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With One Look

Women in their forties are mustering remarkable courage and purchasing shopping carts. They are willing to utilize the very same device that (gasp) elderly people use. Perhaps I am just fashion clueless or far too much of a practical penguin to see how getting one’s groceries home has anything to do with age, and everything to do with geography. Unless you’re putting tennis balls on the bottom of the carts and a crocheted carrying pouch on the front, I don’t think anyone would mistake it for a walker. And what if they did? So what?! Recently a woman in her forties shared that she’s never worn a dress, because she fears her friends would tease her for trying to look like a grown-up. Tease her. For looking like a grown-up.

I was under the impression that the joy of adulthood (or aging past the 9th grade) was no longer caring what people were thinking of you. (The truth is, they are not thinking of you at all. They are far too concerned that the stroller they’re pushing makes them look fat.) We are consumed with not wanting to look “older” yet do such an awful job of it. We plump and lift and emulate the fashion of our teenage daughters. We wear distressed jeans and black nail polish; not because we like black nail polish (does anyone actually like black nail polish?) but because we want to align ourselves with the under 30s not the over 40s. We strategically place 6-7 varieties of yellow or honey stripes in our hair and like the teen (we were) in the 1970s, we want it long, long, long. (Rarely is long hair flattering on a face and neck in a pas des deux with gravity. But I suppose being mistaken for under 30 from behind – from the shoulders up – is worth it to some.)

If our thirties taught us anything it was (or should have been) what suits us. By our 30s we learned what type of work (or at least style of working) suited us. We learned which romantic partners suit us and started dating for the end game. By the time we geared up to bid our thirties farewell, we also finally took a good look in the mirror. We learned what great assets we had. (Those legs people always commented on? They are fabulous!) Having two decades of adult dressing under our (perfectly accenting) belt, means we’ve learned a thing or two. We know that those shoulder pads and MC Hammer pants were a mistake, and we’ve forgiven ourselves. But we are also grateful that those (seriously unfortunate) choices taught us that just because something is being sold, doesn’t mean it’s right for us. Torn/distressed jeans are not attractive in the abstract. They add nothing to a look, but yes, they are being worn by younger people. Those torn jeans are this generation’s MC Hammer pants. What would you have thought if your mother had worn those ridiculous 1990 pants? Would you have shown up for Thanksgiving and gasped; “Why mother, you look 20 years younger?!” No, you probably would have taken your father or a sibling aside and asked; “Is mom okay?”

Looking as if we not only don’t know ourselves, but are in fact at war with ourselves, isn’t youthful. A teenager doesn’t look youthful because of being awkward or self-conscious, she looks youthful because she IS. Youthful style often in fact looks quite silly. Looking gorgeous and sexy are much more worthwhile goals. Gorgeous and sexy come from feeling and being confident. The more gorgeous you feel, the more confident you’ll feel, and vice versa. The circle of life if you will. Perhaps it would help if we don’t think of it as “looking our age” as much as “looking our best.”

“There’s nothing tragic about being fifty. Not unless you’re trying to be twenty-five.” – Joe Gillis, Sunset Boulevard (1950)

1 Comment

Posted by Anonymous on February 22, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Style

Tags: Brenda Tobias, Cosmetic Surgery, looking one's age, MC Hammer, style, Sunset Boulevard

Merrily We Roll Along – Review

20 Feb

There is the “greatest generation” and then there’s the generation that came right after. Coming of age in the late 1950s and early 1960s provided a unique blend of adult optimism to a generation. Post World War II access to higher education meant more people than ever now saw college as a viable option. A young, attractive first family was changing the White House and creating cultural pride. It was the start of the space age and all things seemed possible. (Which is why people built bomb shelters; all things were possible.)

NY City Center’s production of Stephen Sondheim and George Furth’s Merrily We Roll Along captures that time beautifully. In flashback, the story of Mary (Celia Keenan-Bolger,) Frank (Colin Donnell) and Charlie (Lin-Manuel Miranda) is told; three friends making their way artistically through life. We are introduced to their middle-aged selves in 1976. The fashions, and the circumstances are a bit grim. Frank is a Hollywood sensation (and all that goes with that) and his friends feel forsaken. Mary’s relationship with alcohol is now a full-blown love affair, and while her antics are funny, she’s terribly sad. Luckily we don’t linger too long in the mid-70s. Two decades worth of seamless flashbacks ensue, and we are left at the end in 1957, when all things seemed possible.

There is much that is wonderful about this show, but the creakiness of the first act is also worth mention. The first scenes (in the 1970s) feel as bland and self-conscious as the actual 1970s. Perhaps it was intentional. There are some great songs in the first act, and I’ll admit to tearing up at the first three notes of Not A Day Goes By. The second act is nothing but perfect, as it should be; it’s when we see how they got to be who they are. In this sense, the play itself echoes the creative process. (It’s always far more interesting to create than it is to analyze the finished product.) The second act flies by with fast-paced story telling. It is rare, and exceedingly delightful when it feels as if the curtain comes much too soon.

