to me. You come with me to Room 1013 over at the hospital and I'll show you America. Terminal, crazy, and mean. I live in America, Louis. I don't have to love it.”
Reading Kushner’s notes prior to diving into Perestroika, it took me for a whirl but it also made sense to see he said that, “Perestroika is essentially a comedy.” This was an interesting lens to attack this play / read with. Because, like I said when describing Millennium Approaches, my foray into Angels in America was through the Nichols miniseries, and while there was a signature lightness at times (life itself isn’t a CONSTANT drag; humans find a way to laugh a little), I never would’ve thought to have categorized Perestroika as a “comedy.”
“The Body is the Garden of the Soul.”
I’m also reducing Kushner’s words, because he was saying this was a “comedy” more or less because things are resolved, relationships are mended… life continues. And by (truly) divine intervention, there are some hilariously ironic comeuppances or reasons why certain characters live on and others… don’t.
“Nothing’s lost forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that’s so.”
Given that I’m performing as Louis in my Scene Study class, I ended up being really hyper-focused whenever Louis was in the scene — imagining “me,” to an extent. Though I really will never, ever play that part (I mean, who’s to say? But Filipino Jew named Ironson? Lin-Manuel, we’re gonna make Angels in America for the POC’s and make Belize white!) it was great reading deeply into his character’s motivations and actions, because it explains why he reacts the way he does in Act One, Scene Four of Millennium Approaches (the scene I’m studying), and if anything, it’s given me a greater empathy toward the character. As Louis does some morally-heinous things throughout!
“I just want to lie here and bleed for a while. Do me good.”
The Epilogue sequence is just wonderful. Prior’s final, final monologue. I nearly teared up again. And I would have, if I stayed with it! I powered through it, and even looked away from the page — let the words hit me. I’m still remembering Justin Kirk’s beautiful performance in the Nichols miniseries, and I can’t wait to revisit once again. Maybe winter break! Maybe I can convince my brother to watch it with me.
“We can’t just stop. We’re not rocks — progress, migration, motion is… modernity. It’s animate, it’s what living things do. We desire. Even if all we desire is stillness, it’s still desire for. Even if we go faster than we should. We can’t wait. And wait for what? God…”
Geez. I could say so much more, but I’ll just say: this is one of the most important plays ever written! Thank you Tony Kushner! I will try and get to A Bright Room Called Day soon!
“The white cracker who wrote the National Anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word free to a note so high nobody could reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing on Earth sounds less like freedom to me. You come with me to Room 1013 over at the hospital and I'll show you America. Terminal, crazy, and mean. I live in America, Louis. I don't have to love it.”
emotional
funny
hopeful
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“I’m probably just as unhappy as you are, but I’m not giving in to despair. I… I endure my unhappiness and I will endure it until my life comes to its natural end. You have to endure it too.”
My. What is there to say, really? What you see is what you get! There’s not much subtext with Chekhov, no? That’s what I’ve learned in class and what I’ve surmised throughout my journey through art, film, plays. Oh yes, there was a gun! And yes, it was of course fired. It did not go how I thought it’d go, though!
“Look, in one hundred, two hundred years there will be people who look back and laugh at us because we lived our lives so foolishly and tastelessly.”
There have been many translations and versions of Uncle Vanya, but call me biased, I had to go with the Annie Baker version. This year’s Lincoln Center revival was Heidi Schreck’s version, which I’ve read sounds even more “contemporary” than Baker’s… but come on, 2012 modernity is modern enough for me. Annie Baker can translate the biggest of ideas with the most casual and simplest of English. It’s a magic trick.
Yes, I did imagine Steve Carell as Uncle Vanya and William Jackson Harper as Astrov.
“The past is gone, it was wasted on trivialities, and the present… God, the present is too ridiculous for words.”
These are characters speaking freely, openly (whether or not the people they’re talking to want to hear it) about their emotions, about the suffering of being alive, about the suffering of desire, about the suffering of not amounting to much. Of being on the cusp of death and feeling… unfulfilled! Fuck, man! That’s one of my biggest fears, if not THE BIGGEST!
“Man has been blessed with reason and creativity, but instead of progressing, he only knows how to ruin.”
The ending is quite bittersweet. A choice was made! Because if we don’t choose, we’re just fucking ourselves. But the choice that was made… it’s hard to tell if the characters can honestly follow that for the rest of their lives. We can delude ourselves all we want. But we need someone there with us. I feel for everyone in this play; no one gets what they want. But perhaps they each get what they need. Humans are complex creatures, no?
My Scene Study teacher Shawn said today that he can ‘appreciate’ Chekhov but he can’t say that he really ‘likes’ Chekhov. I’m not basing this off much, but I did absolutely devour Uncle Vanya — I read this all today, such an easy read. And yes, I did audition for Stella Adler with Stupid Fucking Bird, which is… sort of adapted from Chekhov’s The Seagull? This man is obsessed with art and the futility of being obsessed with art.
Fuck, man. You and me both! The emptiness that exists with unrequited love and the unfairness of this world that we’re in, and the necessity of art to satiate that emptiness, but then you realize that nothing can fill that void. Gotta read some more Chekhov, but I think I get it. And I think I love it! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy!
