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Joe Cillo

VIEW FROM ACROSS THE POND: I AM IN CHARGE

By Joe Cillo

I AM IN CHARGE

There is nothing in the world to which every man
Has a more unassailable title than to his own life.
Arthur Schopenhauer

My friend Helen Osterman was 86 years old when her husband died.  “Now, it’s my turn,” she told me.  “I cannot wait to join him.”

I was 28 when she told me that and I was appalled.  I could not imagine anyone wanting to die.  The urge to live is so strong in us all, I could not believe that someone who was in good health would choose to end it all.  Besides, I did not believe you went anywhere when you were dead.  I thought it was a final finish.

I know now that what you believe is what will happen.  It makes no difference that we cannot prove that we will come back in another form after we leave this earth.  It is immaterial that there is no evidence that our spirits will ascend to a heaven that is described in different terms by different faiths.  It is what you think is true that matters.  Helen Osterman was sure she would see her husband again when she died and she did go to join him just six months after he left her.  She was finished with her life.

I have lived almost 60 years since that day and I have a very different perspective now.  I have seen people tied to tubes and bottles, their brain barely functioning, who have become nothing but blobs of living flesh.  I have heard tales of people riddled with agonizing pain who cannot be relieved of their suffering because it is against the law for a doctor to assist a patient to end his life.  And I know now that those people did not make proper arrangements for their finish.  They did not specify that they did not want to suffer without respite.  They did not insist that they not be kept alive by artificial means.

We are the only ones who have the right to make a decision about our body.  It is the one thing that belongs only to us and it is our duty to determine the way we care for it and when it is time to stop its functioning.  It is not a decision for a doctor or a relative to make.

However, once we make our wishes known it is incumbent upon all who know us to follow our wishes.  I remember a man who was in a coma whose wife insisted he be fed intravenously and on monitoring machines to keep him breathing.  She sat by his side all day into the night holding his hand but he did not know she was there.  He had made his living will.  He had trusted her to abide by his wishes but she couldn’t bear to let him go.  She insisted that keeping her husband alive was an act of love.  I think she committed an unforgiveable crime.

There are times when a physician finds himself caring for a person who has stopped functioning.  I cannot believe he has committed a crime when he simply removes all life support systems and lets his patient expire.

It seems to me that governments have taken over the responsibility for our well-being.  They pass laws to protect us from abuse, from accidents on the road and from habits they have decided will kill us.  Legislators have forgotten that we are unique individuals and it is the responsibility of each of us to listen to his body and keep it in running order.  It is for every person to decide if he wants a particular treatment to cure a diagnoses.  A diagnoses is after all only one person’s opinion.  The amount of cigarettes we smoke, the quantity of drugs we put into our systems and the type of exercise we care to do is a personal decision.  We own ourselves. No one else does.

Just as we all cherish the right to live our lives in our own way, we also have a right to decide when we are finished.  When life gives us no satisfaction…when we are stalled and are repeating the same routine every day, it is time to say goodbye to this life.  Once we make that decision, it must be respected.  The trick is to make that judgment when you still can think and to be sure that it is evident.

I have always loved the story of the woman who had DO NOT RESUSITATE tattooed on her chest and on her back, TURN ME OVER.  That is my kind of gal.

 

 

VIEW FROM ACROSS THE POND: FANCY FRUIT

By Joe Cillo

DRESSING UP THE FRUIT BOWL

One that would serve fruit
Must give it a good presentation.
An anonymous Chinese philosopher

A Chinese fruit seller in Nanjing decided to dress his peaches in fancy knickers and triple the price. He labeled them fancy peach butts and charged £48 a dozen. What a great gift idea!!!

What a great solution for the person on your Christmas list who has everything.  Can you imagine a better present than a cute little peach decked out in lacy underwear?

And why stop there?  Imagine awakening on Christmas morning to discover a banana in a bow tie and a top hat doing a soft shoe just for you?  Think of the delight children would have when they opened up Santa’s gifts to find a pair of plums in tutus and lace bodices tucked into a chiffon lined box?

I cannot think of anything better to give your Nan, than a cluster of grapes laced with garlands of velvet ribbon.  After all, she has received enough lace hankies to last a lifetime.  She will thrill to the novelty of something she doesn’t have to tuck in a bureau drawer to give to someone else next year.

