As I've said elsewhere on the boards, I attended the final performance of The Heavens are Hung in Black. I just got home from Washington last night. Since I return to work tomorrow, I know I won't have a completed piece on the trip ready for my website any time soon. So, I did a really short account of the last performance and am posting it here in the interest of timeliness.
From the moment I decided to go see The Heavens are Hung in Black, I knew that if I could work it out, I wanted to attend the final performance. Final performances always have something special. Knowing it IS the last time they will play those roles, actors across the board want to knock it out of the park, so even an outstanding play and performances will hit an even higher level.
This final performance was all I expected it to be. From the opening notes of music, the lights going up to reveal a Lincoln in tears over his dead son, Willie, to the final line, a quote from the Emancipation Proclamation, the cast created true stage magic. They knew the play, and knew where the reactions would be, and was adjusting their timing accordingly to cover laughs and other audience reactions. Each and every actor in this production, from the lead down to the kids, played reactions, gestures, tone, volume and other stage “business” slightly differently for every performance -- as true professionals do. The script is of course the same, and the marks the actors must hit the same, but the differences in actions triggering different reactions is what makes live theater so interesting.
Selby, as before, has filled Lincoln’s “socks – size extra extra long” (as his secretary, Hay, describes a gift to Lincoln) to absolute perfection. No holes, no seams, no darning – just a perfect fit. Clearly a lot of hard work and research had to have gone into achieving this perfect fit, but none of that shows on stage. There is only a man named Lincoln reacting naturally to the circumstances he is experiencing.
The audience, too, were eagerly collaborating in that special interaction between actors and audience that makes a play unique. Applause, laugher, rapt interest were all there as the audience eagerly went along with the cast on their journey. There was complete silence in the theater with the exception of the events on stage.
“…now and forever, FREE.” A moment of silence as the stage went dark, and the audience burst into applause. The applause continued, then the first set of actors came out for their bows. The second set came out, and people started standing as they applauded. Then Dr. Selby came out, and the applause became louder and louder, and those not yet standing stood to give him a standing ovation. Everyone bowed and bowed again, Selby gestured to acknowledge his cast mates, and as the applause went on and on he blew kisses to the crowd and kept mouthing thank you. He was visibly very touched by the tribute, and looked as if he was crying. I had wondered beforehand whether anyone would make a speech after the play,but no. And I doubt that Selby could have spoken anyway at that point.
Though the audience kept clapping for some time, the actors never returned for another curtaincall (another difference between this and the previews, where there had been two curtaincalls at both performances I attended.)
By sheer serendipity I didn’t leave the theater right away, but made a stop in the ladies then sat on a bench right outside. I needed a moment to decompress and come out of the reality of the play, especially since I was planning to go from there to the Pentagon Memorial. I hadn’t sat more than a few moments when I suddenly saw, from the corner of my eye, a frockcoat approaching me from the hallway. Dr. Selby, still in costume, leant down, took my hand and thanked me for coming, then continued on to talk to others who had gathered in the lobby to wait for him. He took me completely by surprise, so I was just thankful I didn’t slip and call him Mr. Lincoln – and that my grandmother ingrained my manners well enough that I complimented him on the performance without needing to think about it.
Jeannie
