By Jen Silverman
Directed by Matthew Wright
Friday, May 6, 7:30 p.m.
Saturday, May 7, 2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m.
Sunday, May 8, 2 p.m.
My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was—liberty.
Jen Silverman’s dark comedy is a love letter to the Brontës and all who wrote about the mystical, liminal world of the English moors: those bleak, wet, non-arable heaths that haunt and feed the imagination.
We’re invited into a world of women who seethe and chafe at the restrictions of a culture that has little use for them beyond caretaking and such “womanly” pursuits as parlor songs and needlepoint. It might be the 19th century. It might be tomorrow. In a grand house, on the verge of the moors, these women plot and perform and seek to fill the void of time that is their proscribed fate. We recognize flashes of Jane Eyre, and Heathcliff, and Rochester’s fond hound. We move seamlessly from drawing room, to bedchamber, to the vast stretch of the moors themselves, where we encounter questions old as time.
It’s a laugh. It’s a romp. It’s a nightmare. It’s a power ballad. It’s a play that forces us to engage with restless solitude and its darker cousin, isolation. And these women, with their fervid, deprived imaginations, will make you rethink everything you know about the great works of gothic romance!