Christmas shopping would be so much easier for us all. No more beating our way through crowded malls trying to outspend each other, piling up mountains of colorful boxes filled with useless trinkets no one wants under the tree.    We would not have to spend hours exploring one expensive novelty shop after another in the Lanes trying to find just the right tie, or the prettiest bauble for our loved ones.  All we would need to do is run over to the green grocer and load up on produce, take it home and dress it up. On Christmas morning, the house would be filled with jolly pears in tap shoes and apples sporting feather boas.  Wow!

And don’t forget the veggies!  They tart up amazingly well. There is nothing as appealing as a mushroom in spats and every potato worth its butter and cheese, looks better in mesh stockings with a flowered garter.

What to serve for Christmas breakfast?  Problem solved.  Just put all the gifts in a large bowl, add some scones, clotted cream  and a bit of eggnog and enjoy.

 

VIEW FROM ACROSS THE POND: A GOOD DEATH

By Joe Cillo

 

LIVING THE GOOD LIFE

There are three ingredients in the good life:
Learning, earning and yearning.
Christopher Morley

Ezekiel Emanuel is 57 years old.  He is a physician specializing in cancer and the Vice Provost professor The University of Pennsylvania. He is a very smart man. Last October, he wrote an essay saying he wanted his life to end at 75.

He is a fool.

When I was 57, I had no idea what fun I could have once I crossed the line where productivity, beauty and fame topped the list of what I needed to make my day.   When I was 57 I cared that my face was drooping, my hearing dulled and my walk slowed, step by step.  I am 81 now and I love my wrinkled face.  It gets me every perc I could possibly want.  I step into a packed car in the tube and at least 3 gorgeous men stand up so I can rest my wrinkled bum on a seat.  I board a train and take a premium seat that is labeled Priority Seating just because I have been around a long time.

When I carry packages up or down stairs, there is always someone to carry those bundles for me and usually with a smile.  I hop (yes I can still hop) on a bus and sit down without worrying about the fare.  I go to movies, plays and concerts and pay at least 25% less than everyone else including all those youngsters under 60 with low paying jobs and expensive taste.

If I am in a queue and it is taking too long I clutch my heart and gasp a little; that gets me to the head of the line before I can exhale.  I stand at a counter rummaging though endless coins I cannot recognize without my glasses and NOT ONCE has anyone said, ”Hurry up, Bitch.”  No indeed.  Invariably there will be some kind soul who will hold my packages while I search for coins I dropped in the bottom of my purse and the clerk will ALWAYS smile and say, “Take your time, darling.”

And that brings me to another point:  EVERYONE, man, woman and even toddlers, address me as “Darling” and they mean it. The very things I did at 50 that annoyed the hell out of everyone; the missteps and accidents I had in my twenties that made both husbands leave me; all are absolutely adorable now that I am in my ninth decade.

But it isn’t just the attitude of everyone around me that has made life so very sweet these days.  It is MY attitude.  I am no longer concerned with what I see in the mirror.  It never got me much when I was younger and I don’t expect it to be the 8th aesthetic wonder of the world now.  That means that all the time, money and anguish I spent in beauty shops and on countless rejuvenation creams, skin enhancers, hair boosters…all of it is now spent on more rewarding activities like eating anything I want because what the hell: by the time I am too obese for my coffin, I won’t care. I won’t have to spend the extra money for it either.  The welfare department will.

I am at the age now where I can spend as much as I want for anything I want.  If I run out, I can get benefits.  My intention is to reduce my bank balance to zero and then apply for residence in a home.   We take care of our elderly here.  I am not worried about my liver either.  It’s held up this long, hasn’t it?

When I was in my fifties, I anguished because I had not made a visible mark in the world.  No one knew who I was.  My name never made a headline.  Now I realize that it isn’t the publicity you get for what you do, it is what you do that matters.  If it makes me happy and I am involved, then hooray; getting some award or a mention in someone’s column won’t change that.  It took me this long to get that.

“But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world,” says Emanuel.

And I say, “How does he know that?  He hasn’t gotten there yet.”

Well I have and I can honestly say that my walk is slower, but I get where I want to go and I do not feel deprived.  I enjoy my life just as it is.  I do not have the same desires I had at twenty or thirty or forty because that is not the stage of life I am in right now.  My perspective has improved.  I have confidence in myself. I trust my judgment.  I don’t want to go to bars and find a hot sex pot to take me to bed.  That doesn’t interest me anymore.  I don’t want to wear uncomfortable clothes that reveal my nether parts because my nether parts are not the focus of my pleasure anymore.  My mind and my heart are the hungry organs now and I do everything I can to feed them.  It is more fun and not as sloppy.

