I’ve built up a number of entries from Daniel S. Burt’s The Drama 100. I should have read most of these years ago but I tell myself better late than never.
Six Characters in Search of an Author by Luigi Pirandello – When I was a sophomore in college, my creative writing instructor told me to read this play. After a few decades, I finally did. If I had read it when I was younger, I think the play would have had a much greater impact on me. As it was, I enjoyed it but didn’t have the reaction my instructor was hoping for. The metadrama still works but the world is so drenched in meta these days (it’s one of the biggest categories on this blog), that it just isn’t the same.
Endgame by Samuel Beckett – Again, this is a play that I wish I had read when I was younger. The worst thing about Endgame was that I’d heard so many references to it that I knew the basic plot and techniques. The writing itself definitely held up but I wish it was all new to me. The first time I watched Psycho, just by pre-Internet buzz, I already knew that it was Norman dressed as his mother. It just isn’t the same knowing too much beforehand. Still, ”Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.” I’m glad I finally read it.
Translations by Brian Friel – At last, a play that seemed right for my age. If I had read this play earlier, I don’t think it would have clicked for me. The whole English/Irish language conflict wouldn’t have made sense (my sister and brother-in-law lived in Dublin back in 2000, and the current state of Ireland’s language fit well into what the play was about).
The Brothers by Terence – This will probably be my last Roman drama for a long while, if not my entire life. It was much better than I’d expected but my pro-Greek/con-Roman ancient drama bias isn’t quite dead. I’m very happy to have read the play because now when a conservative blow-hard starts to spout off that all the troubles in the world started in the 1950s when parents tried to be friends with their children due to the demonic heresies of Dr. Spock, I can point out that the Romans did the same thing, and considering their fondness for sentencing crucifixion to fairly mundane crimes, it shows that lenient parents don’t necessarily raise sissies (I don’t agree that being friends with children is the best thing a parent can do but this play proves that it wasn’t an invention of the 1950s).
Woyzeck by Georg Büchne – Maybe I should have read this earlier in life or waited a few years but this play didn’t do much for me. In fairness, the author died at 23, leaving the play unfinished. It might be that the themes of the play have been repeated over the years so that, for me, encountering them here didn’t have its original impact.
Cloud 9 by Caryl Churchill - I would have much rather watched a performance of this play than have read it. I could keep track of characters who were male in one part and female in another but it would have been easier if I’d read it after a good night’s sleep.
Travesties by Tom Stoppard – I wouldn’t have picked this as Stoppard’s best play (I’d pick it as his second, after the one that does to Hamlet what this one sort of does to Ulysses). On its own merit, I liked everything about it–addressing memories, literature, history, dramatic conventions and styles. And I’d still rank it as Stoppard’s second best.
Phaedra by Jean Racine – Of all the plays so far, this was the one that I’m surprised I’ve never read. The name “Racine” was only vaguely familiar and I couldn’t place the character “Phaedra” at all. Once I started, I remembered the myth but it’s not the part of Theseus’ life that I would have focused on. Then again, that wasn’t a problem in Midsummer Night’s Dream. Now that I think about it, Phaedra would make a great tragic counter-balance to Midsummer Night’s Dream for a class.
The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov – I was unprepared for this play. No one could deny that it’s full of strong material but I had a tough time sorting through it. I guess everyone from its first performance has had difficulties working out the tragedy or comedy aspect of it. Again, despite its critical acclaim, I wouldn’t have picked this as Chekhov’s best work.