Flare Path - The Back Stories I Wish I Knew

I think about aging all the time. My aging. How my body feels, how my body moves, what I should do to keep it from feeling or moving like an old person, why I don’t do what I should do, hair on my face, spots on my hands, my tattoo sagging, lack of sex and that it doesn’t concern me, my career and that it doesn’t concern me, and my money and that it does concern me. I’m sure there’s more, like... people I might’ve kept near, causes I wish I backed, places I should’ve been, musicians I could’ve heard, or back stories I wish I knew.

Last evening, after another long workday, I dragged myself to a Salon discussion of a Griffin Theater production of Flare Path I’m seeing on Saturday. Truly, I don’t mean it to sound like drudgery, the idea of going kept my day interesting; the effort came at the junction of mingling and wine or couch and wine. I took the people… without wine offered, the outcome might have been different.

Remembering the room, about thirtyfive people attended. The ages surprisingly spanned fifty years: people in their twenties and others in their seventies. Surprising, until the cast moved to the front of the room and the back part listed in its weight of metal grey hair, steel body parts and iron poor blood. It felt a little like us and them.

The producer interviewed director, Robin Witt who described the process of selecting the play and told about the author, a fragile gay man whose therapist suggested he join the RAF England headed to war, which he did and lived to write about it. She described the research, the integrity of costuming and the lighting and sound to set a mood much like the first audiences experienced.

The cast, sitting on chairs like a fourth grade class - tallest in the back, slightest… men and women in the front. Two men in the back row, who play older characters sported grey hair. Most of the rest appeared more likely to worry about pregnancy tests, beer pong, and carpal tunnel from video games than menopause, Viagra and carpal tunnel from weed whacking.  What I’m really trying to say is… I kept looking at the young actors who played people in the 1940s and wondered how they could embody someone from seventy years ago. Not one person on the stage was born in that era or immediately after. Until last night, I really never thought about what it takes for an ensemble to prepare a story for authenticity.

The cast gave kudos to the director for folders of You Tube films, training manuals, letters. They passed around biographies and each spoke of someone they knew or talked to who inspired them to look deeper into the lives they portrayed. Someone in the audience who'd seen the play commended the actor who played a tail gunner for helping him feel the -56 degrees he would have felt in the back of the fighter. 

Driving home, relaxed from the wine, energized by the discussion, I found myself wishing for the experience of learning something so deeply you become it. You act from it. You are it. 

I'm struck by a new understanding that actors offer us a memory... Offer us a way to experience something with more intensity, with more likelihood of getting beneath the skin. Last week, I saw Book of Mormon. I laughed till it hurt, and felt a bit embarrassed for doing so. I’m sure it explains the experience of the Mormon Church about as well as Black Patent Leather Shoes explained pre-Vatican Catholic Church, a few decades (so to speak) back. The funny thing is that my lasting impression isn’t the ridiculousness of the beliefs, but the earnestness of the believers. It gave me a memory of something I’d never forgotten… a back story for something I wish I knew.