“It’s so difficult for me. If you only knew how difficult it is!”
“What can we do? We have to live. We’ll live, Uncle Vanya. We’ll live through a long, long row of days and drawn-out evenings; we’ll endure the trials that fate sends us; we’ll work for others; and finally in our old age, having never known peace, when our hour comes, we’ll die. And from beyond the grave we’ll be able to look back and say that we suffered, that we wept, that we were bitter, and God will take pity on us, and you and I, Uncle, dear Uncle, we’ll see a radiant new life, beautiful, full of grace, and we’ll smile and look back tenderly at our past unhappiness. And we’ll rest. I believe this, Uncle, I believe in it passionately. We’ll rest!”
My. What is there to say, really? What you see is what you get! There’s not much subtext with Chekhov, no? That’s what I’ve learned in class and what I’ve surmised throughout my journey through art, film, plays. Oh yes, there was a gun! And yes, it was of course fired. It did not go how I thought it’d go, though!
“Look, in one hundred, two hundred years there will be people who look back and laugh at us because we lived our lives so foolishly and tastelessly.”
There have been many translations and versions of Uncle Vanya, but call me biased, I had to go with the Annie Baker version. This year’s Lincoln Center revival was Heidi Schreck’s version, which I’ve read sounds even more “contemporary” than Baker’s… but come on, 2012 modernity is modern enough for me. Annie Baker can translate the biggest of ideas with the most casual and simplest of English. It’s a magic trick.
Yes, I did imagine Steve Carell as Uncle Vanya and William Jackson Harper as Astrov.
“The past is gone, it was wasted on trivialities, and the present… God, the present is too ridiculous for words.”
These are characters speaking freely, openly (whether or not the people they’re talking to want to hear it) about their emotions, about the suffering of being alive, about the suffering of desire, about the suffering of not amounting to much. Of being on the cusp of death and feeling… unfulfilled! Fuck, man! That’s one of my biggest fears, if not THE BIGGEST!
“Man has been blessed with reason and creativity, but instead of progressing, he only knows how to ruin.”
The ending is quite bittersweet. A choice was made! Because if we don’t choose, we’re just fucking ourselves. But the choice that was made… it’s hard to tell if the characters can honestly follow that for the rest of their lives. We can delude ourselves all we want. But we need someone there with us. I feel for everyone in this play; no one gets what they want. But perhaps they each get what they need. Humans are complex creatures, no?
My Scene Study teacher Shawn said today that he can ‘appreciate’ Chekhov but he can’t say that he really ‘likes’ Chekhov. I’m not basing this off much, but I did absolutely devour Uncle Vanya — I read this all today, such an easy read. And yes, I did audition for Stella Adler with Stupid Fucking Bird, which is… sort of adapted from Chekhov’s The Seagull? This man is obsessed with art and the futility of being obsessed with art.
Fuck, man. You and me both! The emptiness that exists with unrequited love and the unfairness of this world that we’re in, and the necessity of art to satiate that emptiness, but then you realize that nothing can fill that void. Gotta read some more Chekhov, but I think I get it. And I think I love it! It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy!
“It’s so difficult for me. If you only knew how difficult it is!”
“What can we do? We have to live. We’ll live, Uncle Vanya. We’ll live through a long, long row of days and drawn-out evenings; we’ll endure the trials that fate sends us; we’ll work for others; and finally in our old age, having never known peace, when our hour comes, we’ll die. And from beyond the grave we’ll be able to look back and say that we suffered, that we wept, that we were bitter, and God will take pity on us, and you and I, Uncle, dear Uncle, we’ll see a radiant new life, beautiful, full of grace, and we’ll smile and look back tenderly at our past unhappiness. And we’ll rest. I believe this, Uncle, I believe in it passionately. We’ll rest!”
dark
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“There’s no such thing as the West anymore! It’s a dead issue! It’s dried up, Saul, and so are you.”
Well hello Sam Shepard! My Acting Technique teacher Josh told me specifically to read some Sam Shepard, in regards to building a repertoire of monologues. He told me in class that I have a strong imagination, and Sam Shepard writes a lot of characters who possess that imagination, that desire, that capacity to dream… who are then crushed by circumstances, bad timing, or whatever else it may be.
“Nobody can disappear. The old man tried that. Look where it got him. He lost his teeth.”
I was smiling reading this (despite its intense thematic material — it was because of the style and the beautiful dialogue), and I read it in one sitting at the Shakespeare & Co. in the Upper West Side after watching Juror #2 and killing time before Friday class. Was so moved by it that I even emailed Josh when I got off the subway, “You were right about Sam Shepard!” I said a bit more in the email, too. I can’t help myself. I yap.
“Is that the correct criminal psychology? Not to think of the victims?”
“What victims?”
Austin and Lee are brothers, with each possessing an intangible skill that the other desperately wants — they don’t give each other an inch at first, during their first reunion in five years. Immensely loved both characters; so rich, so layered. I gotta say, I’m definitely Austin of the pairing. His monologue about the Chop Suey and his dad’s teeth… amazing. I immediately pinned that. His arc, my lord.
The ending made me audibly say, “wow” at the bookstore cafe. Such a tragic, tragic ending. Obviously the appropriate ending, but still incredibly shocking and raw. And it just ends! Not a second wasted.
