The Madrid

Being a mom is hard. Really hard. So is being a wife. I mean, the fairytale is that you get married and live happily ever after. The truth is that the point up until the wedding and the baby is the easy part.  If you're among the fortunate ones, you get to grow up in a home with 1 or 2 loving parents or in 2 houses with 3 or 4 loving parents, you get your washing done, your meals cooked, you get sent to school and taught stuff and then sent to University and taught more stuff. You have someone looking out for you all the time. You have options, decisions, choices to make about what YOU want to do. The possibilities are endless.  You just have to grab a hold of something and run with it - supported lovingly by family and friends who applaud each wobbly step you take from toddlerhood to graduation. Then you date, you mess around, you drink, travel, explore, screw up. You do all the stuff YOU want to do. Pizza at 3am - sure! All nighters are completely voluntary. A trip to *insert relevant location* for the weekend - LOVE to.

At some point you find a girl or a guy and things are great. You move in together, you get engaged and then you have a wedding (or some variation of that sequence) ... and eventually if you are lucky enough to be of the fecund variety, you have a baby.  At that point every single thing you want to do moves to the bottom of the list.  Your child's needs, your husband's needs, your family's needs become numero uno.  Sometimes you hide in the bathroom. And sometimes, that is not enough. You want, on a very overwhelmingly primal level, to run away. ANYTHING, anything at all would be better than the relentless malaise of a suburban fairytale your life has become.

That is what The Madrid is about.  Edie Falco plays the tormented yet detached Martha, the mother of 22 year-old Sarah and wife of John.  A family of teachers, they live in a middle-class neighborhood surrounded by doting friends and a crotchety Frances Sternhargen as Martha's mother, Rose.  Martha runs away. She leaves a message saying 'I'm leaving' and that's it.  Her husband, daughter and mother are bereft. One day, Martha arrives at Sarah's workplace (Starbucks) and their fractured, dysfunctional relationship unfolds before us.  Sarah feels the need to take her mother's place at home, nurturing her father and actively taking care of her aging grandmother.  She holds it all together while John and Rose lose the ability to function without Martha.

The play is uncomfortable.  This isn't supposed to happen - mom's don't just leave. You only get to leave when you die - as Rose points out.  No-one knows how to deal with the situation in a satisfying manner. Should John date? Go on Match.com? His wife exists, is living, is in the same city presumably but not in his home. What are the rules here?

Sarah begins a clandestine relationship with her mother. She accepts a $10,000 bribe to keep her location a secret. She is so desperate to be near her that she actively lies to her father, her grandmother and their neighbors.  Eventually, the mother/child bond supersedes Martha's desire to run away and be anonymous.

What I took home from this play was that once you're a mother, you're a mother.  You may have a fervent desire to escape the sometimes stifling confines of that role and all it entails, but the fundaments of your being are irreparably altered.  This isn't the kind of piece that provokes a rousing applause or a standing ovation.  Certainly there will be audience members who leave the theatre frowning and shrugging.  Martha spends 3 years saving and planning to make her escape.  This play explores the repercussions of what happens when mom runs away from home.  A modern fairytale? Maybe. Sometimes happily ever after ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Liza and Alan

In theatre, there are many famous collaborators – Kander and Ebb, Rogers and Hammerstein, Gilbert and Sullivan … You’ll notice that they are all composers, they are the ‘creatives’ behind the scenes.  It is rare to hear of an on-stage partnership in a business notoriously bitchy and fraught with narcissism.  And yet, last night I had the tremendous privilege of witnessing not only a collaboration, but what seemed almost to be a rite of passage –a ceremonial knighting of a new icon. 

Liza Minnelli is a star of the highest order – the child of Judy and Vincent – born into the gilded world of show business at a time when being talented meant something.  She has quipped that she exited the birth canal looking for her best camera angle.  Liza is that rare triple-threat – a singer, a dancer and an actress – and an Oscar, Tony and Grammy Winner.  Despite a life plagued by illness, addiction and heartbreak, Liza battles on as one of the few remaining genuine stars of our time. 

