Dear Dave,
Hi! How have youbeen? I'm ok, all thingsconsidered. But the old constructionbusiness has been a little tricky for the last little bit. Seems like it's getting harder to earn aliving off of working with your hands, you know? You know. The wife and kids are doing pretty goodeventhough money is tight. I keeptelling myself we will make it back into the middle-class someday. I'm prolly wrong. Hey, that's one of your words, right? “Prolly.” Like the way real people say, “probably.” Well, if it's not, it should be. Because you're so fucking real.
Hey, speaking of “sofucking real,” is your show still running over there at Goodman? I haven't had a chance, because, you know--“weight of the world” and “gas prices” all that. And anyways, I was supposed to see it and doa review or whatever, but I figured I'm pretty real myself. So I prolly didn't really need to see it. It's like with your one book you wrote-- I just borrowed it from some asshole and justlooked at the dust cover. Never read it,never returned it. Guy was an assholeanyways, right?
But the point is-- I got your point from the cover or whatother people said on the cover or whatever. I didn't need to read it, because guys like you and me-- realfucking guys-- understand each other. It's like there's a beautiful fucking power in simple-- like guys likeus drink from the same, or deeply, or whatever.
And then, lightbulb goes off and I realize that the whole, it seems trite or, but “judge abook by it's cover” is like your whole thing, right? So the point you prolly make in Raceis that black people are black people and white people are white people andthat's all we need to know-- what we can tell from looking at them, becausethat's all we know anyways, right? Imean, am I right? We already know whatwe need to know by looking at the cover. And then some of the books we decide to read for some reason, and thenwe like them or we don't. But it doesn'treally change our opinion of books in general. Which are mostly pretty stupid and self-centered. And even some of the good ones get burned, ifyou follow me. You follow me.
So nice try, Buddyboy, but I don't need to see it now toknow that it's prolly got some upper class black people and some upper classwhite people, and some lower-class of each color, and there's prolly a bunch ofprejudice and mistrust on both parts and some kind of disagreement or conflictover possession of some valuable thing, or some alleged crime that happened wayin the past, which will give all parties concerned a chance to deliver a rantthat has a lot of anger and a few kernels of truth as they say, and everyonewho sees it will see their own opinion represented, except it doesn't reallymatter because no one will change their mind over it. Cool. That would make a pretty good play-- even in the hands of some randomasshole, performed by any bunch of self-loathing assholes for any bunch ofpretentious snobs.
But this ain't just random assholes and snobs. You are David Mamet and this is TheGoodman. Performing words that soundjust like the words real people say written by a Treasure of the AmericanTheater and tackling an incendiary topic with stunning authenticity for an audience of lakefront liberals least-likelyto be affected by the themes of this masterpiece anywhere at any time. But relevant, all the way to the bank, am Iright? In fact, it is so jaw-droppinglyrelevant that the Goodman didn't even need to set it on the moon during theNazi occupation of France and cast some hot, young white chick as The GrizzledOld Negro Who Works in the Governor's Mansion, like they have to do with thatShakespeare bullshit. Relevance,Edginess, Rich People. This formulacauses such a surefire nuclear explosion of a hit that this reviewer doesn'teven need to see it to know it's an instant classic.
And that is why I am giving your show, Race at theGoodman, 12 out of 12 stars. My highestrating. One real-life guy to another.
So I guess that's my review, in case I don't get around toseeing it or if it already closed. Nicejob again, Bro. And hey, not fornothing, but how about dropping one of these “relevant” solid-gold turds on anactual storefront theater with real people performing at it once inawhile? Remember how you used to? Whenyou were real?
Stay Real,
Carm Grisolia
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