My girlfriend Mandy is a real drama queen. Yes, I mean it that way, but more to the point she really goes in for obscure drama. Latvian films subtitled in Croatian, public access cable shows from Opp, Alabama, bit-films off the Web, and off-off-off-off-Broadways "theatrical" productions. The more vague and ambiguous the better. If you understand the point of the performance you've missed something. In the "best" drama the plot is always enigmatic and the author's true meaning is always indiscernible, blah, blah, blah. Well, at least that what she says, and I love her and have spent many hours enjoying the enjoyment she gets from these plays. And they are good for a laugh with my buddies later, when Mandy's not around.
Something else, too: once they finally legalized magic, throwing in the towel after decades of a failing and draconian "War on Drugs" (read: war on majick), live dramatic performances became much more interesting. Hollywood had been using magic for years, calling it "CGI" or "Animatronics" to keep from being hassled by the Feds, but now it was possible for smaller budget films and stage shows to just hire a conjurer to do the work. Cheaper and without pretense, although from what I hear many conjurers were more of a prima donna than the most self-absorbed actress.
This made many of Mandy's "finds" more tolerable, for at least there was the magic to entertain me while I looked thoughtful and moved by the cryptic (and often silly) dialog. Actors levitated, grew eyeballs on their shoulders and occasionally turned each other into kumquats for no apparent reason but, hey! It's high art. Who am I to question it? Besides, she really ate it up, and I liked to see her happy.
Well, one day I came home from work to find my sweetie pouring over the back pages of a Variety knock-off rag called "Camera Obscura". It was a cheaply produced 'zine, printed on barely readable recycled paper on a Daisy-wheel printer from the 80's, published randomly but consistently for the last 14 years. You had to know someone who knew someone who knew when and where it would sold, and the price changed according to how much paper and ribbon had been used to produce it. This, like Mandy's films, was adequately arcane.
"Hun, check this out, " she said as I pulled off my work shoes, covered with the grime of the new subway I was working on, "a new production by Andrew Fraunke. You know him; he authored 'Suite to Eat'. We saw that last October at that performance space in Hoboken."
I remembered: everyone on stage became a walking vegetable by the end of the play. Something to do with man's inhumanity toward shrimp or something. "What's this one called?"
"'Fly on the Wall'. Let me read you the copy: 'A tone poem of epic proportions in an incommodious environment. Secret plans for global domination at the commode. Illuminati in a lavatory.' It says the special affects are done by a new conjurer, Sinthia Convey, and will be awesome. Sinthia with an 'S', by the way"
"Special affects?"
"That's what it says. Probably a typo. You know the Camera."
Did I ever! The Yellow Pages of fatuous, self-indulgent playwrights. I had no voyeuristic intentions and didn't see how I could put up with watching a couple of guys take an extended leak while talking over world politics, but I knew better than to fight. "When will it be showing?" Hopefully there'd be one performance on a night we both had to work.
"Next week, Saturday the 30th, at 8:00PM. Upstate. They're calling it "Walpurgis Night in Woodstock". That's not too far, and we could spend the night at that little B&B we visited last summer."
Now that I really remember! Fondly! If there's a reprise of that performance…"We are so there, my love!"
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The drive up the Sawmill River Parkway on an early Spring Saturday was a joy, despite the heavy traffic. I knew it would thin out eventually, because all these people could not be going to Fraunke's play. If they were then we wouldn't be. But eventually the bumper-to-bumper-ness got to me, so we crossed the Hudson at Newburgh and headed north along the Thruway to Saugerties. West on 212 got us to Woodstock and the Millstream Road Inn in time to check in and change before the play. How long could a play about a bathroom cabinet meeting take? I wondered. We'd be back here early for some relaxation and recreation. Mandy's obsession with drama always fired her passions, something to look forward to.
The performance was to take place in the house owned by Sinthia Convey, down Ohayo Mountain Rd. towards Montoma about three miles from the B&B. Good way to insure your participation in the play, regardless of your conjuring skills I thought. Her place was off the road a few hundred feet, and she had made a space for the dozen of so carloads of aficionados who had trekked up from the city, probably the whole readership of the Camera. As Daylight Savings had kicked in it was still pretty light as Mandy and I walked up to the house, but the thick interlocking pine branches overhead and dark dirt below gave the place a gloomy ambience.
I thought that the play would be out back on a stage or in a big room, but at the front door I learned from the usher who took our coats that it would take place entirely in her downstairs loo. How the heck would forty of us fit into that small privy? Was this her 'awesome' conjuring trick? Before I could voice my concerns to Mandy Maestro Fraunke and Mistress Sinthia appeared at the top of the long wooden staircase, awaiting the perfunctory applause. Andrew was dressed as an emaciated Benjamin Franklin, thinning long hair and spectacles on his hawk nose. He seemed pleased with himself, but not to the point of being immodest. Sinthia and the other hand was a modern day Morticia Addams in her long, tight, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination black dress. Mandy's figure was much curvier than our evening's conjurer, and such a look was entirely passé, but hey! This is high art. Who am I to question?
"Greetings," said Andrew in a quiet tenor, "Greetings and welcome to 'Fly on the Wall'."
"Yess, and welcome to my home," cooed Sinthia in her best gothic contralto. "I'm sure you will find this evening's performance mosst fulfilling. I certainly will."