Liars and Saints

  Ira Gershwin and Cole Porter liked to write in an ostentatiously clever way; they weren't always in a "simple and direct" state of mind. The climax of the plot Should be the marriage knot... But there's no knot for me... And: When Missus Ned McLean (God bless her) Can get Russian reds to "yes" her... Then I suppose..... Anything goes..... A special treat for Cole Porter--a gay man--was to insert sex wherever possible: Birds do it.... Bees do it.... Even educated fleas do it.... Let's do it. Let's fall in love.... And: If, Baby, I'm the bottom.... You're the top! I think Sondheim found this tiresome--and, also, he could do the work better than Porter and Gershwin. He wrote in that same style, for "Follies," and it's as if he were channeling the spirit of a dead artist: Careful-- Here's the home of... Beautiful girls... Where your reason is undone.... Beauty... Can't be hindered from... Taking its toll... You may lose co...

  "Stop talking," she says, for the hundredth time. "Just give a succinct answer, and stop talking. You think you need to fill the air with nervous blather, but you are wrong." I sometimes feel that I am a space alien, or the Act One version of Eliza Doolittle; this poor career coach has a mountain of work. Having changed the subject, I mention a particular choice from my recent past. "The person on the phone quoted a low, low salary--and I said I'm not concerned about remuneration, because I just appreciate the job....." The career coach breathes out slowly. "Here is a sentence to remove from your repertoire.  I am not concerned about remuneration.... " I think that I have no coping skills. Things sometimes seem difficult, and I just shudder, with dread. I mention that August frightens me, because the kids are home from camp.... "Then get them in another camp," says the career coach. "An August camp. This is Maplewood. Write a...

  Why do artists do their work?  Someone asked Alice Munro about the Nobel Prize, and she said the recognition was nice, "but it's the writing, the life of writing, that sustains me."  (On the other hand, we have Wickie, filming her own story in "Girls5eva." Looking at the viewer, she says, "Music is my life. And I don't do it for the money....or the awards.....I do it for BOTH!") In Tomie dePaola's "Legend of the Indian Paintbrush," we see a little gay kid who doesn't want to fight or hunt. It worries him that he has so little interest in a conventional path; he thinks he ought to talk himself into doing something he doesn't want to do. But God appears and says, "Look, you're actually here to paint the sunset--and everything around you that you see. You can mope, or you can get to work." What follows is a difficult, joyful, artistic life. The little kid discovers discipline--and he makes a deliberate choice to p...

 "Caroline, or Change" is a show about hatred, power, fury, and despair. It's about two people looking at each other across a wide gulf; it captures moments of mutual incomprehension. It is one writer's series of childhood memories, but it feels timeless and universal. In an extraordinary moment, the protagonist waits for the bus, after work. Her white employer has taken many chances to shit all over her throughout the day; the power imbalance is such that the employer doesn't even realize when she is being a tool. ("Caroline, you keep my child's spare change whenever he leaves it in his dirty pants. This will teach him a lesson. Really, YOU will be helping ME!") Caroline sits in her anger, while the moon (yes, the moon) tries to make a point. Here is what the moon says: Moon change... Moon change... Glowing bright. Light up the night. Make your dress of spotless white Turn to purple, turn to gleam... Cool and dry-- Free and high-- Miles free from ba...

 Betty Buckley replaced Bernadette Peters in "Song and Dance." Carolee Carmello led "Kiss Me Kate" after the Marin Mazzie departure. "Fiddler on the Roof" was, indirectly, a comment on American anxiety during the 1960s--a comment  that avoided the words "birth control," "feminist," and "Vietnam." When someone tried to market "Fun Home," an early plan was just to splash little Sydney Lucas's face all over billboards. Conversely, an executive behind "Gypsy" once thought it might be great *not* to feature Bernadette's profile on every ad. Tony Richardson was the secretly bisexual spouse of Vanessa Redgrave; he died of AIDS. When creatives approached Agnes de Mille with a draft of "Oklahoma," she said, "Where is the SEX?" Obviously, I liked this museum, but parts are misconceived. It makes sense, I guess, to spotlight "Wicked" and "The Lion King"--but how about al...

