A Play In Progress

I love theatre and based on the first act I thought it was going to be a great show. Initially I remember being intrigued, mesmerized and finding it wildly exciting.

The characters were distinctly different from those in shows I had attended in the past, and it was great to see how the audience was truly involved. The dialogue was witty, and the interaction of the characters fast paced. Each change of scene brought more focus into the theme. There were so many actors the stage was crowded, 16 men and one lone woman.

But that was just the first act.

After the brief intermission, the second act with a greatly diminished set of characters faded quickly into what seemed to be a comedy or possibly, a parody. Perhaps the performers who had left the stage had contributed dimension to the slow moving plot, or perhaps after their departure, the timing was off. I felt myself drifting uncomfortably into a state of ennui or a sense of boredom, something I rarely feel and never in the theatre.

The taunting between the main characters quickly became childish and maligned the initial feeling of confidence I had with the leading men. I have always been offended by insensitivity, and I certainly avoid it in real life, but also, in any performance I am watching. The dialogue seemed to reflect on the immaturity of the players in this epic drama. That's when I referred to my program to see if anywhere it had been listed as a comedy. However, I was unable to locate such a description.

The second intermission seemed lengthier than the preceding one, as I sat quietly and wondered about the ending. Soon I realized my initial interest and excitement about this production had already faded. I hoped to stay on until the end, but one never knows about that, do they?

While meditating about the second act and pondering on what was yet to come, I began to realize I wasn't watching a comedy or a drama, but instead a deeply disturbing tragedy. One that reminded me of a day long ago when I was quite young. My cousins had taken me to Coney Island and brought me to what was described as a Fun House. Somehow I became separated from their group and found myself isolated in total darkness with frightening sounds emanating from all sides of the enclosure. It may have been minutes, but in my mind I was trapped for an interminable time. And to this day I am terrified of the dark. I still remember the overwhelming fear on that day, and wonder why I equate it with this drama.

The third act of this historic production hasn't quite begun as yet, but the orchestra is returning to the pit, and the clamor of their instruments indicate it will indeed be a dark performance. The sounds are discordant reflecting notes that don't quite add up. One and one no longer seem to total two. There was a line in the second act about one voice being one vote; apparently, that is changing as the play proceeds.

I love theatre. I always have, but somehow I don't think I will remember this performance with pleasure. Perhaps I am wrong, I hope so. I do know it will be recorded in history, but how I cannot predict.