ARTicles vol. 7 i.1: Let Me Down Easy Author’s Notes

The creation of Let Me Down Easy (a play in evolution) has been a journey, and the production here at the A.R.T. is a part of that journey. I see this as a work in progress, where even in the course of the next month, some characters may drop out of the text, and others might appear.

Though the play has been performed before, here at the A.R.T. I am exploring, for the first time, the theme of grace. The exploration comes out of several years now of looking at the ways in which our bodies are both resilient and vulnerable. I’ve looked at the vulnerabilities in hospitals, and I’ve looked at bodies that have been vulnerable to the state: to wars, to genocide. I’ve looked at bodies that are vulnerable to the AIDS pandemic. And I’ve looked at resilient, even idealized, bodies: those of athletes and models. Given the fact that ultimately, the body is vulnerable, and given the fact, that as Harvard Professor Michael Sandel pointed out, “the gifts and burdens that human beings have, are handed out randomly,” where’s the grace in it all?

Let Me Down Easy began with a letter from Dr. Ralph Horwitz, now Chair of the Department of Medicine at Stanford Medical School. It was an invitation to come to Yale as part of a Visiting Professorship and to interview doctors and patients. The idea was, that I would perform the doctors and patients at “grand rounds.” In my mind, “grand rounds” was an event where, perhaps, a German epidemiologist would discuss his or her latest findings, or a physician or even a physicist might discuss the newest proton therapies.

I was intimidated by this prospect. Nonetheless, I found myself sitting in Dr. Horwitz’s office on a few weekends, with my tape recorder, listening to patients and doctors tell riveting stories, about nothing less than life and death. The result was a performance, given at an unheard-of hour – something like 8:00 am – in a packed, historic medical amphitheatre. I looked out at a sea of men and women in white coats, who had, much to their dismay, been asked to turn their beepers off before entering.

The interviews and the experience of performing for an audience made up almost entirely of doctors became a life-changing experience for me. I became fascinated with the frailty and resilience of the human body. I began an extensive interview process, on three continents.
I went to places where people have resilient, extraordinary bodies: the rodeo, the circus – the kinds of bodies we marvel at. I spoke with models, dancers, boxers, a swim champion, a long-distance swimmer; a cycling champion, an extreme action artist. I even spoke to sex workers and strippers.

On the more sobering side, I interviewed people in cancer wards. I went to South Africa and interviewed people about the effect of the AIDS epidemic there. I went to the north of Uganda and talked to child soldiers and girl brides (sex slaves) who had escaped the grip of the Lord’s Resistance Army. I visited survivors of Hurricane Katrina, right here in our own country. I went to Germany and visited Landstuhl Army Hospital, where American soldiers are sent to be stabilized just enough to make the flight home to Walter Reed or other military hospitals.

I spent a day in a forest in Uganda where traditional healers met. I watched them try to mix old traditions with new ideas. They became “possessed,” inhabited by their ancestors. They introduced me to my ancestors. And yet, seeing me as a liaison to “the other side of the world,” it was clear that they were eager to embrace new ideas of healing.

Cut to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, where I visited a newly constructed Proton Therapy Center. I was taken “backstage” to see the linear accelerator that delivers protons at two-thirds the speed of light. It was as long as a football field. Its purpose: to move protons into the body of a patient with the objective of killing cancer cells and leaving good cells unharmed.

Cut to Stanford School of Medicine and Hospital. Between MD Anderson, Stanford, and Yale, I had a chance to talk to doctors, nurses, researchers, physicists, some poised as if on a cliff, awaiting an opportunity to create the future. I had a chance to spend a day with a surgeon, watching her as she performed a variety of surgical procedures. I was interested in those among them who are searching for new ways to think about healing, new ways to consider the wholeness of a human being, new ways of teaching, and new ways of recruiting new kinds of people into the profession. Might the future even offer integration of high technology and ancient ideas of healing?

In my latest lap of research, I’ve sat with five clergy of different denominations, as I try to understand what we as humans can do, for instance, about that gap between our bodies. I also asked them how they think about that which we all share: mortality. I’m on a journey, and you, here, at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, are an important part of it.

The play you will see tonight represents about ten percent of the material I collected. One can barely open the door of the cutting room, much less attempt to walk on its floor. Such is the case with all my projects. With this play, that reality is much more difficult to accept. So many people welcomed me into their life stories and gave me a glimpse of their courage, fears, and desires. So many shared fascinating ideas – about stamina, about beauty, about justice, about mortality – the list is long. Many were the embodiment of their own acts of achievement, imagination, and bravery. It’s hard for me to say goodbye to those whom I won’t inhabit on stage tonight. Creating Let Me Down Easy has taught me the beauty of those hard goodbyes.

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