Monday

Mondays are the curse of weekends.

Les Liaisons Timides

Laura Linney, brilliant in nearly everything I've seen her do, is the entire reason I bought tickets to see the Roundabout Theater's production of Christopher Hampton's Les Liaisons Dangeureses. So it's a good thing that Ben Daniels and not she was replaced by the understudy in the performance I saw.

	Laura Linney and Ben Daniels don't open their mouths without first calculating what damage they can do in this revival production of Les Liaisons Dangeureuses.

She was calculating and precise, demanding, even cold at times, but not strong-sounding enough. Her voice faltered in a few lines, which in other characters and at other times she has used to great effect, but in Merteuil, it just seemed weak.

The Valmont understudy did fine, but only fine. He seemed more of a smirking, cocky American boy than the "conspicuously charming" and ultimately dangerous European I am sure Tony-nominated Ben Daniels carried off a bit better. For Valmont to be effective, he needs to seduce not only his female prey but also the audience. He needn't have been better-looking, necessarily — just more ... irresistible.

Linney seemed to be alone out there, even with the other actors on stage. This isolation is clearly part of Merteuil's character, as she even explains in great detail in a late scene. It felt like the was against a blank canvas at times, with little to react to, except when paired with the clownish Madame de Volanges or the mousy Cécile. I'd like to think there was better chemistry with her intended leading man.

The swordplay toward end between Valmont and Danceny was a letdown, too. Notably, these were the only two actors to appear on stage on separate occasions fully nude. (Damn my obstructed-view box seats!) So, naturally, their pairing for a sword fight was perfect! Unfortunately, their thrusts and parries seemed flaccid and uninspired. Seems to me the passions that would stir two men to draw their weapons in mortal combat should result in something looking more hot-blooded, less practiced — less poorly practiced. By contrast, they seemed sloppy, like two actors missing their marks.

The costumes were gorgeous, inspirational. And the Tony-nominated sets were lush and evocative. A series of curtains and drapery sculptures shifted from scene to scene, unfurling and tightening to match the action on the stage. By the final scene, just before Merteuil reaches her downfall, they had resolved themselves into something resembling a spider web. I feel safe saying this now, as the run is nearly at an end. However, I wish the "theater talk" dramaturge guy before the show had held his tongue and not given away this little confection of scene craft. It would have been far more effective to see it first for myself.

I so love the story, the dialogue, the humor, the moral philosophizing, and of course the Glenn Close/John Malkovich movie, that I am willing to let my petty complaints go. I won't compare the play to the wholly excellent (with the exception of Keanu Reeves) film. It seems unfair somehow. Every actor has a different interpretation; there are some things Linney did that I actually like better than in the Close performance. I only am grateful that I have her and Malkovich, and Uma Thurman and Swoosie Kurtz and Michelle Pfeiffer at home to refer to again and again as the defining example of bad behavior and truly dangerous liaisons.

Hostage

One of Jeff's hobbies, when he comes home from work, is pointing out all the news I missed that day, which usually is a lot. Actually, it's not something he likes to do. He's usually exasperated that I don't know, he being a journalist, the news being his life. But I always feel like an uninformed idiot around him.

Sometimes he tries to trick me. "Oh, Madonna had a heart attack today!" he'll say.

"No she didn't," I'll calmly reply. "And the reason I know is that I did happen to read earlier that she and Guy are denying the divorce rumors. There was nothing about a heart attack."

Sometimes it's feasible, and he'll get me.

"Another pope dead? Already?"

"Oh my god! How many planes can crash in one day?"

"Why would they put a military base so close to a dog pound?"

It makes me panic. Can I really know so little about the world?

Fifteen people were rescued from six years of captivity in Colombia yesterday. It's a huge deal. One was a Colombian presidential candidate six years ago. Three are American. You can forgive me for not knowing the particulars; a lot of people have been kidnapped in Colombia. But their release is something I should have caught.

Of course, the ridiculousness that I knew more about Madonna's marital status was not lost on me.

I used to be a news junkie. I listened to public radio all day long, and on weekends, like it was my job. (In fact public radio was my job at one time, but that's not what I mean.) I would read a few stories on BBC News online every day. I was never much for daily newspapers, but I would read the Sunday New York Times every week.

Now I hardly ever listen to public radio. It's too distracting at work, and I don't like WNYC's evening or weekend schedule (the good shows come on too early). So thank god for podcasts.

The Sunday Times still stacks up week after week. Sometimes I make a pretense of removing the blue plastic bag. But usually it just sits there, where I've kicked it out of the way the previous week.

I can't say why I lost my enthusiasm, or how, or even when. But I wish I had it back.

One saving grace: I read The Economist now. The economic analysis is a bit over my head, but it's great to get a non-American perspective on American politics. Its international news coverage is excellent and digestible. And sometimes my favorite stories are from its science and technology section. My favorite thing about The Economist is that it is clearly a magazine, but it refers to itself as a newspaper. Very cute.

On the way home from the subway last night, I saw a lot of men crowding around storefronts and bodegas and the front widows of bars. Each time I passed I could see they were staring up at a soccer game on TV. Don't ask me who was playing, but I live in a very South American neighborhood, and soccer is a big deal here.

Many if not most of those men were Columbian. I wonder how many of them knew about the hostage news.