The insults are thrown at Curley’s wife: bitch, tramp, tart. The further along in the production we go, the more I realize that the audience agrees. In rooting for our heroes — the everyman protagonists who scorn and demean the only woman — the audience finds themselves unquestioningly hating her, too. But why? Of course, in playing this character, as with any other project, I care for her and have found common ground with even her specific flaws; I would expect my affection for her to be above those watching from the audience. But in dissecting this piece for five months now, I’ve found that within the writing, there is both a lack of reason to truly hate this woman, and the inevitable and undeniable urge to do so.
You know, I had no intention of seeing this production because I think James Franco is a personified tribal tattoo, and while Meester’s description of the audience sort of cements that I don’t want to be in that room, I’m glad to see that she Gets It. Leighton, you sound smart. Let’s find you a better show.