Jessie and Lina are neighbors. Both have newborns. Jessie spots Lina at the grocery store, and invites her over. There is no patio furniture so they must share a slide for toddlers. Each carries one of those remote nanny gadgets, ear cocked for the first peep. Lina’s particularly skilled at calming her son from a distance. The two discuss strategies for dealing with regular squalls, and Jessie mentions her doctor, who says: “Let them cry it out.” Lina is appalled that anyone would leave a baby, to weep alone in the dark, till it realizes no one’s coming. She adds that unless Jessie’s doctor has a vagina, he should mind his own business.

Even though it’s plain that Lina is blue collar and Jessie comes from privilege, they bond almost immediately. They share very personal details, finding they have much in common. One day, Mitchell just shows up in the backyard, groping for the words to explain who he is, and what he’s doing there. Apologetically, he tells them he’s concerned for his wife, a new mother herself. She seems profoundly detached and distant. Understanding he’s coming from out of the blue, he asks if Adrienne might join them. He leaves his card, before they can say, “No.” After some rumination, Jessie consents. When Adrienne comes over, she spends all her time answering email. When she speaks at all, she’s brusque and petulant. She storms off, spouting invective. When Jessie expresses genuine sympathy, Lina is aghast.

Playwright Molly Smith Metzler has crafted a cunning, very moving story, comparing the lives of three women, dealing with demands of motherhood. Each comes from a different economic background, with different men, and different aspirations. Cry It Out considers the systemic trap that women must endure, when living in a patriarchy. Certain tropes of female subjugation are so ingrained in our culture, they’re nearly intuitive. Lina deals with these frustrations as best she can. Adrienne is overcome with rage. Jessie is resigned and terribly, terribly sad. Metzler offers a microcosm of American hierarchy without referencing these ideas in so many words. Speaking as an inveterate feminist, diatribe is sometimes appropriate. But what makes this drama so effective, so sophisticated, is how seamlessly, how indelibly Metzler depicts the predicament of three women, who would just settle for some crust of happiness. Certainly the plot stands without further rumination, but the subtext is nearly as salient.

Across the board, the actors (Shea McMillan, Danielle Elliot, Eddy Herring, Haley Ewertz) are impeccable, delivering poised, dedicated, touching performances. Director Carol Rice orchestrates a pitch perfect show, that balances tone, content, pace with intelligence and mastery. This is a powerful, compelling piece. Let it be next on your list.

Rover Dramawerks presents: Cry it Out, playing June 17th-26th, 2021. The Core Theatre: 518 West Arapaho Road, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Ginger (aka Gingy) opens Love, Loss and What I Wore with one of her drawings, projected on a screen. It’s the outfit she wore on her first day of school. She draws every piece she needs to remember. She goes into detail, describing the components, her expectations, and other emotions tied to the event. And that’s the premise of Love, Loss…each dress, suit, bra, boots and other articles of clothing trigger an important memory for the women who share their anecdotes. Often we are provided cultural and historic context for a particular piece, though some “speak” for themselves. In addition to the narrator, there is an ensemble cast of four other women. Mostly they deliver monologues, and occasionally, a group commenting on a particular subject, just to mix things up.

Adapted from the book by Ilene Beckerman, sisters Nora and Delia Ephron premiered Love, Loss and What I Wore in 2008, at Guild Hall in East Hampton New York. The play seems to turn on the idea of fetishes, that is to say, how a profound incident fuses with an object. Cigarette pants with her first night in Paris. Boots with an excruciating episode, and defiance. A tuxedo and family conflict resolved. Like In White America or Spoon River Anthology, it tells a story by weaving personal accounts (from the lives of women). From teen to young woman to woman to elder. From celebration to ordeal to epiphany to resignation.

The key to any successful writing, I think, is an intersection between the unique and universal. We may not know the stories before the curtain rises, but there’s just something about each one, that feels familiar. I am going to speculate here, that Ms. Beckerman and the Ephron Sisters were aiming to evince one aspect of the female experience. By producing these “tokens” from each vignette, we learn something from what it means to be a cis-gendered woman in American society. Not that these authors don’t push the envelope, here and there.

In a departure from their delectably silly comedies, Pocket Sandwich Theatre has gone with a show that’s reflective, wry, heartbreaking, and always authentic. The cast (Sherry Etzel, Rose Anne Holman, Araceli Radillo, Angela Vaughn, and Kim Winnubst) is nuanced, avid, invested and poised. Rose Anne Holman demonstrates her director’s chops, striking a balance between sentience and the strange realm of recollection. I wondered when I attended, if I might feel I was peering into a window. This certainly would have been enough, but Ms. Holman manages to preserve accuracy while finding the enchanted touchstone we call empathy. And that’s a miracle in woefully short supply, lately. Don’t miss this marvelous, sophisticated, unsophisticated show.

Pocket Sandwich Theatre presents: Love, Loss and What I Wore playing Tuesdays and Wednesdays: June 15, 16, 22, 23, 29 & 30 at 7:30 p.m. 5400 East Mockingbird Lane, Suite 119. Dallas, Texas 75206. 214-821-1860. pst@dallas.net

 

Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler is a thwarted soul, smothering in the effete existence of academic aristocracy. She bemoans her marriage to adoring husband George, all loftiness and no intensity. She tolerates George and his Aunt Julia, for the sake of economic security, barely concealing contempt for the concessions she’s endured. Indeed contempt seems to be her stock in trade. She aches for the tempestuous affaire de ceour she left behind when she broke off with Eilert. The bellicose emotions he triggered in Hedda, self-actualized and exhilarated her. Something about the chemistry between them ignited repressed rage, creating a special bond.

When Thea (an erstwhile school friend) shows up on Hedda’s doorstep, she’s surprised to discover that Thea’s left her husband, to pursue a connection to Eilert. It seems both Thea and Hedda are stuck in dissatisfying, loveless marriages. When he tutored her children, Thea and Eilert gradually became closer. Thea has nurtured his better angels, facilitating a successful novel, and his recovery from alcohol addiction. Through all this, Hedda feigns sympathy and encouragement. She’s seething with jealousy, but forgets the choices no one forced her to make.

Hedda, compelled to survive a culture that stifles women with powerful, reckless feelings, will nonetheless sabotage those who have managed to deal. When anger shoves her to extreme measures, we see her prolonged struggle with that decision. In some sense, her pride has been wounded. She can’t bear to see someone she loves so passionately, succeed with another woman. Hedda Gabler feels like a paean to Hedda’s shadow. When inevitable attempts to validate her darkest impulses are thwarted, she finds solace in capitulation. She would rather check–out than subsist in a world that refuses to comply. 

It will be a relief, I think, when we can leave virtual theatre in the margins. Local troupes like The Undermain have vigorously risen to the occasion, with their recent production of Hedda Gabler. Blake Hackler’s adaptation is effective and expedient, though there were times when I wondered if it made the melodrama a bit too salient. At the risk of sounding like a bible-thumper, perhaps Hackler’s more contemporary turn on Ibsen’s dialogue (“Way to stick to your guns.”) loses some nuance and lyricism along the way. That being said, Undermain’s Hedda Gabler is captivating and articulate: clarifying complex themes, showcasing phenomenal performances  and cunning execution.

Undermain presents Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, adapted and directed by Blake Hackler, streaming May 26th-June 13^th, 2021. 3200 Main Street, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-747- 5515.  www.undermain.org.