Last night was the closing performance of the RTG’s production of “I love you- You’re Perfect – Now Change” and for as much as I am happy to have my life back, so to speak, I am sorry to have to let go of what has been such a thoroughly positive experience. . . doing a great show with eight superb performers, all working together so very very well.
I played the performances behind a double scrim, meaning that I was pretty much completely hidden from the audience- and I could see the performers as though I were looking through frosted glass. It was okay but frustrating because I could never see facial expressions of the actors except for the occasional sideways glance. The one exception to that came in the scene which was probably my favorite- both in our production and in the performance I saw in Milwaukee late this spring. The scene was “Rose Ritz” – in which a middle aged woman, six months after her husband left her, makes her first dating video.
I feel like I had the best seat in the house for this amazing scene because it was staged with Katie (the actress in question) seated with her back to the audience, staring into a video camera onstage- a camera which threw up her image onto the scrim screen. . . and so I saw the projected image of Katie’s face almost better than the audience did. I saw every remarkable nuance in her facial expressions- heard every tinge of heartbreak and hope in her voice over the monitor at my feet- and night after night it shook me right to the core of my being. It’s a superbly written scene – and in this case, perfectly acted- – – and especially last night.
For the sake of those of you unfortunate enough to miss it, this woman named Rose Ritz settles into a chair and begins recording her first dating video- talking about herself but perpetually blurting out awkward information or more than she intends to say. Right off the bat she accidentally admits that she’s divorced- says “divorced. . . divorced. . . divorced. . . Can we please not talk about my divorce. . .” and then the words start tumbling out of her at breakneck speed, describing the pain of her divorce like having surgery without the benefit of sedation. At another point she says that she has children, says that she hopes whatever guy is watching this doesn’t hate children, then inadvertently blurts out “ ‘cause I do” – and then hastens to explain that she doesn’t hate her own children, only the concept of having to raise them alone because her husband ran off with another woman. And in the midst of what she intends to be a firm statement of triumph and independence, she breaks down, admitting that she had to stop the car three times to throw up “on the way to this humiliating dating video on the thousand-to-one chance that I might meet a decent guy so I don’t have to spend the rest of my life alone.”
Time actually stood still as she quietly described the day when her husband told her “I love someone more” – but how after the collapse of her life, she somehow found the strength to get herself to this video taping. At the end, she says in a hushed, almost completely broken voice, “so choose me, Mr. Video Man . . . . please.” As good as Katie did this in performance after performance, she had never touched the depths of pain that she did last night. It was amazing. . . and especially that someone who’s still an undergrad could manage such a thing. It was also quite remarkable that Katie could respond so assuredly to the unpredictability of our audiences. One night a given line might not garner any laughter at all- and the next time it might – and she would have to make all kinds of small adjustments along the way. (Nervous laughter would sometimes erupt, which I think was testimony to how intense this performance was—- and when this would happen, Katie knew just how to pull the crowd back to rapt silence.) What a pro- and again, how amazing for someone so young.
I’m proud of myself for contributing a little something to the impact of this scene . . . As she finishes, the technician from offstage says “Rose, we got that all on tape. . . Whadd’ya say we try that again?” And after a moment, Rose replies “No. . . No . . . That’s exactly what I wanted to say.” And as the image of Rose’s stricken yet newly serene face fades very slowly from the screen, I begin playing the tender ballad from act one “I will be loved tonight.” I noticed early on that the folks in the booth were flashing the title of the next scene WAY too early – when in fact the audience needed a few moments to really let this scene sink in. Director Doug agreed and things were adjusted so there could be those few moments – and I think they made all the difference in the world. This was a shattering moment of theater, and I am sorry for all of you who missed out on it.
And to think that there are people in the world who are living the story of Rose Ritz for real . . . having been abandoned. . . . and now gamely trying to put their lives back together and to find someone kind and loving to be with. Thinking about that is almost more than I can bear. . . and it makes me so tremendously glad ( and relieved ) that I am part of a We.
Pictured above: my view of the Rose Ritz scene from my place at the piano. The bigger image is what was projected on the scrim screen, and in the distance you see the actress seated onstage.