 "Scoop" is an incisive, fast-paced story about power. At its center is Emily Maitlis, who regrets an ancient interview with Bill Clinton. "He was the President, and Monica was twenty-one years old. He skated off--unaltered. Her life was derailed; she endured decades of abuse. I should have asked Bill about Monica." Emily is keenly aware of details. When considering an outfit for a Prince Andrew interview, she refuses a dress, "because I don't want Randy Andy staring at my knees. Well, if it's on camera? Maybe I *do* want him staring at my knees." Emily's eventual choice--a suit with trousers--stirs up a response from Andrew. "Trousers?" he says. And he snorts. It's clear in this moment that he does not see women as human beings; if Emily can just give home some rope, he will gladly do the hard work of hanging himself. The actual interview between Emily and Andrew is masterful. It's evident that Andrew sees the interview as an...

 The gospel of Jack Viertel says that an opening number should set a tone; you should "acquire the vocabulary" that will help you through the evening. So, for example, "Dear Evan Hansen" opens with "Does Anybody Have a Map?" This doesn't tell us much about the characters, but it establishes a kind of frantic energy that works well for the show. Another strong example is from "A Chorus Line," a musical that is about to have its fiftieth birthday. In the canonical opening number, members of the chorus state and repeat various lines that you might expect to hear at a job interview. Because the lines are "scored," they have an unusual weight, a sense of urgency: God, I hope I get it. God, I really blew it. It could be yes, it could be no. I really need this job. Look at all the people! At all the people! The witty interlude makes a point about neurosis: The moment certain singers "make the cut," their inner monologue swings fr...

Today, my daughter will dress as a beloved literary character--for "Literacy Week." Our choice is a rabbit, from "The Bunny Rabbit Show." The writer Sandra Boynton has limitless (truly limitless) ideas, and I am certain that, one day, she was thinking about the syllable count in the title, "Howdy Doody Show." And she switched in: "Bunny Rabbit Show." And this became a book. The rabbits in Boynton's story "perform" for rows of pigs and cows. The rabbits hop in a row, pop out of boxes in obscure corners... They dance and sing. Finally, they form a "tree," as if they were cheerleaders. This is the entire book. Susie's weary principal sent a sternly worded note: "We know that many children love superheroes, and superheroes sometimes appear in books. But please try to remember the *spirit* of this parade. We would rather not see a Spiderman. We would rather steer clear of Superman. I'm happy to discuss this matter ...

  In one of the most beloved "SVU" episodes (a season finale), Benson and Stabler look for a particular killer. "Use common sense," says one. "If you hear hooves, and you're wondering if it's a horse or a zebra....it's likely not a zebra." But, in fact, this case involves a zebra: The killer is someone *within* SVU. Once that batshit revelation occurs, the episode spirals into lunacy. It's campy and fun. A similar energy seems to animate "Duty to Hope," our newest season finale. The writers establish certain rhythms--then (again and again) they find a way to be shocking. We begin with Olivia leading a conference. She is in command. This is disrupted when a crazy new DA arrives; she hijacks the meeting and makes a flashy display of her incompetence. Delightful. Next, Fin carries out a bag of trash--and we hear, "Stop! Freeze, or I'll shoot!" A child is pointing a gun at him. This child is like the "second coming...

  "Long Island" is the story of Eilis, who has stopped smoking, but who keeps cigarettes in her dresser drawer, "just in case." Eilis has married into a large Italian family; if someone knocks on a particular front door, everyone in the family is aware, because the houses all share one common lot. Eilis seems to want more. She leaves her in-laws' business to work for strangers. She reads the New York Times--and she fights with her family's patriarch. "I actually don't support the Vietnam War, and I do not think it would be an  honor  to see my son in a body bag....." This outburst means that Eilis is permanently disinvited from Sunday supper. ("I just think you might feel more comfortable with some time alone," says her mother-in-law.) Eilis's desire for autonomy eventually sends her back to Ireland, where she reunites with her own mother. Eilis has some cash, so she purchases a new refrigerator for her mom--but she doesn't ra...

