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Authors: Jessica Thomas
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yearly festivals that draws hundreds of people. He could put Provincetown on the map.”
“We’re already on the map,” Lainey snipped. “And if we get many more people out here, we’re going to sink.”
“Lainey, Lainey, this is Broadway writ large!” Peter cried. “Right here in our own backyards!”
“If I wanted Broadway in my backyard I’d live in New York.”
I sensed a little tiff brewing and hoped to avoid it. “Who’s this Carlucci guy and what does he do?”
Wolf looked at me gratefully. “He’s a writer/director in New York. He’s done several off Broadway plays that everyone thought had great, great potential, but somehow he just hadn’t clicked big-time. Well, he was being interviewed on some talk show a couple of years ago, and the emcee—an idiot, naturally—asked Carlucci if he thought Shakespeare was now outdated. Carlucci answered, ‘A great play knows no calendar.’
“Well, he realized he’d gotten off a really good, quotable line, so he took it and ran with it. He swore, then and there, he could take any great play—Shakespearean or other—and make it work today.”
“Not so.” I lifted my cup for a refill as Cassie walked around with the coffee carafe. “Shakespeare works because of the way he shows human strengths and weaknesses that never really change, no matter when you live. You know, an otherwise great person fails and falls because of too much jealousy or ambition or greed. The one fault finally gets an otherwise great person. Shakespeare doesn’t much deal with social issues per se.”
Cindy was nodding agreement. “She’s right. Look at George Bernard Shaw. His plays were wonderfully written, clever and timely, but you just about never see one produced now, because the issues aren’t exactly ours today. Unless you’re really into the Shavian politics of the time, you’re lost with old GBS.”
Cassie emerged with brandies, which she passed around, and Peter broke the tension with a flowery little toast to the new dining room.
Wolf wasn’t going to give up easily, however. “All right,” he muttered. “But Carlucci has proven his point. He’s done three plays and he’s made them work. First he took Ibsen’s A Doll’s House and—”
“Oh, hell,” Cindy laughed. “You’ve hit on the one possible exception. A Doll’s House , to womankind’s great misfortune, is still timely, as are one or two of his other plays. In fact, did you know that ‘women’s liberation’ in Chinese is actually the word nora-ism?”
“You’re kidding!” Cassie held a mug toward Peter for more coffee. “I didn’t know the Chinese had a word for women’s lib.”
“Well, they had to borrow it, but I am dead serious.”
“Aha!” Wolf crowed. “But in Carlucci’s version it wasn’t Nora who was made to feel less and less a necessary part of the marriage, less a real person. It was the poor husband! Carlucci changed the setting to the present and had Nora slowly take over every decision the poor man made. She even took over his business and left him stuck at home with the kids and housework. Finally, in desperation, he left the two kids and scarpered without even a note.”
“I love your phrase, Wolf.” Cassie had a glint in her eye. “If the husband was stuck at home with the kids and housework, what about all the women who are home with them everyday? Should they also scarper ?” Somehow I felt we were working up to another evening of endangered crockery.
“Was the play a success?” I asked.
“Definitely.” Peter took up the baton. “Ran nearly a year, great reviews. And then our genius Carlucci came out with the biggie! Remember Somerset Maugham’s Rain , where the lady of rather ill repute slowly but surely seduces the young missionary on a south sea island during the monsoons?”
A couple of us nodded vaguely. A short story, I thought, and maybe a movie.
“Well, our wunderkind renamed it Snow and modernized the setting to a B&B in
“We’re already on the map,” Lainey snipped. “And if we get many more people out here, we’re going to sink.”
“Lainey, Lainey, this is Broadway writ large!” Peter cried. “Right here in our own backyards!”
“If I wanted Broadway in my backyard I’d live in New York.”
I sensed a little tiff brewing and hoped to avoid it. “Who’s this Carlucci guy and what does he do?”
Wolf looked at me gratefully. “He’s a writer/director in New York. He’s done several off Broadway plays that everyone thought had great, great potential, but somehow he just hadn’t clicked big-time. Well, he was being interviewed on some talk show a couple of years ago, and the emcee—an idiot, naturally—asked Carlucci if he thought Shakespeare was now outdated. Carlucci answered, ‘A great play knows no calendar.’
“Well, he realized he’d gotten off a really good, quotable line, so he took it and ran with it. He swore, then and there, he could take any great play—Shakespearean or other—and make it work today.”
“Not so.” I lifted my cup for a refill as Cassie walked around with the coffee carafe. “Shakespeare works because of the way he shows human strengths and weaknesses that never really change, no matter when you live. You know, an otherwise great person fails and falls because of too much jealousy or ambition or greed. The one fault finally gets an otherwise great person. Shakespeare doesn’t much deal with social issues per se.”
Cindy was nodding agreement. “She’s right. Look at George Bernard Shaw. His plays were wonderfully written, clever and timely, but you just about never see one produced now, because the issues aren’t exactly ours today. Unless you’re really into the Shavian politics of the time, you’re lost with old GBS.”
Cassie emerged with brandies, which she passed around, and Peter broke the tension with a flowery little toast to the new dining room.
Wolf wasn’t going to give up easily, however. “All right,” he muttered. “But Carlucci has proven his point. He’s done three plays and he’s made them work. First he took Ibsen’s A Doll’s House and—”
“Oh, hell,” Cindy laughed. “You’ve hit on the one possible exception. A Doll’s House , to womankind’s great misfortune, is still timely, as are one or two of his other plays. In fact, did you know that ‘women’s liberation’ in Chinese is actually the word nora-ism?”
“You’re kidding!” Cassie held a mug toward Peter for more coffee. “I didn’t know the Chinese had a word for women’s lib.”
“Well, they had to borrow it, but I am dead serious.”
“Aha!” Wolf crowed. “But in Carlucci’s version it wasn’t Nora who was made to feel less and less a necessary part of the marriage, less a real person. It was the poor husband! Carlucci changed the setting to the present and had Nora slowly take over every decision the poor man made. She even took over his business and left him stuck at home with the kids and housework. Finally, in desperation, he left the two kids and scarpered without even a note.”
“I love your phrase, Wolf.” Cassie had a glint in her eye. “If the husband was stuck at home with the kids and housework, what about all the women who are home with them everyday? Should they also scarper ?” Somehow I felt we were working up to another evening of endangered crockery.
“Was the play a success?” I asked.
“Definitely.” Peter took up the baton. “Ran nearly a year, great reviews. And then our genius Carlucci came out with the biggie! Remember Somerset Maugham’s Rain , where the lady of rather ill repute slowly but surely seduces the young missionary on a south sea island during the monsoons?”
A couple of us nodded vaguely. A short story, I thought, and maybe a movie.
“Well, our wunderkind renamed it Snow and modernized the setting to a B&B in
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