It took me a long time to figure out that life is like a card game.  You take the hand you get and play it out the best you can. It does no good to bemoan what you didn’t get or begrudge others for what they have achieved.  You do not know what they had to do to get there.  I am happy now with the life I have but I am not content to stand still.  Not yet.

I am living in the now.  What is past is gone.  I am not that person anymore.  I don’t look good in her clothes.  I do not want to walk in her shoes.  They would pinch my bunion.  I do not want to waste the time she did on the telephone bemoaning what she didn’t have.  I love my current life and I am determined to make the most of it.  I will not waste my energy worrying about what I will do when I am ninety because I am not there yet.  When I am, I have no doubt that I will have adjusted to the difference in my motor abilities, my memory and my diminished life style.  I do not know how I will like it until it happens.

Do not get me wrong.  I do not want to waste away in a hospital bed anymore than you do.  I have reached an age where I am determined to let my body fall apart at its own pace.  I do get my flu shots but I am not sure I would allow any procedures to prolong my life if I had a terminal illness.  I am not afraid of dying.  It is after all the most dramatic event in our life other than birth.  I cannot recall being afraid when I exited my mother’s body and I have no intention of being consumed with fear about my death because I have no idea when it will happen or how.  When I am there, I will deal with it. Hopefully it will be a grand and dramatic departure.

My goal right now is to live abundantly.  I will not spend one iota of the time I have in worry because worry never accomplished anything and I have a lot I need to do.  I want to learn to fan dance. I see me shimming and swaying to the music showing off my cute bum and my shapely lets and then turning to the crowd, peeking out of the fans with a face that looks for all the world like an abandoned prune that needs ironing.  It should have an amazing effect on the crowd.

I want to play the ukulele and tap dance while I do it.  I want to explore the nooks and crannies of a Europe I have read about and I want to make a lot of strangers laugh.   Want to fall in love the right way this time…loving who he is, not how he looks, what he buys me or what he wears. The size of his wallet or his dick are not barometers of love for me anymore.  They never were but I thought they were.  I know better now.   I cannot be bothered regretting the hump on my back or the arthritis that has gnarled my fingers.  They still work and while they do, I am using them.

I have done the accepted thing.  I have prepared a directive that tells everyone not to resuscitate me and not to use any artificial means to keep me alive.  I have donated all the organs that work to anyone who needs them although who would want my ears is something I still cannot figure out.  My kidneys however are stellar and I hope the person who gets them appreciates how beautifully they have worked for me.

I do not want to lie in a hospital bed on life support with medical science keeping me alive and i know very well that is a decision I must make while i have all my faculties and can prepare the proper papers to keep an exuberant medical staff from pumping up my lungs and stimulating a heart that no longer wants to beat.  I have done that but that is all I have done.  I am ready and willing for death to happen when it is ready for me.  My mother always said I arrived two moths after I was due.  “You were always slow,” she said.”Right from the beginning.”

But I got here didn’t I?

I hope my exit will be cleaner and faster but if it isn’t well…I cannot know what it will be like until it happens.  I am determined to only die once….and that will be on the day my heart stops beating and my lungs give  me no air.  …not one minute before.

The trick is to live…live as fully, as beautifully and as daringly as you can.  Reach for every star and don’t be afraid to meet the price, do the work and pay the dues to get you there.  There is no dream that is impossible.  Wallace Stegner says we do not die from a disease.  We die because we are finished.

I am not finished.  Are you?

 

 

 

 

 

VIEW FROM ACOSS THE POND: A GOOD DEATH

By Joe Cillo

 

LIVING THE GOOD LIFE

There are three ingredients in the good life:
Learning, earning and yearning.
Christopher Morley

Ezekiel Emanuel is 57 years old.  He is a physician specializing in cancer and the Vice Provost professor The University of Pennsylvania. He is a very smart man. Last October, he wrote an essay saying he wanted his life to end at 75.

He is a fool.

When I was 57, I had no idea what fun I could have once I crossed the line where productivity, beauty and fame topped the list of what I needed to make my day.   When I was 57 I cared that my face was drooping, my hearing dulled and my walk slowed, step by step.  I am 81 now and I love my wrinkled face.  It gets me every perc I could possibly want.  I step into a packed car in the tube and at least 3 gorgeous men stand up so I can rest my wrinkled bum on a seat.  I board a train and take a premium seat that is labeled Priority Seating just because I have been around a long time.

