Scarlett Letters

A couple of remarks on Facebook this morning got me thinking about contrasts and distinctions.

1) An acquaintance of mine posted a single phrase: I need a girlfriend. The conversation that ensued was . . . enlightening. A couple of his female friends advised that he work on himself and that love would come. (This has been my occasional thought about this acquaintance, as it has often been about myself.) Some of his friends asked him what he could possibly need a woman for; girlfriends, they said, were all whiny, needy and expensive. And this acquaintance of mine said, "You mean it doesn't get better? At least the last one had the body of a goddess." At which point, I thought, "Ah, you're not looking for a girlfriend; you're looking to get laid." There's a difference. It also made me remember one of the many reasons I've never dated this acquaintance of mine. He reveals himself too often to be exactly the kind of man who doesn't see women as real people. We are useful for particular things, but mostly we're adjuncts to men, from his perspective.

2) I saw a production of "Cabaret" last night, and remarked upon the fact that a couple of people laughed at the end of the song "If You Could See Her," with its horrifying, deliberately anti-Semitic punchline. I said that I wasn't sure whether or not they laughed because they were shocked or because they actually thought it was funny, that in the current political climate it's hard to tell. A friend responded that it's an old show, and that when he saw it in the 1980s, people laughed then, too. I responded, "I don't think the age of the show has anything to do with it. It's a shocking moment, signaling a major cultural shift in the play." He said, "The age of the show was in reference to your thought on current politics." But the more I think about this exchange, the more I think he really didn't get my point. Did he think I thought the show is contemporary? Is he not aware of my more than passing interest in theater and awareness of at least some of its history? Possible, certainly, but I'd be surprised if that were the case, given how long we've known each other. Art--good art--remains relevant despite the passage of time. It will provoke different conversations in every era. Either he missed my point, or he really thought I had no idea what I was talking about. The longer I know this man, the more we butt heads about particular issues, the more I think he hasn't been paying attention, which is . . . disappointing. Or maybe it's just that we've lived such completely different lives that we don't know how to communicate with each other--a thought that has never occurred to me until just now.

Sunday morning, it was clear that what I thought were allergies to the dog were combined with a cold I'd picked up on the plane. I was not happy about having a cold around my immuno-compromised cousin. Paul was feeling a little better--not great, but in less pain and better rested. I had hoped, this trip, to go with him to Placerita Canyon Nature Center, where he's a docent and amateur naturalist. He wasn't up for a hike; he was saving his energy for our plans later in the day. So that morning, I went by myself and texted him my impressions. It's a sere and beautiful place, wildlife abundant if you keep your eyes open. It's also home to several injured birds who act as ambassadors for visitors, including a raven, a turkey vulture, and a red-tailed hawk. (Man, those guys are big--I always forget! I loved its tan, feathery bloomers.) I was there about an hour, wandering the trails, watching the bird life, keeping an eye out for butterflies (Paul's particular passion). In the end, despite having water with me, the heat took more out of me than I expected, so I headed back to the house.

Well, I tried to, anyway. Paul and Susan had allowed me to use Paul's Lexus Hybrid. What I didn't understand about driving this magnificent piece of machinery is that if the key fob isn't within a certain proximity of the steering wheel, the car just shuts off. I didn't know this and, without thinking about it, opened the door, got into the car, and put the key fob into my pocketbook on the passenger seat. Turns out, the passenger seat is too far away for the car to recognize. So I pulled out, and then the car just . . . stopped. It took a kind stranger to help me figure out what was wrong. It was a combination of user error, security protocols and, perhaps, a little bit of design sexism acting together. At any rate, problem solved, I headed back to the house.

