| : Trudy BluebyLes GutmanA circle inside a square is as good a metaphor as any for the human struggle:the real world that stands before us vs. the imagined one that lurks justbeyond, the defined vs. the infinite, and so on. Mark Wendland, who wonkudos for the imaginative way his set design for the recent![]() Would that the play were as well thought out as either. We learn from background material that it emanates from an experiencewhen, some years ago, the playwright was diagnosed with cancer, only tolearn after much grief that she actually had "just" pneumonia. Her on-stagerepresentative, Ginger (Polly Draper), finds herself in the reverse world,and thus not as lucky: she's told she has pneumonia only to learn laterthat it is cancer. Her doctor (Aasif Mandvi, who plays several other rolesas well) says she has two months to live. The play's action, such as it is, recreates the moment Ginger tellsher husband, Don (John Dossett), the bad news. Everything else we see onstage is some admixture of dream, flashback or interaction with a castof characters seen only by her mind's eye. Ginger is a novelist who hassubstituted the "conversations" she has with her characters -- chief amongthem Trudy Blue (Sarah Knowlton) -- for any communication with the peoplearound her: husband, daughter Beth (Julia McIlvaine) or Sue, her friendlyeditor (Pamela Isaacs). Ginger also chats it up with her mother (JudithRoberts), who is dead. It appears they didn't talk much while she was alive. Ginger finds herself, not surprisingly, conflicted. She has preciouslittle time to sort out her life, and come to terms with the people she'sbeen marginalizing. Marsha Norman writes about all of this as if she hassomething to say, as if her own peek into the chasm affords her some insightshe's now sharing with us. There's not much there. For all of its putativereflectiveness,Trudy Bluecomes off quite impersonal. Norman also seems eager to make her story theatrically hip, shreddingup her time line, rewinding and replaying shards of her "moment" and juxtaposingthe tangible and intangible. It's an experiment that, like the play itself,seems to lack a cogent target. Michael Sexton makes matters worse by takingthis edge and frenetically directing the hell out of. He grabs the absurdangles and casts them into a funhouse mirror. A line about doctors beingclowns, for instance, prompts him to give all of the medical practitionersred clown noses to wear. Why? The cast deserves better. Aasif Mandvi, who I know knows better, iscalled upon to embarrass himself. Sarah Knowton, who seems to have beengiven a broad license to exaggerate, generally stays within bounds, butat times would have benefited from more grounded choices. Polly Draper,somehow, is able to rise above the muck and render Ginger precisely asshe should be -- frantic, overwhelmed and yet somehow a bit resilient.Dossett, too, both as her husband and as her imaginary lover (a productivebit of double casting), is on target. McIlvaine and Roberts are both terrific,and Isaacs (late of Broadway'sThe Life), gets Sue just right, andeven gets to belt a few bars for us. The price a young playwright pays for winning a major prize early on(Marsha Norman won a Pulitzer among other awards for'Night Motherinher thirties) is the baggage of comparison. Norman, at the moment at least,still seems to have a balance due.
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