“I mean I can tell ya’ a story off the tongue but I can’t put it down on paper. That don’t make any difference though does it?”
“No, not really.”
“I mean plenty a’ guys have stories don’t they? True-life stories. Musta’ been a lota’ movies made from real life.”
So, Sam Shepard and Patti Smith were briefly an item. The two of them made an indelible impact on each other with their artistic journeys. Sam Shepard has a rock-and-roll sensibility, and the music and attitude lives and breathes in his words, in his scenes. I couldn’t help but think that Shepard is like Ernest Hemingway, if Hemingway was around for rock-and-roll instead of jazz. But I brought up Patti Smith because I’m using one of her poems for my Voice & Speech class; love the interconnectedness of everything this semester and everything so far at Stella Adler!
Doubly thankful for Josh to have recommended me Sam Shepard; I can really see myself living in a world of Sam Shepard -- THIS PLAY! I bought a book that has seven of his plays. True West was the first one, and next is Buried Child. Sooooo excited for that one. Won the Pulitzer in ’79!
“You could call the police. That’d be the obvious thing.”
“You’re my brother.”
“That don’t mean a thing. You go down to the LA Police Department there and ask them what kinda’ people kill each other the most. What do you think they’d say?”
“Who said anything about killing?”
“Family people. Brothers. Brothers-in-law. Cousins. Real American-type people. They kill each other in the heat mostly. In the Smog-Alerts. In the Brush Fire Season. Right about this time a’ year.”
Well hello Sam Shepard! My Acting Technique teacher Josh told me specifically to read some Sam Shepard, in regards to building a repertoire of monologues. He told me in class that I have a strong imagination, and Sam Shepard writes a lot of characters who possess that imagination, that desire, that capacity to dream… who are then crushed by circumstances, bad timing, or whatever else it may be.
“Nobody can disappear. The old man tried that. Look where it got him. He lost his teeth.”
I was smiling reading this (despite its intense thematic material — it was because of the style and the beautiful dialogue), and I read it in one sitting at the Shakespeare & Co. in the Upper West Side after watching Juror #2 and killing time before Friday class. Was so moved by it that I even emailed Josh when I got off the subway, “You were right about Sam Shepard!” I said a bit more in the email, too. I can’t help myself. I yap.
“Is that the correct criminal psychology? Not to think of the victims?”
“What victims?”
Austin and Lee are brothers, with each possessing an intangible skill that the other desperately wants — they don’t give each other an inch at first, during their first reunion in five years. Immensely loved both characters; so rich, so layered. I gotta say, I’m definitely Austin of the pairing. His monologue about the Chop Suey and his dad’s teeth… amazing. I immediately pinned that. His arc, my lord.
The ending made me audibly say, “wow” at the bookstore cafe. Such a tragic, tragic ending. Obviously the appropriate ending, but still incredibly shocking and raw. And it just ends! Not a second wasted.
“I mean I can tell ya’ a story off the tongue but I can’t put it down on paper. That don’t make any difference though does it?”
“No, not really.”
“I mean plenty a’ guys have stories don’t they? True-life stories. Musta’ been a lota’ movies made from real life.”
So, Sam Shepard and Patti Smith were briefly an item. The two of them made an indelible impact on each other with their artistic journeys. Sam Shepard has a rock-and-roll sensibility, and the music and attitude lives and breathes in his words, in his scenes. I couldn’t help but think that Shepard is like Ernest Hemingway, if Hemingway was around for rock-and-roll instead of jazz. But I brought up Patti Smith because I’m using one of her poems for my Voice & Speech class; love the interconnectedness of everything this semester and everything so far at Stella Adler!
Doubly thankful for Josh to have recommended me Sam Shepard; I can really see myself living in a world of Sam Shepard -- THIS PLAY! I bought a book that has seven of his plays. True West was the first one, and next is Buried Child. Sooooo excited for that one. Won the Pulitzer in ’79!
“You could call the police. That’d be the obvious thing.”
“You’re my brother.”
“That don’t mean a thing. You go down to the LA Police Department there and ask them what kinda’ people kill each other the most. What do you think they’d say?”
“Who said anything about killing?”
“Family people. Brothers. Brothers-in-law. Cousins. Real American-type people. They kill each other in the heat mostly. In the Smog-Alerts. In the Brush Fire Season. Right about this time a’ year.”
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“I am not a camera; I would like to be a camera; or maybe something more I don’t know participatory than a camera even, but instead I am the Zombie Graduate Student of the Living Dead.”
My Angels in America scene partner Romeo is a HUGE Tony Kushner fan / expert. Kushner is their favorite playwright (please correct me if I’m misquoting you, Romeo — you follow me here on Goodreads). Romeo also performed as Baz from this play at our first day of conservatory showcase, and when I got to that part of the play, it hit me doubly hard, knowing the context of the play and the purgatorial circumstance that the characters find themselves in, being in Germany during the time when Hitler is rising to power.
“History repeats itself, see, first as tragedy, then as farce.”
