I'm in the social lounge/bar area of a theatre festival. A woman, maybe 58 years old, who must be in (or associated) with one of the productions has obviously had a few glasses of red wine (over the years and this evening). She is taking the lead in a social interaction between her, a director and another actor. She is the center of attention and absolutely must express her deepest, most complex reading of some production she had participated in however long ago. For 20 minutes she does not stop speaking; she is loud, overly gestural and full of sauce and this is her time to prove that she has an unique and valid opinion about what happens on and behind the stage. The director and actor stare at her and nod their heads silently. I sensed they were itching to get up and leave. Maybe not, but probably.
"So these fucking lines are just so.... Blah! I don't know. This poor man is trying to find his deepest, most profound understanding of his Grandfather. Now, why do we care? If it was anyone else's Grandfather we wouldn't give a flying fuck. But since we know it's his grandfather, we care. And the elegance and prestige Sarah gave to her character (the women looks over her glasses and tilts one eyebrow to the ceiling and pauses)
was , to fucking, die for! It was to bloody die for, I assure you. And Sarah, despite herself, really listened to me and delivered a version of the Patricia that I swept me from my disposition completely. And so I misjudged her. Although Henry, bless him, might tell you a different version"
. -she spills a little wine on the floor. She is now cross legged on the ground while the other sit on a couch. She continues to rant as the other are obviously looking beyond her at the rest of the schmoozers in the general social zone. I thought to myself, this is her moment, let her take it to the moon. Please world, just let her shine tonight, she needs this. Deliver her home safely.