So beautiful in her demise that I wanted to collapse on stage, right there with her. Every seat in the full-house became vacant as an entire theater of spectators were coerced into the show. We left our bodies in our seats; vehicles for souls that could no longer rest as casual observers of a theatrical matinee. When Blanche Dubois (Blanchett) cried, I wiped the salty tears from my cheeks and when indulging in liqueurs, I too cringed and took a swallow.
I was close enough to the stage to ingest the fumes of her constant cigarette. I acquitted these carcinogens as a Blanchett biproduct- too starstruck to think of my lungs and relishing that my every inhale was perhaps her very own exhale.
If I sound a bit in love, I should confess that Cate Blanchett is my favorite actress. I was stricken with awe the entire performance, perched at the edge of my wooden seat to watch her presence illuminate a dark facade. Figuratively, absolutely, and in the most literal sense as well. Her cream complexion is so fair, had they offered sunscreen for sale at the intermittent concessions I not only would have paid any exorbitant price but would have rushed to the restroom to bathe in it immediately.
When I left it was raining, and I approached the B38 L bus with disdain, fueled by an unyielding envy for Blanche Dubois. Perhaps I wished it was not a bus at all, but a streetcar named Desire. One that would bypass local stops and take me straight for a romantic and passionate tragedy, for in the words of Nabokov,
you must die for a few hours in order to live for centuries…
Outside of the theater, taken by my handsome date Paul Cupo.
more details: http://www.vogue.com/feature/2009_December_Truth_or_Dare/
*note: theater images rephotographed from various sources. (You can’t use a camera during the play, silly!)
