Friends in the Northeast: I miss you guys.

An Ode to Some Friends and Cousins in the Northeast

There was something awfully magical, exhilarating, and bittersweet about this past visit up to my beloved Northeast. In stating the obvious sentiments, of course, the atmosphere of intellectualism and street-smarts of the people of New York and Boston are always impressive, stimulating and wonderful to be around. I’m actually just talking about my friends. Whom I all miss a whole lot. And right now, friends I’m missing even more with a strange urgency that I can’t place. I really am not going to take up your time with a long-winded note boring you with the day-to-day adventures I had. That, I can just as well easily just tell you about on the phone, on Facebook, texts and e-mail.

I realized more than ever how much I love my friends and select supportive members of my family. I used to take each and every one of them for granted just because at times I liked to justify a martyr complex of that I’ve had since I was a kid. I’m Filipino-what do you expect? Also, having the most dramatic Lola—the ultimate Diva of my life (though Bette and Meryl come as a close second or third) around, she did inspire me unwittingly into becoming somewhat of the drama queen that she is. But unlike her, I’d like to think I don’t take anyone for granted.

I got to spend time in Boston this weekend, for her birthday, with the amazing Pampi and her soulmate Sandeep. I fell in love with these two, years ago. And my feelings and kinship for Pampi (Sandeep, sorry, you’re not a girlfriend, haha) have gotten stronger over the last four years—past four years I spent living in the Northeast, New York in particular. I realized more than ever having her around means happiness mixed with a zaniness that cannot be defined. It cannot be stopped. You feel nothing but joy around Pampi and her crazy cast of friends—Armanda especially.

Two friends I met in the last two years, Melissa and Chris accompanied me for the ride to Bean-Town. Chris was obsessed with going to the JFK Library. So in that I was able to get him to come along. After all, I had hoped Pampi had seduced him with her craziness only three weeks ago when she had accompanied me to my mother’s 20^th death anniversary. In the course of the trip, I felt really close to Melissa and Chris. I always had. Melissa and I became friends while studying Education at Hofstra, finishing up our Masters degrees. She’s always had a quiet and adorable way about her. She’s got a big toothy grin. And boy, did she grin a lot during this trip: At the cold, cold beach…at Pampi’s party, blowing up an air mattress so that she could rest for a bit….

And all of this felt as if it were a scene of something I wasn’t supposed to be a part of. It felt surreal—the joy of being with friends. I’ve always been told that friends didn’t matter by crazy members of my family. That they were individuals to be eventually discarded. They didn’t stick around. Sure there’s some truth to that. But the joy you feel when you’re with them is what matters most. At the moment.

Chris I met a year ago, being nutty at the park. I’ve always had a habit of strangers at the park. I don’t understand it.I have no idea how he’s become someone I enjoy talking to, or having around for company, for meals, for intellectual discussions about movies and certain books. He’s certainly a friend I do lack where I currently live. Not bashing South Floridians. But at least—he does read somewhat. And always appreciates good food. As well as going along for the ride with a laid-backness that my sister found really endearing when he had come to visit a few weeks ago.

Pampi Das, and Eric

Then there’s Babbie Eric. You lent me your house to stay in. To live out days of imagined spinsterhood (but not really). I really wished you had been around to laugh with. And to be kooky with. Eric usually stands there, shakes his head, and scratches my ears because he thinks I behave like a puppy. Which at times I’ve come to believe, (haha). But he accepts me for being the hyperactive, manic individual I’m coming quite close to embracing more and more. A lot more than I used to, a lot more now because of people like him, Pampi, Melissa and Chris. People who just stand there shaking their heads. Maybe grinning and groaning in exasperation. I have no idea.

Last but not least—Cousins Anne-Dee and Michelle always make me smile. I always have a good time with you. Michelle whenever she visits from Denver, and whenever Anne-Dee has time to take pictures and have coffee and sweets. They remind me that my mother’s still around and wants things to be good and positive always. Or at least I like to fantasize that’s the case.

Michelle Laughing

But it’s because of them why I miss my beloved New York and Northeast so badly. People come and go. But Lola—you’re wrong. I can’t take them for granted. They aren’t disposable. The yummy and delicious foods, Broadway shows, the bus rides, the parties—are all a part of it. But it’s because of them mostly.

Anne-Dee (below)

A "Follies" Assessment at the Kennedy Center.

Follies at Kennedy Center. Music and Lyrics: Mr. Stephen Sondheim. Book by James Goldman. Starring Bernadette Peters, Jan Maxwell, Ron Raines, Danny Burstein, Linda Lavin, and Elaine Paige.