I can't even call him my frenemy anymore; he is now merely someone I used to know. However, the digital world means that I continue to get new information. My frenemy really loves Britney Spears's memoir, "The Woman in Me." He posted a photo with the hardcover, and a caption: "REQUIRED SUMMER READING." (Might I actually like this person?) My frenemy boldly advocates for the "Wonder Truck," a controversial local business. This is a large truck that will park outside your house for an hour, cook you a "truckbound" meal (the truck has a small kitchen), then deliver the cardboard container to your front door. Many residents are furious about the gas emissions, the unsightly exterior of the truck, the surly strangers wandering around with "fresh dinner deliveries." But my frenemy--a brave contrarian--believes that the service is "great." (I appreciate someone who will swim "upstream.") Sometimes, I feel envy, as i...

 Broadway has "I Want" and "I Am" songs, and the "I Am" gold-standard specimen comes from "She Loves Me." Will he like me when we meet? Will the shy and quiet girl he's going to see Be the girl that he's imagined me to be? Will he like me? Here, the speaker is saying one thing: "I am anxious." But she doesn't actually say that. The insistent question marks do all of the work. Will he like me? Who can say? How I wish that we could meet another day. It's insanity for me to carry on this way... I'll try not to. Will he like me? He's just got to. There is a "ping-pong ball" effect: We move from questions, to fantasy, to cool common sense, back to all-engulfing doubt. It doesn't really matter what the speaker is saying. What matters is that she can't stay with one thought for more than a second. Despite the speaker's momentary burst of confidence--"he will like me, he's just got to"...

 My favorite Lisa Simpson moment occurs at the start of summer vacation.  Lisa considers her own lack of popularity. "I guess I'll spend my summer with the novels of Gore Vidal," she says. "Mr. Vidal has dated more boys than I'll ever even MEET...." Marge looks perturbed. "GIRLS, Lisa," she says. "Mr. Vidal is a boy who dates GIRLS. Boys date GIRLS...." And Lisa rolls her eyes. Lisa seems less outrageous than other members of her family, but a functioning brain is not a death sentence. A smart person can be an interesting person. This is clearest in "Who Shot Mr. Burns?" Disturbed by the incompetence of the local police, Lisa decides that she will take matters into her own hands. "After all, Nancy Drew says you need just a few things to solve a mystery: an inquisitive temperament, and two good friends." Lisa makes a chart of the identities and motives of various suspects (the police chief can't pronounce the word ...

 In the "Ramona Quimby" books, Ramona copes with existential horror; she is wearing a costume, for Halloween, and she entertains the thought that *no one* in her world might recognize her. If no one sees her as Ramona, then who is she? I tried to play a game with my daughter; I asked, "Are you my cinnamon donut?" To my surprise, Susie was sort of furious. "I am *not* your cinnamon donut. I am Susie." "Are you my berry lollipop?" "I am *not* your berry lollipop. I am Susie." I understand that I myself am impetuous, but it's a new experience to see this same behavior in a tiny human. Susie will not accept any help, when approaching her carseat, but, also, she lacks a plan; she just hurls herself at the seat, then gets distracted. She throws a look over her shoulder, to give me new instructions: "Papa, do NOT help me. Do NOT carry me right now." Except that she has heard the question, "Carry you?" many, many times, ...

