Charming. Endearing. Bittersweet. Hopeful. A delight.
I might have skimmed a description when first invited to this play, but by the time we sat in the small theater at Players By the Sea, if I had known anything about the play, I had forgotten it all. But that’s okay, for what a delightful surprise Almost, Maine turned out to be. It’s romance, love, excitement, heartbreak, heartache, discovery, and more.
Almost, Maine is a place in upstate Maine (they were *almost* a town). As I glanced at the program, I thought to myself, “My goodness, that’s a lot of scenes.” The play is told in two acts, with four scenes per act plus a prologue and an epilogue. By the third scene (again, knowing nothing in advance), I got it. And I was smitten.
Being smitten and charmed by this play is fitting; it’s about love. These are nine individual stories of romance and love—finding love (and your love finding you), discovering romance, heartbreak, disappointment, fear of being hurt, discovering what it is to feel, missed chances. I don’t want to give the scenes away, but I will share some pieces; they are too warm not to.
Overall, this is a romantic comedy, but heartbreak and heartache exist too. One couple, together a long time, are literally waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it does, a moment of laughter is allowed, much needed in watching the painful expression of deeply withheld feelings and hurts. As the scene draws to an end, we see this might not be salvageable. I was disappointed in some audience members for laughing at this; I ached inside. This was painful to watch and more so to feel.
Another story my theater companion did not care as much for, but I adored, addressed an interesting manifestation of giving and receiving love. Who hasn’t felt they gave all the love they had to give, only to not get much back? Never do we want a score-keeping relationship, but most of us do know when things tilt askew. In the scene, as the longtime girlfriend bursts into her boyfriend’s apartment, she demands he return all the love she gave to him; he clearly did not want it. She says she has all the love he gave to her in her car—and she proceeds to bring it in, wrapped in beautiful bright red crushed velvet bags. They were soft. They were bright. They were BIG. But she dumped them on his floor. Threw them at his feet. This particular scene bounced in my head like a pinball in a machine with all its symbolism and layers.
Perhaps my favorite was the scene dealing with best friends who realize their love for each other. When two dear friends fall for each other, when they realize the other person is the person for them, that’s a risk. It’s a risk to express. It’s a risk to acknowledge. It’s a risk, then, to fall. (The play handles this part wonderfully humorously.) I adored this scene even more because on stage we have two good ol’ boys. I almost held my breath, fearful we would go down the road of homophobia. But we didn’t. That they were of the same gender was never even an issue on stage. So instead of fear mongering, this was simply a beautiful expression of two friends realizing their love. (Granted, never is it clear this is a romantic or sexual love; the audience is left to decide that part.)
The only story we return to is that in the prologue and epilogue. Again, my heart hurt for the ache initially seen in these young characters who don’t know how to express their love. They are awkward. And scared. Nervous. And vulnerable. Those things are hard. As the play begins, it flops. We return with an opening to Act II, but still, it just hurts. Then the epilogue: I giggled with delight when I realized what these two were communicating. It was sweet. And charming. Lovely. And again—vulnerable.
Other little pieces particularly resonating with me. In one scene, I swooned with the way one character referred to another, on hearing she is engaged, “I’m glad you’ve been found.” I love that phrasing. (It reminded me of the proper expressions for newly engaged couples. My daddy taught me to never congratulate a bride; only give her your best wishes. The gentleman, however, is to be congratulated. I know, I know: very few follow these protocols any more. And the reasons for them have somewhat disappeared. But I still like that; it’s the old-fashioned romantic in me. (I might not seem it, but I’m a real softie when it comes to flowers and such and more so, genuinely thoughtful gestures.)) In another scene, the use of a young gentleman who cannot feel pain resonated with me: to be open to love, we risk being hurt. It’s part of it. And we have to be able to feel. Again—many layers in this funny scene. Finally, in another scene, we see someone make a romantic gesture to another. And she, on the receiving end, just cannot see it. She’s not open to love or being loved. It takes work (again, with fantastic humor here), but they get there. And it’s fabulous to watch love and excitement (okay, so there’s some desire in this scene) being discovered.
The same actors play multiple parts, and that worked here, not only because of these actors (who are all wonderfully gifted) but also because, as the program noted (which I read some of during intermission), the play has so many stories—stories that are at all different places of love; it’s easy to imagine seeing something different each time you might see this play depending on where you are in life. Having these same actors assume these different roles makes that even easier: we can always resonate with one of the stories, letting go of who is playing the part.
I regret only that I saw this on closing night and couldn’t send more to see the local production of this little piece of theater. But if you see it on a marquee or read it’s coming to your town, go see it. Be charmed. Smile. And open your heart a little.