When I carry packages up or down stairs, there is always someone to carry those bundles for me and usually with a smile.  I hop (yes I can still hop) on a bus and sit down without worrying about the fare.  I go to movies, plays and concerts and pay at least 25% less than everyone else including all those youngsters under 60 with low paying jobs and expensive taste.

If I am in a queue and it is taking too long I clutch my heart and gasp a little; that gets me to the head of the line before I can exhale.  I stand at a counter rummaging though endless coins I cannot recognize without my glasses and NOT ONCE has anyone said, ”Hurry up, Bitch.”  No indeed.  Invariably there will be some kind soul who will hold my packages while I search for coins I dropped in the bottom of my purse and the clerk will ALWAYS smile and say, “Take your time, darling.”

And that brings me to another point:  EVERYONE, man, woman and even toddlers, address me as “Darling” and they mean it. The very things I did at 50 that annoyed the hell out of everyone; the missteps and accidents I had in my twenties that made both husbands leave me; all are absolutely adorable now that I am in my ninth decade.

But it isn’t just the attitude of everyone around me that has made life so very sweet these days.  It is MY attitude.  I am no longer concerned with what I see in the mirror.  It never got me much when I was younger and I don’t expect it to be the 8th aesthetic wonder of the world now.  That means that all the time, money and anguish I spent in beauty shops and on countless rejuvenation creams, skin enhancers, hair boosters…all of it is now spent on more rewarding activities like eating anything I want because what the hell: by the time I am too obese for my coffin, I won’t care. I won’t have to spend the extra money for it either.  The welfare department will.

I am at the age now where I can spend as much as I want for anything I want.  If I run out, I can get benefits.  My intention is to reduce my bank balance to zero and then apply for residence in a home.   We take care of our elderly here.  I am not worried about my liver either.  It’s held up this long, hasn’t it?

When I was in my fifties, I anguished because I had not made a visible mark in the world.  No one knew who I was.  My name never made a headline.  Now I realize that it isn’t the publicity you get for what you do, it is what you do that matters.  If it makes me happy and I am involved, then hooray; getting some award or a mention in someone’s column won’t change that.  It took me this long to get that.

“But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world,” says Emanuel.

And I say, “How does he know that?  He hasn’t gotten there yet.”

Well I have and I can honestly say that my walk is slower, but I get where I want to go and I do not feel deprived.  I enjoy my life just as it is.  I do not have the same desires I had at twenty or thirty or forty because that is not the stage of life I am in right now.  My perspective has improved.  I have confidence in myself. I trust my judgment.  I don’t want to go to bars and find a hot sex pot to take me to bed.  That doesn’t interest me anymore.  I don’t want to wear uncomfortable clothes that reveal my nether parts because my nether parts are not the focus of my pleasure anymore.  My mind and my heart are the hungry organs now and I do everything I can to feed them.  It is more fun and not as sloppy.

It took me a long time to figure out that life is like a card game.  You take the hand you get and play it out the best you can. It does no good to bemoan what you didn’t get or begrudge others for what they have achieved.  You do not know what they had to do to get there.  I am happy now with the life I have but I am not content to stand still.  Not yet.

I am living in the now.  What is past is gone.  I am not that person anymore.  I don’t look good in her clothes.  I do not want to walk in her shoes.  They would pinch my bunion.  I do not want to waste the time she did on the telephone bemoaning what she didn’t have.  I love my current life and I am determined to make the most of it.  I will not waste my energy worrying about what I will do when I am ninety because I am not there yet.  When I am, I have no doubt that I will have adjusted to the difference in my motor abilities, my memory and my diminished life style.  I do not know how I will like it until it happens.

Do not get me wrong.  I do not want to waste away in a hospital bed anymore than you do.  I have reached an age where I am determined to let my body fall apart at its own pace.  I do get my flu shots but I am not sure I would allow any procedures to prolong my life if I had a terminal illness.  I am not afraid of dying.  It is after all the most dramatic event in our life other than birth.  I cannot recall being afraid when I exited my mother’s body and I have no intention of being consumed with fear about my death because I have no idea when it will happen or how.  When I am there, I will deal with it. Hopefully it will be a grand and dramatic departure.

