And alone is what Edna, Barry and Barbara are in Hussey’s play. Barry, for example, starts out enamored of the violin, is concertmaster of his high school orchestra, and experiences an epiphany on the night he sees Isaac Stern play at Carnegie Hall. But then marriage comes along, and after marriage the birth of Barbara – and suddenly there’s no choice but to put aside the violin and get a job in the business world, where the only music is from the cash register. Edna, on the other hand, begins as a townie infatuated with college boys, takes one home one night – that’s Barry – and soon after discovers that a. she’s pregnant and b. a college degree doesn’t necessarily make a good companion. By the time that her husband becomes an alcoholic (and sexually impotent) she’s ready to stray – which she does once she takes a job and discovers that her new boss is attracted to her. As for Barbara – whose monologues begin and end the play – she almost always feels alienated from one or both parents, turning to D.H. Lawrence or Germaine Greer for intellectual camaraderie, and eventually becoming a sexual predator who runs at the first sign that her newest mate wants a real relationship. We hear about these three loners in a series of interwoven confessions, and, as if to emphasize their solitude, they seldom acknowledge one another’s presence on the stage with them. Finally, they come to seem not really responsible for their kinship, as if some thoughtless force of nature had blown them into the same universe. Yes, they share a name and a house – but not much of anything else.
Making it fascinating are three fine actors, superbly directed by Bridget Bean. As Barbara, Meg Heimstead continues to demonstrate the excellence she showed so poignantly in Jobsite Theater’s Rabbit Hole some months ago. Heimstead’s Barbara is an assertive, confused and needy woman/child whose efforts to feel part of her family are almost always defeated, and who resents her mother for telling her of her adultery and of Barry’s impotence. As her mother Edna, Karel K. Wright is wonderfully contradictory, finding satisfaction in extra-marital sex and quickly putting an end to it, finding pleasure in being out in the work world, and, as soon as feasible, giving it up, and discovering after divorce that being alone isn’t so terrible. Finally, Jim Wicker as husband and father Barry is crushingly matter-of-fact, whether speaking of his abandoned artistic ambitions, his alcoholism, or his taste in reading (history). Allen Loyd’s set, a rather sparsely furnished, personality-less room, is far too unattractive, but Mike Buck’s costumes, from Edna’s hausfrau dress to Barry’s robe, are nicely telling. I saw Christmas Trio for the first time over a decade ago, but this production hardly resembles that older one at all. This one’s darker, but also more human. I was impressed by the earlier one, but more moved on this occasion.[dataBox]
Susan Hussey died ten months ago. It’s a shame that she didn’t have the chance to develop her playwriting talent further.
But Christmas Trio is a fine memorial. And it’s a vivid reminder that the truth – with all its paradoxes – is the most stimulating, the most challenging, and the most dramatic of inspirations.