For that afternoon, Paul and Susan had secured tickets to an L.A. Theater Works production of "American Buffalo" by David Mamet. I'm a big fan of LATW; I listen to it on my local NPR affiliate regularly. I'm also a fan of Mamet, the rhythm of his language and his astonishing character work. I was very excited about going when Paul and Susan told me of the plan shortly after I arrived on Friday. From this remove, I think that perhaps Paul was determined to attend this performance as a result of my enthusiasm more than anything else. We met some of Susan's friends at the theater, generally lovely people, alert and interesting, and watched the play. It was a good production--radio theater is always fun. About halfway through, it was clear that Paul was having a hard time. I offered to him that, having seen a production in Seattle, I would be fine with our leaving if he needed to go. He wouldn't hear of it. We stayed until the end. They retired immediately upon our return home.

Monday morning, Susan had an early appointment. She had arranged for friends of hers--Wendy and Hugh--to take me to the airport. Paul and I had about 20 minutes to talk, just us, and we talked about sort of inconsequential things: my work on Ancestry.com tracing our family, my showing Susan how it worked, that sort of thing. He gave me a piece of petrified wood that had belonged to his father, gathered on one of his innumerable travels. But there wasn't enough time, real time, to say whatever we might have said of any substance. I think we both had it beneath our skin.

Paul's got my Aunt Shirley's eyes, this sort of placid, striated blue. These days, they're understandably sad and, as a result of his chemo, lashless. The chemo has also left him beardless and mostly bald, except for a stubble of white around the sides. I can't remember my Uncle Larry, his father, ever having white hair, but Paul's got his other features. I could see both of his parents in his face; it was disconcerting, like three people looking at me all at once. It was almost painful to see, and I understood that all four of us wanted more connection somehow, and there just wasn't that much time left to have that in any substantial way.

When the doorbell rang, we both paused, and then I went to get it, because there was really nothing else to do. Wendy and Hugh came in; Paul got up to greet them. He always been taller than me, but with a slight, comfortable slouch. These days, it's a tired slouch, and he's walking like an old man for the first time that I can remember. I hated to see it. We gathered my things. I wanted so much to hug and kiss him goodbye, but with him being so vulnerable and me with my cold, it wasn't the smart thing to do. I told him point-blank that I love him and that I'd be in touch. And then I left.

And without expecting it at all, once we got to the car, I just disintegrated. I totally hadn't expected it, but I guess I'd sort of been pushing it down all weekend. I cried almost all the way to the airport. Wendy and Hugh were remarkably kind. Wendy's a lay minister and was really good with me, just talking through what I was feeling and helping me pull myself together for the flight.

People leave. People just . . . end. I've known it, really understood it, since I was 11 when my father died. It's never easy and it will never stop. I hate it.

But I'm glad I took this trip, as hard as it was. I'm the only family on the west coast interested enough to visit Paul now and was glad to do it. I just wish that there could be more visits with him healthy enough to be present and active. I don't want my next trip to southern California to be for a funeral. I may not have a choice.

Theater: Saw three one-act plays at ACT last night in the most excellent company of varina8 and EB. The plays were an uneven set: Steve Martin's "Patter for the Floating Lady," Woody Allen's "Riverside Drive," and Sam Shepard's "The Unseen Hand." I felt like the most cohesive piece of the bunch was the Allen's, about a New York screenwriter's encounter with a vagrant who's been stalking him. As the vagrant becomes his peculiar ally in his resolution to end an extramarital affair, the absurdities multiply. The Martin, about romantic relationships as portrayed in a magic act, was a little surreal; the Shepard, set in the near future (I think) about a Texas loner and his encounter with an alien, was A LOT surreal.

Reading some of the commentary about the Shepard, I am struck by how critics laud him for his breaking of theatrical convention, his resistance to dramatic structure and so forth. Personally? I think they give him way more credit than he's due. EB wondered what he'd been ingesting while he wrote it. I wonder what, exactly, the thinking is behind producing it. Certainly, it's challenging for all involved, but I left the theater so bound up in WTF that everything else about the evening kind of got lost. Well, art is not successful if it doesn't make you think. On the other hand, if it mostly has you thinking, "What the hell did I just see?", the question has to be what, exactly, it's successful at.

