Firefly Love fails as both a play and a play-by-play | Theater Review | Chicago Reader

Firefly Love fails as both a play and a play-by-play 

That it goes on unabated for 90 minutes is everyone’s misfortune.

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courtesy Something Marvelous

If my boyfriend ran away with a mysterious identical copy of me, whom I may have created by accident because some thrift store in Norway sold me a typewriter with a hex on it that could do such things, I would have several options. I might very well pull a María (Steph Vondell). Specifically,I might hound the bastard and his demon lover across North America, finally giving up only when I realized that the meaning of life—or at least the prospect of way better sex than I had grown accustomed to with that feckless, gullible idiot of an ex—resided in a garret above a squalid jarana shop in the form of that cute Guatemalan luthier I banged on my way out of Mexico.

Were I to go the María route, however, heaven forbid I find myself trapped inside this heinous excuse for a play, presented by Something Marvelous, which would obligate me to stoop to such unverisimilar follies as having to say the words "I throw the typewriter" before gingerly handing it offstage. Christ guard my delicate soul from having to narrate fake cunnilingus in real-time, first-person present tense. That's not a play at all. That's not even play-by-play, since what "happens" fails to happen as described. That's just someone who would rather be acting talking to listeners who would rather be watching. That it goes on unabated for 90 minutes is everyone's misfortune, including Vondell's, who at least manages to endow her flood of bilingual narratorial verbiage with a certain crispness.   v

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