Trying to Get My Mansions Green

Wednesday night, I saw a musical production of "Grey Gardens" at the Northlight Theater in Skokie. If you are not familiar with this story, (even if you are familiar, honestly) you might not understand how it could be adapted into a musical. It makes perfect sense to me.

Grey Gardens is a documentary from the 70's that opened the doors on the elderly Edith "Big Edie" Bouvier Beale and her middle-aged daughter, Edith "Little Edie" Bouvier Beale. They were cousins of Jackie Kennedy who lived the life of two deranged old maids in a once-magnificent, now dilapidated mansion, Grey Gardens. Of the 28 or so rooms, they only utilized a single bedroom with a dorm fridge and a hotplate, occasionally traveling to the deck to sun themselves. A gardener, 50 cats, and several raccoons also lived there. It's easy to forget you're watching a documentary, because the subjects are so colorful and lively for the camera. Big Edie sits in her bed and listens to records, mostly. She is constantly looking for missing cats, and warbles along with her music. After awhile, the audience is clued in that the singer on her records is actually her. She did some recording in the 40's, but it's tough to gauge if it's just a personal recording by some rich lady, or if she was truly regarded as a talent. Little Edie, the sole caretaker for her ailing mother, shines for the camera with political statements, personally designed outfits, and song and dance routines. Likewise, the audience soon understands that her every moment is as insane and meaningless as the next.

There is no beginning, and no conclusion. There is simply this moment in time that is Grey Gardens. It's fascinating and frightening to know that a family could shun their own so completely. However, the Beale gals were proud, and didn't seem to want anyone invading their routine. There is Jerry, the long-haired young man who inexplicably comes around and keeps things running. He tokes up now and again, eats some hotplate corn, and offers the women a washer and dryer, which they refuse. The women bicker, but seem to coexist happily. In a shocking climax of rebellion, Edie denounces her mother, packs her belongings in a trunk, wraps herself in a tattered mink coat, and gets about as far as the front porch before being sucked back into her prison.

With all the crooning, softshoe, and monologues, this story was begging to become a musical. The Northlight cast was perfect, the songs were funny, sad, and bizarre. The first act was set 20 years before the documentary, which was nice to get some backstory, however hypothesized. In that act, the two larger-than-life crazies are infinitely more relatable. So much so that the audience can't help but self-examine their own quirky tendencies that could potentially snowball later in life.

I'm a singer. I love to be onstage. I'm getting to the age where I have to decide, though. Is it a job? Or is it something I do to get attention? And when will I know to stop? When does a smoky torch song evolve into a howling session? And all those nights Marky and I enjoy holing up on the couch to fall asleep to the TV. Have we unwittingly become hermits? Is the purple couch our hotplate? We're not nuts (yet), but we certainly enjoy each other's company more than anyone else's. Sure our conversation is repetitive, and we talk to the cat. We talk to the cat a lot. Okay. Early New Year's Resolutions: 1. Have more people over. 2. Get out of the house. We had a friend over for Thanksgiving, and he washed the dishes. He also cleaned the stove. Resolution #3. Clean the kitchen better. Unless, of course, there's a documentary in it for us. No press is bad press.