Wine tasting: Before curtain, the theater offered a wine tasting. They offered four wines: three from WA state and one from South America. The first was Ryan Patrick Naked Chardonnay, a light dry white aged in steel. I'm not generally fond of Chardonnay, but this was so light and subtle that I liked it well enough. My favorite of the four was the second wine they offered, called New Age--a torrontes from Argentina. It was a little sweeter with a subtle fizziness; I've never had that sensation before--not as obvious as champagne at all. It was a pleasant wine and I think perhaps it could be served as a dessert wine or as a light sipper with little trouble. I know it sounds like candy in a bottle but it was a mild sweetness, not a bold sweetness, and really very good. I must go seek out a bottle for myself. (Note to self: Looks like Cost-Plus World Market has it.) They also offered two reds for tasting. The first was Sauce, a Columbia Valley red blend. I'm not generally a fan of red wines, but of the two, I liked this one better. Based on the information at the Sauce website, the notes I took at the tasting appear to have gotten jumbled, but the one thing I know for sure about this wine: the merlot flavor was strong and velvety here, cut enough by the other flavors that it didn't overwhelm the taste experience for me. The second wine was called Righteous, also from the Columbia Valley, another blend, this time of three red varieties, but the merlot in it was so big I thought it overwhelmed the other flavors.

Tribute: On behalf of David Magazine in Las Vegas, skidspoppe asked me to write a tribute to jaylake. The piece can be seen here. In the wake of this news, I found myself looking at the last picture of Jay that I took before he died. It shook my heart more than I expected. I really though I'd see him against before he died.

Just saw "Truth Like the Sun" at Book-it Rep with bjcooper. The show flips between the era of the Seattle World's Fair and 2001, and follows the man who runs the fair and then later the reporter who tries to learn what he might really have been up to all those years ago. Strong performances and a crackling pace made this a terrific evening in most excellent company.

I found myself spouting off World's Fair trivia before and after the show. How did I become such a fair geek? I had a marvelous evening.

ETA: It's more than 6 hours later, the next morning, and I'm still thinking about this play, which means I need to go pick up a copy of the book upon which it's based. The themes of the play have stuck with me--how truth is always there but always subject to perspective, nuance and context. And despite the Seattle Times' review of the play as a good one, not a great one, I think it's a very successful production. And I thought Chris Ensweiler, who plays Roger Morgan, the main character, was terrific.

No secret to anyone who reads my Live Journal: I kind of adore going to the theater. I recently received a catalog from Seattle's 5th Avenue Theater touting their 2014-2015 season. I rarely subscribe to the 5th's seasons, mainly because they never provide a full season of shows I really want to see, and given the prices--it's an investment; they're always all musicals--I just can't justify the cost. This year they're offering season subscriptions for either seven or five shows. As I look at the catalog there are only four shows I very much want to see: Kinky Boots, Carousel, Jacques Brel and Something Rotten! The other three shows--A Chorus Line, A Christmas Story and Grease--I just couldn't care less about. If I don't subscribe now, I'll need to buy individual tickets, which will probably end up costing the same as subscribing. It's too bad that I can't add this season's Porgy and Bess to the group I want to see next season and make a subscription that way; that'd do it for me.

::sigh:: Such misery! Such suffering! Why, oh, why can't it all be perfectly arranged just for me? (I drape my hand dramatically across my forehead!)

I'll probably end up ditching Carousel (which I haven't seen since I was a kid) and get tickets for Kinky Boots, Jacques Brel and Something Rotten! And Porgy and Bess. I'll just spread the cost over the stretch of months and won't feel it as much. It's just that keeping track of when tickets go on sale is kind of a pain in the ass. (I missed the window to get tickets for The Lion King at the Paramount, and I'm still kicking myself about that.)

On an added note, if you've never been to the 5th, it really is a special experience. The building is on the National Register of Historic Places, and it's just gorgeous inside. You can read more about the theater at Wikipedia, where you can see a couple more pictures of the place.

