visiting heavenly South Pacific

It's a bit late in the day to be reviewing the Lincoln Center revival of "South Pacific". But as I only just saw this almost two year old production last night, I wanted to toss in my belated two cents.

I've long loved this show, but it's been mostly a theoretical love. I love the score and the story and the characters, but none of the productions I've seen has measured up to the greatness inherent in the material. I wasn't around back then when Mary Martin and Ezio Pinza were dazzling audiences and subsequent versions have been pleasant but not the exhilarating experience this show was. And I wasn't even seeing the first string stars, as Kelli O'Hara has left the show and Paolo Szot was not in it last night. No matter. Laura Osnes and William Michals were just dandy. Vocally, dramatically, in every way, they filled the bill. Supporting actors Danny Burstein as Billis and Loretta Ables Sayre as Bloody Mary were as splendid as they've been acclaimed to be. Smaller roles were also filled most capably.

Much of the credit goes to the director Bartlett Sher, who trusted the material and guided his cast wisely. Nothing gimmicky; no original concepts. Some new emphases on lines that gave the characters a slightly different spin. Nellie's reaction to learning that Emile had a relationship with a woman of color showed more of the racism beneath the surface than is usually portrayed. Her instantaneous turning on Emile was more than usually unsettling.

The crowning glory of this operation is the orchestra. A full thirty-piece orchestra sounding as wonderful as can be. And it was live, in person, not piped in from a room on the fifth floor and filtered through blaring loudspeakers. As the overture began, a portion of the orchestra was visible in the pit below the stage. Then, suddenly the front part of the stage that was over the orchestra pit started pulling back, to reveal the entire contingent. The audience, stunned to see this wonderful assemblage, started applauding right in the middle of the overture. It was a treat to see these usual unseen artists (as well as hear them unimpeded) and as the overture drew to its close, I could see the percussionist poised with his cymbals, ready for that climactic clashing, and I had the thrill of anticipating it seconds before I saw and heard it. No wonder classical music fans love to WATCH concerts as well as hear them.

As the music for the first scene started, the stage moved forward, once more sheltering the orchestra, but we knew they were still there and their handiwork throughout the evening made the experience all the more thrilling. This is one of the great advantages of live theater --- live musicians, playing real instruments. I've been attending theater for nearly forty years, a lot of it small scale productions with piano or small combos and I've enjoyed them. But nothing tops the experience of a show with a full orchestra and I still haven't gotten blase about it. Every time it's like I'm fourteen again, seeing my first Broadway show.

Setting the time machine for 1969

Recently I reconnected on Facebook with some friends from junior high school days. It's a little strange; in my mind they're frozen in 1969 as gangly adolescents. In reality, of course, they're forty years older (as I am) and have led lives I know nothing about.

So I find myself mentally traveling back to 1967-69, my years at Lefferts Junior High. In the world at large, these were tumultuous years. The war in Vietnam dragged on and the protest movement grew. Civil rights was another touchy topic. Assassinations stunned the nation: first Martin Luther King Jr. and while we were still reeling from that, Bobby Kennedy too was shot dead. We were of an age to recall his brother's murder as the first big shocker of our lives. The world was a scary and unstable place.

Our neighborhood was in transition; white flight had been going on for a while and each year some of our classmates would move away to the "safety" of Queens or Long Island. At the time it wasn't too noticeable or threatening. But within a few years the white kids had become the minority and felt increasingly targeted by bullies.

My class was the "two year SP" a special program for particularly bright kids to do three years of junior high work in two years. There was also a three year SP, where they took the standard amount of time, but supposedly had some "enrichment" programs.

The years of junior high are probably the most traumatic in even the best of circumstances. It's the period of transition from childhood to young adult and each of us made that trip at a different pace. Looking at the class photo there are some who were already physically mature young women while others still looked like grade schoolers. It's hard to believe we're all the same age; one would guess the ages as ranging from ten to twenty. We probably all felt self-conscious about whatever stage we were at.

Reading the various messages has been fascinating. Everyone seems to have a different view on those times. Recollections of harassments and shakedowns, on the one hand; ugly gymsuits and teachers' eccentricities on the other. Sometimes just a general rose-colored glasses tinged nostalgia; sometimes a grim pride about just having survived those years. Landmark incidents are recalled in very different terms. Like the "sewing machine" affair. Did one of our classmates actually heft a sewing machine out a window? Memories differ; maybe it was just some parts were tossed out. All in all, what was memorable to one person was totally forgotten by another.

