Solstice Theatre Society would like to invite drama-lovers in our community to the Home of Julia & Gregory Nicholls on January 7th 2018 for a reading of the play “Trying” by Pulitzer Prize winner Joanna McClelland Glass.
It is based on her real life experiences working for Judge Francis Biddle, US Attorney General (1941-1945) during the last year of his life. Absolutely a must see for all theatre enthusiasts. This play was written by a Canadian playwright, Joanna McClellan Glass. It is about her experience working for Judge Biddle from 1967-68 during the last year of his life. She was 25 at the time. The work is derived from Glass’s own experiences as Biddle’s assistant . She is merely the latest and coincidentally the last in a long and unsuccessful line of personal secretaries, all of whom have disappointed Biddle in some way. Much of the story revolves around issues of aging and the breakdown of communication over divisions of age and class.
Place: 2227 Port Washington Road
Time and date: January 7th at 6:00PM.
We will begin the reading as close to six as possible so please try to be on time. This will be a pot-luck event, so please bring a dish and your choice of beverage.
Note: If you wish to be a reader, please let Julia know by emailing [email protected]
“Comic and touching. ” – The New York Times
“Trying is a portrait of generational reconciliation. It is enormously bracing theatre.” – New York Daily News
“Trying is a beautifully written, delicate and engaging two-hander.” – Toronto Globe and Mail
“The number one rated show in New York.” – Zagat Theater Survey
“Exquisitely literate, moving and compelling.” – Variety
Below is a poem referred to in the Play “Trying”, It was written by Dylan Thomas when his father was dieing. One of the themes of “Trying” involves an older man feeling anger at his failing abilities. I hope you enjoy this poem
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 – 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.