ASP’s ‘Bright Half Life’ Shines Light on All Too Rare Love Story

Lyndsay Allyn Cox, Kelly Chick in ASP’s ‘Bright Half Life’ – PHOTO CREDIT NILE SCOTT STUDIOS

By Julie-Anne Whitney

‘Bright Half Life’ – Written by Tanya Barfield; Directed by Megan Sandberg-Zakian; Scenic Design by Cristina Todesco; Lighting Design by Aja Jackson; Sound Design by Elizabeth Cahill; Costume Design by Zoe Sundra; Stage-managed by Lauren Burke. Presented by Runs through February 16, 2020 at the Plaza Theatre, Boston Center for the Arts.

How many times have you been in the theater and seen two women on stage who happen to love each other? Think about it for a minute and you’ll probably realize it’s a pretty low number. 

There are several well-known plays which discuss or highlight LGBTQ+ characters such as The Children’s Hour (1934), The Boys in the Band (1968), The Normal Heart (1985), I Am My Own Wife (1992), Angels in America (1992), Stop Kiss (1998), The Laramie Project (2001), Indecent (2017), and The Inheritance (2018), among others. There are also a few popular musicals which feature LGBTQ+ characters such as La Cage aux Folles (1983), Falsettos (1992), Rent (1996), Hedwig and the Angry Inch (1998), The Color Purple (2005), Kinky Boots (2013), Fun Home (2015), and Jagged Little Pill (2018). But not one of these pieces features two women who love each other as the central focus of the story, and who are given the time to express their love for more than just a song or a couple of scenes. This is why Tanya Barfield’s Bright Half Life is an overdue breath of fresh air. A 65-minute play about the 40-year relationship between two women is a rare gift – one I have been waiting to receive nearly all of my life.

As a lesbian-identified cisgender woman who has been going to and working in the theater for 20 years, I have become accustomed to looking for myself in other people’s stories because my story (or something like it) is so rarely portrayed on stage. But on a rainy Saturday night in January, I sat next to my wife in a theater and watched a play that reflected elements of my personal experience as a queer woman (in a serious, thoughtful, intimate way), and then I practically floated all the way home.

The structure of Bright Half Life is anything but typical. It is told in 75 short non-linear scenes (some only a line or two long) that bounce forward and backward in time spanning from 1985 to 2031. You see all the complexities of Erica and Vicky’s interracial relationship from the first date, first kiss, and first fight all the way through marriage, kids, and divorce. Throw in some job hunting, mattress shopping, kite flying, and skydiving and you’ve got yourself a thrilling little whirlwind of a play.

Director Megan Sandberg-Zakian manages the lightning-fast scene changes with the finesse of a world-class choreographer. Her dance-like staging is beautiful to watch; every turn into another time and every step into another place is done with intention, emotion, and clarity. With the help of sound designer Elizabeth Cahill and lighting designer Aja Jackson, the rapid transitions from one decade and location to the next is made even easier to follow with a simple “ping” sound that is perfectly timed with a decisive light change. Cristina Todesco’s intriguing set design rounds out this dream-like world with tiered platforms filled with dozens of house lamps of various size, style, and shape which flicker, pulse, dim, and brighten right along with the ups and downs of Erica and Vicky’s fluctuating relationship.

Actors Kelly Chick (Erica) and Lyndsay Allyn Cox (Vicky) have a natural chemistry that ignites a spark in the room from the moment the play begins. Chick has a delightful playfulness about her and an inviting, charismatic nature that makes her easy to sympathize with. Cox has a magnetic stage presence, and brings both strength and vulnerability to her role. The two women stay remarkably connected and in tune with one another throughout the performance, never losing sight of the love story they are telling.

Throughout the play, Barfield uses skydiving as a metaphor for love: you’re flying and you’re afraid, but you also can’t resist the rush and the thrill of the fall. You know you aren’t brave enough to be the one who jumps first, but in the end – if it’s the right person and the right time – you decide to jump together. And even though things are out of your control and you aren’t sure where you’re going to land, the view is extraordinary and you can’t help but enjoy it for however long it lasts. For information and tickets, go to: https://www.actorsshakespeareproject.org/

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