Well Now, Let’s See

… it’s a tale of seduction and lust, of a vampire mother draining the blue blood from an only son, of possessively obsessive, obsessively possessive possession, of her fight—tooth, nail and Venus’-flytrap—to hold the boy (“He’s impotent, he’s weak, he’s a child, he’s mine!”) against the good-hearted slut who dies trying to slash the reinforced concrete umbilical cord uniting Albert Edward Robinson Rosepettle IV to his mother, and whose epitaph is fittingly proclaimed by a querulously victorious Madame Rosepettle: “Robinson! I went to lie down and I stepped on your father! I lay down and I lay on some girl. Robinson, there is a woman on my bed and I do believe she’s stopped breathing. What is more, you’ve buried her under your fabulous collection of stamps, coins and books. I ask you, Robinson. As a mother to a son I ask you. What is the meaning of this?” (Curtain)

Good question. That’s what the audience has been asking itself since it was handed a yard-long program which unfolded to announce that this was: “Oh Dad… Poor Dad… Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet… and I’m Feelin’ So Sad… A play by Arthur L. Kopit.”

PL

About the Author

Priscilla L. Buckley

Featured Tags

Manage following

Theater

… it’s a tale of seduction and lust, of a vampire mother draining the blue blood from an only son, of possessively obsessive, obsessively possessive possession, of her fight—tooth, nail and Venus’-flytrap—to hold the boy (“He’s impotent, he’s weak, he’s a child, he’s mine!”) against the good-hearted slut who dies trying to slash the reinforced concrete umbilical cord uniting Albert Edward Robinson Rosepettle IV to his mother, and whose epitaph is fittingly proclaimed by a querulously victorious Madame Rosepettle: “Robinson! I went to lie down and I stepped on your father! I lay down and I lay on some girl. Robinson, there is a woman on my bed and I do believe she’s stopped breathing. What is more, you’ve buried her under your fabulous collection of stamps, coins and books. I ask you, Robinson. As a mother to a son I ask you. What is the meaning of this?” (Curtain)

Good question. That’s what the audience has been asking itself since it was handed a yard-long program which unfolded to announce that this was: “Oh Dad… Poor Dad… Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet… and I’m Feelin’ So Sad… A play by Arthur L. Kopit.”