My goal right now is to live abundantly.  I will not spend one iota of the time I have in worry because worry never accomplished anything and I have a lot I need to do.  I want to learn to fan dance. I see me shimming and swaying to the music showing off my cute bum and my shapely lets and then turning to the crowd, peeking out of the fans with a face that looks for all the world like an abandoned prune that needs ironing.  It should have an amazing effect on the crowd.

I want to play the ukulele and tap dance while I do it.  I want to explore the nooks and crannies of a Europe I have read about and I want to make a lot of strangers laugh.   Want to fall in love the right way this time…loving who he is, not how he looks, what he buys me or what he wears. The size of his wallet or his dick are not barometers of love for me anymore.  They never were but I thought they were.  I know better now.   I cannot be bothered regretting the hump on my back or the arthritis that has gnarled my fingers.  They still work and while they do, I am using them.

I have done the accepted thing.  I have prepared a directive that tells everyone not to resuscitate me and not to use any artificial means to keep me alive.  I have donated all the organs that work to anyone who needs them although who would want my ears is something I still cannot figure out.  My kidneys however are stellar and I hope the person who gets them appreciates how beautifully they have worked for me.

I do not want to lie in a hospital bed on life support with medical science keeping me alive and i know very well that is a decision I must make while i have all my faculties and can prepare the proper papers to keep an exuberant medical staff from pumping up my lungs and stimulating a heart that no longer wants to beat.  I have done that but that is all I have done.  I am ready and willing for death to happen when it is ready for me.  My mother always said I arrived two moths after I was due.  “You were always slow,” she said.”Right from the beginning.”

But I got here didn’t I?

I hope my exit will be cleaner and faster but if it isn’t well…I cannot know what it will be like until it happens.  I am determined to only die once….and that will be on the day my heart stops beating and my lungs give  me no air.  …not one minute before.

The trick is to live…live as fully, as beautifully and as daringly as you can.  Reach for every star and don’t be afraid to meet the price, do the work and pay the dues to get you there.  There is no dream that is impossible.  Wallace Stegner says we do not die from a disease.  We die because we are finished.

I am not finished.  Are you?

 

 

 

 

 

Inspecting Carol Ideal Holiday Treat for NTC

By Flora Lynn Isaacson

Novato Theater Company just opened on November 29th with Daniel Sullivan and Seattle Rep’s madcap comedy Inspecting Carol, a backstage spoof of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. This play is about a small professional theatre company in a mid-size city of the Mid-West. The company strives to maintain funding, even as they suffer financial cuts. They learn that they will be inspected in order to receive a grant. As more and more things go wrong, the company tries to deal with each other while getting through the show.

According to Director James Nelson, “Inspecting Carol takes us backstage at the Soapbox Playhouse, a theatre once ripe with inspiration and alive with creative spirit. Years later, as the company works to churn out another Annual Christmas Carol, we see only remnants and distant reminders of the inspiration that once filled this house.”

Nelson is aware of the serious undertones of this delightful comedy. He directs his talented ensemble of 12 actors with a firm hand. He shows us how these dark undertones give substance and weight to the humor.

Act 1 deals with the rehearsal of A Christmas Carol. Act 2 shows us the actual performance, which is an extraordinary mix of anything that could go wrong at the worst possible time in front of the inspector who could give them a grant.

There are so many outstanding performances. First-place honors go to Nan Ayers, as the Stage Manager who runs the show and who also plays Martha Cratchet in the show within a show. Matt Farrell plays Wayne, the wannabe actor mistaken for the inspector. The company lets him make terrible changes because they think they will get money from the changes. Next up, Zorah Bloch is played by Maxine Sattizahn, excellent as an insane Lithuanian director. She is always very emotional. Rayan Dridi plays Luther, a very cute little boy too big to play Tiny Tim. He leaves halfway after Act 1 because he has booked a TV show. Shirley Nilsen Hall is fabulous as Dorothy, the British dialect coach who also plays Emily Cratchet. Her exercise with the lemon steals the show. Shirley’s husband well-known local director Norman A. Hall plays Sidney, who plays the ghost of Jacob Marley and Fezziwig. Jeffrey Orth plays Bob Cratchet. He is in love with Zorah due to their one-night stand. Milt Jordan, Jr., plays Walter, the company’s first black actor. He doesn’t know any of his lines. He plays all three ghosts and also steals the show with his dumb show facial expressions. David Shirk plays Kevin the company’s Financial Director. He is a nervous eater and tries to suck up to the inspector as much as possible. Chuck isen is Larry, a middle-aged man whose wife left him. He is the one who plays Scrooge. He buries all his emotions and, instead, acts out by trying to put “social justice” in the show. Tim Clover plays Bart, the guy who plays all the other males roles in the show. Last but not least is Shari Clover who plays Betty Andrews, the inspector. She watches Act 2 from on-stage, and her performance gives us a surprise ending.