NY City Center Encores! (musical director: Rob Berman) is a gem, bringing lesser produced musicals to the stage in concert version. Merrily, directed by James Lapine, is the first Encores! to be presented in the newly refurbished City Center. Whether because of that status, or not, this is a very different staging of an Encores! production. The productions have not been pure “concert” versions for years. Performers are completely off book (even if they do carry the script for comfort or affect) and the numbers are fully staged. There are lavish costumes and set pieces as well. Merrily We Roll Along does not have any “numbers” but has one number-lette in the second act, which is mostly tongue in cheek. What Merrily has is a realism similar to Sondheim/Furth’s Company. This starkness might feel disorienting to some, and this staging seems to only highlight the condition. The (ravishing) 23 member orchestra is on a platform one story above the stage. The performance space is black and there are about a dozen set pieces that get wheeled on and off. The only set direction is a very large video screen built into the orchestra platform. The first scene is a slide show of passing decades. Real New York City photos are shown as are photo-shopped iconic shots. There is a Forest Gump element to it all that can be very distracting. Later the screen is used very successfully to portray a theatre and a yacht. One of the best visual moments is when through clever positioning and video, the actors look to be actually sailing away.

As always with Encores!, the ensemble is first rate. There are some performances that will really linger. A small child, Zachary Unger, proves that excellent child performers do exist. Celie Keenan-Bolger is a remarkable chameleon. While Mary, is the most interesting of characters in the show, Kennan-Bolger adds dimensions that would be lost in lesser hands. Lin-Manuel Miranda also has a great character with Charley, and does it wonderful justice. His number; Franklin Shepard, Inc. is just delicious. Speaking of numbers; in Act II the three principal characters perform on two typewriters (look it up, they’re like computers without a screen) and a piano. I find myself wondering what in the world the score looked like for that.

NY City Center Encores! is a beacon of hope for musical theatre lovers. Their focus on quality of content and excellence of performance makes us believe that all things are possible.

I Got You Babe

18 Feb

Women have been having babies on their own since the dawn of time. (Having them, not making them.) It’s not really anybody’s business, least of all mine. But that would never stand in the way of me wondering why there’s been such a surge in the incidents lately. I wondered for awhile if celebrity single motherhood had seeped into mainstream culture. I also wondered if science had spawned the later-in-life-oh-I-should-probably-get-one-of-those upswing. But both of those trends speak to a kind of intent on the part of the woman that does not necessarily jive with the recent statistics.

Most of the babies had outside of marriage are being born to women under 30 without a college degree. About 40% of the babies in this country are born to single women. That’s a lot of babies. The popular theory is that marriage is seen as a luxury item, a step up if you will. If the baby’s father is not in a position to be a solid marriage partner, the woman parents alone. Logical on the face of it, no?

But what does it mean to be having sex with a man (at least once) who you find unsuitable? One young woman refers to having to buy her boyfriend’s cigarettes for him, such is the degree of his uselessness. It would be one thing if this smoking man had been a one time indiscretion, but this is a man she sees fit to seriously date. Why? The explanations could be plentiful and varied, but none leave me confident as to her future. Now we add to the mix a baby, an expensive all-consuming baby. Born to a mother who is not formally educated and may not have marketable job skills. You see where this is going, no?

Marriage, like it or not, provides protection, both for the spouses and the children. While states in our nation are waging a fight for equal marriage, there are locations in which heterosexuals have lost interest in the institution. How do we explain a vocal percentage of the gay and lesbian community rallying for something a large swath of the working class has eschewed? And why are the single parent births so high within the working class?

There is no data to suggest (or dispute) that these women under 30 are living with their baby’s father in a lifelong committed relationships. One assumes that these women are raising their child alone. If marriage occurs at some time in the future, it won’t be viewed as a path to anything (such as parenthood) but as an end point. Generations ago, middle class women went off to college in hopes of obtaining an M.R.S., and working class women hoped for a ring to wear at their high school graduation. Getting married was the mark of adulthood (for men and women) of all classes. Something has happened and now having a baby is that mark. A generation raised on instant gratification can’t be the reason. It’s far more fun to be a bride than to be a young single mother. Economics doesn’t explain much either, as it is far more expensive for a mother and father to live separately than together. Certainly it’s not a morality issue, as people from all classes dabble in an around the edges of their own morality. It couldn’t be a perceived lack of educational opportunities, as there never have been so many remote ways to obtain a degree.

