The Art of the One-Person Show

Back from Round House Theatre's penultimate performance of I Love to Eat, the one-man tribute to famed American chef James Beard. Normally I see RHT's shows during preview, so it seems a little pointless to give a recap of a show that's ending as I write. But this was a show that a friend wanted to see, so I took advantage of my subscriber's free bring-a-buddy ticket and selected the only date that was  convenient for both of us.

That's one reason I go to shows alone; it's either something nobody else wants to see, or it's never a good time.

Anyway, the well-known D.C. area director Nick Olcott took to the stage as actor for this production and did a poignant job portraying the jolly TV chef and author. The 70-minute monologue revealed a man whose love of life was palpable, but unrequited. With an openly gay actor portraying an openly gay man, it almost seems silly to even append the modifier "openly." But the life of a gay man in the 20th century was very different from that experienced in the 21st century, and Beard died alone. His passionate desire to connect was fulfilled only via the telephone, which interrupted the monologue frequently to Beard's delight: "Oh, goody goody!"

Nick Olcott as James Beard.
Photo: ClintonB Photography for Round House Theatre

Okay, so I'm the opposite of James Beard on so many levels. I am sooo not a foodie. Hate to cook, hate the phone, not many connections, and the ones I do have are often problematic. But the one-man show is something that always seems to move me. I can relate to it.

Afterwards, since the show was short, my friend and I dashed across the street to Starbucks for a chat, and then she dropped me off at home. It was still a short evening (thank you, "fall back" standard time), so I headed across the street to Mon Ami Gabi, where it's nice to get in a little ahead of the Sunday night crowd.

The table-for-one requests are honored graciously these days, but there's no way to avoid being seated among parties of more than one. Actually, that's kind of nice. Too many soloists invites consideration, appraisal. I get self-conscious. Parties of more than one are talking amongst themselves and need not concern themselves with the likes of me. 

I was in an unusually reflective mood, I guess, and didn't mind overhearing bits of conversation around me. I was thinking about the various diners (mostly middle-aged and above, but one or two families and at least one moderately youthful gay couple) and their various relationships. One couple on the other side of the room were happily sitting side by side; another couple two tables away from me were across from each other and exuding strain:

"I will not talk about it," the man said. The woman leaned forward. "I will not talk about it," he repeated. She leaned back. They didn't speak the rest of the time I was there.

Sometimes I wonder about the one-person show I'm in. I wonder about the alternative scenarios. What would it have been like if I had ended up with any of the boyfriends I had been so hopelessly in love with. 

I think it would make a good play. Heh! What would Neil Simon do with this material! A three-act tragicomedy. In the end, she dies alone.

love, hosaa
monologuing