Shelves, Shelves

 

So is it any good—Chuck & Franny, the play I mentioned in January prior to the reading we’d be hosting at our house?

Good enough, no.

Chuck and Franny, you see, argue constantly. Or she argues and he shrugs, stalls, deflects.

People laughed, and afterwards, someone told me she’d felt a little torn up, at the end. So that was nice. But as another attender, Aili, said later when we spoke by phone, Chuck and Franny’s squabbling didn’t move them toward a resolution.

But that was kind of my point. All too often there’s no fixing things. No f-i-x fixing. You and me—we’re who we are. Our lousy habits persist.

Who’s the audience? asked Aili, on the phone. She’d seen Oh Franny—the performance in 2023—after which I pared down the cast, axed scenes. The older people, said Aili, like the play a lot, whereas the younger ones say it sounds like their parents’ bickering.

Uh-huh.

Now Aili, she’s the brain. She runs Silk Moth. She’s the one who knows. She said Aristotle—or somebody—said the end should be surprising but also inevitable, and I think yes, I managed that. But I could’ve done more. The work it would take to—well, I’ve run out of steam.

So the whole thing is on the shelf, where it just might stay.

(Photo credit: Jennifer)