For the first few weeks, I was ignorantly, arrogantly certain we’d all pick up more or less where we left off. Soon. The last live show I saw, J. Nicole Brooks’s Her Honor Jane Byrne at Lookingglass, would finish its run, and if the world was just, be extended. The sorrow of closing the show the same week it opened would become a do-you-remember-that-wild-time-when war story.
Teenage Dick was an early case in point. The streamed version (from the single live performance) was as emotional and entertaining as the live version, albeit in a way that was achingly solitary. Artistic director Jeremy Wechsler and his team of designers and actors delivered a terrific show, and in doing so, gave everyone who saw it reason to breathe a massive sigh of relief. The art’s not going away yet, you motherfucking virus.
