Something strange happened yesterday at the Quad Cinema on 13th Street. I'd taken Mom to an early-evening screening of the filmed version of Edward Albee's A DELICATE BALANCE. If you haven't seen the film, it's a rare treat. And if you know the play, there are some interesting adjustments. But more or less, Albee, who wrote the screenplay himself, stuck pretty close to the original.
In any event, Mom and I had just thoroughly loved it. It was such fun to just sort of bathe in Mr. Albee's acerbic wit, lines that make you laugh and shudder all at once. I was so glad to have the Quad Cinema so close to home.
About 5 min. into the film, a guy who had been sitting right behind me, slithered around and past our row and into a seat in the row just in front of us. At 5PM on a Thursday it was a sparsely filled house. I wondered for the briefest of moments whether he was moving to get away from us but neither I nor my Mom are particularly tall, so I dismissed the thought and forgot about him.
As the lights came up slowly as Mom and I watched the credits roll, I heard him speaking very loudly.
Well, it must feel so good to imagine you're in your own goddamned living room. And aren't you so clever. Showing off. Laughing at every little thing. Holding us hostage to your brilliance. How dare you -- We were rendered mute by your obnoxious reactions. Didn't you feel it? No one had your permission to laugh or respond. You ruined the film for all of us!
It took me a few lines to realize he was actually talking to me.
Are you talking to me, I asked?
And then I just sort of shuddered and tried to escape his spitting and hissing. I thought he might start to hit me his rage was so palpable. But I suppose seeing my 86-yr.old mother shrinking in her seat sent him out into the street ahead of us. Some others came up to us after he left to ask what his problem was. I just hadn't a clue.
It was almost as if the spirit of that guy in Zoo Story, (can't recall the character's name. Jerry?) had traveled through the ether and landed for a few moments in this guy's being. It was so odd. And it just kind of left an awful taste in my mouth.
I've been told by playwright and actor friends that they know when I'm in the house cause I do have a very loud and distinctive laugh. They've always told me this in a way that made me feel appreciated for it. But this guy has shook me up and made me feel suddenly as though my enjoying this film was a burden, a kind of obnoxious showing off. I don't think he was right. But who knows? It's really troubling.
I guess what it's leaving me with is this sad creeping fear that we are becoming frayed as a society. We are so seldom all in a room together anymore that when we are just the simple act of responding to an entertainment in a way that slightly deviates from our own can cause us to go off the rails. I don't know. I may be searching for meaning in the wake of an encounter with one mad man. But then again, isn't that exactly what Zoo Story is all about?
