Raul Castillo and Jennifer Westfeldt in the Primary Stages world premiere production of A Lifetime Burning, by Cusi Cram. Photo by James Leynse
Words are the weapons of choice for playwright Cusi Cram in A Lifetime Burning, and the assembled cast—under Pam MacKinnon’s sure direction—takes full advantage. Cram’s dialogue doesn’t merely wound; it tears you to pieces and still manages to elicit an admiring chuckle at the perfectly turned phrase, the exactly right word choice.
Confronted by an interview with her younger sister in the New York Times Style section about her forthcoming, wholly fictionalized memoir, Tess (Christina Kirk) abandons her own disastrous life to grill Emma (a superb Jennifer Westfeldt) about why she thinks she can rewrite her past as a part-Incan, poverty-stricken orphan instead of the aimless trust-fund kid she is. As Emma recalls for Tess the younger man who inspired her, Alejandro (Raúl Castillo), and the ruthless editor (Isabel Keating) who bought her book, no questions asked, A Lifetime Burning dissects not only what it means to be family, but the nature of truth, beauty and the American dream.
Gulping Grey Goose and Maker’s Mark, Tess and Emma circle one another warily, first aggressively, then resignedly. Their arguments have the coziness of a favorite T-shirt: They might no longer fit, but both sisters derive some solace from the long familiar words. As they probe one another’s weak spots—Tess’s ongoing divorce, Emma’s bipolar disorder and her reluctance to consistently take her medication—both women alternately eviscerate and comfort one another.
Kirk is excellent as the lisping, repressed Tess, a woman who finds comfort from her soon-to-be-ex-husband and her two rebellious children in lashing out at her sister between cocktails. Repeating a phrase two or three times until her train of thought is back on track, her Tess is all outraged integrity and big-sister bossiness. She doesn’t bother to disguise her dislike of Emma’s choices, but she fights like mad to keep sentimentality at bay. And Westfeldt is a manic marvel as Emma, alternating between wry insouciance and tearful rebellion as her thoughtlessly executed plan to accomplish something with her life by giving voice to people like Alejandro falls apart in front of her not-very-astonished eyes.
Castillo does fine work as Alejandro, who finds himself in over his head with Emma. But it’s Keating’s outlandish turn as editor Lydia Freemantle that steals the show. Treating her dialogue as a five-course meal, she spits, slurps and chews every line with gusto. Nothing is too insignificant for her delectation; she effortlessly embodies everyone’s secret belief that editors are word-spewing monsters with both eyes firmly on the bestseller lists and Oprah guest spots.
With a title taken from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, the ambiguous ending that Cram has written should come as no surprise. Emma’s world comes crashing down not with a bang, but a whimper. Even her attempt at rewriting her life one last time in hopes of a happy ending results in a terrifying glimpse into what she secretly expects from the world—a life of imminent danger, one in which Emma herself is always culpable.
Through Sept. 5. Primary Stages at 59E59, 59 E. 59th St. (betw. Park & Madison Aves.), 212-279-4200, $60.
Confronted by an interview with her younger sister in the New York Times Style section about her forthcoming, wholly fictionalized memoir, Tess (Christina Kirk) abandons her own disastrous life to grill Emma (a superb Jennifer Westfeldt) about why she thinks she can rewrite her past as a part-Incan, poverty-stricken orphan instead of the aimless trust-fund kid she is. As Emma recalls for Tess the younger man who inspired her, Alejandro (Raúl Castillo), and the ruthless editor (Isabel Keating) who bought her book, no questions asked, A Lifetime Burning dissects not only what it means to be family, but the nature of truth, beauty and the American dream.
Gulping Grey Goose and Maker’s Mark, Tess and Emma circle one another warily, first aggressively, then resignedly. Their arguments have the coziness of a favorite T-shirt: They might no longer fit, but both sisters derive some solace from the long familiar words. As they probe one another’s weak spots—Tess’s ongoing divorce, Emma’s bipolar disorder and her reluctance to consistently take her medication—both women alternately eviscerate and comfort one another.
Kirk is excellent as the lisping, repressed Tess, a woman who finds comfort from her soon-to-be-ex-husband and her two rebellious children in lashing out at her sister between cocktails. Repeating a phrase two or three times until her train of thought is back on track, her Tess is all outraged integrity and big-sister bossiness. She doesn’t bother to disguise her dislike of Emma’s choices, but she fights like mad to keep sentimentality at bay. And Westfeldt is a manic marvel as Emma, alternating between wry insouciance and tearful rebellion as her thoughtlessly executed plan to accomplish something with her life by giving voice to people like Alejandro falls apart in front of her not-very-astonished eyes.
Castillo does fine work as Alejandro, who finds himself in over his head with Emma. But it’s Keating’s outlandish turn as editor Lydia Freemantle that steals the show. Treating her dialogue as a five-course meal, she spits, slurps and chews every line with gusto. Nothing is too insignificant for her delectation; she effortlessly embodies everyone’s secret belief that editors are word-spewing monsters with both eyes firmly on the bestseller lists and Oprah guest spots.
With a title taken from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, the ambiguous ending that Cram has written should come as no surprise. Emma’s world comes crashing down not with a bang, but a whimper. Even her attempt at rewriting her life one last time in hopes of a happy ending results in a terrifying glimpse into what she secretly expects from the world—a life of imminent danger, one in which Emma herself is always culpable.
Through Sept. 5. Primary Stages at 59E59, 59 E. 59th St. (betw. Park & Madison Aves.), 212-279-4200, $60.