All of the characters are well-rounded and wonderfully real – in their roles as far- from-perfect- actors with real personalities. Be sure not to miss Inspecting Carol for a fun-filled holiday treat.

Inspecting Carol will run from November 29 through December 21, 2014. All performances will be held at the NTC Playhouse, 5420 Nave Dr., Novato. Performances will take place at 8 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, with Sunday matinees at 2 p.m. For tickets, call 415-883-4498 or go online to www.novatotheatercompany.org.

Coming up next at NTC will be The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood from February 6th though March 1st, 2015.

VIEW FROM ACROSS THE POND: NAMES

By Joe Cillo

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
William Shakespeare

We aren’t naming our babies George, anymore.  Evidently, parents don’t want to saddle their children with names that imply delusions of royalty.  Instead of naming our little boys nice solid names like George, William or Harry, we are turning to something more exotic like Mohammed or Ali. I think that is a huge mistake.   A very young child can manage to spell George or Harry easily enough but what is he to do when he has to remember how many em’s and where the a’s and the e’s go in a name like Mohammed?  The challenge is even greater even for the little guy if his parents go a bit more exotic and opt for Ibrahim or Omar.

Girls fare no better with the top name of the year: Sophia.  You have to be pretty mature to understand that p and h together make f.  And worse, the i in that name sounds like an e.  That is a lot of remembering to expect from a little 4-year-old maiden trying to spell her name for her teacher.

The truth is simple names sound much more solid and reliable.  You can trust a guy named Bill and you KNOW you count on a Jane or a Mary.  I have found that people often adopt the characteristics implied by their names.  If I have a friend named Lucretia, I know she is going to be all over the place with so many syllables and funny letter combinations.  …a frivolous, unreliable person who forces you to stop and think before you address an e mail to her.

I personally love the name George and I think Kate and William had the right idea when they christened their little prince.  When I envision a George, I see a no frills, honest, down-to-earth guy I can trust; just the kind of qualities women look for in a partner, and bosses want in their interns.  No doubt about it, you name your child George and everyone will believe in his integrity and look up to him before they even meet him.  A name like George reeks of authority.  It gives you a feeling of security.  A guy named George could very well end up a king. Mohammed?  Not so much.

 

 

 

Off Broadway West’s The Train Driver by Athol Fugard at the Phoenix a Must See!

By Linda Ayres-Frederick

Few shows can be described as riveting but Off Broadway West’s Bay Area premiere production of The Train Driver by Athol Fugard fits that description precisely. It helps to have a Tony Award winning playwright and seasoned director Richard D. Harder to interpret the work. Harder previously won an SF Bay Area Critics Circle Award for directing  OBW’s production of Fugard’s “Master Harold” and the Boys.

Set in Fugard’s native South Africa, the 75 minute drama follows a white train driver Roelf Visagie (intensely depicted by Conor Hamill) who is devastated by unintentionally killing a black woman who stepped in front of his moving train with an infant strapped to her back. Haunted by the experience, Roelf seeks solace and answers by traveling to the township’s graveyard where he encounters the aged black gravedigger named Simon Hanabe (a sensitive portrayal by Melvin Thompson). Simon’s job is to bury the “nameless”. Through their unlikely friendship, Roelf comes to face his guilt and remorse.

Melvin Thompson, Conor Hamill

Fugard has called The Train Driver his most significant work in a 50-year career.  A longtime advocate of the abolition of apartheid, Fugard is a master storyteller interweaving the personal with the political. While his characters may not be formally educated, their driving need to understand their life experience makes them both genuinely articulate and ultimately poetic.

The Train Driver continues at 8pm Thursdays, Fridays & Saturdays through December 6, 2014. 3pm Sunday Matinee November 30.

The Phoenix Theatre, 414 Mason Street (near Geary)  Sixth Floor,  SF

Tickets: $40 General Admission (TBA, Senior, Student & Group Discounts Available)  1.800.838.3006  www.offbroadwaywest.org

Information: 510.835.4205  info@offbroadwaywest.org

November 23, 2014  Linda Ayres-Frederick

Austen‘s Persuasion

By Flora Lynn Isaacson

Austen‘s Persuasion
Adapted by Jennifer Le Blanc at RVP

Popular English author Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility) had a final novel Persuasion which has been brought to life by Marin native Jennifer Le Blanc and directed by Mary Ann Rodgers.