A week ago today, we went to see Pippin at The Music Box Theater. Now, before I say anything else, I want to put my reactions into context: it should be said that "Pippin" was never a favorite show of mine. Sure, I liked the songs that became hits--the ones that everyone knows, at least if you grew up on Long Island when the show first premiered--"Magic to Do," "Corner of the Sky," and "No Time at All." But the first time I saw it, it left me with some rather unfavorable impressions. I found it a boys' show, about a man's journey, with women portrayed as nothing more than props, temptations, distractions, or traps--Berthe being the one exception, overshadowed by all the other negative messaging. I also disliked the ending rather severely, with the hero feeling trapped but happy, a lion in a beautiful cage, presumably that of his love--trapped by a woman, kept from his ambition because of her. Years ago, I argued with one friend--a male--about this ending and my interpretation; he violently disagreed with my response to the show but, in the end, our responses are our own and nothing he said altered my opinion. I am not surprised that his interpretation differed from mine. The show, from my perspective, espoused his, and we'd never see eye to eye.

So when davidlevine said he wanted to see the new production on Broadway, I agreed mainly because the show is so important to him, and quietly figured we'd have a spirited debate about it afterward. So skeptical was I that I didn't do much in the way of research about the current production beforehand. I knew that it featured a sort of New Vaudeville approach, featuring acrobatics and aerialists along with some of the classic Fosse choreography. But my first delightful surprises upon arrival were that Annie Potts was playing Berthe and Terrance Mann, whom I'd first seen on Broadway in "Cats" decades ago, was playing Charlemagne. My mind began to open to the idea that I might enjoy the show after all.

The show opens with tiny powerhouse Patina Miller as the Leading Player. She is all sparkle and charisma with a giant voice and a feline energy in the role. No wonder she won an Tony. And the show swung into action. David, knowing the show very well, noticed things that I never would, like the cutting of one of Charlemagne's songs. I noticed that the original choreography for the Manson Trio was recreated for Miller in all its hip-grinding, joint-popping glory (and credited in the program--in fact, under the choreographer's name are the words "in the style of Bob Fosse"). My God, the muscle control required for that work! Just watching it made my muscles ache. Annie Potts was, predictably, charming and spunky as hell, with a genial presence tempered with an undercurrent of delicious fun. And at 62, there she was up on a trapeze with the best of them--careful, perhaps, and well-supported, but her gumption cannot be denied. Terrance Mann was there showing them all how it's done: by turns magisterial, mischievous, lecherous and wise, you could tell he was having the time of his life. He could have done this performance in his sleep, but the fun of watching Mann is knowing that he's wide awake, having a blast, and blowing away everyone else on stage.

One of the challenges of "Pippin" for me is giving a damn about Pippin himself. This is a hero's journey, and he's a particularly naive and tender hero, so wide-eyed that he's clay, willing--wanting--to be molded to greatness. It gave the actor, Matthew James Thomas, not much to work with. He brought earnestness and eagerness to the role, an appropriate naivete. When the role allows him to pop, pop he does--but I think it's the role itself that doesn't let an actor really shine, because while Pippin has ambitions of greatness, his reach exceeds his grasp. That, really, is part of the point, so Thomas has a particular challenge to meet. He meets it, but because Pippin is in so many ways himself unremarkable, the role doesn't give an actor a lot to do--except toward the end, when the emotional journey comes to a head. He meets the challenge. He doesn't outshine it; he plays his role well enough for the spot he's in.

[SPOILERS]
The biggest change in the show, though, is the end. This production uses an alternate ending. Pippin never declares himself happy but trapped. He declares independence from the razzle-dazzle of ambition. And then the show ends with Theo, the son of the woman with whom Pippin falls in love, alone on stage singing "Corner of the Sky" being slowly surrounded by the Lead Player and her troupe. It's a very circle-of-life moment, with the fireworks of life tempting another child into their fire.

