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carose59"MacBeth. MacBeth, MacBeth. MacBeth! MacBeth! MacBeth!"*
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As I'm sure you know by now, I believe that the Universe will give you messages, if you pay attention. And I believe that if you follow what the Universe tells you, things will work out.
Here are the messages the Universe sent me, telling me to see Orson's Shadow.
First there was the commercial on TMC. Between movies, they talk about movie stuff--books on movie stars that are coming out, DVDs being released, plays with movie connections that are being performed. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was watching some movie, and the commercial afterward talked about a play about how Orson Welles directed the play Rhinoceros with Laurence Olivier and Joan Plowright, before they were married, but while they were having an affair. (Olivier was still married to Vivien Leigh at the time.) It sounded just wonderful, so I looked it up online and found that it had an open-ended run. I went over and told my mother about the play. She seemed enthusiastic, but a little baffled at why I so wanted to see this play.
That was in April.
I, of course, waffled about everything. Was it a good idea to even go to NY by myself? Not that it felt dangerous to me, but I was so afraid that I would go and hide in my hotel room the whole time. And then I had to change when I was going. So I didn't buy a ticket; I decided to wait and see what happened.
One thing that happened was a billboard they put up a few blocks from my house. I don't know what it was for. I do know that it had a picture of a rhinoceros that nearly filled the whole canvas. Yes, OK, I get it!
Still, I didn't buy a ticket. (It's very, very hard for me to remember to write "a ticket." My hands want to type "tickets." I still try to buy two tickets when I go to the movies, too.) I did pack, and I did make my hotel reservation, and I did make my plane reservation. I got ready to go. I thought about the play, and I looked at the billboard, and I told myself I'd see when I got there.
Well, I got there. And it was wonderful, and I was confident, and I took the subway, and I got on busses by myself, and I rode the Cyclone, and I walked and walked and walked, alone mostly, and sometimes in the dark. (You remember that I'm not allowed to be out in the dark by myself, right?) And it was fine--it was wonderful.
Still, I wondered what to do about the play. Did I want to go to Manhattan? Well, yes; I needed to go to the ESB to research a story. And as long as I was going to Manhattan anyway, it was silly not to go to a play I'd been thinking about for two months. Right?
Still.
On Friday, after I'd been to the cemetery, I got on the bus and went to Bay Ridge and took pictures and wandered around. I decided to go to the diner I ate at the first time I was in NY, and there was a newspaper box with The Village Voice in it. So I grabbed one, went into the diner, and ordered a brandy Alexandre (don't ask). I told myself that I'd look to see if there was anything about it in the paper, and if there was, maybe I'd call.
I opened the paper to the exact page the listing for Orson's Shadow was on.
"All right! Stop pushing!" I didn't say it out loud. But I realized that if I didn't call and reserve a seat, it was clear somebody was going to abduct me and drag me to see this play.
So, that evening I called to reserve a ticket.
Now, you already know how I got to the theatre, so I'll skip that part and get to the play.
Well, first there was pizza right around the corner. Then, because I still had time, I walked around another corner and bought some clips for my (still-uncut) hair.
And then the play.
It was wonderful. From www.orsontheplay.com:
The cast--particularly Ken Marks, who played Laurence Olivier--was extraordinary. The play was both remarkably kind and very--is honest the right word when you're imagining how real people behaved in times and places you didn't witness? (Am I the wrong person to even be asking that question?) Let's assume honest is the right word. It's clear that Austin Pendleton loves the people he's writing about even as he sees so clearly how awfully they can treat each other. And the writing itself is both graceful and strong. I was transported.
At intermission I had gone to the ice cream place and bought a brownie and a bottle of water, so I wasn't all that hungry after the play. In fact, I was a little sick to my stomach (too much sugar) and I spent some time in the restroom (and yes, there's a reason I'm telling you this). Because being that much later leaving the theatre, I got to meet Austin Pendleton.
He was standing out front, talking to someone. I stopped and told him what a wonderful play he'd written, and he thanked me and shook my hand.
Janine had told me that if I walked past the theatre and just kept going straight, I'd be able to see the Statue of Liberty. I tried that, but it did not in fact seem to be the case, so I just started wandering around, sort of looking for the subway and taking pictures. It was a glorious day, cool, and it looked like it was going to rain several times, got lovely and dark, but it never actually did anything.
I managed somehow to walk across Manhattan without finding the subway. I'm not entirely sure how that's possible, but I did it. I didn't have any particular plan, but after a while I started to get tired. And then I saw the Queens Midtown Tunnel. I'm not much good at reading maps, but I knew that was very much the wrong direction to be going in, so I turned around and started walking the other way. (Mind you, all of this was done in a sort of meandering way.) I was feeling tired, and a little sick to my stomach again, flagged down a cab, which took me back to my hotel.
*Vivien, Orson's Shadow
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As I'm sure you know by now, I believe that the Universe will give you messages, if you pay attention. And I believe that if you follow what the Universe tells you, things will work out.
Here are the messages the Universe sent me, telling me to see Orson's Shadow.
