Review: Dinner for One (@ the Jungle Theater)

adminLeave a comment

I curse the phrase “Always leave them wanting more,” because when it comes to media, I’m the one who wants more. More background, more explanation. I want to know why. Which is one of the reasons this play has stuck with me since I saw it on Monday night.

The American Swedish Institute’s (ASI) newsletter described Dinner for One as being based on a comedy sketch that is watched as a New Year’s Eve tradition throughout Europe. In an interview with the play’s creators printed in the program, Christina Baldwin described seeing the sketch playing on a loop during a tour of ASI and being fascinated by it. I, too, might have seen a bit of the sketch at the first Winter Solstice event I attended at ASI, but it didn’t have the same draw for me.

I’ve often gone back to the original source a movie was based on, hoping for additional background or clarification. In some cases, such as reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House after watching 1999’s The Haunting, I discovered a completely different story. In this case, I watched the original sketch and discovered the bones the play was built upon . . . and an ending that made sense in context but that I disliked. As with other American interpretations of British works I’ve seen (I’m looking at you, The Prestige), the American interpretation seems to have a lot more heart (or just more emotion in general?).

Even with a bit of a slow start, the play felt longer than its 60-minute run time, and I was glad for that. The actors had time to develop the relationship between Miss Sophie and James, her butler, before hilarity ensued in the form of James playing the parts of absent guests while getting progressively drunker. I also appreciated how the musicians were incorporated into the play–as soundtrack providers, as foley artists, as decoration, and as participants. Even the audience played a role. Before the theater opened for seating, we were asked to answer three questions that the actors would use to guide some of the performance (the title of your autobiography, your favorite vacation destination, and a sea creature). As a result, Jim Lichtscheidl, the actor playing James, was forced to come up with an extemporaneous romantic poem with the title “I Floss Until I Bleed.”

Perhaps I would be disappointed if there were more explanation. Sometimes friendships or relationships are difficult to define–either between James and Miss Sophie or between Miss Sophie and her guests. But I would have liked to know who Miss Sophie was mourning for the first few years shown in the play. Initially I’d assumed it was a husband, but later I wondered if it was said guests. And did James love Miss Sophie in a way it was difficult to express except through playing Mr. Winterbottom? Hard to say. But I appreciated the mystery in the play that was missing in the original sketch. Definitely worth paying the full market price for a ticket. And, as it looks like the play has become a holiday tradition at the Jungle Theater, I may see it again next year.

If you’d like a more traditional review/reflection on the play, Jill at Cherry and Spoon has described it beautifully here.

Review: Something in the Woods Loves You

adminLeave a comment

Though I’m trying to spend less time on social media, I will admit that the Instagram algorithm got one thing right in introducing me to the poetry of Jarod K. Anderson. The pandemic pushed me to spend more time outside, and Anderson’s poetry reminded me of why I kept it up afterward: for the small moments of magic. These vignettes were interwoven with insights about the interplay of the natural and human-made worlds as well as how nature could help to illuminate (though not necessarily cure) mental illness. I bought his first two slim volumes of poetry (Field Guide to the Haunted Forest and Love Notes from the Hollow Tree) and then a third (Leaf Litter). When I learned that he had written a memoir, Something in the Woods Loves You, I made sure the publication date stayed on my radar.

After reading the first few pages, I already knew I was going to love this book, which is Anderson’s story of learning to live with mental illness. Each chapter focuses on a particular lesson he learned, intertwined with memories and observations of a particular plant or animal that helped him learn it.

I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression for many years, and many of the observations in Anderson’s poetry resonated with me. Something in the Woods Loves You was the same but magnified. I rarely dogear pages of a book, but I wanted to make note of certain statements and take them to heart. Since college, I’ve fallen out of the college practice of reading with a pencil or highlighter in hand, so this was how I signposted the places in the book I wanted to return to. (I already know I’ll have to reread the book again to find them all.) Some examples:

  • “Hopelessness is painful, but so is hope. The pain of hopelessness is that there is no rest in sight from the pain and misery. The pain of hope is that happiness and peace are possible, and possibility opens new paths to exhaustion and disappointment. Hope is, all by itself, a courageous act.” (p. 45)
  • “The kind and worthy wisdom we need involves learning to embrace the truth that we will never master ourselves, our lives, or our worlds, though we can learn to view the concept of mastery as what it is: a toxic fantasy that clashes with the reality of our minds and our nature. We don’t need perfection, and we don’t need to land upon one final, objective truth.” (p. 158)
  • “Words matter. They themselves are potent magic. As such, it’s worth noticing what our word choice is doing to our realities. Are our word choices closing gates or opening ways to larger vistas?” (p. 179)

While I was reading the book, I occasionally worried that the language was becoming too “poetic” for some readers. But then I thought of another phenomenon Instagram had introduced me to: timelapse paintings. Occasionally it seems that the painters are being reckless with large swathes of color. As the details are added in, though, it becomes clear that these backgrounds were created deliberately and that they are necessary to the overall composition. Similarly, by the time the chapter was wrapping up, the ideas and images had fallen into place to make a larger point.

Many memoirs I’ve picked up fail to answer the basic question of why I should care about this person’s experience. Is beautiful writing enough to get people past that? Or was I already primed to care because of my own struggles with depression and familiarity with the author’s other works? (Note: I’ve listened to an episode of Anderson’s podcast, but it wasn’t quite for me.) Or because I agree with him on a lot of points? Unknown. But if you’re curious as to whether the book might be up your alley, reading a few of Anderson’s poems on Instagram just takes a small investment of your time.

Origins

admin1 Comment

I’ve been sitting on this domain for years. It’s time I finally do something with it.

The domain name is borrowed from the poem “A Poet to His Beloved” by W. B. Yeats:

I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams

These lines resonated with me when I first read them back in 2001. Like many people out there, I have thoughts and creative efforts I want to share. However, for a host of reasons, I’ve been hesitant to start a blog. The “numberless” part in the name is a clue: the things I want to write about don’t cluster around a particular theme. Professional bloggers stress the importance of choosing a niche, after all. Perhaps I’ll find my place in the blogosphere eventually. For now, I’ll revel in being an amateur.

In the absence of a specific “you” to present with my excess of dreams, I’ll just leave them here in case someone needs them. You never know.