
I was so tired on Sunday afternoon that I almost did not go to see Boston Marriage, but tickets to plays are non-refundable, and going to the theater is not so common an experience for me that I can miss a performance without feeling a sense of loss.
As I mentioned earlier, Boston Marriage is the latest play by David Mamet. It has three characters, all of them women: two ladies who have been living together for many years, and their new servant Catherine, a recent immigrant from Scotland. One of the ladies has just acquired a male protector, who has given her a gorgeous emerald necklace, and a monthly income which will support the household comfortably. The other lady has just returned from a trip with news that she is in love with a young woman and wants her friend's help in setting up a separate household -- or at least her assistance in meeting her young paramour in their existing establishment. Sparks fly from there.
As always, I went in predisposed to enjoy the play, the performances, the entire experience. I was disappointed. After a day or so of reflection, the best explanation I can come up with is that the entire production felt mechanical. The key to the conflict -- and the resolution -- of the story is the many-year relationship of the two ladies. And I just didn't believe it as I watched the performances. It was all too polished. I didn't believe in the passion which supposedly underscored it all: either the passion (now-dimmed) of the two women, or the passion of the one for the younger woman. At the end of Act One the lady being left for the younger woman indicates interest in the maid, who suggests she might be interested in returning the overture, but when the lights come up on Act Two, it is as if the exchange never happened.
Their language was alternately precise and educated and then deliberately vulgar and insulting. But there seemed no motivation for it beyond shock value to amuse the audience.
I didn't feel affection or sympathy for either of the ladies, perhaps because there didn't seem to be real feeling in either of them. And for me to truly enjoy a performance, I need to feel something in response to what's happening in front of me.
In complete contrast, I took my daughter to see Nanny McPhee today, expecting a mildly amusing trifle, and found myself moved by the story, the characters, and the magic. It's hard to go wrong when you mix Colin Firth, Emma Thompson, Derek Jacobi, Imelda Staunton, and Angela Lansbury, no matter how trifling the story -- and this story was a very sweet fairy tale with real emotions driving it: a father's lonely helplessness and desperation after the death of his wife and the financial difficulties of having seven children, a young servant girl in love and yearning to better herself, the children's sense of loss and their efforts to regain their father's attention (yes, there's more than a little of The Sound of Music in this one) and Nanny McPhee's stern and loving presence acting as a catalyst for transformation of everyone.
I had tears in my eyes during the final scene -- which is more than the film version of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe did for me.