Turning this issue around and around, I am still left pondering the woman in a relationship with a man who does not have the wherewithal to purchase his own cigarettes. Somewhere in there lies the answer.

Testing To Teach

17 Feb

If you just landed here from Mars, you would be convinced that schools have become sheltered workshops for sex offenders. Every day there’s a new story of not just one individual accused of mistreating a child, but of entire schools infested with abusers. “What in the world,” says the Martian, “is going on?”

Twenty or so years ago, these stories were much less frequent. To be fair, we should attribute some portion of the increased reports to awareness on the part of children and the thirst of sprawling media. But surely that can’t account for the ubiquity of these incidents.

Pedophilia is a pretty specific condition. I’m not willing to suggest that every person who has abused a child is in fact a pedophile. But most likely they all do share one very strong trait. They like children. A lot. They are far more comfortable with children than adults. They are uncomfortable with their adult selves. Their social circles (if they exist) are limited and mostly center around child-centric events. It is no wonder that these men and women are attracted to a professional in which children outnumber adults by a wide margin.

Without diminishing for a moment the severe and debilitating effect abuse has on children, I suggest that if there is an increase in child abuse, it is the result of an infantalized society. There are endless degrees of immaturity of course. At its most innocuous, these child/adults are wearing baseball caps as chapeaus. But at its worst…

I’m not sure our entire culture can wake up and smell the (non-whipped cream/foam topped) adult coffee, and embrace what is rightfully and wonderfully theirs. But certainly what we can do is insist that every employee working with children have a psychological test. Schools love tests. A minimum screening is the very least we can do. It does not impinge upon anyone’s civil rights to determine if they are suitable for a job based on their disposition. There is nothing inherently sinister about working with children, but there is something alarming about preferring their company. Wringing our hands and being alarmed is an appropriate first response. But adults step up and take action to protect the most vulnerable members of society.

2 Comments

Posted by Anonymous on February 17, 2012 in Childhood, Education

Tags: Brenda Tobias, child abuse, pedophilia, school abuse

How I Learned To Drive – Review

16 Feb

It is difficult to write of something which everybody feels they know everything about. How do you take a story about pedophilia and make it nuanced, new and compelling? Paula Vogel did it with How I Learned To Drive, earning a Pultizer Prize (1998) for her effort. The writing is so exquisite, it’s difficult to imagine a production faltering. Yet, the first major revival of any play of importance stirs apprehension. Could anyone match David Morse’s unique blend of innocent man child and demonic predator? His presence is so distinct, that having never seen the (1997) original, I still could visualize him on the stage. (Morse, is only rivaled in innocuous/sinister duality, by a young Richard Masur.)

However there is absolutely nothing to fear with this revival (except for the evils that lurk inside families) it is remarkable. Directed by Kate Whoriskey (Ruined) every layer of human struggle and motivation is gently exposed. Whoriskey is no stranger to coaxing out the beauty behind the ugliness. While there is much humor in this play, it is never at anyone’s expense. The characters are realistically complex without donning a sandwich board which says so. There is a delicacy and a subtlety often found in real life but rarely in its portrayal.

The story, told in flashback and with a wonderful Greek chorus, is that of an uncle’s molestation of his niece (Li’l Bit) over the course of years. The metaphor, and actuality of driving lessons works as an effective device in moving the story. Using flashbacks allows us to develop feelings for the characters before we have to witness the actual horror of what they’ve done. Towards the very end of the play, we discover how this could have happened, and there are no surprises. But as is often the case with victimization, we need to know, and to hear it from the characters themselves.

Norbet Leo Butz (Catch Me If You Can, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels) is simply remarkable as Uncle Peck. He is vulnerable, ingratiating, and deeply troubled. We never see him interacting with adults, but suspect that he can’t. His niece (Elizabeth Reaser) is saddled with early puberty, an unorthodox household and the 1960s. Reaser is new to the stage and it showed when she first appeared all alone on the stage (she needs a little work on her enunciation and projection.) She quickly finds her groove however, and is quite convincing at every age (27,18,17,13,11.)

The Greek chorus adds so much to this play that could feel quite insular. Jennifer Regan, Kevin Cahoon, and Marnie Schulenburg, take on the role of family members, an actual chorus, and a waiter. Ms. Regan is mesmerizing. No doubt she tires of being compared to a young Carol Burnett, but I can think of no higher compliment.

The set (Derek McLane) and setting (Second Stage Theatre) are simply spot on. There is a ’57 Ford upstage, some street lights, and a few rolling pieces of furniture on stage. The lighting design (Peter Kaczorowski) conjures time and place. The house size and design are perfect for reinforcing the intimacy and insulation.

This is a play, and production which linger, and should.

Here She Is Boys

With One Look

Merrily We Roll Along – Review

I Got You Babe

Testing To Teach

How I Learned To Drive – Review

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