New York Friday

June 7, 2013

Perpendicular rain over Manhattan. I remember the instant of deciding not to pack my raincoat. The weather predictions were all clear then, not taking account of an approaching hurricane. It is quite late for me to be starting my day; blame the still-dark skies.

Hiked to the Met yesterday, when it was glorious. Glutted myself on the Netherlandish and Spanish Schools. My legs felt unusually well. The special exhibitions were all about Lincoln and the Civil War. I thought we had missed a great public-relations tie-in, but probably the museum doesn’t allow that sort of thing.

In the evening, I stopped in the Houndstooth to vodka up before the preview. I thought, “It is not right for me to be here, at this hour, alone.”

The preview. . . . well, from one point of view it was a disaster. The stagehands have been given too much to do. Three times the lights came up on plumbers’ butts in the last stages of settling furniture on its marks. A great smashing of glass ended one scene. Bruce feared it was a 200 hundred year old piece of stained glass, but someone near enough to see said it was a wine glass. I spent part of the intermission consoling Bruce for his loss in case it had been the window. The whole apparatus of sets is too cumbersome. They have known this for at least three days. Part of the problem of collaboration is that if everyone helps, then if one is hindering, all must go along with it, at least for a while. The surprising thing was the carnage of lines, for the actors were nearly perfect Wednesday night. L in particular seemed baffled, turning lines around, dropping lines and opening great lacunae on the stage, everyone stepping on their own jokes. Leah and Tyrone were perfect throughout. I take care to balance the rhythms of the words, and paraphrases simply do not work. An entire scene involving Lincoln, Grant, and Tobias was dropped, the scene where they sing “Dixie” and Tobias is sent to proclaim victory. There was silence on the stage. Finally Grant saluted, the President returned the salute and both walked out. Lameness probably attributed to me. Do professionals not help one another when they go up, as we amateurs do? But these things are always easier from a seat in the theater. Secretly, I thought what they dropped could probably be dropped if people were anxious about time. If I sewed up the ravels of transition, it would hardly be missed, plot-wise, though the rhythm of the whole would be a little off. Grant did get the biggest laugh of the evening– from me too– when he discovered midscene that he had forgotten his flask, and ad-libbed “Oh, I left the damn thing with my horse” and stomped off to get it. Brilliant.

On the other hand, these things that bothered me so much probably didn’t matter to those not connected to the play. The goodly audience seemed pleased afterwards, and I was what I took to be sincerely complimented. The actors are so good that no one who hadn’t heard them when they WERE good would notice. It still felt like we had a show.

Maybe the best part was that Cody was waiting for me at the door. He wasn’t able to see the show, but we went to the Houndstooth and chattered until this morning. God, he was good for me. It was good not to talk about the preview, though of course I wanted to, It was good to hear about his life. We walked north in the rain, and when he veered off on 42nd for the subway, I loved him so much I could have burst.

Random things: Vince Vaughn was being interviewed in Times Square as I passed by. He is big and wrinkly.

Watched a wren glean a bush in Bryant Park, as safe and merry as if it were the deepest woods.