Anne Elliot (Robyn Grahn) is the 27-year-old over-looked middle daughter of the vain Sir Walter Elliot (Steve Price), an arrogant baron who spends excessive amounts of money. Eight years before the story properly begins, Anne is happily engaged to a Naval officer, Frederick Wentworth (Gregg Le Blanc – husband of Jennifer), but she suddenly breaks off the engagement when persuaded by her friend, Lady Russell (Rachel Kayhan) that such a match with a penniless man is unworthy. The breakup produces in Anne deep and long-lasting regret.

Wentworth re-enters Anne’s life when Sir Walter is forced by his own financial irresponsibility to rent-out Kellynch Hall, the family estate. Kellynch’s tenants turn out to be none other than Wentworth’s sister Sophia (Ellen Brooks) and her husband, the recently retired Admiral Croft (Clay David). Wentworth, who has just returned from sea, is now a rich and successful captain and has never forgiven Anne for rejecting him. While publicly declaring he is ready to marry any suitable young woman who catches his fancy, he privately resolves that he is ready to become attached to any appealing young woman with the exception of Anne. All of the tension of Persuasion revolves around one question: will Anne and Wentworth be reunited in their love?

Mary Ann Rodgers and her capable 20-member-cast give impressive performances. Robyn Grahn is perfect in the central character, and Greg Le Blanc is also wonderful as Capt. Wentworth. Rachel Kayhan begins the play as Lady Russell, the person who persuaded Anne to dump Wentworth. Notable performances from the talented cast also include Jayme Catalano, as Anne’s sister Elizabeth, Steve Price, as Sir Walter, Ellen Brooks as Sophia, Clay David, as Adm. Croft, and a superb actress, Anne Ripley in a cameo role as the dowager Lady Dalrymple.

Many of the actors stepped briefly out of character to deliver a running narrative connecting plot development that otherwise might have been difficult to follow. An easel stage-right informed the audience as to the locale of each scene (which would have remained a mystery). Set designer Malcolm Rodgers gives us an all-white set which becomes both indoor and outdoor locations. One nice special effect was twirling parasols when the characters rode in a carriage. The period costumes by Michael A. Berg were outstanding – absolutely stole the show. First produced after her death in 1817, Persuasion is the last of Jane Austen’s romantic novels. As adapted by Jennifer Le Blanc, Persuasion retains its own enduring charm.

Persuasion is running at Ross Valley Players from November 14 through December 14. Thursday performances are at 7:30 p.m.; Friday and Saturday performances are at 8 p.m.; Sunday matinees are at 2 p.m. There will be Special Performances on Saturday, December 13th, at 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. All performances take place at the Barn Theater of the Ross Valley Players at 30 Sir Francis Drake Blvd., Ross CA. To order tickets, call 415-456-9555, extension 1, or go on line to www.RossValleyPlayers.com.

Coming up next at RVP will be Impressionism, a contemporary romance by Michael Jacobs, from January 16 to February 15, 2015.

Flora Lynn Isaacson

A Musical for the Holiday Season at SF Playhouse “Promises, Promises”

By Linda Ayres-Frederick

Promises, Promises is one of those musical comedies that borrowed its plot from a non-musical film, and a 1960 classic at that. The comedy-drama “The Apartment” produced, directed and co-authored by Billy Wilder starred Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine and Fred MacMurray and won six well-deserved Academy Awards. In 1969 Neil Simon and Burt Bacharach adapted the film and turned it into the musical Promises, Promises. The most memorable song of the show, “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” joined the standards of the day, earning a Grammy Nomination and became a hit single sung by Dionne Warwick.  But what does all this have to do with the current local production of Promises, Promises now running at SF Playhouse? The show fits nicely into a holiday season motif with its office Christmas party revels as well as the less than desirable aspects of the season: broken-hearted naivete seeking solace by downing too many sleeping pills.

