I haven't read or seen much of Tennessee Williams' work, but I'm hoping to change that soon. His work is fascinating, and he was pretty interesting as well.
While in London, we bought tickets to see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I wasn't drawn to the play itself when I passed the advert on wall of the escalator leading down to the tube. Here's what drew me in:
The show was incredible. Mr. Jones is 79 years old, but on the stage he's so full of life you'd never know it.
Phylicia Rashad played Clare Huxtable on The Cosby Show. She sang on the show, she recited poetry, she was poised and graceful. She was my TV mom.
After the show I went to the stage door to get autographs. Mom reminded me to ask James Earl Jones if he remembered being honored at a benefit in Boston for the Anti-Defamation League. Mr. Jones received an award with my grandfather at that event.
About a half hour later, Phylicia Rashad came out. I was so excited I was shaking as I handed her my program. I congratulated her, told her how wonderful I thought she was, and then cried in front of her. It was a little embarrassing.
By the time we had lined up at Mr. Jones's car, there were only ten or 15 people in line. A few clutched photos of Darth Vader. As he trudged over to the car he said in his booming voice, "Ah, the few. The happy few." We all laughed nervously.
When it was my turn, I saw Mr. Jones looked very tired. The heart he puts into his characters takes a lot of energy.
He asked what other shows we'd be seeing while in London. We told him we were going to see "War Horse," and he commented that it's a very unique show. I think he fibbed when he said he remembered the ADL conference in Boston, but it was still incredible to meet him.
Oh! Right...
I stumbled upon a pretty cool poem by Tennessee Williams. Kind of depressing, like his plays, but it's really interesting.
Life Story
After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do
sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.
You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course
there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,
and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?
Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.
A Streetcar Named Desire is awesome, if you haven't seen it.
Posted by: Natalie | May 15, 2010 at 09:24 PM
Haha, Darth Vader was the first thing I thought of when I read James Earl Jones was in the play.
Posted by: Chad | May 06, 2010 at 12:56 PM