(:)(:)(:)(:) for The Pillowman by Martin McDonagh which just closed (sob) at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre.
Oh. My. God.
Where has McDonagh been on all my life? After dropping out of school at 16 and lying around watching television and drinking beer for 20 years, this amazing young (London working class) Irish playwright cranked out 7 plays in one year--five of which have been produced to critical acclaim in the London West End and Broadway.
I absolutely loved this play, but, as the usher who tore my ticket warned, it's not for sissies. This alternately cruel, hilarious and tragic "something-esque" piece defies categorization. Many of the audience members hated it. Several left at intermission.
Admittedly, it's hard to take the vivid descriptions of cruelty, dismemberment and horror to children--fortunately, it's supposed to be. However, the clever patter, smooth direction, brilliant writing and acting of this production allowed this viewer to simultaneously be horrified, drawn in, concerned and yet strangely distant from the material.
For me it helped a lot that the playwright cleverly frames the narrative so as to cast doubt on whether several of the horrors are real or only imagined--and you don't have to see most of them, just hear about them.
I for one, can't wait to see/read more McDonagh. The only other playwright that he reminds me of a bit is my erstwhile college friend Gordon Dahlquist--I played a violent lesbian pirate in his play Dangercave many years ago, but that's a different post.
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