Well folks, I finally saw the holy grail of Sondheim musicals: The brilliant, unnerving and uneven Follies at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. Starring my favorite Broadway diva Bernadette Peters; supported by Broadway veterans Jan Maxwell, Ron Raines, Danny Burstein, Elaine Paige, and Linda Lavin, it probably is the ALMOST truly satisfying musical theatergoing I’ve ever experienced. And don’t get me started that on the afternoon I decided to see the show down in Washington DC (an 8-hour round trip bus ride), I find out on the grapevine from a rabid Bernadette Peters and Sondheim fan that Playbill.com announced that Follies will be transferring into a Broadway run!

Follies’ book and script has always been plagued with problems, from its pacing and abstract vision of two couples’ mental breakdown and marital collapse juxtaposed with the demolition of the legendary theatre of where they had once performed thirty years earlier.

Set in 1971, the now married former show-biz couples, Buddy and Sally (Danny Burstein and Bernadette Peters) and Phyllis and Ben (Jan Maxwell and Ron Raines) all meet together and their respective former co-stars at the soon to be demolished Weissman Follies Theater in New York. The theater is being demolished in favor of a parking lot for one last show together. The last hurrah, the last performance of where they’ll all see one another together performing.

Sally once had an affair with Phyllis’s husband Ben; and Ben coldly ignores Phyllis, who is begging to be appreciated; while Sally ignores Buddy, who is a hapless joe very much in love with his depressive and manic depressive wife.

Perfect ingredients for a musical, right? No, more like a couple’s psyche and breakdown of a marriage.The first act is well acted and choreographed for the most part. There is a rousing tap-number led by Terri White called “Who’s That Woman?” where the older ladies’ younger selves appear as ghosts and the ghosts and the women all dance together for a last hurrah.

Linda Lavin makes a five minute appearance singing the standard “Broadway Baby” then disappears for the rest of the afternoon, not coming back out till the finale.

Bernadette Peters and Ron Raines sing the heartbreaking duets “Too Many Mornings” and “Don’t Look At Me” with devastating clarity.

Clad in a red cocktail dress that suggests her plan is to seduce, Ms. Peters quietly sings a song of self-delusion (“In Buddy’s Eyes”) trying to tell herself that she married her husband for love, but its Ben she still has eyes for.

But Act I has two bizarre and even slightly cringe-worthy moments that make you wish you had a spray or some kind of spatula to scrape off these parts that otherwise, hinder this musical from true greatness.

First is the casting of French cabaret singer Regine in the number “Ah, Paris”—a supposedly wistful tune about the joys of singing in the French follies. She sings like a foghorn, and is quite as terrible as Stockard Channing was in the last revival of Pal Joey.

The other moment is Elaine Paige’s delivery of the classic and supposed-to-be rousing 11 o’clock number, “I’m Still Here”. The British dame of theater has first of all, trouble acquitting herself to an American accent. Secondly, she flubs her lines by repeating herself a la Elaine Stritch. But Elaine Stritch she ain’t. She doesn’t even try to save herself by improvising her way through the difficult lyrics of the song. She sings the song that from what I saw, was in a conversational style that she uses to address her fans; then to a buildup of anger and jubilation that she experiences proudly after rattling off her accomplishments and witnessing much of the 20^th century’s historical achievements. Very strange interpretation indeed.

However, whatever shortcomings Act I had is truly made up in Act II’s stunning “Loveland” sequence. The rest of the characters are jettisoned to focus on the emotional and psychological breakdowns that Buddy, Sally, Phyllis and Ben all collectively share.

Danny Burstein is the revelation of the production. His “Buddy’s Blues”—a song of unrequited love for his unstable wife, disguised as a vaudeville number is number of desperation and at one last grasp to understand what went wrong in his marriage and in Sally’s betrayal of him for Ben. I found myself tearing up in parts that were supposed to create the illusion of joy amidst the heartbreak of infidelity.

Jan Maxwell is quite a dancer and sings well in her two numbers “Could I Leave You?” and “The Story of Lucy and Jessie” (a satire on her friendship/anger towards Sally and Ben’s infidelities) with zing. She’s also dressed to kill in both acts, in Act I, a cream colored chiffon gown; and in Act II, a devilishly red skirt with straps. She’s quite forceful, and an icy volcano waiting to erupt.

Lastly, I’ll save Bernadette last.

What else can I say?

She’s stunning. She’s sexy. She’s unhinged. She’s heartbreaking. Period. Her “Losing My Mind” is probably the most uninhibited, most heartrending version I’ve ever heard of this torch song. Her voice goes from vibrato, raspy growl, to lilting and fragile soprano within seconds of each other. She rips your heart out in one grab that you’re left crying your sockets out with pity that this woman has been so unhappy all her married life and you wonder what’s left for her, after the show is over.

Basically, Follies is the heartbreaking musical of how love went wrong for these four tragic characters. Phyllis and Ben may end up okay in the end. But for Buddy and Sally, the question is up in the air.

Follies—the verdict: Devastating. An afternoon of almost perfect theater.