REVIEWS

In 60 minutes we hear about a peculiar older man lulling himself to sleep with the phrase, “I’m a piece of shit” (the most intriguing story of the night); we hear how childhood friendships can sadly end spontaneously without any reason; we hear the advice of a grandmother who talks about growing old, losing one’s mind, and seeing everyone you know die; and we hear even more advice from a 30-something divorcée (whose ex was scum) who consoles our Singer with the knowledge that someday we will die, the pain will end, and someone will cry for us. Surely some weighty stuff.

In small town, Midwest, USA, football is based on tradition, on which then legend itself is built: just ask Ash’s late father, whose name became legend and his story myth after he beat the town’s rival football team during Homecoming so many years ago. Ash Miller (Bryce Saxon) wishes to live that legend—or, rather, she only wishes to play the sport she loves with the same hustle and success as her father—but as herself, regarded as her own person.

Forty-Two Stories’ first two performances were as radio plays. Given how many meaningless, tangential stories are told by the characters—from how one woman is faking a leak in her apartment, to how this guy stabbed this woman and some other woman jumped off the roof because of it—I can imagine how listening to this while sitting in a car on LSD in the middle of rush-hour traffic might be entertaining. Unfortunately, it is not so while sitting in a theatre for two hours. In a theatre, it is boring—not unlike sitting in a car on LSD in the middle of rush-hour traffic with the radio turned off.