Alan Cumming cracked Broadway wide open with his dexterous performance as the overtly sexual, crass and deliciously wicked EmCee in ‘Cabaret’.  Liza won her Oscar 30 years before that as Sally Bowles in the film adaptation of that musical. When Liza saw Alan’s performance she reportedly went straight to his dressing room and said ‘I want to be your friend forever’. 

‘Liza and Alan’ seemed to be the very incarnation of that grand statement. In a land of air kisses and staged marriages, this was a celebration of a real friendship and a shared love of New York, showbiz and all that sparkles.  Sure, there were missed cues and flubbed lines, sure Liza is older, more fragile and husky, debilitated by 2 hip replacements, a bum knee and a sprained ankle but no-one cared.  I felt as though I had been invited to a night at Liza’s house – a night where Liza introduced us all to her new BFF the fabulous Alan Cumming  - her protégée or the son she might have had if life had dealt a different hand.

Alan’s solo-set included an extraordinary mash-up of Adele’s Someone Like You, Lady Gaga’s Blaze of Glory and Katy Perry’s Firework, an original work about an ex with a penchant for plastic sugery, a Bacharach/Sondheim medley and more all woven expertly together with charming repartee.   We heard that when Liza went to Fire Island, "It was like a papal visit--if you can imagine the church full of homosexuals." The crowd erupted. "Don't cry for me, Argentina," quipped Alan wryly.

Liza’s set began with ‘New York New York’ and included ‘Ring Them Bells’ and Charles Aznevour’s ‘What Makes a Man a Man’.  Perched on a director’s chair, Liza held court rasping her way through her self-deprecating banter, peppered with that trademark cackle.  At one point she lost the false eyelashes off one eye and proceeded to rip the others off too. There is no vanity here, no insecurity or fear – Liza is at home on the stage. She knows that her audience is reverential. After all, this is Liza Minnelli on stage in New York, New York. 

After two and a half hours, 3 curtain calls and a jubilant audience singing Happy Birthday, Alan and a visibly depleted Liza left the stage.  I couldn’t help but notice that many of the audience members were in tears. For my fellow theatre devotees, this was like our Woodstock. We were there that night when Liza sang with Alan.  We were there. 

New New York

We had a roller coaster of a year.  I mean, another one.  We don't do things by halves. Most people get a new car or buy a new house or a boat when they need a 'change'. Others dump their boyfriends or have an affair.  Some go on holiday.  I find moving countries is rather more effective.  I've done it 6 times now and each time it brings renewed vigor and vitality to my life. For a while.  My maximum stint in any new country has been 5 years.

In 2012 we moved to New York City.  I mean, we really did. Really.  It wasn't some fantastic dream - it happened.  How often does that kind of opportunity come along - to have your husband go 'Uh honey, how do you feel about New York'? How do I FEEL about New York? I freaking LOVE New York. Are you kidding me? It's the capitol of the world.  New York is everything - it has everything. Everyone fantastically awesome is either FROM New York or lives here.  Really - so HOW do I feel about Nww York? In what context? Food? OVER the top amazing. THEATRE? The best in the world.  SHOPPING? Come. On.  Museums and Galleries? Sensational.  PLUS you get 4 actual seasons which means 4 wardrobe changes.  I see NO down side.  Plus  it's a 6 1/2 hour flight to my other favorite city in the world  - London (lived there)  - instead of that monstrous 27 hour 2 day extravaganza.  So, yeah. I kind of like it.  'That's a yes then?' says my husband.  'Yes to what?'  I asked,  suddenly confused.  'You wanna move there?'.  I really love my husband.  

There was a brief lapse of gleefulness when I remembered that we have a 4 year old.  A four year old human boy child who has a life in Sydney too.  He's had half of his life there.  The first half was in Dublin (we were there 3 years in total).  He has gorgeous friends and a wonderful school, fields to run in and beaches to play on, sand castles to build and a rugby captaincy to aspire to. He has barbecues to scrape down and snakes/spiders and a host of other life-threatening beasties to avoid.   My son is an Australian by choice - he will tell you even now after 7 months in New York with his American twang that he is indeed an Australian.  But I'm South African, my husband is Scottish, our families are in those 2 countries respectively and we somehow landed up in Australia - which geographically makes no sense, but what actually ever really makes sense? 