It’s a tragic play, as I discussed with Romeo tonight in class. There’s a defeat that permeates; it’s tough to read now, especially with Trump coming to power for his second term in the US. But it’s never been more relevant. In fact, Kushner said that no one wanted to produce it for decades until Trump won his first term for President that he re-wrote it with a contemporary lens. The version I read, however, was Romeo’s personal copy (which was the 90s version).
I see no reason to be ashamed. In the face of genuine hopelessness one has no choice but to gracefully surrender reason to the angelic hosts of the irrational. They alone bring solace and comfort, for which we say, in times of distress, “Hosannah and who needs science?”
As Hitler comes to power, the characters discuss the futility of their actions. Though they stand for what they deem morally correct or acceptable, society (or at least the masses) tells them, “nice try, but, nope!” It’s hard to live your truth when fascists prey on the tired, hungry, angry, and therefore easily-manipulated populace with empty promises and harmful practices.
“Art… is never enough, it never does enough. We will be remembered for two things: Our communist art, and our fascist politics.”
Watching each of the characters fold under Nazi pressure or self-destruct due to disappointment from the world is tragic, but it’s hard to blame any of them.
“Our humanity,” he said to himself, “is defined through our struggle to overcome nature.”
Such an intellectual play. I loved how much it made me think as well as the philosophical debates. Art is certainly necessary, but some of its job is for us to educate ourselves and take in the pain — like Jane’s takeaway in Max Wolf-Friedlich’s play Job: the only way for us to take the darkness out of the world is to take it in and… suffer with it. Perhaps the knowledge seeps into our subconscious and slowly we’re radicalized to eventually… do something about the fucking bullshit of this world.
My Angels in America scene partner Romeo is a HUGE Tony Kushner fan / expert. Kushner is their favorite playwright (please correct me if I’m misquoting you, Romeo — you follow me here on Goodreads). Romeo also performed as Baz from this play at our first day of conservatory showcase, and when I got to that part of the play, it hit me doubly hard, knowing the context of the play and the purgatorial circumstance that the characters find themselves in, being in Germany during the time when Hitler is rising to power.
“History repeats itself, see, first as tragedy, then as farce.”
It’s a tragic play, as I discussed with Romeo tonight in class. There’s a defeat that permeates; it’s tough to read now, especially with Trump coming to power for his second term in the US. But it’s never been more relevant. In fact, Kushner said that no one wanted to produce it for decades until Trump won his first term for President that he re-wrote it with a contemporary lens. The version I read, however, was Romeo’s personal copy (which was the 90s version).
I see no reason to be ashamed. In the face of genuine hopelessness one has no choice but to gracefully surrender reason to the angelic hosts of the irrational. They alone bring solace and comfort, for which we say, in times of distress, “Hosannah and who needs science?”
As Hitler comes to power, the characters discuss the futility of their actions. Though they stand for what they deem morally correct or acceptable, society (or at least the masses) tells them, “nice try, but, nope!” It’s hard to live your truth when fascists prey on the tired, hungry, angry, and therefore easily-manipulated populace with empty promises and harmful practices.
“Art… is never enough, it never does enough. We will be remembered for two things: Our communist art, and our fascist politics.”
Watching each of the characters fold under Nazi pressure or self-destruct due to disappointment from the world is tragic, but it’s hard to blame any of them.
“Our humanity,” he said to himself, “is defined through our struggle to overcome nature.”
Such an intellectual play. I loved how much it made me think as well as the philosophical debates. Art is certainly necessary, but some of its job is for us to educate ourselves and take in the pain — like Jane’s takeaway in Max Wolf-Friedlich’s play Job: the only way for us to take the darkness out of the world is to take it in and… suffer with it. Perhaps the knowledge seeps into our subconscious and slowly we’re radicalized to eventually… do something about the fucking bullshit of this world.
adventurous
dark
funny
reflective
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“Don’t b a pussy. Life without riskisdeath. Desire,like the world,is am accident. The bestsex is anon. We liv as we dream,ALONE. I’ll make u cum like a train.”
Lol. In the context of the play, the above is an online chatroom that two of the characters, uh, participate in. But there’s a lot of truth in its crudeness! Which is what this play is about: the reckoning with the truth, with the impulses and desires that rage within us. Knowledge of the truth, of this perversion that exists within us (maybe some with more intensity than others), does not bring us “closer” together. In this case, it’s like what that Chevy Impala band said, “the less I know the better.”
“Deception is brutal, I’m not pretending otherwise.”
The dialogue is quick, it’s sharp, it’s biting, it’s hilarious. There’s a cruelty that exists, and these characters are trapped in this vortex where they’re consciously or unconsciously pulled toward each other. All of this chaos started with a fated (cursed?) car accident, and over several years, the characters bump into each other over and over like the end of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises.
“Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. But it’s better if you do.”
Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco mined so much of their HITS from this play. Can only imagine the fellas all sitting around, watching the Mike Nichols movie, and… taking the wrong things from the film, lol. Oh, the early-to-mid 2000s…
“You’re a man, you’d come if the tooth fairy winked at you.”
Yes, I’ve also seen the Nichols film, and that was my first exposure to Closer. It was a lot of fun to read the play; which was quite faithfully adapted from what I remember. This semester at Adler, there’ve been a few scenes from this play assigned for our Scene Study class. Technically I haven’t been assigned a scene, but there’s a possibility I can sub in to replace a classmate who may or may not be asked to leave -- whatever happens, I wish him the best; I love the guy. I’m just taking the initiative to read this play in the event that I’m asked to play Larry.
