Happy cats make for happy homes

adolescence Alabama beliefs blogging calm change Chicago crisis crushes dreams family fear flint hills food friends happiness health being a hippie holiday home internship kids loss love magic memories money music parties perfection plants projects relationships relaxation reminiscing ritual school social work issues spirits sports stress style the South violence weather weather worries writing



Go now. Go.

There’s something about Sunday night
that really makes you want to kill yourself
Subscribe to this blog
for e-mail updates

Friday, April 15, 2005


It's a running joke that I hate plays. And it's funny, ha ha, because I married an actor. I feel bad sometimes, but I know Tim hates what I do. (Well, he hates that a need for the job exists, and sometimes it's too hard for him to listen to me talk about it.) I mostly hate getting bored and feeling stupid because I don't grasp the grand themes that plays revolve around.

Once I watched a play that ended up with an explosion (in sound only, off-stage). Afterwards, someone asked, "That was tragic when she died, wasn't it?" and after I bumbled around and sounded like an idiot for a while, I realized the explosion wasn't random, and was actually an integral part of the plot. I'm not that smart sometimes. I just get bored.

And it's hardest to watch people I know. It doesn't matter how good they are, watching Tim and his classmates act like rustic peasants in Shakespeare, or like farmhands in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, is just watching Tim and his classmates put on accents and dress-up clothes. They never stop being the people I know. So when Tim asks if I liked his version of [whatever], I hem and haw and say, "You were fantastic!" Because he is fantastic. I just can't tell what sort of subtlties he's putting into the part. He's always my husband.

But last night I saw one that blew me away. Arthur Miller's All My Sons. Despite the fact that I analyzed whether or not I thought Tim could do all the male parts (he played the next-door neighbor), I still got lost in it. Well, sort of. When a character would rage or cry, I'd think, "That was a good display of emotion! Well done!" instead of just being into the story. But the ending! Oh, the ending! Tim and Meghan (who played his wife) warned me I would cry, and I scoffed at them. I was right. Sort of. Not crying. Full-on sobbing.

It was so powerful. The lights came up way too quickly after the end, and the actors cheerfully took their bows, oblivious to the fact that they just devastated us. I just wanted to go sit in a corner by myself and think about it for a long time. I had some time to kill while Tim got out of dress and makeup, and I started crying again when he appeared. But we then went to the dessert reception afterwards, and I felt robbed out of fully absorbing the emotion and tragedy of the play.


Blogger jamie said...

Oh wow, ellie. I totally get what you mean about being robbed of taking it all in.

Man, I really want to see this now! :)

8:11 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger.
Get awesome blog templates like this one from BlogSkins.com