I attended a performance of Marisa Wegrzyn‘s The Butcher of Baraboo this evening. The verdict? I’ll quote the raving, rabid Wegrzyn fans sitting to my left. “I love Killing Women! She’s not naturalistic! She’s just not! Why make it naturalistic?!”
But the production’s sins weren’t all director Ivey’s. My pet peeve: there was far less bloodshed on the stage than in the audience. As always, the audience was primarily the elderly (though a youthful couple in front of me had a combined age far younger than any of the moldy rock music played throughout). And Second Stage Uptown’s McGinn/Cazale Theatre, with its steep, railing-free stairs and compact seats, is hardly the friendliest place for the aged.
During intermission, these results played out like the Stations of the Cross, with senior patrons stumbling and wiping out on their way to the bathrooms. It was painful to watch. Someday soon my own body will give up on me. Please let Scotty beam me to my seats by then.
Bonus Morbidity: This theatre is named after John Cazale, better known to film fans as Fredo Corleone! Cazale died a horrible, painful, and young death from bone cancer. So cheer up, septuagenarians! You may be wiping out in his theatre, but at least you outlived Fredo!