It’s not so much a communing with the dead as an un-containing of the self, casting meaning into the void, hoping perhaps to receive some echo of that meaning back, in the shape of a hug, or song, or strip of tin foil torn from the wall.
We eventually spend less time on saddles and hats, and more time on trying to get inside that frictional feeling of being pressed into a hookup’s smelly, hairy crotch while he calls you “pretty.”
Hammel draws us in to her experience, while granting us a bit of separation from the material itself (which is unrelentingly bleak, flirting with misogyny, although its view of the male specimen isn’t without contempt either).
Wilson says to the container, “Well fuck you,” then to us, “Get ready to run if this explodes, I guess.”
The skilled player navigates the constraints of the game with the cards they are dealt—in the same way that we all navigate our privileges and oppression in daily life.
I am seeing the iPhone ghost faded into Mark’s jean pocket. We see each other.
He is seeing each one of us.
When I had my wisdom teeth extracted this past summer, all anyone wanted to tell me about was the rash of fatal opioid overdoses sweeping the nation, offering cautionary tales about the painkillers I would be prescribed. We’ve come a long way as a society
“And we begin, and we move, and we end.” Georgina Escobar responds to QUIET, COMFORT at JACK.
Call me a sap, but the idea that theatre can be a vehicle for magic enchants me whenever I’m watching a good play. That is, until the fight scene happens… Where is that slap sound coming from? Was that supposed to be a head-butt? What’s
Katie Dean on Stacy Grossfield’s “Hot Dark Matter” @ JACK.
Amelia Parenteau responds to SPAM at JACK
At the start of playwright/director William Burke’s PIONEERS!#goforth at JACK, we are seated. We are in little chairs. We see a huge net, hanging above us, watching us. JACK’s perimeter begins to rumble with the war chants of a fearless ensemble. Then there is that