The San Diego Union-Tribune has called Aimee Greenberg's work "formally controlled and deeply moving . . . utterly authentic." If a middle-aged Jewish woman in her 40s playing a Mexican in a nasty black wig who says things like "My placenta was lying in the dust" is formally controlled and authentic, then I'm an old black granny! As to "deeply moving"? I was deeply moved right out of the theater the night I went to see Greenberg's Dona Sangre (Give Blood), which KOCE, bless their bizarre hearts, airs this week!
After I evacuated myself from the one-woman show, a critic friend phoned me up howling and called me a candy-ass. I figured the artist portraying the two sides of a conversation between a stepdaddy and his preteen victim was reason enough to leave -- "But why does it hurt, Papi?" "It hurts because I love you, but it will only hurt the once!" -- but apparently, it got worse! The creepy masks. The ventriloquist's dummy standing in for a limbless baby -- but with all its arms and legs. I've blocked out anything that might lead to the requisite third example.
Spark up a doobie and saddle up a friend to watch with you at home. How can you miss the worst thing the world has ever seen?