August 3, 2008

Rough onstage last night. We were subjected to a phenomenon that must exist elsewhere, but which I’ve only witnessed locally. A group–sometimes just one, but last night it was three– of women–infallibly women in my experience–laugh loud, long, inappropriately, so that the evening becomes not the dramatic offering, but the chronicle of disruptive outbursts. Any rhythm is impossible; any nuance is futile. The women last night were hugely overweight and plopped down in the front row, and loud to a degree that I would call unnatural, far louder than anyone on the stage, so that when they rang forth, several lines would be lost. They were known to most long-time Montfordites and clearly thought of their own attendance as an "event," but mistook if they thought it was a welcome one. The sound of shrieking was still painful at the edge of the parking lot behind the amphitheater. It was impossible to "pause for laughs" in anticipation of them, for they never laughed at the lines or at anything one could predict, but always at some bit or nuance only they appreciated. An extra simpering in the back or a goofy walk at an entrance would set them off, and by the time they simmered down, the meaning of the scene would be lost. Their hyenation was not to honor the play, but to avoid it, to conquer it. My "Come apace good Audrey" scene was lost because Audrey is munching on a cucumber during it, a nice bit for a two second laugh, but the ladies howled with renewed and crescendoing hilarity at each bite, and I’m not sure a single thing I said was heard by the audience. Some laughter is infectious; theirs was aggressive. It is designed to obliterate the play and focus attention on self, though whether that is the conscious intention I don’t know. "Look at me! I’m laughing at Shakespeare!" Normally I would have delivered the "A man may, were he of a fearful heart" soliloquy right to the spot where they were sitting. I had to move it stage left, but not to much avail, for they had chosen to scream– I mean this quite literally– at the sight of Audrey just standing there in character. I know this, because I turned and looked for what they could possibly be laughing at (that wasn’t me), and the poor girl was just standing there, cucumber at her side, as perplexed as I. Silvius got a fifteen second banshee-shriek when he said the word "Phoebe." He does, of course, say it very well.

Dream last night– a barren landscape I took for a cemetery. A figure was walking in a white nightgown, which I realized was my mother. She was alone in a vast, dark, rather terrible landscape. This dream is, I bet, a reaction to my father’s decision not to be buried with her. This still horrifies me. Toward the end his cruelty (is that the word I want? Indifference?) did not bother to hide itself. Only the knowledge that this issue is nothing to her, but an issue only in my dreams, enables me to shake it off.

The decision to go to church this morning was by no means inevitable, but I’m glad I did. My summer routine had become limited, comfortable, inward, rather melancholy. I had been marinating in my own acids. It was good to be among others. A mother and father and three explosive boys inhabited the pew in front of us. They were exactly what I needed. Even the pang of loss–the notion that I made a terrible mistake in not fighting harder to have a family– was medicinal in its way. Like the Ancient Mariner, I blessed them in my heart and felt a great carcass of self-involvement fall from my neck. I haven’t been cheerful at the amphitheater. I have been self-dramatizing, though in exactly what role I can’t quite imagine. Tonight I will be cheerful, and see if everything doesn’t come off better.

Bought a green glass hummingbird at the Arts Fair.