One thing that hasn't come up so far in our discussion is the boys (at that age they're still called boys). They were overwhelmingly outnumbered in our class. The first year there were six boys to over twenty girls and in the second year two of those boys had gone. To make up for that disadvantage, they compensated by being incredibly obnoxious. One in particular did his best to try the patience of our ever-cheery ninth grade English teacher. Academically he was brilliant; personality-wise he was bucking for ostracism at best and jail time at worst. I would not be surprised to hear he was either a leading scientist at MIT or a prisoner in Sing Sing.

Uterine Nostalgia

Since my last adventure at the eye doctor's I've had a few sessions at the dentist. Not nearly as much fun. Had a root canal on a back molar, which was to be followed by the administration of a crown. Turns out my roots were found wanting, and before my coronation I had to go through a process called a crown lengthening. If you'd like to check out the icky details (complete with photos) here's a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crown_lengthening

So visits with cutting, poking, taking impressions. All leading up to the ultimate coronation, now set for next week.

Meanwhile, my trip into menopause took a slight detour. After over a year's hiatus, my uterus suddenly ceased being dormant. A trip to the doctor removed fears of any serious problems. I think it was just a case of my uterus getting sentimental. Last month was the 40th anniversary of the onset of my puberty and I think my uterus was just wanted to mark that event with one last splurge for old time's sake. Maybe I should have worn some bell bottoms to commemorate the anniversary. Or a mini-skirt.

Why I'm not like a unicorn

It's funny how, as you get older, things that never caused problems, suddenly cause problems.

Like your eyes.

Most people who know me have never even seen me with glasses on. I've been lucky; I was only slightly near-sighted and only needed to wear glasses for viewing things at a distance. I don't drive, so that's one instance that I didn't need to wear them. Mostly just when I'm at the theater and want a clearer version of what's happening on stage. During my childhood I never had glasses at all, and it was only in my mid-20s when I was watching an opera telecast and had trouble reading the subtitles did I finally see an eye doctor. For a while I'd get a new pair every two years (it was covered by insurance at work) and once or twice had to have a slightly stronger prescription. After changing jobs and not having eyeglass coverage I went about ten years using the same glasses.

But now I have a nice civil service job with nice health benefits so I figured I'd treat myself to a comprehensive eye exam. I had been noticing a little trouble focusing on words close up and suspected I might be a candidate for reading glasses. I went to the SUNY College of Optometry in Manhattan and got a real thorough going-over. I was in that place for almost three hours. I was in the hands of a pleasant young woman who had a tag that said "Intern" and just before we went to the exam room a young man asked if he could shadow her. She asked if I was agreeable and I thought "the more, the merrier!". So I sat in the exam chair for the next hour as we alternated having her peer at my eyes through various devices and my looking at letters projected on the wall and trying to make them out as they changed sizes, shapes, and fuzziness. I've been having a bit of dental work lately (another benefit of the aging process) and this was definitely more fun and much less painful. Periodically, she would scoot out of the room to confer with her supervisor. At first I was slightly uneasy; did she see symptoms of something serious: signs of a brain tumor...incipient blindness... and want to find out how to break it to me? But after a while it seemed like it was just part of her training process and her repetitions of "very good...very good!" as I distinguished an "S" from a "5" were reassuring. The culmination of this phase was the administration of dilating eyedrops into my eyes and then being sent back to the waiting room to allow twenty-five minutes for the drops to do their job.

Forty-five minutes later, she returned to fetch me for the next phase. I was taken to a different room for more peering into my eyes. And then the supervisor himself appeared. A middle-aged man (probably younger than me, though!) he was a jolly sort who probably was a lot of fun as a teacher. They compared findings and he referred to class lectures to demonstrate points to her. I felt honored to be a part of the learning process. He seemed very impressed with my lenses, saying they were in very good condition, though pointing out his four-year-old son had better lenses. But mine were very good for my age. I wasn't sure how to take that part, but decided to accept it as a compliment (no point being competitive with a four-year-old I'd never even met). No signs of glaucoma; no beginnings of cataracts. He asked about my family history and I said my father had cataracts removed when he was around eighty. He seemed pleased with this and said I should live long enough to have cataracts. A strange blessing to bestow!

