Dear Spacebar: A Broadway Play by Kyle Sugarman at City Lights Theater Company,
I would like you to be my boyfriend. I know that’s a super odd request because, well, I’m a girl (though some would say at my age, a woman, and still others would say at my age, living with two 3-legged cats, chronically single) and you, you’re a play. I know you’re a World Premiere and that’s kind of a big deal, and well, I live with amputee kitties, but don’t count me out just yet. I realize you were just a preview tonight, and a lot of people will see you and fall in love with you, too and you probably want to keep your options open, and that’s more than fair, I don’t blame you, but if you’d just hear me out, I think you’ll see some potential. Here‘s why I think it could work. Here is why I love you.
I love how I’m buzzed after seeing you for the very first time and I haven’t had a single drink. Not even a cool pink viscous space beer.
I love that I was going to watch Disc 3 of Season 4 of Doctor Who after the show tonight, or make a hat, or just participate in some procrastination of dish cleaning, but instead I’m writing you a love letter at 1 in the morning.
I love your creative staging, your wicked set, your imaginative costuming, your synthesized futurist music, your impeccably groovy lighting and your attention to detail in every cocktail, bed sheet and jetpack.
I love your heavy meta, industry-rich, satire that speaks to the director, actor, stage manager, designer and writer in me.
I love each and every one of your actors. If we date, I would like them all to come over to dinner. If that’s okay with you. Which, of course, it will be, because I know you love them too. How could you not? Were they not amazing just like you and charming and just totally hilarious and appropriately awkward and completely identifiable in an impossible, but somehow-so-very-possible-way?
I love that just as I think I can’t laugh any more, you pull out an entirely earnest piece of sincerely acted, poetic realism.
I also completely love that just as I start to think “Shit, what’s that weird itchy feeling in my eye that seems to be proceeding some type of moisture leak?” you yank me back to your brilliant, random slapstickery. Back from the edge of an emotional cliff where I’m left a bit out of breath initially, but ultimately relieved and able to go about my business with a fresh new perspective on life.
I love every one of your call backs, even the obscure ones that most of the rest of the audience probably missed, because comedy is repetition.
I love that just like a boyfriend I don’t know which I want to do more a) show you off to everyone on all the planets, even unfairly demoted planets like Pluto, in every galaxy, in all the universes ever (even the parallel ones) as if I had something to do with your amazingness, even though I totally didn’t, b) hide you in a locket, close to my heart, keeping you all to myself as if I’m entitled since I “saw you first” or c) just make out with you in the reference section of the library.
I love that if I thought about it hard enough, I’d probably wet my pants thinking about what a challenge you are, but I don’t want to think about that. Instead I want to just enjoy how easy City Lights made you look. Like freckles or uneven eyebrows, I don’t find myself looking at a flaw or focusing in something that didn’t line up just so, but rather I’m lured to the beauty and humor in your individual quirkiness and expressive enthusiasm.
I love every one of your call backs, because comedy is repetition.
I love your… (count to 3 ¾) timing.
I love your final tableau, because that’s how a play should end, not too soon, not too late, visually suiting, with hope and not 100% closure, but a smile and a sigh, followed by applause.
I kind of love you in the epic 80’s standing outside your window with a boom box kind of way.
If I were a critic instead of a girl/woman/chronically single, I’d give you 5 out 5 jewels in my review tiara for being an exceptionally wonderful, intelligent, creative piece, professionally and vividly produced from top to bottom and for being absolutely perfect for the contemporary venue.
You’re a play, and so I don’t think you have a locker that I can drop this note in, not that I’m aware of anyway, but I’m hoping the good old interwebs will somehow allow this to find you and you’ll consider my offer. I had a really great time tonight, so regardless of where we take it from here, if any place, no pressure, thanks for that. And, good luck with everything. I’d really like to see you again, which is totally possible, since I see you will be playing at City Lights Theater Company in San Jose thought June 23rd.
Respectfully Yours If You’ll Have Me,
P.S. Regarding that final tableau, you should know that I’ll be requesting similar lighting effects as well as music replication for my fantasy space themed bedroom that will very likely only ever actually be completed inside my own head, but it never hurts to ask or wish super hard.