4.48 Psychose at BAM

Catherine called at 5.30. She said she wasn't going to make it. She was on her way to the U.N. to cover the release of the report on the assassination of the former Lebanese Prime Minister. She sounded none too pleased.

We had planned to meet at BAM for the evening's performance of 4.48 Psychose with Isabella Huppert. I noticed that it was to be performed in French with abridged English surtitles. Originally, we were hoping to go with Guillemette. I said that that would be great. Afterwards they could discuss the play and I'd follow along with abridged English subtitles. Guillemette said that in the future she was going to walk around with abridged English subtitles. I said that would be great. It'd be like magnetic poetry.

Catherine told me she was trying to reach Guillemette so that she could take her seat, but Guillemette couldn't be reached. By the time I called her I was in Brooklyn and she was still in her office. I picked up a ticket and left one for Catherine. I texted her and she responded that they didn't do late seating for this performance.

As I entered the theater, an usher told me that there was no re-entry and that if I wanted to go to the bathroom I should do so now. I thanked her and took a program.

The lights went down and the play began. Huppert stood transfixed on stage. For two hours, she moved only her head and her fingers, occasionally. A man appeared and disappeared behind her, hidden by a screen. Huppert recited in an even voice on topics of death and longing. The man served now and again as a call to her response.

The evening was one of endurance, on the part of the actress and the audience. Whenever the lights went down, people rose to leave. Huppert weakened visibily as the evening wore on. Once I saw her wipe her brow during a fadeout. Years ago, I read how Carl Theodore Dreyer kept Maria Falconetti kneeling on cold stone floors for hours during the filming of La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc. The camera famously captured her suffering. Claude Regy's direction of Huppert's performance had a note of that dedication and ruthlessness. The recital was fascinating.

After the final blackout, Huppert stood still for the curtain call. When she finally began to walk off-stage, it was with a noticeable limp. As the crowd rose to applaud, she allowed herself a brief smile. She came back for a second curtain call. Her leg twitched as she stood, joined by her co-star. He stood still with her, arms at his side. They left the stage together. Posted by eku at October 21, 2005 12:11 AM