First there was the commercial on TMC. Between movies, they talk about movie stuff--books on movie stars that are coming out, DVDs being released, plays with movie connections that are being performed. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was watching some movie, and the commercial afterward talked about a play about how Orson Welles directed the play Rhinoceros with Laurence Olivier and Joan Plowright, before they were married, but while they were having an affair. (Olivier was still married to Vivien Leigh at the time.) It sounded just wonderful, so I looked it up online and found that it had an open-ended run. I went over and told my mother about the play. She seemed enthusiastic, but a little baffled at why I so wanted to see this play.
That was in April.
I, of course, waffled about everything. Was it a good idea to even go to NY by myself? Not that it felt dangerous to me, but I was so afraid that I would go and hide in my hotel room the whole time. And then I had to change when I was going. So I didn't buy a ticket; I decided to wait and see what happened.
One thing that happened was a billboard they put up a few blocks from my house. I don't know what it was for. I do know that it had a picture of a rhinoceros that nearly filled the whole canvas. Yes, OK, I get it!
Still, I didn't buy a ticket. (It's very, very hard for me to remember to write "a ticket." My hands want to type "tickets." I still try to buy two tickets when I go to the movies, too.) I did pack, and I did make my hotel reservation, and I did make my plane reservation. I got ready to go. I thought about the play, and I looked at the billboard, and I told myself I'd see when I got there.
Well, I got there. And it was wonderful, and I was confident, and I took the subway, and I got on busses by myself, and I rode the Cyclone, and I walked and walked and walked, alone mostly, and sometimes in the dark. (You remember that I'm not allowed to be out in the dark by myself, right?) And it was fine--it was wonderful.
Still, I wondered what to do about the play. Did I want to go to Manhattan? Well, yes; I needed to go to the ESB to research a story. And as long as I was going to Manhattan anyway, it was silly not to go to a play I'd been thinking about for two months. Right?
Still.
On Friday, after I'd been to the cemetery, I got on the bus and went to Bay Ridge and took pictures and wandered around. I decided to go to the diner I ate at the first time I was in NY, and there was a newspaper box with The Village Voice in it. So I grabbed one, went into the diner, and ordered a brandy Alexandre (don't ask). I told myself that I'd look to see if there was anything about it in the paper, and if there was, maybe I'd call.
I opened the paper to the exact page the listing for Orson's Shadow was on.
"All right! Stop pushing!" I didn't say it out loud. But I realized that if I didn't call and reserve a seat, it was clear somebody was going to abduct me and drag me to see this play.
So, that evening I called to reserve a ticket.
Now, you already know how I got to the theatre, so I'll skip that part and get to the play.
Well, first there was pizza right around the corner. Then, because I still had time, I walked around another corner and bought some clips for my (still-uncut) hair.
And then the play.
It was wonderful. From www.orsontheplay.com:
Orson's Shadow is set in 1960, as notorious film director Orson Welles senses his foothold in the screen industry slipping. Coaxed into a new endeavor by theater critic and friend Kenneth Tynan, the directorial giant finds himself at the helm of a West End production of Ionesco's Rhinoceros starring Laurence Olivier and his paramour Joan Plowright. Olivier's eccentric wife Vivien Leigh adds to the volatile mix as legendary egos collide on stage and off. A fictional rendering of actual events, Orson's Shadow imagines the circumstances behind the staging of this absurdist masterpiece and reveals the human frailty of these titan personalities.
The cast--particularly Ken Marks, who played Laurence Olivier--was extraordinary. The play was both remarkably kind and very--is honest the right word when you're imagining how real people behaved in times and places you didn't witness? (Am I the wrong person to even be asking that question?) Let's assume honest is the right word. It's clear that Austin Pendleton loves the people he's writing about even as he sees so clearly how awfully they can treat each other. And the writing itself is both graceful and strong. I was transported.
At intermission I had gone to the ice cream place and bought a brownie and a bottle of water, so I wasn't all that hungry after the play. In fact, I was a little sick to my stomach (too much sugar) and I spent some time in the restroom (and yes, there's a reason I'm telling you this). Because being that much later leaving the theatre, I got to meet Austin Pendleton.
He was standing out front, talking to someone. I stopped and told him what a wonderful play he'd written, and he thanked me and shook my hand.
Janine had told me that if I walked past the theatre and just kept going straight, I'd be able to see the Statue of Liberty. I tried that, but it did not in fact seem to be the case, so I just started wandering around, sort of looking for the subway and taking pictures. It was a glorious day, cool, and it looked like it was going to rain several times, got lovely and dark, but it never actually did anything.
I managed somehow to walk across Manhattan without finding the subway. I'm not entirely sure how that's possible, but I did it. I didn't have any particular plan, but after a while I started to get tired. And then I saw the Queens Midtown Tunnel. I'm not much good at reading maps, but I knew that was very much the wrong direction to be going in, so I turned around and started walking the other way. (Mind you, all of this was done in a sort of meandering way.) I was feeling tired, and a little sick to my stomach again, flagged down a cab, which took me back to my hotel.
*Vivien, Orson's Shadow