“He spends hours staring up my arsehole like there’s going to be some answer there. Any ideas, Anna?”
It’s a great scene, and let’s be honest, not really a character I could / should play, but for ONE scene, I can embody the carnal beast that is Larry. He has some delicious, piercing slashes of dialogue that he hurls at Dan.
“Everyone wants to be happy.”
“Depressives don’t. They want to be unhappy to confirm they’re depressed. If they were happy they couldn’t be depressed any more, they’d have to go out into the world and live, which can be… depressing.”
The beats and silences do a lot of work, but this is verbal warfare. Not many monologues or diatribes; there’s such a music to the dialogue that makes it so quick to read. Usually just different variations of the two-person combos that can engage among the four-person cast. The truth will not set you free in Closer. But we need to know the truth, even though all evidences suggests it won’t help any of us.
“What’s so great about the truth? Try lying for a change — it’s the currency of the world.”
“Get a lot of men in here, crying their guts out?”
“Occupational hazard.”
Lol. In the context of the play, the above is an online chatroom that two of the characters, uh, participate in. But there’s a lot of truth in its crudeness! Which is what this play is about: the reckoning with the truth, with the impulses and desires that rage within us. Knowledge of the truth, of this perversion that exists within us (maybe some with more intensity than others), does not bring us “closer” together. In this case, it’s like what that Chevy Impala band said, “the less I know the better.”
“Deception is brutal, I’m not pretending otherwise.”
The dialogue is quick, it’s sharp, it’s biting, it’s hilarious. There’s a cruelty that exists, and these characters are trapped in this vortex where they’re consciously or unconsciously pulled toward each other. All of this chaos started with a fated (cursed?) car accident, and over several years, the characters bump into each other over and over like the end of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises.
“Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. But it’s better if you do.”
Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco mined so much of their HITS from this play. Can only imagine the fellas all sitting around, watching the Mike Nichols movie, and… taking the wrong things from the film, lol. Oh, the early-to-mid 2000s…
“You’re a man, you’d come if the tooth fairy winked at you.”
Yes, I’ve also seen the Nichols film, and that was my first exposure to Closer. It was a lot of fun to read the play; which was quite faithfully adapted from what I remember. This semester at Adler, there’ve been a few scenes from this play assigned for our Scene Study class. Technically I haven’t been assigned a scene, but there’s a possibility I can sub in to replace a classmate who may or may not be asked to leave -- whatever happens, I wish him the best; I love the guy. I’m just taking the initiative to read this play in the event that I’m asked to play Larry.
“He spends hours staring up my arsehole like there’s going to be some answer there. Any ideas, Anna?”
It’s a great scene, and let’s be honest, not really a character I could / should play, but for ONE scene, I can embody the carnal beast that is Larry. He has some delicious, piercing slashes of dialogue that he hurls at Dan.
“Everyone wants to be happy.”
“Depressives don’t. They want to be unhappy to confirm they’re depressed. If they were happy they couldn’t be depressed any more, they’d have to go out into the world and live, which can be… depressing.”
The beats and silences do a lot of work, but this is verbal warfare. Not many monologues or diatribes; there’s such a music to the dialogue that makes it so quick to read. Usually just different variations of the two-person combos that can engage among the four-person cast. The truth will not set you free in Closer. But we need to know the truth, even though all evidences suggests it won’t help any of us.
“What’s so great about the truth? Try lying for a change — it’s the currency of the world.”
“Get a lot of men in here, crying their guts out?”
“Occupational hazard.”
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“We can’t not believe in something. We can’t stop believing. We just end up dying if we stop. Just end up dead.”
Within the first five pages of reading this, I already thought to myself, “where has Sam Shepard been my whole life?” Thank you again to my acting technique teacher Josh for recommending Shepard to me. True West was brilliant, and Buried Child, which won the Pulitzer for Drama in 1979, was just as amazing.
Gobsmacked with the writing in this beautiful play, with such subtle brutality. I thought to myself, “man, every play I’m reading is the same,” but it’s just poetic that I decided to pick three plays to read in recent months that are soul siblings — Long Day’s Journey Into Night by O’Neill, Death of a Salesman by Miller, and now Buried Child by Shepard. Three essential American plays, and with themes and characters that’ll stay with me forever, and that will inform all future art! Because everything does come back to family, to dreams.
“He’s not my flesh and blood! My flesh and blood’s buried in the backyard!”
That ending! Holy cow. I was a tad confused, but I got the soul of what was communicated. I absolutely respect how subtle the writing is; the words do so much, and with all the dialogue in the play, there are a few pointed, crucial lines that change EVERYTHING. The last couple pages, I had to stop and just visualize what I think the stage would look like with everything happening. Who’s being acknowledged, who’s not being acknowledged. How much of this… is real? There’s a casual surrealism that is quite lovely (and scary) that I’m curious how it’d be staged.
“I don’t want to talk!”
“You don’t wanna die do you?”
“No, I don’t wanna die either.”
“Well, you gotta talk or you’ll die.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s what I know. I found that out in New Mexico. I thought I was dying but I just lost my voice.”
