When words cut deeper than beliefs, understanding is the hardest ask
by Montserrat Mendez
9/13/2024
9/13/2024
The Ask.
The Wild Project (Off Broadway).
By Matthew Freeman.
Directed by Jessi D. Hill. With Betsy Aidem, Colleen Litchfield.
Running time: 80 mins.
No intermission.
Tickets Here
I am utterly and completely enthralled by words—their choices, their cadence, their almost musical rhythm. Twice I have been assaulted, stabbed, my very brain shattered, and yet, in the face of such visceral violence, I find that words remain the sharpest of weapons.
English, my second language, presented itself as a challenge I embraced with fervor: I would master it. I would wield it as a weapon, sculpting my future with the precision of a craftsman. Yet, as the world shifts and words evolve with it, what becomes of this mastery? The vocabulary of my American experience now includes terms like queer, brown, latine—yet I have chosen words that fit me best, even if nonbinary could feel like a true reflection for me. It was not part of my vocabulary, and hence, it is an experience that I will have to textually deny myself.
My immersion in the policy and history of Black women at the Shirley Chisholm Cultural Institute only deepens this engagement with language. Hence, though, Matthew Freeman's exceptional stage play might not mirror my personal American narrative, it resonates profoundly in the one area that truly matters: the words themselves.
And what a dangerous little game of words, Matthew Freeman plays in his thrilling The Ask--
each line misunderstood as a threat, each glance a protective dart, and every sentence bristling with the potential to wound or soothe. It is the kind of play that unfolds in the tension of searching for the right words, where the air seems thick with invisible history, and two souls circle each other like wary cats or cat they-dies, if the words were to apply to today's political jargon.
Here, we are introduced to Greta, portrayed with a sinuous, jaded grace by Betsy Aidem—a woman who has donned her convictions as effortlessly as her comfortable sweater. She inhabits her elegant Upper West Side study, a space that mirrors both her refined manners and her weary resolve.
Side note - As I delved into the life of Shirley Chisholm and her records at the Shirley Chisholm Cultural Institute, I remembered Shirley's disdain for Gloria Steinem’s calculated choice of words—supporting Black women just enough to maintain a semblance of solidarity while withholding a presidential endorsement. But as Gloria explained to Shirley often, there was no vocabulary for a woman like Shirley just yet. She, like so many of us, would have to wait. And here it was, resplendent in all its modern splendor—a 2024 rendition of the very argument I had long researched.
Tanner (Colleen Litchfield), young and sharp, is non-binary, a representative of the ever-changing tide, a tide that took even me by surprise and left even me wishing I had been born maybe 15 years later than I was so I could gain that liberation.
They sit together, Greta and Tanner, though it is more a clash of weather fronts than a meeting of minds. Greta, old guard, all polished brass and steely resolve, and Tanner, a new voice that quivers with the certainty of youth—only this voice knows the game is rigged and still steps into the ring, smile intact. Tanner is here for money, of course, but more than that: they are here to shift Greta’s world, if only by an inch, into a future she seems to dread.
Freeman, with a cruel, hilarious precision, extracts the sharp discomfort of such encounters—the silences where we hear the unspoken judgments, the little winces when Tanner’s careful pronouns bruise Greta's sense of self. And in moments of staging genius, Tanner’s insecurities unfurl like a moth’s delicate wings in the solitude of the living room, revealing a vulnerability so profound it is the fracture of generations.
Director Jessi D. Hill keeps it all crisp and clean, allowing the actors to speak in a rhythm that feels natural, yet brittle. One gets the sense that this is not merely a dialogue but a dissection, each character peeled back layer by layer until we glimpse the raw nerves beneath. She has achieved the near-impossible, rendering the ACLU donation process on stage as a suspenseful political thriller.
It is a spectacle to witness—Aidem’s Greta, sharp as a polished blade, trembling ever so slightly beneath the burden of obsolescence, while Litchfield’s Tanner, a portrait of nervous determination, stands at the crossroads of a promising future, yet tethered to the necessity of funding from the past. Tanner’s very presence is a subtle but undeniable challenge to Greta’s long-held beliefs. And so, they wield the one weapon that truly matters in this theater of conflict: their words.
The set, designed by Craig Napoliello, is a curious mix of chic and nostalgia—a kind of curated chaos that reflects Greta’s own mind, filled with memories, but haunted by the present. And then there’s the brontosaurus— But, oh, I won't spoil the brontosaurus.
In the end, The Ask is all about the questions we fear to ask and the answers we are not prepared to hear. It is a play that lingers, like a bruise just beneath the skin, throbbing with intellectual pain. And yet, beneath it all, there is a kind of beauty—two people, worlds apart, trying, in their way, to understand. If only for a moment. And yes, it is a masterpiece.
On a final note, I must confess when November 2016 arrived, it seemed to rend my soul asunder. Amid the wreckage, however, a flicker of hope persisted—I believed, naively perhaps, that the artists would rise like phoenixes from the ashes. I envisioned a new Angels in America, a grand cultural dialogue emerging from these tumultuous times, propelling us toward a luminous future of equality. Yet, what I encountered instead resembled a parade of writers angling for streaming deals.
