Theater Review: Beth Henley's Crime's of the Heart

The most curious scene in the entire play occurs early on (page 25) as Meg and Babe cram themselves full of imaginary cake. In the hands of actors who are anything less than spectacular, this scene would ring of falseness, and it would hardly be their fault, with lines like "Gulp! Gulp! Gulp! Tasty Treat!" The moment can work, but only if the actors and director understand something about these women that is special, unique, and more than a little odd.

It would entirely understandable to attempt to read Crimes of the Heart as a story about the importance of family, or the strength of love. While these two ideas are rooted in the play, Henly is careful to show us that they are not enough. Love and family can't change the past, and they can't change the law, and they can't change people's personality. Bad times have come to these three sisters and more bad times are on the way, whether they choose to stick together or not.

In a very real sense, however, the play is not about the past or the future, but the present, as defined by a series of moments. The play is about the girls' search for and capture of these moments. Lenny's wish at the very end is appropriately not a wish, but a "vision." "It wasn't for ever; it wasn't for every minute," she explains, "Just this one moment and we were all laughing." That's why it makes sense for Babe to make herself lemonade after shooting her husband, why Babe and Meg spontaneously begin to eat a pretend cake and why Lenny thinks it appropriate never to speak to her lover again.

These girls don't live for the future; they search for and live for the moment. It is their solution for dealing with their pain. This knowledge gives us an idea of how to play the pretend cake scene. It is not spontaneous. The girls consciously force this moment, to help them forget the situation around them and to lose themselves in the moment. The moment only makes sense if it seems deliberate and forced.

The play, too, is looking for moments. Each moment is defined, not just by dialogue, but also by the visual image is creates. That is why the set is so important to the play and it explains Henly's excruciatingly detailed list of what the set ought to contain. Crimes of the Heart is less of a story than most plays, and more a collection of moments.

I'm great at starts, but I'm lousy at endings. It's always difficult to find a satisfying ending that doesn't wrap itself up too neatly. Crimes of the Heart has given me an idea about how to deal with endings. It ends with a definitive moment, the three girls are in front of a cake that it has taken them the whole play to order and finally receive. Yet, while the play ends with a definitive moment, it doesn't end definitively. So much is left to happen. Lenny's life is just beginning, Babe's may be ending, and Meg is somewhere in the middle. But it works; the loose ends don't bother me. It works because the play chooses to end with a moment, and not with a final unveiling of truth that I sometimes try for.