Maybe watching the play would actually make it a little less vague. Because there’s a huge event that I didn’t immediately pick up on until finishing and reflecting and reading some takes on the play. I knew that the “buried child” was important to a couple characters (and why they were resented or loved), but the big, uh, twist or reveal. It was beyond me. I still was quite shaken by the play without realizing, but fuck, man. Heavy stuff.
Thinking of Vince, Shelly, Dodge, Tilden, Halie, Bradley… six characters with such rich backgrounds and objectives that they’re each after. They all dreamed of something. And none of them are getting it. You may think it’s the hope or dream that kills you, but hope most importantly sustains (as The Iceman Cometh emphasized). You gotta dream. You gotta have something to look forward to.
Loving Sam Shepard. I have a book of seven plays by him, and I’ll just keep at it! They were organized like this for a reason.
Within the first five pages of reading this, I already thought to myself, “where has Sam Shepard been my whole life?” Thank you again to my acting technique teacher Josh for recommending Shepard to me. True West was brilliant, and Buried Child, which won the Pulitzer for Drama in 1979, was just as amazing.
Gobsmacked with the writing in this beautiful play, with such subtle brutality. I thought to myself, “man, every play I’m reading is the same,” but it’s just poetic that I decided to pick three plays to read in recent months that are soul siblings — Long Day’s Journey Into Night by O’Neill, Death of a Salesman by Miller, and now Buried Child by Shepard. Three essential American plays, and with themes and characters that’ll stay with me forever, and that will inform all future art! Because everything does come back to family, to dreams.
“He’s not my flesh and blood! My flesh and blood’s buried in the backyard!”
That ending! Holy cow. I was a tad confused, but I got the soul of what was communicated. I absolutely respect how subtle the writing is; the words do so much, and with all the dialogue in the play, there are a few pointed, crucial lines that change EVERYTHING. The last couple pages, I had to stop and just visualize what I think the stage would look like with everything happening. Who’s being acknowledged, who’s not being acknowledged. How much of this… is real? There’s a casual surrealism that is quite lovely (and scary) that I’m curious how it’d be staged.
“I don’t want to talk!”
“You don’t wanna die do you?”
“No, I don’t wanna die either.”
“Well, you gotta talk or you’ll die.”
“Who told you that?”
“That’s what I know. I found that out in New Mexico. I thought I was dying but I just lost my voice.”
Maybe watching the play would actually make it a little less vague. Because there’s a huge event that I didn’t immediately pick up on until finishing and reflecting and reading some takes on the play. I knew that the “buried child” was important to a couple characters (and why they were resented or loved), but the big, uh, twist or reveal. It was beyond me. I still was quite shaken by the play without realizing, but fuck, man. Heavy stuff.
Thinking of Vince, Shelly, Dodge, Tilden, Halie, Bradley… six characters with such rich backgrounds and objectives that they’re each after. They all dreamed of something. And none of them are getting it. You may think it’s the hope or dream that kills you, but hope most importantly sustains (as The Iceman Cometh emphasized). You gotta dream. You gotta have something to look forward to.
Loving Sam Shepard. I have a book of seven plays by him, and I’ll just keep at it! They were organized like this for a reason.
adventurous
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
"Why should you want to exclude from your life all unsettling, all pain, all depression of spirit, when you don't know what work it is these states are performing within you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where it all comes from and where it is leading? You well know you are in a period of transition and want nothing more than to be transformed. If there is something ailing in the way you go about things, then remember that sickness is the means by which an organism rids itself of something foreign to it. All one has to do is help it to be ill, to have its whole illness and let it break it out, for that is how it mends itself."
Beautiful. Absolutely marvelous. As Rilke says himself in his letters to Franz Kappus, he read and re-read the correspondences Kappus made to him; so I myself will read and re-read Rilke's letters to Kappus. They are chock full of inspiration, even if Rilke himself wasn't in much of the mood to inspire at all times. Wisdom through pain; wisdom through seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. But it's wisdom nonetheless, and very much worth digesting and sitting with. For anyone with a desire -- perhaps the burden -- to create, to make art, to make sense of this ridiculous world we live in.
“There is nothing less apt to touch a work of art than critical words: all we end up with there is more or less felicitous misunderstandings.”
Found myself laughing in agreement with the sentiments Rilke was expressing; at times I felt closer to Rilke, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. Reading how Rilke was acknowledging Kappus' deep sadness and solitude, perhaps there are many moments where I've felt like Kappus himself. That he reached out to Rilke in the first place is beautiful in and of itself, and as a result, ten wondrous letters that will outlive us all, enchanting wayward souls for millennia.
Rilke talks mostly about 'why do you want to write?' Will you die without expressing those thoughts? If so, then dive in. But you can apply this to any form of art, really. 'Why do I want to act?' Why do I want to create? Will I die if I don't unleash these thoughts or feelings? I really think I might. I probably have a problem, but I've found that art can save me, and I've witnessed it save others; these letters are proof of that saving-ability for at least Rilke and Kappus, despite the wells of sadness that come from the doubt, that come from the loneliness that deep examinations of art and creation require.
