Em and Winn, and Teresa, and Rohit may be used to saying goodbye–maybe they have already grieved loss, anticipated grief. But what they aren’t prepared for in Grief Hotel is the ripping, shocking, unexpected moment of the grief of sudden loss.
“…pretty much everybody needs a week. Or two.”
Deep Blue Sound, by Abe Koogler, opens with characters funneling onto stage, greeting or ignoring each other, taking seats, chattering. Someone blows their nose. They get situated; we get situated. They’re aware of the audience; they announce their characters. They all fear this silence—whether it’s through death, loneliness, searching aimlessly, grappling, desperately grasping at what’s left.
They’re all searching for something.
But they will all find some level of peace.
Reliving those years upon years you spent around the same people, and you leave—finally, phew—wanting to return different, break from the mold, feel like you’ve done something extraordinary. It’s the reminder to pay attention to those life-shifting moments. A performance of avoiding death, until it’s brimming and overwhelmingly real. The empathy we grew and fostered during COVID relapses—were we the best versions of ourselves during the most difficult times? We revert to this dark ritual that was activated when each of us first ached. “The Age of Bad Choices Seeking Their Consequences. The Comeuppance…”
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Everything that could disrupt a day, or a marriage, occurs, and we watch how Johaira and Manuel deal with and react to each situation. I’m rooting for this dissolving marriage and left concluding that their emotional obstacles have perhaps become too overbearing, crushing a relationship that may have never established solid footing.
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Orietta may had submerged us into her world for just an evening, but her energy and pure delight in memory association will be what I recall when I’m recreating a family dish, recounting my own wardrobe, or choosing to share my truths with those who choose to bear witness.
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