Then we came to my main problem: dry eye disease (yes; it's a disease!) and a plan of attack. He discussed the pros and cons of using antibiotic drops (they can run about $60 a bottle; that's a big con) but thought we'd try other types of drops first. Artificial tears and an oil-based emollient (Hail , Soothe XP...divine emollient! That's a reference to the chorus "Hail poetry from "Pirates of Penzance") during the day and Lacrilube, an ointment, at night. Not everybody likes putting that stuff in their eyes at bedtime, but if I'm game it should go a long way to making my eyeballs as dewy moist as any four-year old's.

So as we age, we don't just need to use lotion on our hands and moisturizer on our faces, but emollients in our eyes. At least, us women. Apparently it's a by-product of dropping estrogen levels as we enter the peri- and post-menopausal phases. The senior doctor said that men with dry eyes were like unicorns. He had never seen one.

The new Yankee Stadium

Okay; it's my fault they lost. The Yankees were leading 3-0 until I started to leave. Just before I left the Angels suddenly get a run. During the course of my subway ride home, the Angels get three more runs. Another extra-inning marathon, but this time the Yankees lost.

On the bright side, I did get a chance to see the new stadium. I work at the Bronx Supreme Courthouse, two blocks from both Yankee Stadiums and had not been to the new one yet. One of my co-workers spread the word that they were letting people in free that afternoon to watch the playoff game. The fact that the teams were 3000 miles away was merely a minor drawback. The game was being shown on the giant screen over the outfield and fans were allowed to sit in the usually pricey seats to watch the oversized, two-dimensional version of the game. It was strange to see the field uninhabited, but the fans were as enthusiastic as if their favorites were there in person, cheering homers by Jeter, A-Rod, and Damon.

Julie, my co-worker said she wanted to leave by 6:00 so I went along. We got a good look-see around the shiny new stadium and sat for a while in seats halfway back from right behind home plate. That area, as well as the pitching mound were covered by tarps and none of the bases were on the field. Most of the food concessions were open and doing terrific business, as was the souvenir shop. Some day I'd like to watch a game there with the teams actually on the field.

foot in mouth epidemic

What is going on lately? Is there some weird astrological configuration causing a disconnect between people's brains and mouths? It's the ongoing epidemic of foot in mouth disease:

1. The "you lie!" congressman... first it was town halls, now it's happening in joint sessions of Congress. Someone in the audience disagrees with a speaker and they feel free to shout out at them. As Craig Ferguson said, it's not the Jerry Springer Show...it's Congress!

2. I only have the vaguest idea of who Kanye West is, but the story of his actions at whatever that award show is, was pretty shocking. Over the many years of many award shows I've seen, the basic tenet of behavior has always been being a good sport. But interrupting someone's acceptance speech to declare that one of the losing nominees was more deserving of the award is another new one.

3. Serena Williams' blow-up at the US Open. Nothing new to those who remember John McEnroe is his heyday. Just another example of the epidemic.

In truth, I could go on much further; but behold; I have said enough.

You may allow your attention to wander.

revisiting old friends

Periodically I like to re-read books by my favorite authors. I'll do a Jane Austen cycle, a Betty Smith cycle, a Heinlein cycle. Right now I'm becoming reacquainted with Helene Hanff. Best known (if known at all) for 84 Charing Cross Road, a collection of letters between Hanff and a London bookshop. A spunky, struggling New York based writer, she had a love of antiquarian books and wrote cheeky letters, trying to puncture the shopkeepers' proper British reserve. This book has inspired a very small, but very devoted cult following. It was made into TV, stage, and film versions, with actors such as Anne Bancroft, Anthony Hopkins and Judi Dench in various roles.

Hanff had a lifelong yearning to visit London, but financial considerations prevented her until "84" was published. That visit yielded another book: Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, about her whirlwind trip to London, where she was wined and dined by fans of the book, including playwright Mark Connolly and entertainer Joyce Grenfell.

But Hanff's greatest passion was her hometown of New York. In 1976 she was contracted to write text for a collection of photos of New York. But her text was not your typical picture book set of captions. Her text became the story of her tour of New York, seeing the sights that were to be pictured in the book. As a typical native, she had never visited most of the "must see" tourist attractions: the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Grant's Tomb, etc. And poignantly, the World Trade Center. The story of her misadventures as she traipsed about town, with her friend Patsy, in tow makes for delightful reading. The book, entitled Apple of My Eye was published in the US in hardcover, complete with accompanying photos. Ironically, when it was published in the UK, the pictures were omitted. A small paperback, the story of her research for a book of photos.... and they left out the photos!