Lean into your everyday life, what makes you special and different than others (even if it's not much). Take refuge in what is unique to you. Because you're you. Thank you, Rilke. Thank you, Kappus.
"And if I have anything else to say to you it is this: do not think that the person who is trying to console you lives effortlessly among the simple, quiet words that sometimes make you feel better. His life is full of troubles and sadness and falls far short of them. But if it were any different he could never have found the words that he did."
Beautiful. Absolutely marvelous. As Rilke says himself in his letters to Franz Kappus, he read and re-read the correspondences Kappus made to him; so I myself will read and re-read Rilke's letters to Kappus. They are chock full of inspiration, even if Rilke himself wasn't in much of the mood to inspire at all times. Wisdom through pain; wisdom through seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. But it's wisdom nonetheless, and very much worth digesting and sitting with. For anyone with a desire -- perhaps the burden -- to create, to make art, to make sense of this ridiculous world we live in.
“There is nothing less apt to touch a work of art than critical words: all we end up with there is more or less felicitous misunderstandings.”
Found myself laughing in agreement with the sentiments Rilke was expressing; at times I felt closer to Rilke, but maybe that's just wishful thinking. Reading how Rilke was acknowledging Kappus' deep sadness and solitude, perhaps there are many moments where I've felt like Kappus himself. That he reached out to Rilke in the first place is beautiful in and of itself, and as a result, ten wondrous letters that will outlive us all, enchanting wayward souls for millennia.
Rilke talks mostly about 'why do you want to write?' Will you die without expressing those thoughts? If so, then dive in. But you can apply this to any form of art, really. 'Why do I want to act?' Why do I want to create? Will I die if I don't unleash these thoughts or feelings? I really think I might. I probably have a problem, but I've found that art can save me, and I've witnessed it save others; these letters are proof of that saving-ability for at least Rilke and Kappus, despite the wells of sadness that come from the doubt, that come from the loneliness that deep examinations of art and creation require.
Lean into your everyday life, what makes you special and different than others (even if it's not much). Take refuge in what is unique to you. Because you're you. Thank you, Rilke. Thank you, Kappus.
"And if I have anything else to say to you it is this: do not think that the person who is trying to console you lives effortlessly among the simple, quiet words that sometimes make you feel better. His life is full of troubles and sadness and falls far short of them. But if it were any different he could never have found the words that he did."
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“I love this house. And without my orchard, what is my life? And if they must sell it, let them sell me, too. My darling. My son drowned here — take pity on me.”
Nothing like constantly needing to flip back to the list of characters as I went through the first act, trying to remind myself “who is who.” I know this is typical of Russian literature and drama. "Who is complaining now?" Lol.
“Who are you? Nietzsche?”
Quickly setting the scene, this play is about a family who needs to sell their estate, which includes a treasured cherry orchard, due to debts too large to get by in this cruel world. The characters come and go, musing about work, society, money, and how these rigid, ‘soulless’ entities affect the things that really matter, like love, family, connection.
Loved characters like Lyubov and Trofimov; despite Lyubov’s debt, her instinct is to help strangers. She gets lambasted for giving away GOLD to someone who begged and she quickly shames herself for doing so; reckless, maybe, but her heart is in the right place. Trofimov I connected with because of hyper-specific monologues that sounded like ME.
“Trust in me. Anya, I am not yet thirty. I know I am young, and I am still a student but I have seen much — endured much. Hunger… Summer and winter… I have been sick. Worried… wondering… Everywhere. Day and night, I felt it. I… and it is coming… Throbbing in me. Happiness. I see it, Anya.”
“The moon is rising.”
“Yes. The moon is rising. And a better time is coming. A happier time. Nearer, nearer… Perhaps we will live to see it. And if we do not it does not matter. Others will after us.”
I realized after I read both The Cherry Orchard and Three Sisters back to back, “oh, every Chekhov play must be about the same exact thing.” But the beautiful thing is that these are representations of life. They’re not sexy, they have the real-life anxieties and worries, and they express the desires that sit inside all of us; maybe we’re not happy now, but we have hope that one day, even if just in our dreams, we can feel that joy.
Appreciated David Mamet’s version of this play; to tell you the truth, this is my first “Mamet” if this even counts. Something about his version that I didn’t find as easy to read as Annie Baker’s Uncle Vanya or Tracy Letts’ Three Sisters, but maybe that’s just The Cherry Orchard itself? Who knows. I’d have to compare by reading someone else’s version of the play.
Nothing like constantly needing to flip back to the list of characters as I went through the first act, trying to remind myself “who is who.” I know this is typical of Russian literature and drama. "Who is complaining now?" Lol.
“Who are you? Nietzsche?”
Quickly setting the scene, this play is about a family who needs to sell their estate, which includes a treasured cherry orchard, due to debts too large to get by in this cruel world. The characters come and go, musing about work, society, money, and how these rigid, ‘soulless’ entities affect the things that really matter, like love, family, connection.
Loved characters like Lyubov and Trofimov; despite Lyubov’s debt, her instinct is to help strangers. She gets lambasted for giving away GOLD to someone who begged and she quickly shames herself for doing so; reckless, maybe, but her heart is in the right place. Trofimov I connected with because of hyper-specific monologues that sounded like ME.
