Joe could not have been more gracious. He took my mom and I on a tour of the entire Carnegie facility. The historic grandeur was only paralleled by the modern technological updates. Mom and I were allowed to stage on the stage in the main hall; I felt like I was in a scene from Amadeus. Joe invited me to check out December's calendar and let him know if I was interested in attending a concert. There a some beautiful Christmas concerts on the schedule; I can't wait to take him up on his invitation.
We also found out that the strike had been settled. Broadway would be lit again tonight after a three week strike. God Bless Us, Everyone!
The next stop was Central Park. Mom's knee is really giving her trouble, so we employed our second bicycle taxi in the last 24 hours. I told Bill that we had 2 requirements...1)he had to be as fun as we are 2)he had to let us off to ride the carousel. He was the best. He was knowledgeable, patient and accommodating. The park is still gorgeous. The colors are picturesque and the weather was beautiful for touring. I have never ridden the carousel before, so do it with my mom was lovely. It goes sooo fast. I would be frightened to let a child ride along; I may be wrong, but I think Ron told us it goes up to 18 miles an hour.
From Central Park, we jumped up to Lincoln Center. The tree there is lovely. Next stop was Grand Central. I was pleased that mom thought it was as beautiful as I do. We briefly walked through a Christmas fair in the west wing of GC, before catching the shuttle back. We came home, got ready for the theatre and shot back up to MTC.
The Receptionist by Adam Bock was a modern Orwellian tale, and mom and I enjoyed it very much. Here is the review from the NY Times:
“Can I put you through to his voice mail?”
That workaday question is loaded with an awesome range of inflections by the ever-wonderful Jayne Houdyshell in “The Receptionist,” a twisty comedy by Adam Bock that opened last night at City Center in a sleek production from Manhattan Theater Club.
That workaday question is loaded with an awesome range of inflections by the ever-wonderful Jayne Houdyshell in “The Receptionist,” a twisty comedy by Adam Bock that opened last night at City Center in a sleek production from Manhattan Theater Club.
Trimmed with a genial chuckle, it can sound like a motherly caress. Delivered with brisk efficiency, it becomes a testament to solid professionalism. Robbed of even the tiniest hint of the inquisitive, it acquires a tone both stern and sinister, ringing of oblivion.
Ms. Houdyshell, whom theater lovers will fondly remember from her flawlessly real performance as Lisa Kron’s nosy mom in “Well,” could probably transform the reading of a macaroni and cheese recipe into a modest tour de force. Watching her do absolutely nothing is more entertaining than witnessing many actors scale the heights of
This is heartening news, since for much of Mr. Bock’s poisoned Post-it note of a play Ms. Houdyshell is doing the kind of nothing that fills the hours of underemployed phone answerers in offices across the land.
Beverly (Ms. Houdyshell), the matronly receptionist in an office of indeterminate purpose, transfers calls for the two senior employees, her boss, Mr. Raymond (Robert Foxworth), and his junior, Lorraine Taylor (Kendra Kassebaum). She fires up the postage machine. She wipes the schmutz from her computer screen. She keeps a keen, controlling eye on her stock of pens. But mostly she makes the day go by in the time-honored way of bored office drones everywhere, consuming the empty minutes with gossip, idle chatter and personal phone calls.
Her friend Cheryl Lynn has a married-man problem. Lorraine also needs a good talking-to, since she can’t keep away from that egotistical ex. Beverly’s husband has just spent the money for the phone bill again, darn it. And Beverly knows just what to say when Mr. Dart (Josh Charles), the handsome fellow who’s come from the central office to see Mr. Raymond, shares the news that his little boy has a paste-eating problem that has his teacher all worked up.
“Tell her to stop scaring you,” she tells him sternly. “He’s 4! Everyone eats paste.”
Mr. Bock, a playwright on the rise whose comedy “The Thugs,” also set in an office, was a critical hit last year, establishes the humdrumminess of the 9-to-5 life with a gimlet eye for detail that can come only from experience. Clearly he’s done some desk time himself, and has harvested from those dreary hours a sly gift for translating the dross of small talk into subtle, quietly quirky comedy.
As “The Receptionist” hits the half-hour mark, however, clock-watchers in the audience may wonder whether the play is ever going to add up to more than outtakes from “The Office.” But like the ominously named Mr. Dart, Mr. Bock has a dark purpose. The genially mundane goings-on in this blandly average workplace are throw into macabre relief when Mr. Raymond at last arrives, and with a single, jarring line of dialogue sets the calm surface of the play rippling with creepy currents. Suddenly Mr. Bock’s modest still life with cubicle and computer is flipped over to reveal an oil painting by
It would be unfair to say much more about what the playwright is up to, although by the end of the play’s 70 minutes it has become clear as day that Mr. Bock’s brow is seriously knit over recent trends in intelligence-gathering techniques. “The Receptionist” is not impressive for the nuance or sophistication of its political thought — we’re in familiar banality-of-evil territory here — but the play provides a nifty hour and change of light comedy that bleeds into dark finger-wagging.
The director,
But it is Ms. Houdyshell’s adorable, efficient Beverly who keeps us engaged. Bustling about her bland business with a chuckle or a warm word for everybody — “That Mindy! At the central office! I like her so much!” — she reveals the weirdly engrossing charm in everyday behavior minutely observed. The charm, and maybe the menace too.
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