Friday, September 10, 2021

Ubu enchaine

set design for Jarry's Ubu enchaine by Max Ernst 1937 (Artists Rights Society)

Most people die the way they’re born—like everyone else. Generally, unless you’re born at home with a doula or midwife, you emerge in a hospital where you’re first presented to your mother, who's happy and thrilled, unless she’s not. It’s hard to make generalizations but you’re likely to die in one of three places: in a hospital room, in your bed (if you die in your sleep) or on the way down from the Brooklyn or George Washington Bridge (if you jump). There will be a memorial. You might insist on being different, but unless you’re Little Richard, you’re going to have one of those pathetic services populated by a small crowd of people who would rather be anywhere else. Sorry, nothing you’ll be able to do about it. No way to control anyone once you're gone. Someone is likely to make a speech which will capture your particularity by being funny on a somber occasion. An anecdote about your eccentric behavior will undoubtedly be provided before the 10 or 12 attendees, who can’t avoid the delusion they will never die, finally repair to either therapy, yoga or their daily afternoon infidelity.

Read Evan Harris's review of Francis Levy's Tombstone: Not a Western, The East Hampton Star

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