The truth is we don't make as much sense anywhere else as we do in New York because New York is a global melting pot of divergent, eclectic cultures, religions and ethnicities.  Everyone from everywhere is welcome in New York.  They LOVE our accents, love that we're different, they welcome our quirky colloquialisms with generous good humor.  New York is about YES. The people are hospitable and welcoming.  They have totally disarmed me with their no bullshit, life-affirming generosity.  I mean, New York had the most ferociously violent attack in modern history perpetrated against it. New York knows devastation and loss so she knows that there is a bigger picture.  Don't get me wrong, the small stuff is shouted about across streets from taxi driver to taxi driver.  Highly caffeinated cabbies quibble over impulsive lane changes and the absence of indicator signals.  But the general, pervasive feeling in the city is one of community.  The real stuff, the big stuff is the focus.   We had only been here a few months when the monstrous storm collided with our chosen island and we experienced the incredible indomitable spirit of that great city and we were energized and heartened that shit goes wrong, but people make it right again together.

So, come rain (sleet, snow, hail) or come shine - we're New Yorkers for now.   Sometimes I hide inside just to press pause for a moment.  Sometimes I feel like I just want to stand in Times Square and absorb that electric current of energy.  The air is caffeinated here.... and y'all know that coffee is my drug of choice!

Happy Thanksgiving

I wanted to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving!


I am grateful for my beautiful boys, my wonderful parents and loving parents-in-law. 
I'm grateful for our family, both blood and selected and for the best friends I could wish for. 
I am grateful for the privilege of living in arguably the greatest city in the world and experience highlights that have raised my expectations and extended my bucket list. 
Mostly, I'm grateful for the opportunity to live the life of my dreams and to raise our son in a world that is ever more loving, enlightened, giving and accepting. Happy Thanksgiving EVERYONE!

Moved

It must surprise you to know that despite my lithe athletic figure, I'm not a great dancer.  I struggled through 3 years of Physical Theatre at University, artlessly maneuvering my graceless physique across dusty sound proofed stages.  I spent my undergraduate years not morphing into a beautiful swan, but rather a cumbersome Dalmatian - covered head to toe in large dark bruises, my tail between my legs and my enthusiasm to one day hit the Broadway stage as the next Shirley MacLaine triple-threat entirely obliterated.

I immersed myself in the history of dance, learning about Twyla Tharp, Martha Graham, Pina Bausch and Alvin Ailey.  I marvelled at their creativity and their ability to reconfigure what people perceived as 'dance'.  I may not have been any kind of dancer, but I respect the athleticism and enormous creativity and determination that dance demands.

My eyes glistened with tears as I took my son to his first day of pre-school in New York City and discovered that the Alvin Ailey dance theatre is across the road. Every day we walk by and watch these beautiful creatures leap majestically in classes 5 stories high and 5 rooms wide.  A marvellous Rubik's Cube of diversity and brilliance.

I have found many things in my life that I can do well and learned along the way that being an appreciative connoisseur of fine things is more satisfying than being a bitter, defeated critic.  So many parts of my life have shown themselves to me in this city over the last 5 months here.  New York is like a giant magnifying mirror.  I'm so grateful that I like what I see.

Sandy vs Horror-Crane

I'm the opposite of a hypochondriac - my initial reaction is always "It'll be fine don't worry about it". When news reports started talking about a 'hurricane' on the way, I took my usual approach to things:  I confirmed our restaurant reservation and babysitter and went out for dinner.

My husband, our friend and I were amused by the dramatic signs confirming stores would be closed until further notice. We joked about the boarded up windows as we meandered up Broadway to Cafe Luxembourg on the Upper West Side.   As we sat down and noticed that Liam Neeson was at the table opposite us (no joke) we were comforted and felt sure that this 'hurricane' business was nothing to worry about.  

