doug rice, who was director of artwalk for 10 years, has now renovated an old church building on atlantic avenue and created the latest theater space in rochester. small and intimate, with excellent acoustics and ample lights, the space is ideal for both fringe and community theater. it still needs some work and the space’s success will dictate how that pans out.
i made it on the last day of the method machine’s “edge”, a play about sylvia plath’s last day on earth before she committed suicide, a confession of sorts which gives us an insight into the whys of her decision. the subject of the play is all the more tragic since plath’s son nicholas recently committed suicide himself.
plath was played by marcy savastano in this one woman show. although she has the acting chops to summon tough emotions on stage, i think that she was cheated by the material she was given. the play written by paul alexander is a relentless vilification of poet ted hughes, plath’s husband and her apparent, psychological murderer. not only was he a brooding, violent, cold, cruel, adulterous, egomaniac with mediocre talent, but apparently he also practiced witchcraft whereby he hypnotized plath to become his slave, he didn’t love or even care to touch his infant son because he viewed him as a rival, and after he decided to leave plath both he and his mistress called her at odd times begging her to kill herself and get it over with. there was also talk of incest with his evil witch mother, repressed homosexuality and sadistic sex. i can safely say that cannibalism was probably the only accusation not leveled at the man.
ted hughes might have had his weaknesses and they might have been manifold but to write a 2 hour play about them is just too easy and boring. the end result is that plath comes out as a petty, nagging, resentful house wife whose tirades against her parents but mostly against her husband become increasingly irksome.
of course i understand the idea of exploring her state of mind at this crucial juncture in her life and to look at her thoughts with unflinching honesty. but i have to believe that at a moment such as this, the last moment before life is purposefully snuffed out, there is also some quiet refection, some understanding of final truths. for someone as sensitive as plath and as gifted in the ways of human language i would expect even more brilliance. instead we are confronted with the stereotype of a “woman scorned”, in its most generic and pedestrian of manifestations.
the play’s direction was lacking in other ways. savastano assumed a rhythmic pattern of fast barrages of words followed by 3 or 4 emphatic statements. over time this pattern became too predictable and annoying. but then i have to ask myself: how many interesting and innovative ways can you find to bitch and moan about a guy for two hours!