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But now, today, something will draw them back, and the reaction will be explosive.
Like the Jernigan women.
Hall doesnt hesitate to lay her symbols right out.
And they do, fiercely and fully, despite the buildings fundamental shakiness.
She isnota regular quilting-bee attendee.
And she missed her mothers funeral.
Neither Hall nor Blain-Cruz has built a world where magic is real.
Where Hall does thrive is dialogue.
The Jernigan womens banter flows with an easy, rollicking rhythm and wicked humor.
No one here is gentle; everyones trained to spar.
Last week she wanted to be Goth.
The week before that a vampire … Next week she gone be gay.
She gone have to go up to North if she wanna do all that, smirks Gio.
Even more awkwardly, Amber responds with, Oh, well.
Im in the closet, too … Im a Republican.
Then you alright with me.
Bitches need to start being bout they money.
Sometimes, Zambia speaks in exaggerated (not to mention dated) text-speak: SMDH!
Heart-Heart, still LMBAO!
Other times, shes implausibly erudite for a tenth-grader.
How old are you again?
asks Amber incredulously at one point but, for real, how oldisshe?
She coulda infected you, mama.
You coulda infected all of us.
Except that, inside the formulaic container shes built, none of them is really a shock at all.
That feeling is real, generated by real objects so clearly created with immense labor and care.
If only it were a feeling more fully evoked by the play itself.
The Blood Quiltis at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center through December 29.
