Can women really “have it all”? More importantly, do we make ourselves miserable if we don’t get the top-notch career, adoring husband, brilliant kids, size-two figure, money, esteem, and everything else we’re supposed to achieve?
The Heidi Chronicles is a series of snapshots of key moments in the life of Heidi Holland, art historian and would-be world beater. As played by Elisabeth Moss, she has a pretty good grip on her work but is bewildered by the world around her. Moss is an actress with great depth, and the ability to make those of us in the audience feel like her confidants. She’s lovely, vulnerable, intelligent, and we root for her.
But we can’t help wondering why she’s attracted to Scoop Rosenbaum, an obnoxious put-down artist she meets at a dance to raise money for Eugene McCarthy. He insults her, and she finds him irresistible. Jason Biggs is an attractive man, but even he can’t quite make this guy sexy. And why is it such a big shock when her obviously gay, best guy friend comes out to her? He, at least, is nice to her, until he feels so sorry for himself that he no longer wishes what’s best for Heidi. Bryce Pinkham, so splendid in A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder, here seems a bit uncomfortable with the dialogue. At times, he sounds stilted, and I wish director Pam MacKinnon had guided him to take a fresher approach, the better to display his considerable talent.
The play jumps back and forth in time, spanning the years1965-1989. Heidi is most appealing when she lectures us on women in art history. She’s loose, fun, and knowledgeable. The centerpiece of her story is an off-the-cuff speech she gives; she confesses her deep sadness and alienation, and cries. It’s totally inappropriate, but it keys us in to one important fact: Heidi is comfortable being miserable. On her journey, Heidi interacts with several other female characters, some of whom are very broadly drawn. Ali Ahn is a standout as BFF Susan Johnston. Susan goes from being the skirt-rolling flirt at the school dance to being a radical feminist, and finally, the quintessential ‘80’s business woman/barracuda. What Heidi thinks is going to be a friendly catch-up lunch with Susan turns into a pitch for a project.
Tracee Chimo brings down the house as Fran, a self- professed lesbian who comes on way too strong. With her legs apart, and the wildest hair on the Broadway stage since- well, Hair, she’s the stereotype that seems all too painfully authentic.
The ending of the play is as controversial now as it was when Wasserstein first presented this Pulitzer and Tony Award winner in 1989. What does it mean? What message are we given? Can it be as simple as the fact that Heidi finally realizes that the answer to her angst doesn’t involve more self-searching but rather, giving up some autonomy to care for another human being? If Heidi is doomed to never be truly happy, is she at least content? What a shame that Wendy Wasserstein, who died way too early in 2006 at the age of 55, didn’t live to write a sequel to this, her most heralded play.
We can’t help but wonder how Heidi would have coped with our modern age; in some ways, we’ve come so far. In others, we’re still the shy girl at the punch bowel, guarding the chips, waiting for some fellow to ask us to dance.