Leah Shesky, Steven Shear, and Jeffrey Brian Adams

Chuck Baxter (a convincing Jeffrey Brian Adams) is the ambitious but invisible office worker who gains attention by lending his tiny apartment to his philandering superiors for their romantic trysts. He runs into trouble when he finds himself sharing a would-be girlfriend Fran Kubelik (the charming Monique Hafen) with his callous boss J.D. Sheldrake (Johnny Moreno). With hope of gaining Fran’s attention dashed, Chuck seeks solace picking up a tipsy Marge (the hilarious Corinne Proctor) at the local bar only to be surprised to discover

Fran nearly overdosed in his bed. Once rid of Marge, he seeks help from his neighbor Dr. Dreyfuss (the comedic Ray Reinhardt) to save Fran’s life.

With creative choreography by Kimberly Richards, the two and a half hour show includes a dizzying array of projections by Micah Steiglitz. The stronger second act makes additional use of Director Bill English’s Set Design as it shifts back and forth from the office locales to the interior of the apartment.

Promises, Promises continues Tuesdays through Sundays thru January 10, 2015. No shows 11/27,12/24, 12/25, 1/1 Tickets: $20-$120. 415.677.9596. www.sfplayhouse.org.

November 2014 Linda Ayres-Frederick

Wild Women

By Joe Cillo

Well-behaved women seldom make history.
Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

My friend Nancy was married to a man she liked well enough.  They had a little daughter together and life went along smoothly. When the little girl was 2 years old, Nancy went to a party and met the most exciting, marvelous romantic man she ever imagined.  She danced two dances with him, called her husband and said, “Put the baby to sleep. I won’t be home tonight.  I am in love.”

Wow.

My buddy Helen nursed her husband through a six-year fight with cancer. The day after he died, she realized she was a millionaire. She booked a trip to India, took a vacation in Cuba, found a hot Samba dancer to squire her around and became a fan dancer. She never once wore black.

These days, women are tough.  They learn karate and they fight back.  The day of The Little Woman is long gone .  My father taught me that if there was a man in the room, a lady never touches a doorknob.  If I tried that little trick today I would never get out of the room.  Women today are liberated…. But to me they aren’t very interesting.  They are overworked and underappreciated.

Nora Ephron said that the only thing a woman gained from the Women’s Movement is paying her own way. I see the modern matron, dressed in her trim executive suit, running an office all day, driving home battling rush hour traffic and stopping at the super market to pick up food for dinner.  She pulls into the driveway, grabs her laptop and two bags of groceries, kicks the door open with her foot and staggers into the kitchen to put her purchases away.

She pulls off her shoes, asks the kids about their homework, kisses her husband and says “How was your day, darling?”

She starts dinner and goes upstairs to change into something a bit less constraining than her office garb.  You can’t really do a job with dinner when you are constricted by a latex tummy controller and a push up bra.  She manages to put together a stir-fry, salad and ice cream for dessert and calls everyone to the table.  Her oldest son says he isn’t hungry, the middle one takes his plate up to his room and her daughter refuses to eat anything but the ice cream.

She cleans the kitchen, hauls out the hoover and does the rugs.  She has been on the go since 6 a.m. when she got up to pack lunches for the children. She is too exhausted to make conversation and way too tired for romance.

Today’s woman can try anything and be anything as long as she is willing to take less pay for twice as much work.  She can be an executive that runs complex multifaceted companies.  But she needs to ignore those snide remarks about emasculating men or being a bit…well you know…a bit ballsy.

If this is liberation, I want none of it. I would rather be interesting and out of the box.

I don’t want to do it all for everyone.  I want to do it all for myself.  I am untamed and erratic.  I wear feather boas in Tesco’s and drink champagne for breakfast. I cook dinner naked and put on my slippers to get the mail.  I am wild. And wild is very interesting.

When I walk into a room, the sun to rises and the blinds blink.  I am so unusual, cows give me whipped cream and bread turns into toast.   So do men.

It seems to me that liberated women play so many roles they don’t have time to be themselves. That is too tame for me. I want to be wild…I want to be interesting…I want to be fun.  All it takes is a little determination and a lot of red wine.

Once upon a time in the dark ages of the twentieth century there were man things and women things.  Men took out the trash, fixed the cars and lifted heavy stuff.  They drove cars and demanded food.  They earned money.  Women stayed at home and talked on the phone.  They pushed buttons on their modern appliances, shopped at the mall and went to their psychiatrist on a weekly basis.  They felt used.  They had to give sex on demand and still cook dinner and wash the dishes.  And so they rebelled.

NOW they have it all…..because they have to do it all.

I think it is time to share the chores and divide the pleasures.  The only problem is that no red blooded liberated woman wants to have sex with a guy in an apron….unless he isn’t wearing anything else.