 A narrative voice does not have to seem clinical, detached. A narrator can be a character, even if we learn few facts about that narrator. Alice Munro understood this. A woman with a high, freckled forehead came into the railway station...and inquired about shipping furniture. The station agent often tried a little teasing with women, especially the plain ones who seemed to appreciate it. "Furniture?" he said, as if nobody had ever had such an idea before. "Well. Now. What kind of furniture are we talking about?" A dining-room table and six chairs. A bedroom suite, a sofa, coffee table, end tables, floor lamp. Also, a china cabinet and a buffet. "Whoa there. You mean a houseful." "It shouldn't count as that much," she said. "There's no kitchen things and only enough for one bedroom." Her teeth were crowded to the front of her mouth as if they were ready for an argument.... Here, so much is happening in a tight space. The narrat...

  In "Nowhere Special," James Norton is a young, single father, dying of cancer. He stands out because of what he *doesn't* do; he doesn't have big Meryl Streep meltdowns, he doesn't smile bravely through tears. Norton has the unenviable task of "auditioning" replacement parents for his son; we see Norton and the little boy in various settings, drinking tea, making chit-chat. The range of would-be parents is wide. One instinctively knows to engage the little boy in a guessing game: "How many candies can you fit in this toy truck?" Another makes a loan of a small stuffed rabbit--but it's just a loan, because it needs to be available for other children who find themselves "on the meat market." The clock ticks and ticks. Norton is pressured to initiate a "death conversation," but he resists. "Why should my son have to think about this?" (On a pedestrian level, this made me recall guidance about trips to the doctor...

 Therapy has taught me an important sentence: "I can only imagine." It's different from: "I can't imagine."  When you say, "I can only imagine," you are suggesting that you will make the effort to imagine, and this is (possibly) a source of comfort. My neighbor's girlfriend gave birth and lost nearly all of her blood. It seemed that way. The blood just kept draining from her body, and she almost died. I can only imagine; fortunately, the experience is described in a novel, "Leaving," by Roxana Robinson. That was helpful for me. My neighbor's mother flew in from Europe, but then she did something terrible to her spine, and she had to stay in a hospital overnight. I can only imagine. My neighbor's little baby has chronic ear infections. Here, I really can imagine; I can imagine this well. "When my son had an ear infection," I say, "the crying became so intense, he actually made himself puke." My neighbor and ...

  I have a special fondness for "woodland creature" stories: "Goodnight Moon" (with its bunny protagonist), "Rufus the Bat," the "Frances Badger" series, the birds (and other inventions) of Leo Lionni, the mice tales of Kevin Henkes, the squirrel-centered "Good Day," the close-knit family in "Fantastic Mr. Fox," the Rosemary Wells raccoons. These animals are slightly exotic to children--but they are still "within reach." They are animals that kids can see (and think about) on a daily, or almost daily, basis. Also, a mouse seems so humble, so easily overlooked; there is something beautifully counterintuitive about "centering" the (fictional) concerns of a mouse. This brings me to "Anatole." Eve Titus, the writer, scored a hit with "Basil of Baker Street," which yielded the "Great Mouse Detective" (possibly the best of all Disney animated films). In "Anatole," Titus has...

 Judi Dench was drawn to Shakespeare because of the swearing. She wanted to swear on-stage. Her early performance as Ophelia wowed no one (or almost no one), but she persisted. She did "Juliet" at the age of twenty-five. Her director wanted her to seem fourteen; when she sobbed, she collapsed on the floor, as a child would collapse. Dench also noticed Juliet's 3-D nature. Despite her youth, she has brains. When Romeo becomes florid, Juliet sticks to the facts. "Who are you? What do you want? What is your plan?" In the middle of her career, Dench triumphed with "Macbeth." She loves this play because it is fast and well-constructed; she says, "Do it without an interval." The Macbeths are not the Nixons; they are the Kennedys. They must seem "aglow with love" at the start. Because Lady Macbeth's "screen-time" is minimal, the actress must plant "seeds of madness" early on; we must see LM slipping as early as the ...

