Brookford Ashaven

The staged formation of Dunwoody hit its high point early in the first scene with the orgasmic screams of "yes, Yes, YES!" from our yellowed-tagged evangelists caught up in an artificial, but no less frenzied Pon Farr. By the end of the first act of their convoluted adaptation, the lust was sated, and the muddled second act punished the audience with the antics of two parties who found themselves in a permanent, but ungratifying union they neither liked nor respected. While scenes offered great tragic theatre, the outcome for Dunwoody has become much like a tattoo, a painful, increasingly embarrassing, but permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.

The audience seated to the south end of our theatre of the absurd, perhaps more mature or simply less hedonistic, have little enthusiasm for our prurient display of the political quickie, back alley knee knocker or our pimped out political prostitutes. They seem to have a less than favorable view of the brothel franchises,  "Citizens for where ever" and "over here YES!" that stage our plays.

Though plagued by similar sounding troupes, they hope to put on a different play, one where long after the memory of that first night mellows to a soft patina, a meaningful relationship grows, demonstrating the enduring value of gratification rather than celebrating the fleeting satisfaction of an animalistic urge. They are not inclined to stage "Oh! Calcutta!" but are more interested in an adaptation of "Fiddler on the Roof".

And yes, the representatives of their troupes make out nicely whether the play is a raging success or miserable flop. But to the thespians' credit, the prospective partners in this adaptation are less concerned about sex or wedding scenes and more about the marriage, seeking a union based on mutual respect and trust, eschewing any hasty union resulting from an intoxicating lust. They seem to understand that weltschmerz besets everyone, if they should live so long, and know time is required to build the kind of relationship that endures. Their play will not peak in Scene One, Act One.

If the folks up in Dunwoody would quit humming "Jack and Jill" and just listen, they would hear soft, sincere lyrics from the south:

"Golda? Do you love me?"

Good for Tevia. And good for Golda.