A light in her own dark

A few weeks ago Tim Brown, my lovely roommate and friend, managed to swing two free tickets to Carrie Fisher's one woman show, Wishful Drinking, at The Geffen Theater. Ever since seeing Postcards from the Edge I've envied the way Carrie Fisher can take her damaged parts and polish them into shiny, richly colored jewels of comedy and the opportunity to see her live had me practically giddy. We arrived early and found a pre-show reception in progress. We were not on the list of guests but I really had to pee and the reception party was nice enough to point me in the way of the boy’s room. When I returned I found Tim with a glass of wine in his hand and a face about to give birth to some news. "Okay the wine girl just came by and Debbie Reynolds is behind me." I had stopped listening at "wine girl" and started searching the room. "Behind ME, Cinderella." Said Tim with velvety exasperation. Thoughts of free wine spun me as I turned to look over Tim's shoulder. Tucked into what looked like a closet was Debbie Reynolds in a black pants suit, high heels, and diamond jewelry. She seemed to be engaged in a small argument with a lady who looked as if she worked at the theater. Presently she and the theater lady crossed the lobby and disappeared into a room behind the bar. The wine girl circled back to us and smiled at me through the bangs of her Japanimation hair-do as she presented a tray of plastic glasses half full of syrah and Riesling.

The Geffen is like a swanky Steppenwolf. Slate and tope colored rock shingles cover the walls; indirect lighting bathes the long room of the lobby in an amber glow. We attempted to join the rest of the patrons on the plant and candle filled patio, but a severe looking lady sporting an immaculate auburn bob stopped us. Still not on that reception list we were forced to hang about the lobby and make trouble to ourselves until the start of the show.

Just minutes before the show was scheduled to start the house was open and the patrons packing the lobby and patio began to filter into the theater. Tim and I scanned the crowd for cute and/or famous patrons and when we couldn't find any we did our best to be cute and/or famous. With the help of the friendly wine girl we were able to achieve quite a buzz before heading into the show.

Our seats, four rows from the stage, were perfect, but there didn't seem to be a bad seat in the house. The accompanist entered the stage first, then came the thousand starlights on every inch of wall space, then a piano rendition of the Star Wars theme, then the star. After taking the obligatory celebrity bow she launched into a lovely rendition of "Happy Times Are Hear Again" while pictures of her and her family on the cover of National Enquirer were projected on a the back stage wall where a square of stars have lifted to reveal a screen. "This show is a pathetic bid to gain the attention I lacked as a child." she anounced at the end of the song. Ms. Fisher is not a powerhouse stage performer but she has a beautiful voice, is incredibly intelligent, and is the most fascinating kind of celebrity-- reluctant, intelligent and curious. She uses her rarified life as the daughter of Hollywood royalty and subsequent cinematic fame as a framework for examining unhappiness. She seems like a poet born into a family of clowns. "If my life weren't funny, it would just be true. And that would be unacceptable." She moved back and forth across the stage throughout the show, almost like a motivational speaker, and she had a slight limp which she never explained.

She discussed the recent death of friend who had died in her bed, "He didn't just die in his sleep, he died in mine." On manic depression, "The facts of your life are the same; the fiction you make up about it changes." She discussed Star Wars and told the audience that George Lucas didn't allow her to wear a bra as princess Leah because, he said, there was no underwear in space. So, her breasts were held up with gaffers tape and everyday after the shoot she would hold a lottery to see who would get to remove the tape from her body. At one point she put on a brown knitted hat shaped like the honey bun Princess Leah hair-do and claimed, "I am a spy in the house of me."
She switched from Hollywood anecdotes to breath taking poetry suddenly, almost apologetically. During one of the more inspired bits a strobe light came on above her and she re-enacted the scene in Star Wars where Princess Leah's image is projected from R2D2 only she changes the lines. Instead of a warning for Obie-Wan Kenobi, she gives warning to a young Carrie before the bomb blast of Star Wars takes over her life - its was if she was recording something from the present for a past version of her self.

After the show the audience was invited for a talk back, which would include Debbie Reynolds. The audience practically gasped in unison and nearly all of them stayed firmly planted in their seats. Debbie Reynolds is completely insane. At the talk back she did everything possible to keep the attention of the audience on her. She's a gifted comedian, but through her considerable powers to entertain you could practically taste desperation. The whole talk back could have been right out of Post Cards from the Edge with Carrie deferring sarcastically and with great compassion to her mother's primal drive to be paid attention to. Carrie seems to have a genuine affection for her mother but you could see her light dim in deference to her mother's light. Nonetheless the star of the show made it clear that she has no interest in playing a victim to her mother or show business or even her own mental disorders.

Towards the end of the talk back someone asked her if she had any dreams for the future. She said she would like to live in London because the word, spoken and written, is so valued there. It may be the best country for her to shed the noose of her mother's undeniable but garrulous show stopping talent. I left the theater with the deep hope that she will find herself there someday soon.