I saw "Rancho Viejo"

What I saw: “Rancho Viejo” at the Playwright’s Horizons Theater, off-Broadway at 416 W 42nd in Manhattan

What I did beforehand: confronted some regrets, mailed holiday cards ornamented with profanity (and signed with my plea, “Don’t start the Revolution without me!”), walked to the train platform in the wake of some dude’s dank doobage, heard the conductor say, “Have a wonderful night” to each and every passenger as he punched their tickets.

What I wore: Keen snow boots, very, very dirty jeans, Big Feelings sweater, now dirty parka, knitted hat, two pairs of fingerless mittens , earrings, mascara.

Who went with me: the Bacon Provider, who met me there. 

Why I saw this show: I saw a review that said it was funny. Also, “Rancho Viejo” sounds like the kind of made-up place name I might come up with.


How I got tickets: I subscribed to the season, and shopped for tickets to this show when I saw that the Bacon Provider had an office holiday party on the 12th. When I got the email confirmation, I saw that I’d reserved a seat to the show on the 19th and not the 12th. I am fucking up all over the place these days. The night of the 18th rolled around and we were reviewing our next-day schedules and I pointed out I’d be seeing this play. I tried to sell my husband on joining me. I waited to tell him the play was three hours long with two intermissions until after he agreed to come.
“If you really don’t want to go, we can eat the ticket.”
“Well, do we at least get to sit together?”


Where I sat: I sat in Row C Seat 5, and the Bacon Provider sat on the other end, in Row C Seat 17. Because, no, we did not get to sit together. 

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Things that were sad: another play about loneliness. 

Things that were funny: there were two brilliant solo dance scenes in the third act which were weird and thrilling and redeemed how ridiculously long the play was overall. I heard audience members on the way out saying they weren’t sure they liked it, which only reinforced my positive feelings about it.

Things that were not funny: most of the first act, which has lively parts and quiet ones, centers on the exquisite self-consciousness of some reasonably well-off, older white people. The audience did not always seem to know when to laugh. 

Something I ate: pretzels in the lobby beforehand. 


What it is: a new play, lasting three hours with two intermissions. 

Who should see it: people with long attention spans who don’t mind watching white people being awkward at parties.

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What I saw on the way home: an earnest and wide-eyed woman who staggered through our train-car, asking people for cold water to drink, and the same cheerful conductor, to whom I said,  “You know, you punched my ticket earlier tonight when your shift just started. Are you always so cheerful?”

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“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I love my job.”

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