So last night Tori and I went to see The Homecoming on Broadway. I was super-excited about this, since it's been literally months since I've seen a show, and this looked to be a doozy--classic play by Pinter (to whom I've had zero exposure), dream cast (Ian McShane, Raul Esparza, my Imaginary British Boyfriend James Frain), fabulous director (Daniel Sullivan). I thought I'd be in heaven.
I was very wrong.
I'm not dumb, Tori's not dumb. We're both pretty well-read, we've seen far more theatre than the average person, and yet...we had no idea what the hell was going on. What starts out as a fairly naturalistic, if boring, family drama takes an absurd, surreal turn into something we just didn't get. When the show was over and I was still trying to determine if I'd actually just seen what I thought I'd seen, the women next to me started shouting "Brava" (seriously!). I have never felt like such a dolt in all my life. What on Earth were they so excited about?
I came home and Googled all night, reading essay after essay on why this play is such a grand masterpiece, and yet...I still couldn't really tell you what it was about. I'm stumped. I need to go see Legally Blonde so that I can start feeling like a smarty-pants again.
The moral of this story? If you see The Homecoming and immediately understand it, I don't want to hear about it.
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