It was obvious that the first actress did not fit her part. She did everything she could to hide who she really was, to lose herself in the part, and she was, in fact, very good. But her true aspect, an aspect of her which had nothing whatever to do with the character she was playing, seemed always to be shining through, as rays from the sun still do even when you throw your hand up between it and you. Her character seemed a huge, high-walled dam against which her true self rose up steadily and inexorably, and then poured out over.

This was most apparent at the conclusion of the play. The final moments were very dramatic, emotional and intense. And then lights came down and the applause began. In the next instant, the lights came back up and the four actresses had assembled at the front of the stage, their hands joined, to take their bows. The first actress smiled and whooped with a joy bigger than anything the play itself could have contained, waving to friends and then shouting for the playwright herself to join them all on-stage. Her joy at simply being, then, so far from the despair which filled the last note sounded by the play itself, seemed to be the thing we had all come to see.

As for the second actress, her character was the long suffering and tragic sort; very sensitive. She was on the periphery for much of the play, and she was all the more sad and lovable for the way she bore her suffering silently, with only a soulful and far away look to tell you she was alive at all.

She was beautiful in her sadness and vulnerability. Looking at her, sulking off to one side of the stage, she seemed a fine and fragile violin, some rare instrument whose whole body, when touched even only lightly, would tremble and resonate with a note of the deepest melancholy. She made you want to hug her, comfort her, hold her, nurture her back to health, and let your kindness heal her; let your compassion be the agent which restores her to her full humanity.

My heart cried out for her, "Do not despair, my love."

But then she had a long, character-defining stretch of dialog to deliver and she ruined everything. Her over-acting made it all seem cheap. Silence and a sad, far away look had seduced, but the reality was something else. When she spoke she could not communicate the things which, previously, her sad eyes had elaborated so eloquently. The sadness, then, became a lie, something that you felt, and wanted to be there, but which was only hinted at and, at best, half understood by her.

And then there was the blond. Jesus Christ what I wouldn't give to fuck a chick like that.