And this is what made this production of "Pippin" work for me. It went to a universal theme that everyone--not just men, but women, too--can recognize and grab onto. We all start out with hopes and dreams. Life, however, is what happens while you're making other plans. None of us can escape that cycle of dreaming. It's always there, with all it temptations, and what this production is saying is that love is its own end and we all navigate the distractions and the barriers thrown at us to find it, to embrace it, and to overcome the things that hide it or downplay it. For me, it was a far more satisfying conclusion. It had none of the misogyny that spoiled earlier productions for me. And it made the show feel, for me, far more complete. It's interesting to me that the Wikipedia article about the show says that Stephen Schwartz, wh wrote the show, actually finds this end more satisfying as well. I need to go research this assertion and see if I can learn more about his thoughts on it.

We ended the evening with a stint at the stage door, where I got autographs from many of the actors on my Playbill, including Annie Potts, Patina Miller, Matthew James Thomas, Erik Altemus (who plays Pippin's brother Lewis), and Rachel Bay Jones (who plays Catherine, Pippin's love). I had hoped to met Terrance Mann; sadly, he did not make an appearance.

The evening was a surprise and a delight for me, unexpected, but very welcome indeed.

I've attended many an entertainment this month and haven't mentioned a number of them (though I did cover Ender's Game and Music's Darkest Harvest). I'm falling behind on my LJ duties as cultural (and personal) chronicler. What have I seen lately?

Sugar Daddies at ACT: Sasha, a rather socially innocent college-age woman attending culinary school, helps a 70ish man out of the street when he's nearly run down by a truck and finds herself befriended by him. Suddenly "Uncle Val" is buying her clothes, taking her to the opera, and coaching her in demeanor and decorating. When her neighbor Ashley--another older man who finds himself charmed by her--recognizes Uncle Val and implies he's not the benevolent friend that he presents himself to be, our heroine protests. And then she begins to realize the insidious nature of Uncle Val's friendship and presence. The play, by Alan Ayckbourn, was another one of ACT's sturdy, excellent productions. I felt as though I could have predicted that Uncle Val wasn't the wholesome character he presented himself to be. I was glad when Sasha began to recognize what was happening to her as a result of their relationship. In some respects, the story followed a familiar formula, but the production found ways to make it, if not fresh, at least entertaining enough for an pleasant evening's pastime.

Peter and the Starcatcher at the Moore Theater: I attended this show by the good offices of shellyinseattle in the company of her, her mom and her daughter, and enjoyed myself enormously. The show is basically a sort of prequel to Peter Pan. Lord Leonard Aster has been tasked by the Queen to transport a mysterious chest across the sea. He enlists his daughter Molly to help him. They are Starcatchers--people who retrieve and care for star stuff that has fallen from the sky. They split forces, each taking a different ship to get to their destination, as a way to fool pirates after their mysterious star stuff. Along the way, Molly befriends three boys being shipped off as slaves, and also realizes that though she thought her ship was the decoy, it actually contains the chest with the star stuff in it. When their ship is captured by pirates, mayhem and adventure ensue. The show has been marketed locally as an entertainment for kids (though its subtitle is "An Adult's Prequel to Peter Pan"), and the child with us enjoyed it well enough, but there's a lot of meat on the bones for adults to enjoy and, in some respects, I think there's more for the adult crowd than for children. Impressionistic in production, broadly performed (for the kids, I think), it sets that stage for Peter and Wendy down the road. The evening's showstopping performance was by John Sanders who played Black Stache, the captain of the pirates. He was funny, smooth and charismatic as the man destined to become Captain Hook, and his performance made the show for me. Megan Stein as Molly was appealing in a feisty, well-scrubbed, tom-boyish-becoming-a-woman way. It wasn't a show I might have seen by myself, but I had fun with it, am glad to have seen it, and am grateful for the gift of the ticket.