“Trust in me. Anya, I am not yet thirty. I know I am young, and I am still a student but I have seen much — endured much. Hunger… Summer and winter… I have been sick. Worried… wondering… Everywhere. Day and night, I felt it. I… and it is coming… Throbbing in me. Happiness. I see it, Anya.”
“The moon is rising.”
“Yes. The moon is rising. And a better time is coming. A happier time. Nearer, nearer… Perhaps we will live to see it. And if we do not it does not matter. Others will after us.”
I realized after I read both The Cherry Orchard and Three Sisters back to back, “oh, every Chekhov play must be about the same exact thing.” But the beautiful thing is that these are representations of life. They’re not sexy, they have the real-life anxieties and worries, and they express the desires that sit inside all of us; maybe we’re not happy now, but we have hope that one day, even if just in our dreams, we can feel that joy.
Appreciated David Mamet’s version of this play; to tell you the truth, this is my first “Mamet” if this even counts. Something about his version that I didn’t find as easy to read as Annie Baker’s Uncle Vanya or Tracy Letts’ Three Sisters, but maybe that’s just The Cherry Orchard itself? Who knows. I’d have to compare by reading someone else’s version of the play.
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“Quite a difference between now and then, don’t you think? And two or three hundred years from now, people will look at the way we lived and they will be horrified and they will laugh. Our world will seem bizarre and complex and hilarious. Oh, those people will have some life. That will be some life. What a mood I’m in. I want to live, goddamn it.”
I haven’t read a Tracy Letts play yet, but as I was reading this version of Chekhov’s Three Sisters (and the whiplash I felt after reading Mamet’s The Cherry Orchard just before), I felt immediately that I need to rectify the Letts issue. Absolutely loved this in the same vein as Annie Baker’s Uncle Vanya.
“Life will always be hard and mysterious and have the occasional happy day. A thousand years from now, people will still say “life is hard” and they’ll still be afraid to die.”
However, you can only read so much Chekhov in a row. It almost becomes darkly funny reading about all these bored, unfulfilled, depressed, and repressed white people... who don't do much but complain. But I only jest, because the characters are valid for thinking what they think, and Chekhov does a brilliant job of putting words to what we feel, and offering the right perspective to… deal with what we’re dealing with.
“…every day, I can feel my strength, my youth, fading by degrees. The only thing that gets stronger is the dream.”
I’m grateful for reading these Chekhov plays, truly. Especially Uncle Vanya and Three Sisters — I will be coming back to these a lot, or at least regurgitating (botching) the sentiments of these plays. I saw a movie with friends after reading The Cherry Orchard and Three Sisters back-to-back, and then we grabbed drinks; found myself talking about the essence of these plays. Now the characters in all of these plays for the most part kind of end their storylines on a ‘downbeat,’ but I think the romantic thing to take away from these plays is that we can take the lessons learned and apply them to our next actions; to our next goals.
In the end, all of these characters want MORE, and while some of their circumstances deny them from ever achieving or reaching those goals or desires, I still think the idea of ‘hoping’ for the better days or ‘dreaming’ for those better days is the fuel to make you… fucking do something! Sometimes I get frustrated with these characters for just sitting around and moping, but given the intensity of their desires, you can’t blame them. I understand these characters, and I think that’s what Chekhov is best at! Because he’s writing about you and me, perhaps not on our best days. But it’s the human condition distilled.
I haven’t read a Tracy Letts play yet, but as I was reading this version of Chekhov’s Three Sisters (and the whiplash I felt after reading Mamet’s The Cherry Orchard just before), I felt immediately that I need to rectify the Letts issue. Absolutely loved this in the same vein as Annie Baker’s Uncle Vanya.
“Life will always be hard and mysterious and have the occasional happy day. A thousand years from now, people will still say “life is hard” and they’ll still be afraid to die.”
However, you can only read so much Chekhov in a row. It almost becomes darkly funny reading about all these bored, unfulfilled, depressed, and repressed white people... who don't do much but complain. But I only jest, because the characters are valid for thinking what they think, and Chekhov does a brilliant job of putting words to what we feel, and offering the right perspective to… deal with what we’re dealing with.
“…every day, I can feel my strength, my youth, fading by degrees. The only thing that gets stronger is the dream.”
I’m grateful for reading these Chekhov plays, truly. Especially Uncle Vanya and Three Sisters — I will be coming back to these a lot, or at least regurgitating (botching) the sentiments of these plays. I saw a movie with friends after reading The Cherry Orchard and Three Sisters back-to-back, and then we grabbed drinks; found myself talking about the essence of these plays. Now the characters in all of these plays for the most part kind of end their storylines on a ‘downbeat,’ but I think the romantic thing to take away from these plays is that we can take the lessons learned and apply them to our next actions; to our next goals.
In the end, all of these characters want MORE, and while some of their circumstances deny them from ever achieving or reaching those goals or desires, I still think the idea of ‘hoping’ for the better days or ‘dreaming’ for those better days is the fuel to make you… fucking do something! Sometimes I get frustrated with these characters for just sitting around and moping, but given the intensity of their desires, you can’t blame them. I understand these characters, and I think that’s what Chekhov is best at! Because he’s writing about you and me, perhaps not on our best days. But it’s the human condition distilled.