WHERE’S THE GRIEF? A LOT OF GOOD SHIT,
BUT WE NEED MORE SHOW
Grief. It almost seems to come on a daily basis. You hear people grieve over politics, a lost job, a breakup, the weather — grieving which, in many ways, manifests itself in complaining (misery loves company, yes?). As Colin Campbell tells us in his new extraordinarily well-written play, GRIEF: A One Man Shitshow, “Talking about tragedy is a way for us as a culture to process it, integrate it into our consciousness, so when it strikes, we aren’t so scared and confused and lonely.” People are resilient and adaptable, more so than animals, who are on the brink of extinction because they can’t adapt to our non-stop, frantic progress.
But how does one grieve an absolute tragedy, say, a home lost to a hurricane flood? You wonder how anyone gets past that. But, what in the world would you do if the people that make up the spirit of your home — the family that has, by osmosis, become almost molecularly a part of you — go away forever in a flash? No one can imagine waking up one morning as you always do only to remember your two children were killed in a car crash. In Campbell’s case, the family was on the way to Joshua Tree shopping for a vacation home, when a drunk and high driver T-Boned their car. Campbell relates at the top of his riveting one-man show that both of his children — adventurous thoughtful seventeen year-old daughter Ruby, and rap-loving, game-playing fourteen year-old son, Hart — are dead. Get ready to find out how the bowels of hell aren’t deep enough to contain the levels of grief. Oh, you’ll also be laughing. But I dare say that no one will leave depressed.
He delves into folks who say, “There are no words,” and includes fascinating facts about the way ancient Greeks grieved via the theater. One thing I took away from the deep, informative 75-minute show (you’ll have your own list no doubt) is that when it comes to grief, one size definitely does not fit all. The barefoot Campbell walks about the blackbox stage, dipping into how other cultures grieve, and the multitude of phases in the search to eradicate grief — or, rather, learn to live with it. His dissertation is sobering and will have you empathizing with his journey, triggering your own experiences with grief. Truly it is masterful writing.
Although this elevates the one-man show genre, and truly makes you think, the work could be more well-rounded. Campbell doesn’t share much about his white, hip, affluent life. Mr. Campbell is clearly privileged (a vacation home in the desert?), but what does he do (aside from being a writer/director in the Biz), and how did the deaths affect his career? Sure, he gets personal, discussing his sex life — or lack thereof — with wife Gail, but since he is not acting, I wanted to learn much more about the man himself. It fascinates to know that, for Jews, mirrors are covered for 7 days sitting Shiva. And that once the vomiting of emotional tsimmes ends, and it’s back to life, the grief remains like a hot, heavy matzoh ball in your solar plexus. Since he is Jewish, I wondered why more time wasn’t spent on how unattended grief affects Jews — especially those who stayed mum after the holocaust? His show is effective but sometimes cursory.
Still, I recommend this show to anyone — we need to think about grief for ourselves and especially our community — one which is changing so fast that we have no time to grieve the community we once knew.
Director Michael Schlitt ensures sensitivity and warmth from Campbell, but the ending is too precious. After his bow, he plays a version of David Bowie’s “Heroes” that some friends recorded, but it’s not that great. And than it’s a bit weird to ask us to sit in silence while looking at the photo of his kids on a table, and than leave in silence while he cleans up the stage. Something much more impactful and final is needed. After all, this IS theater.
Piles of books that he and his wife actually used to heal were stacked on the stage. Very few gems, he tells us, as he tosses most aside as a bunch of baloney. Yet when we exit, some sniffling, there on a table, ironically, is Campbell’s first book for sale: Finding The Words: Working Through Profound Loss with Hope and Purpose,
You can’t write this shit. Wait, maybe you can, it’s just part of the shitshow Campbell delivers so eloquently.
photos of Colin Campbell by Rebecca Asher
Grief: A One Man Shitshow
Theatre Row’s Studio Theatre
75 minutes, no intermission
ends on April 23, 2023; Thurs-Sat at 8; Sun at 2
for GA tickets (starting at $37.50 incl. fee), visit ShitShow
(seen at The Broadwater in Hollywood March 19, 2023)