The Atomic Bomshells . . . LOST IN SPACE! at the Triple Door: The Atomic Bombshells are a local burlesque troop who regularly perform at the Triple Door, among other venues. This show was a science fiction-themed romp across the galaxy with music, dance, strip-tease, and some aerial arts. The comedy was broad, the striptease mostly good though occasionally not as nuanced as I prefer. One guest star was Waxie Moon, who blew me away the first time I attended a show during the Moisture Festival. I wasn't quite as choked up by this performance as by the last one, but the reception he received demonstrated that he's clearly a local star. varina8 and I had fun, the meal was delicious (the Triple Door shares a kitchen with Wild Ginger, one of the finest Asian restaurants in town), and we had a good night overall.

On a related note, I have been thinking that I want to catch Land of the Sweets, this year's burlesque Nutcracker, also at the Triple Door, but I must find company with whom to attend, and we must acquire tickets sooner rather than later, methinks.

Thor: The Dark World: The second Thor film has our goldie-locked, muscle-bound hero fighting off the Dark Elves, lead by Christopher Eccleston in make-up that renders him nearly unrecognizable as Malekith, a dark elf bent on universal domination. Malekith's secret weapon, gossamer stuff called aether, possesses Jane Foster, Thor's human love, and thus doth the battle begin. Everyone in this film is good, taking it exactly as seriously as needed to completely sell the story. Eccleston and Tom Hiddleston, who is delicious as Loki, are marvelous fun to watch, and the remarkably pretty Chris Hemsworth sells Thor so effectively that I bought him hook, line and sinker. But then, I really enjoyed the first Thor film as well, mainly on the strength of Hemsworth's performance. As one friend pointed out, the movie features a lot of kick-ass women, which really pleased me. I was delighted to see how much screen time the women got and how bad-ass they all are. Though I have to say, if Thor's going to fall for someone, I want her to have a little more substance than we've seen from Jane Foster. I dig that he likes her because she's "clever," as he says; it's rare for men on screen to want a woman because she's got brains. But because they get so little on-screen time together, I feel like their attraction is driven more by chemistry than character and that bothers me. I understand that this film isn't about Jane and Thor primarily, that it is about Thor, Loki, their screwed-up family dynamics, and the battle against Malekith, but well, I want my stories well-rounded. And then I stop and think--wait, it's a comic book . . . and reveal my prejudices despite having just spent an evening reading Captain America: Man Out of Time. :: sigh :: This being a geek thing: very complex!

It was my first fairly uncommitted weekend in a while, and for once I felt like I was able to relax and rejuvenate a little bit. That's not to say that previous weekends weren't good--they were; they were just very busy, with little time for me to unwind.

This weekend started with seeing "Grey Gardens" in the company of EB, the musical based on the documentary about Edith Bouvier Beale and "Little Edie" Beale, the society shut-ins abandoned by their family in a crumbling mansion until Jackie Onassis, Little Edie's first cousin, more-or-less rescued them. I saw the HBO film based on their story several years ago and had a rather dramatic reaction to it. It's a story of peculiar and co-dependent relations in isolation and abandonment and, given my own sensitivities about those particular issues, it had a pretty strong impact on me. When I got my subscription to Seattle's ACT Theater for this year, I had misgivings about seeing "Grey Gardens" but then decided that there's no use in not confronting all the feelings that the story provokes in me; obviously there's food for thought there. And while the show is, by any measure, a difficult one for me (and in general, I think; it's not exactly uplifting), it's a good play, and the performances were top shelf. I enjoyed it as much as I could, even while having my moments of grim reflection alongside.

Saturday was a day of housecleaning and organizing. As I said over on Facebook, seeing a show about two shut-in ladies, their 52 cats, and all the garbage they live with gives a girl pause. My big accomplishments were cleaning the top of the fridge, vacuuming, and beginning to clean out the upstairs closet. That last job is by no means finished, but it's less intimidating than it was, and now I have stuff to take over to Goodwill.

Sunday began with me going into Capitol Hill to meet my usual suspects for a morning of writing. In the wake of finishing and delivering a short story project (upon which more another day), I spent the morning reacquainting myself with my novel and its issues. Writing commenced. There may be something here. And for the first time, it occurred to me that there may actually be a series here. We Shall See. And i spent the rest of the day grocery shopping, cleaning, and just mellowing a bit.

