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Metamorphoses Before the Romantics came alive for me - before the grownup passion for children's literature - before the love of Eliot and Stevens and Joyce - before all that, there was my love for Greek mythology. I used to devour the Greek myths, reading them over and over. Later, after I'd started taking Latin, I would read the Roman myths and compare the two. That first love grew into a larger love of mythology in general and fairy tales as well, but I never quite forgot where it all began. And yesterday, Metamorphoses brought it all back to me. The first I'd ever heard about this extraordinary piece of theatre was an entry in Tamar's old journal, which she wrote after seeing a regional incarnation at the Mark Taper Forum. I was haunted by her entry; I remember writing to her immediately for more information and deciding right then and there that somehow, someday I had to see that show. Little did I know that the same production would have long legs, playing in Chicago and LA and Seattle before opening off-Broadway last fall and then transferring to the big time early this year. Gabriel's been telling me to see it for months. I meant to see it off-Broadway...really, I honestly did. Somehow the months got away from me and soon enough, it was closing. I wrote it off in my head as one of those shows I wouldn't see until some probably unfortunate community theatre production came along. But then it went to Broadway, and I had another chance. Still, months passed and I didn't make it to the city. Finally I wrote to Kate and Kymm and asked if they wanted to see it with me. Kate had seen billboards and was game; Kymm knew nothing but was still game. After fiddling with dates for nearly two months, we finally managed to see it yesterday. Now I am both kicking myself for waiting so long, and mourning that I can never, never see it for the first time again. Go read Tamar's description/review. I've been trying to write about this play for four days, and I can't come up with anything better than what she wrote. The production is virtually unchanged (except for some cast changes) from the Mark Taper production. This is truly one of the "little shows that could"; it started out at Northwestern as Six Myths, and grew into this Tony nominated masterpiece. Many of the cast members have been with it since that very first production. I find the loyalty - that of both the actors and the production staff - amazing. Metamorphoses is the most astounding, exquisite, fabulous piece of theatre I have ever seen in my entire life. I've seen the Royal Shakespeare Company; I've seen the OBC of RENT; I've seen Cheek By Jowl; I've seen Broadway musicals and fringe productions and God knows how many other things and this - this piece of theatre is the one I'm most jealous of. The one I want to be in; the one I want to direct; the one I want to see again and again and again until it has burned itself into me. Ninety minutes long and I never, never wanted it to be over. Is it really that good? Yes. It's funny and shocking and heartbreaking and lovely and horrifying and sardonic and masterful, all at the same time. As a "theatre person," I was in awe. As an audience member, I was spellbound. Mary Zimmerman has taken these timeless tales and woven them into a harmonious whole that I honestly thought was flawless. (The one and only thing I would have changed about the entire play was one actress who I felt wasn't up to the level of the others - but even now that seems like such a minor quibble.) This is really something you have to see - it's hard to explain. First of all, it's impossible to make you see just how well an enormous pool of water works as a set; how extraordinary it is to watch these actors move in and around it. I really can't make you understand how funny Phaeton is as a snotty teenager telling his therapist about his accident with his father's car (except his father happens to be Apollo, and the car is, of course, the sun) and the events that led up to it. I can't tell you how heartbreaking it is to watch Alcyone stumble blindly through the pool, falling and climbing back to her feet with a lantern dangling from her hand, searching the horizon desperately for Ceyx who will never return. I can remind you that there are two fairly well-known versions of the Orpheus and Eurydice tragedy - the Ovid myth and the Rilke poem - but you won't really see the difference until you see them both performed. There are others as well. Eros and Psyche do not tell their own story but merely act it out physically as two actors narrate quietly from two corners, telling the tale in questions and answers: Almost none of these stories have happy endings. This is different. Why is that? It's just inevitable. The soul wanders in the dark, until it finds love. And so, wherever our love goes, there we find our soul. It always happens? If we're lucky. And if we let ourselves be blind. Instead of watching out? Instead of always watching out. And Baucis and Philemon, a story I'd forgotten, was the one they chose to end with. It was a good choice - the best possible choice. In the story, Zeus and Hermes come down to Earth disguised as old beggars to see what people are really like. Doors are slammed in their faces at every house except that of a poor married couple. Baucis and Philemon welcome them in and treat them as honored guests, giving them what comfort and food they can - simply because they recognize them not as gods, but as children of God. The gods reveal themselves and offer to grant a wish - and all Baucis and Philemon want is to die at the same time, so they do not have to weep at one another's graves. Their wish is granted, and at the time of their death, they become trees entwined at the door of their home. They say that when you walk down the street at night, you can still hear their prayer: Let me die the moment my love dies. Let me not outlive my own capacity to love. Let me die still loving, and so, never die. These lines are whispered in unison by the entire cast, who by this time have joined Baucis and Philemon in the pool. And then quietly, the play is over. I was weeping, quietly, by the end - the lights came up to reveal that Kate and Kymm had been similarly affected. Half the audience was on their feet; there were enthusiastic, immediate shouts of bravo! (which I have never heard at a Broadway show, no matter how wonderful); the other half was, I am supposing, as unable to move as we were. I just wanted them to do it again, right then. Nothing - not applause, not words, not tears - could convey everything I felt during Metamorphoses. All I can do is urge you to see it, if you are anywhere near New York or plan to be anytime soon. I rarely urge everyone and anyone to see something - but this is exceptional, and it won't run forever. We saw a Wednesday matinee and it wasn't sold out. The $35 same day tickets we bought at the box office at 9 AM were in the "splash zone" (we got a little wet but it was fun) but they were worth every penny; it was on TKTS that day. All I can do is urge you to go. And, of course, go again myself - which I plan to do before three more weeks have passed. |