  The "Rabbit Hole" is a new picture-book museum in Kansas City, Missouri. It's not a series of framed portraits. Instead, it's like entering a video game. Each room is the setting of a famous children's story. For example, the world of Frog and Toad does not feature Frog, and it doesn't feature Toad; instead, it's a meadow of those famous brownish/green plantings, with Toad's mailbox, Toad's bed, and the frightening snake (see "Dragons and Giants"). You yourself play the role of Frog (or you play the role of Toad). I think this is so smart, because it seems to reproduce my daughter's experience of storytelling. It's clear to me that her idea of fiction is "porous"; she imagines she lives in a castle, when she watches "Encanto." She has not forgiven me for "Frankenweenie"--I think because she now believes a large mutant turtle might walk down the middle of our street. At the ticket counter, the vendor...

  When Jayne Houdyshell appeared in "Follies," she had long interludes of "back-stage waiting." But she loved the score so much, she wouldn't return to her dressing room. She would just sit by the curtain; she would listen to the orchestra.  One of the more ravishing songs is "Too Many Mornings," in which Sondheim seems to channel Puccini. On its surface, this is a love duet. Ben, the star, is reaffirming his love for his ex-girlfriend, Sally. He expresses regret for the "many mornings" he has wasted, wishing his life were different from the life he has actually chosen. (Wishing that "the room might be filled with you.") But something is happening between the lines. Ben isn't really singing to Sally, in the present; he is singing to the ghost of Young Sally. He doesn't want a new love affair. He wants to be twenty years old again. As Ben tries to persuade himself that he is ready to leave his marriage, his thoughts become a ...

  Famously, on the set of "SVU," Kelli Giddish asked for more and more opportunities to show her character at war with herself. She didn't want Rollins to seem indomitable; she knew that interesting characters are flawed characters. This was a smart move; it led to the "Rollins and gambling" subplot, which showed off Rollins's special talent for undercover work. "Prima Nocta"--the return of Rollins--raises intriguing questions. When Rollins left SVU, she was scarred by too much violence; somewhat implausibly, she trained herself to be a profiling expert (overnight), and she was hired by Fordham. Was she running *to* Fordham, or was she just running *away* from SVU? Now, assisting her friend Olivia, Rollins rediscovers her appetite for danger. She assumes a false persona to entrap a local law-breaking custodian. In the process, she goes "off-book" and terrifies her husband. She is creative and just a bit exasperating; she is the Rollins we...

 The speech therapist gives me a weary look. "Anxiety is the buzz word," she says, in a Bette Davis voice. "You're going to hear about anxiety." And, indeed, that's the topic that the new doctor wants to discuss. It turns out that everything is a function of anxiety: eating, pooping, sleeping. "What can you control, in your early years? What goes into your body, and what comes out. If you're experiencing inner turmoil, you can act out by refusing to use the potty." My spouse and I are referred to a "behavior coach." She seems friendly. On a Zoom call, she offers certain suggestions: "You may not know this, but a child can sometimes imagine all of life is just... No. Stop. Don't. No. Stop. Don't. And it's possible to make a modification. Catch your child being good! Look for chances to give positive feedback! .....Also," she says, "you can teach your other child to advocate for herself. She could say, Please ...

  In 2024, "Maybe This Time" seems cheerfully retrograde; not only does the heroine state that happiness is impossible without a romantic attachment, but she also seems to think that she doesn't have agency. She is like tumbleweed, just blowing in the wind. I wonder if Kander and Ebb studied "Guys and Dolls." Famously, in "Dolls," Guy, the male lead, sees "luck" as a willful sparring partner. If Guy loses all his money at the slots, it's because "luck" has opted not to "be a lady." If Guy sees gambling as a form of romance, then Kander and Ebb see romance as a form of gambling. Sally Bowles has been a "loser" in the game of love, but maybe this time, she will "win." The other thing that I love in "Cabaret" is a classic example of "content dictating form." Kander and Ebb know how to conserve syllables; if they seem verbose, then they are being *deliberately* verbose. So consider t...