The only other things that went on this weekend were plans for the future. I'm going to Portland partly for business and partly for pleasure next weekend so plans got rolling for that. I'm trying to figure out my NY trip for this summer. I've RSVPed to the Seattle International Film Festival invitations to the Donors' Premier and the Members' Preview. (That first week of May will be busy!) I tried to get plans rolling to attend the SFWA readings in Kirkland on Tuesday evening. And I picked up my Locus Awards membership for June.

It's all little bits and pieces of things, but this is what results in Having A Life, something I very much believe in.

This could be a "Five Things" post as I'm woefully behind in logging the entertainments in which I've indulged, but it's just going to be capsule reviews.

Ben Affleck is exactly my kind of pretty, so when I first heard about Argo, I made a note to add it to the list of movies I wanted to see. Once I heard what the film was actually about, I wanted to see it much, much more--and I'm glad I did. Short version: it follows the frankly hare-brained scheme that one crack CIA operative came up with to rescue six diplomatic employees from Iran during the hostage crisis of 1979/1980. The movie was something of a flashback for me. I remember the news story from that last year in high school; I remember news broadcasts counting the days the hostages were held; and I remember the fashions with an almost uncomfortable fondness. Affleck is excellent as the stoic CIA guy Tony Mendez. John Goodman is, as always, excellent as the Hollywood make-up guy who helps Mendez put together the vital details of his scheme. Alan Arkin is suitably cynical and effective as the Hollywood macher who lends credibility and Hollywood muscle to the plan. But Affleck's ability as a director is the real star here, because he's put together a tense, suspenseful flick that also very effectively conveys not only the story of what happened, but why it happened. He recreates news footage of the events and creates credible people with human concerns and motivations. I enjoyed it far more than I expected it. Definitely recommended.

I realized recently that I've seen much less theater over the last year than I usually indulge in. I know exactly why and decided that I needed to remedy the situation, so a couple of nights ago, I purchased a ticket to see Seattle Repertory's production of American Buffalo by David Mamet. The play interested me, first, because it's Mamet and, second, I admit, because it turns on the fate of a buffalo nickel; the combination of two of my favorite pastimes in one play proved irresistible to me. I attended the show on Wednesday evening. The story centers around three men--Don, a junk shop owner, Bobby, his dim teenage assistant, and "Teach," his misanthropic, scheming buddy--and what happens when Don decides that a man who purchased a buffalo nickel from him didn't pay nearly what the coin was worth. Together these three guys conspire to steal the nickel back, as well as whatever coin collection they might find in the customer's home, to reap what financial rewards they might. What ensues is a violent, profane, occasionally funny but ultimately solemn dance around trust, confidence, and competence. Teach is a violent man, and his insistence on being part of the robbery is what really gets things moving. Mamet's language for these men is base and choppy, its meaning conveyed more by context than by actual, uttered speech, almost a rhythmic chant of not-quite-coherent words. It's a marvel to watch the actors make effective communication out of this clipped patois of incomplete thoughts and pretzel logic. All the actors were very good, I thought, but I occasionally wondered if some of the comedy in this human tragedy got a little lost in the execution specifically of Teach's role, with its emphasis on the violence of his character rather than on both that and his inherent, unfounded confidence in his own abilities. Still, I enjoyed the show and am glad I saw it. The set deserves special notice. Starting at the stage and rising four storeys into the fly, it's a scaffold that stores the shop's junk and that the characters chase around, up, and over. It's a masterpiece of set design, one of the most crowded, cluttered spaces I've ever seen in a production, really remarkable, and a great metaphor for the mess these men create around themselves as they hatch and attempt to execute their plan.