A bottle or 2 of red wine later, we exited the restaurant to howling winds and our smirks were somewhat reduced.  Monday was a weird day - eerily still, the streets were empty, the stores were all shut and we sat in our apartment waiting for something to happen.  I've never been anywhere near a hurricane before.  I knew all about Katrina but surely that couldn't happen in Manhattan? I decided to spend the day in our West 56th street apartment in my jeans, hair scraped back in an unwashed pony tail and no make up on... Might I add that I have NEVER done that before. I am a make up whore and haven't left my house without mascara since I was 15.  And then there was a knock at the door and 3 burly rather gorgeous firefighters stood there in full Hollywood disaster movie garb and said they had 'bad news' for us, the 95 story crane behind our apartment had flipped over and was dangling precariously and we had to evacuate IMMEDIATELY. It seemed the wrong time to say that I needed to put some make up on.  We threw some clothes into a backpack, took a teddy bear and a fluffy blanket for my now very excited 4 year old son and we left. 

Outside, the rain bucketed down and the winds were intense.  We walked 35 blocks to our friends' apartment on 30th street where we hoped to stay over night until we could return home.  Shortly after we got there, all the power went out.  Absolute darkness, no television and no WiFi.  We had no idea what was going on around us aside from the limited internet connection which provided a twitter feed and the occasional text message.  The last glimmer of 3G coverage provided me with one last tweet which read 'All bridges and tunnels from Manhattan have been closed.  There is no way of exiting the island now."  Why hadn't we brought Liam Neeson home with us?!

At that point my imagination went wild.  What if Manhattan just sank into the sea and we all just disappeared? My husband and the friends we were staying with suggested we should all just get some sleep.  I tried, but spent most of the night awake staring at my beautiful sleeping son and wondering what the hell we were doing in this crazy storm-ravaged city.

In the morning we left their apartment and walked up Madison Avenue towards Midtown to ascertain what damage had been done.  The streets were soaked and covered with trash, mangled umbrellas littered every corner and thousands of people meandered about just staring at each other.  As we walked, we heard more and more about the damage and destruction in Lower Manhattan, Jersey and Long Island... the cars floating down streets, the facades of buildings ripped off, the deaths and the loss of homes. After months of non-stop election coverage and relentless campaigning, the stark reality of what is truly important in this country has begun to set in.  

It is several days later now and we are still homeless, we spent a few nights in the darkness of 30th street, showering in our friend's hotel room in midtown and trying to ascertain when exactly the crane will be secured so that we can go home.  We are intensely grateful for the kindness of friends - and indeed strangers - but mostly that we are indoors safely together as a family.

Back to Barbra

Anyone who knows me knows that I love Barbra and Oprah above all others.  For me Barbra and Oprah are the 2 people who have transcended superstardom and become something else.  I admire their innate strength, the tenacity it took to rise from virtual poverty to unimaginable wealth and success. I admire that there is no other previous generation of Winfrey or Streisand who provided nepotistic ease.  These 2 women have succeeded without any help, without any casting couches or plastic surgery, without conforming to what society deems 'beautiful' and without ever cowering to their critics.

For me, they stand apart and unsurpassed. I've met many celebrities in my life but I can't imagine being face to face with either one of these ladies - I don't think I could do it.  I feel like most celebrities have become quite depressingly normal - they're so normal that they've become something to be derided and ridiculed rather than something to aspire to.  I have no interest in the 'famous for being famous' generation of talentless neophytes who flash their vagina's while exiting limousines simply to be in the newspaper the following day.

The dominant theme in our society has become one of numb disenchantment and apathy - like we don't actually care about anything much.  As a result the overly lipsticked, spray-tanned, plastic-titted morons who pollute our TV screens seem enough for us.  Oh we've had such a hard day, can't be arsed to think or be challenged, don't give a shit about politics or literature so Snooki and the gang are enough.

Every time I see something like the magical and moving performance Barbra Streisand gave last night in Brooklyn, my soul is restored.  I feel buoyant.  I feel joy.  I am inspired to try harder, to do more, to aspire and reach and be better.  It makes me angry that mostly people are proffering themselves as willing sacrificial lambs at the alter of stupidity - it's like 'here take my brain please - pulverise it and make me vapid'.  Please people - find something that refuels you and makes you MORE. Stop living your life as if you're on an etch a sketch and becoming erased more and more every day.

My 4 year old loves Batman, Spiderman, the Transformers and Ben 10 because of their superpowers and because they seem impossibly brave, brilliant and fantastic.  I have my superheroes too.  He went to bed in his batman pajamas last night and I went to bed in my Barbra Streisand t-shirt.