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A truly remarkable experience in the theatre, I am
my own wife is a must-see. It is rare to witness such a perfect
marrying of playwright, director and performer. Together, their creative
energies, most resonantly, bring to the Broadway stage an experience that
is intellectual, theatrical, funny, and poignant without the trappings of
wanting to be a commercial success.
This play, which premiered at Playwrights Horizons this
past May, is based on the story of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, a real-life
transvestite who managed to survive the Nazi onslaught and the Stasi; the
play is more directly inspired by interviews which playwright Doug Wright
conducted with Charlotte over several years, beginning in 1993. Wright
never clearly articulates how Charlotte manages her game of survival, and
it is unclear whether she is ever telling the truth, but it is revealed
that at some point she functioned as an informant for the East German
government. What is fascinating about this story is that the protagonist
and antagonist are the same person. Charlotte’s story is one of
contradictions told through a love and disregard for her Germanic culture,
the objects of yesteryear, and friends that she ultimately betrayed. I
am my own wife is a compelling yet disturbing investigation into the
beauty and ugliness in human nature. It illuminates the truths behind
antiquity, the way that the nicks and cuts on a Biedermeier table are
proof of its history.
Wright’s play is set inside the home of Charlotte,
which she has turned into a museum, filled with clocks, furniture pieces,
and a myriad of polyphones and gramophones. Wright treats these objects as
a metaphor, as if to say that everything must be saved and understood, as
every antique is a record of the living of lives. The integrity of his
writing provokes us to think, it teaches us a history we never knew we
had, and without forgiveness and sentiment unravels the story of one life.
Like a thread binding a perfect seam, Moises Kaufman
directs this production with precision. He trusts the power of the spoken
word and the potential of an actor to convey an entire journey.
As Charlotte, Jefferson Mays transcends descriptive
words such as “outstanding,” “spectacular,” and “brilliant.” These
adjectives seem to diminish the extra-ordinariness of his work. Rarely do
we get the opportunity to witness the depth and clarity that he actualizes
in this performance—and what a humble and gracious performance it is. Not
only does he portray (or, if you will pardon the Brechtian reference,
“represent”) the 65-year-old East German, he also brings to life a cast of
40 characters that includes Wright as a character in the center of his own
play. Mays lives in the moment of each word and breath with profound
inspiration as he brings forth text that is derived from taped interviews,
phone calls, and government records. Remarkably, he relies simply on the
change of a gesture or a manner of vocal delivery to instantly channel one
character followed by another, while at all times pealing away the complex
layers of Charlotte. Mays delivers one of the most (if not the
most) evocative performances currently on the New York stage. His work is
important, it is smart, and it embodies the truest sense of humanity.
Scenic designer Derek McLane, who trusts
whole-heartedly his minimalist design, beautifully conceives Charlotte’s
world. Exposed lighting instruments unapologetically frame a freestanding
wall with transparent wallpaper and a door. Against the back of the stage
and rising high into the theatre’s fly space, stands what appears to be
the grandest set of collection boxes, each box (or room) filled with the
most impressive display of furniture pieces and memories that Charlotte
has taken into exile—preserving their historic integrity and protecting
their potential extinction due to the devastation of the Nazi takeover and
the following, repressive Communist regime.
David Lander’s lighting design beautifully compliments
the work of McLean. He introduces bold strokes of reds and blues that
illuminate the psychological and emotional journey of Wright’s play. More
respectfully, he trusts the necessity of gentle white light and the
importance of shadows in space, that reveal more readily the stark truths
exposed in the play.
Costume designer Janice Pytel has dressed Mays in a
black dress and pearls, with a black scarf on his head. Interestingly, he
looks more androgynous than feminine, more like a novice in a convent than
a replica of Marlene Dietrich. Pytel successfully avoids exploiting the
common stereotypes that surround transvestism.
I am my own wife is certainly one of the finest
experiences currently on the Broadway stage. In fact, it feels
un-Broadway, which is what makes it so special. In some ways it is too
simple, too honest, too political and too academic, but it is necessary,
and must be witnessed. It seems that stories from WWII, the Holocaust, and
our hidden gay past must continually be told in order for us to remember
and challenge others to never forget, as difficult as this may be. It is
just as Charlotte states when referring to the collection of objects in
her home—they are “too old-fashioned, too difficult to dust, but I have an
affinity for these objects.” We must all have an affinity for what
constitutes our written and un-written history. Fortunately we have
Wright, Mays and Kaufman to remind us of that. |
I
am my own wife is a new play by Doug Wright, whose earlier works
include Quills. The play is based on a true story and is inspired
by interviews conducted by Wright over several years. I am my own wife
tells the story of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, a real-life German
transvestite who managed to survive both the Nazi onslaught and the
following repressive Communist regime. The play is performed by Jefferson
Mays, who portrays a host of characters, including Charlotte and an
American writer who becomes intrigued by her. Wright says the play is "a
subjective, theatrical portrait" rather than a "definitive biography."
