Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

If my increasingly-faulty memory is working, I think the last time Suzie and Elaine were in town with my Mom and me was in the nineties, for a showing of ‘Chicago’ (which back then was taking place in the same theater where we had just seen ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’. Time changes and shifts, moves on and retreats, advances and recedes, and suddenly we are back years later in older bodies and different mind-sets, but still thankful for being together. We should really do things like this more often as none of us are getting any younger. Rather than hasten the pace, allow me to slow down and return to the start of Saturday ~ our last full day in New York City for this Mother’s Day weekend.

It began in sunny form, with warm temperatures and blue skies that felt foreign after all the nastiness we’ve had lately. We made a breakfast of crepes at the Plaza Hotel ~ a brush with elegant living that stands out as one of those treats that is made all the more appealing for its fleeting and infrequent nature.

Following that, we strolled down Fifth Avenue for a morning of window and traditional shopping, starting at the fragrance counter of Bergdorf Goodman and working our way to midtown. It was a relatively restrained shopping expedition, more enjoyable for the company and ease of relaxation than any material procurements. Shopping is sometimes more than a means to an end ~ it is an act of pleasure regardless of outcome, at least to some of us. Being in the proximity to beautiful items, seeing mannequins and store windows decked out in extravagant fashion ~ they each lend themselves to inspiration and well-being, providing a pretty buffer for a world not always occupied with exquisite things.

The afternoon arrived, and with it the sun soared to its zenith. It had been so long since we had seen that bright orb, we took our time returning to the hotel. Eventually we made it back to dress for an early dinner with Suzie and Elaine, and one last show.

Aureole provided the sumptuous backdrop for a dinner with three of my favorite ladies on the planet. Suzie and Elaine were in-between Harry Potter plays, in the dim and dark space of an alternate land where dementors had taken over the world and He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had come into power. Mom and I were heading into’The Cher Show’ ~ yet despite our disparate theatrical journeys, we returned to family form for dinner.

I’ve known these three women for all forty-three years of my life, and it’s always a happy occasion when we find ourselves together, especially in such an exciting set of circumstances. Even our casual meet-ups at someone’s home carry the glad frisson of a shared family history. For instance, one of our earliest Broadway get-aways was with Suzie and Elaine. At that time Suzie was more aware of what was on Broadway, and she chose ‘Lost in Yonkers’ and ‘Six Degrees of Separation’. The first starred Mercedes Ruehl and an actor we had never heard of before: Kevin Spacey. The latter featured Stockard Channing in the role she would take to the movie (as well as full-frontal male nudity). That’s always fun to see with your mother. (Maybe Suzie and I should have taken them to the Gaiety all those years ago…)

On that early trip, we traveled to various locations and times in the rich history book of New York simply by attending two plays. It taught me that theater was a safe way to escape from the drudgery of everyday life, while pushing and challenging your own perceptions and belief systems.

After dinner, we made our way to our respective shows. Mom and I ambled up to 52^ndStreet to check out ‘The Cher Show’ and while we expected it to be fluffy and fun, it actually turned out to be unexpectedly moving and poignant, and more than a little empowering. To say nothing of the costumes, which rivaled what we had just seen at the Met. It just goes to prove that old adage: when in doubt, go big, go sparkly, or go home.

The night closed around us, and our annual Mother’s Day Broadway weekend was coming to an all-too-swift close. We had one more breakfast the next day, and Suzie and Elaine were joining us before we all boarded trains back upstate…

One would think that asking a taxi driver who picked us up at the southernmost tip of Central Park to drop us off at the Met would be an easy ride. After getting plopped off at the Museum of Natural History, where a big Tyrannosaurus rex banner hung in the entrance, I realized it wasn’t so simple. I also realized too late that we were on the wrong side of the park completely. Fortunately, the morning was holding off on the rain, so we made our way through the lush verdant expanse of the park, where we could enjoy what spring flowers still clung to their first flush of the season.

Most years we simply skirt the edges of Central Park ~ only rarely do we end up going through it. We really should do it more often. From our lofty hotel room vantage point, the size and immensity of the place was especially striking. (It’s also how I knew we could never walk to the Met in a few short minutes, particularly when rain was a continuous threat. It’s just too far for my lazy legs.)

Once ensconced within all the greenery, it’s almost easy to forget you are in the middle of New York City. Even here, however, and perhaps especially here, there were lots of people going about their day, so the idea of crowds and surging population was never quite that far. Once in a while, we’d round a corner and have a brief respite from the bikers and walkers and tourists, where we’d stumble upon something like these geranium plants, giving off a delicacy not usually found in the city. It was a calmer and more subtle variation on the beauty that awaited us at the Met.

‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’ was this year’s Met Gala theme, based on this stupendous exhibition. We arrived early in the day (despite our wayward taxi ride and park walk) in order to beat the crowds, and for the most part we succeeded. There were not yet the two-hour lines that greeted the great Alexander McQueen exhibit from several years ago, but a healthy stream of viewers ebbed and flowed past the pair of mirrored-fig-leaf-clad male sculptures that marked the entrance.

The thing about camp is that it all too often defies definition, and the moment you try to pin it down and label it is the moment that its very campiness departs. Still, a worthy effort was made to encompass the theme, placing particular emphasis on Susan Sontag’s epochal essay ‘Notes on ‘Camp” and using that as a guide for the wildly disparate ideas of camp which ran throughout the exhibit.

There were so many great outfits on display, I couldn’t possibly capture them all in this single post, so keep your eyes out for a follow-up post at some point. It was a beautifully-curated exhibit, captured in a gorgeously-crafted book (which at $50 was a relative steal) but I didn’t want to carry that thing around the city, so I’ll find it online later. Camp is nothing if not fertile ground for inspiration, especially in these parts.

For now, we return to the New York adventures at hand, which found Mom and I having dinner at the Hunt & Fish Club before taking in a production of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ starring Jeff Daniels. Dinner was lovely ~ in a myriad of soft lights and mirrors, everything looks and tastes better ~ and the play was a remarkable feat of wonder. It’s a brutally difficult thing to adapt such a beloved classic to the stage, and they managed to do so while keeping true to the soul and spirit of the book. Powerfully relevant to today’s world, it was quite the theatrical achievement with an ensemble that rises to the material and task at hand.

As much as I abhor Times Square, and the crush of people and madness of the world crammed into such a small space, it is always worth braving for shows like this. It’s also worth it to spend some time with Mom, haunting these grand old theaters, with their faded velvet seats that start out too small and confining, then expand into an entire universe as spun out thrillingly upon the stage before us.

In the moments before the curtain rises, the usual giddy anticipation pervades the atmosphere. We know that something wondrous is about to happen as we thumb through the Playbill articles and look back at others shows we’ve seen in whatever theater we happen to be in. At this point, we’ve been in many, and all have their happy memories and connotations. On this night, a new memory is being made by way of Harper Lee…