Yesterday I attended the Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Film Festival at the Cinerama. The festival was two sessions of two hours each, and I purchased a combination ticket for the entire event. Once there, I met up with oldmangrumpus, snarke, and some of the friends with whom I used to do radio theater. And, of course, it being a science fiction event, I ran into some other friends as well. We saw a total of 21 short films, all of a generally high quality. I admit that overall I preferred the first group of films to the second, though they were all worth seeing. While I won't review every one, there are a few that deserve mention:

Small Time is an Irish tale about a student who discovers time travel and what happens when an unscrupulous professor steals his discovery. Funny, clever, and entertainingly executed, this short won the People's Choice Award for the festival, following in the footsteps of another time travel tale from a couple of years back.

The Wheel is a story told in verse about a brother and sister, each with their own . . . issues. The brother is given the responsibility to monitor the wheel that keeps the world turning; the sister is a bad seed who has sibling rivalry issues. When the sister decides to take matters into her own hands, mayhem ensues. This flick has a beautiful steampunk edge and a dark, gothy sort of charm.

The Narrative of Victor Karloch is a Henson-funded film made using puppets, a tale of 19th-century, eldritch adventure. The puppetry was absolutely outstanding and made me wish that puppetmaker40 and maryrobinette were there to see it. With voice performances by Christopher Lloyd and Elijah Wood, the production just came to life. In general, we don't get enough Christopher Lloyd, I've decided.

Zing peeks in on the doings of the Grim Reaper who gets his come-uppance when he offs a little girl's kitten and she comes calling. The child was clearly a cousin to Boo in Monsters Inc, perhaps a little too familiar. But I still laughed at this beautifully animated little parable that sends a message I couldn't agree with more: don't mess with little girls when their kitties are on the line.

88:88: What can you do when the aliens come for their nightly visit? Attempting to keep them from getting what they want takes quite a bit of work.

Giant Monster Playset: Beware of mysterious gifts that show up on your doorstep. They look like innocent playthings . . . but they spawn unspeakable terror. I couldn't help but laugh at the cleverness of this little film; the audience definitely agreed with me.

Foxes: Another entry from Ireland, set on the edge of a bleak, cookie-cutter suburb, the story follows a photographer and what happens when she discovers and starts photographing a pack of foxes roaming the neighborhood. Though I found it predictable, I thought its photography was beautiful and evocative.

You, Me, and We portrays a group therapy session for clones with social anxiety. I just liked the conceit of the thing. It didn't have any plot in particular; I was just pleased with the idea of it.

Cats in Space: that's pretty much the whole concept in one title. Cats, space, low-budget special effects. It was an goofy little crowd-pleaser, which is pretty much all it had to be.

A few other of the movies left impressions. I'll leave links in case your curious: Tumult, The Gate, Cheap Extermination, Lucky Day Forever (bleak, depressing, and weirdly true), and A Lost and Found Box of Human Sensation (which I saw at SIFF last year and which I believe was nominated for an Academy Award).

In a stroke of luck and kind friendship, I found myself treated to dinner and the theater tonight by bjcooper and her partner TC. We had a light but delicious dinner at Sazerac, to which I really want to return to sample more of their excellent (and remarkably affordable for downtown) menu. The bacon-wrapped dates were wonderful and the chicken liver pate was delicious--that was just a bit of everything we had.

At Seattle's historic treasure, The 5th Avenue Theater, we saw the road production of The Addams Family, which was very good--not great, but very good--and a lot of fun. Soon after the show began, I realized that it was following the model of "La Cage aux Folles"--child of an unusual family wants to marry the child of a usual family; this is what happens when the two families meet. While the twists and turns are different, the structure is the same. It's not deep but it works. We thought the actor playing Gomez was terrific (but then it's a great part and a great character--he had a lot to work with). I thought that the actress playing Morticia was rather lackluster. She seemed to flatfoot most of her performance; she was missing a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain snap--she didn't have much in the way of stage presence and it told in the performance. For my money, the performances really worth watching were the previously mentioned Gomez, the actor playing Uncle Fester for his clear relish in the role, and for his clever, momentary bits of brilliance, the actor playing Lurch with his sonorous, gorgeous basso voice.

And of course, the company was excellent. I quite enjoyed myself.