But then, tonight, this play—a beacon!
Oh, to dive into these words, to engage in this conversation! I emerged from the theater invigorated, with renewed hope for the world and for the words we have yet to uncover.
Or in laymen's terms: Matthew Freeman did the thing!
English, my second language, presented itself as a challenge I embraced with fervor: I would master it. I would wield it as a weapon, sculpting my future with the precision of a craftsman. Yet, as the world shifts and words evolve with it, what becomes of this mastery? The vocabulary of my American experience now includes terms like queer, brown, latine—yet I have chosen words that fit me best, even if nonbinary could feel like a true reflection for me. It was not part of my vocabulary, and hence, it is an experience that I will have to textually deny myself.
My immersion in the policy and history of Black women at the Shirley Chisholm Cultural Institute only deepens this engagement with language. Hence, though, Matthew Freeman's exceptional stage play might not mirror my personal American narrative, it resonates profoundly in the one area that truly matters: the words themselves.
And what a dangerous little game of words, Matthew Freeman plays in his thrilling The Ask--
each line misunderstood as a threat, each glance a protective dart, and every sentence bristling with the potential to wound or soothe. It is the kind of play that unfolds in the tension of searching for the right words, where the air seems thick with invisible history, and two souls circle each other like wary cats or cat they-dies, if the words were to apply to today's political jargon.
Here, we are introduced to Greta, portrayed with a sinuous, jaded grace by Betsy Aidem—a woman who has donned her convictions as effortlessly as her comfortable sweater. She inhabits her elegant Upper West Side study, a space that mirrors both her refined manners and her weary resolve.
Side note - As I delved into the life of Shirley Chisholm and her records at the Shirley Chisholm Cultural Institute, I remembered Shirley's disdain for Gloria Steinem’s calculated choice of words—supporting Black women just enough to maintain a semblance of solidarity while withholding a presidential endorsement. But as Gloria explained to Shirley often, there was no vocabulary for a woman like Shirley just yet. She, like so many of us, would have to wait. And here it was, resplendent in all its modern splendor—a 2024 rendition of the very argument I had long researched.
Tanner (Colleen Litchfield), young and sharp, is non-binary, a representative of the ever-changing tide, a tide that took even me by surprise and left even me wishing I had been born maybe 15 years later than I was so I could gain that liberation.
They sit together, Greta and Tanner, though it is more a clash of weather fronts than a meeting of minds. Greta, old guard, all polished brass and steely resolve, and Tanner, a new voice that quivers with the certainty of youth—only this voice knows the game is rigged and still steps into the ring, smile intact. Tanner is here for money, of course, but more than that: they are here to shift Greta’s world, if only by an inch, into a future she seems to dread.
Freeman, with a cruel, hilarious precision, extracts the sharp discomfort of such encounters—the silences where we hear the unspoken judgments, the little winces when Tanner’s careful pronouns bruise Greta's sense of self. And in moments of staging genius, Tanner’s insecurities unfurl like a moth’s delicate wings in the solitude of the living room, revealing a vulnerability so profound it is the fracture of generations.
Director Jessi D. Hill keeps it all crisp and clean, allowing the actors to speak in a rhythm that feels natural, yet brittle. One gets the sense that this is not merely a dialogue but a dissection, each character peeled back layer by layer until we glimpse the raw nerves beneath. She has achieved the near-impossible, rendering the ACLU donation process on stage as a suspenseful political thriller.
It is a spectacle to witness—Aidem’s Greta, sharp as a polished blade, trembling ever so slightly beneath the burden of obsolescence, while Litchfield’s Tanner, a portrait of nervous determination, stands at the crossroads of a promising future, yet tethered to the necessity of funding from the past. Tanner’s very presence is a subtle but undeniable challenge to Greta’s long-held beliefs. And so, they wield the one weapon that truly matters in this theater of conflict: their words.
The set, designed by Craig Napoliello, is a curious mix of chic and nostalgia—a kind of curated chaos that reflects Greta’s own mind, filled with memories, but haunted by the present. And then there’s the brontosaurus— But, oh, I won't spoil the brontosaurus.
In the end, The Ask is all about the questions we fear to ask and the answers we are not prepared to hear. It is a play that lingers, like a bruise just beneath the skin, throbbing with intellectual pain. And yet, beneath it all, there is a kind of beauty—two people, worlds apart, trying, in their way, to understand. If only for a moment. And yes, it is a masterpiece.
On a final note, I must confess when November 2016 arrived, it seemed to rend my soul asunder. Amid the wreckage, however, a flicker of hope persisted—I believed, naively perhaps, that the artists would rise like phoenixes from the ashes. I envisioned a new Angels in America, a grand cultural dialogue emerging from these tumultuous times, propelling us toward a luminous future of equality. Yet, what I encountered instead resembled a parade of writers angling for streaming deals.
But then, tonight, this play—a beacon!
Oh, to dive into these words, to engage in this conversation! I emerged from the theater invigorated, with renewed hope for the world and for the words we have yet to uncover.
Or in laymen's terms: Matthew Freeman did the thing!
