The wrenching last 2 scenes of Long Day’s Journey – between Jamie and Edmund … and then the scene that ends the play, involving the whole tragic family. It’s his face as he takes it all in. And this is nasty stuff, relentless stuff – cruel things are said that can never be unsaid. Edmund, with all of his dissipation – his drinking, his whoring, and also his consumption, is the rock of the family. The steady one. And yet he is completely unstable on some level – all he does is absorb, absorb everybody else’s pain. Not to mention the fact that on some deep and utterly true level, everybody blames him for what happened to Mary Tyrone. Which basically means, that they blame him for being born. He knows it, everybody knows it … yet can such a thing be said? There are stories of Eugene O’Neill locking himself into his study for 10 hours a day, when he was writing Long Day’s Journey. His wife said he would emerge, at the end of the day, eyes puffed out of his head from crying all day long. He would write and cry. That was his process the entire time of writing the play. He was wrenching something out of his soul, and pouring it onto the paper, with his heart, pain, grief, loss … Edmund is the Eugene O’Neill persona in the play. The watcher, the absorber … the one who might, just might, if he survives, be able to make art out of all that tragedy. At a huge cost, of course, but what else are you gonna do.
Back to the beautiful intense listening face of Dean Stockwell.
5th one from the bottom — the embrace — that one is killing me.
This all makes me remember freshman year high school, drama class. I came whooshing into class that year, all big-headed, riding the wave of my stunning summer success in “Godspell”: Look at me, all you weenies! I am the “Day by Day” girl, for Christsake!
And stuff like that — in my head.
So.
Early on in class, I decided to do one of Mary Tyrone’s monologues. Me. The “Day by Day” girl. Who was 14 years old. And, oh, yes, SUCH a huge morphine addict and all. So, naturally, I could completely relate to her. I mean, I WAS Mary Tyrone. And I performed her hunched over in my chair, sporting my morphine-addled gray wig and flimsy sanitorium shawl and completely unaware of the uncomfortable hush that had fallen over the entire class.
Gawd. I am so cringeing.
Tracey – I seriously have tears of laughter in my eyes. Oh man – I SO want to have seen that!!!!
I was all shriveled and 14!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!