Even the weakest attempt at love takes a strange kind of faith. Most of us have enough problems, after all. We grow up and nurse new hurts as they write themselves, inevitably, across our lives. That much can’t be helped. But romance—which always ends in tears— requires our knowing consent. Who needs to put himself in the way of voluntary pain?
Danny (Christopher Abbott), half of the sudden couple at the heart of the two-hander “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea,” by John Patrick Shanley, from 1984—revived at the Lucille Lortel, under Jeff Ward’s direction—doesn’t want to court that kind of suffering. He’s the most explosive version of a guy you’d probably recognize if you’ve been broke and sad in New York. He’s raw and feral and itching to come to blows with anybody who so much as looks at him wrong or asks a seemingly disrespectful question. Early in the play, sitting at the bar where the first act is set, he gets heated at some guy across the room who’s supposedly staring at him. The poor sap’s just drunk and asleep.
This story is from the November 27, 2023 edition of The New Yorker.
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This story is from the November 27, 2023 edition of The New Yorker.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
ANTIHERO
“The Boys,” on Prime Video.
HOW THE WEST WAS LONG
“Horizon: An American Saga—Chapter 1.”
WHEEL OF FORTUNE
Taffy Brodesser-Akner weighs the cost of generational wealth.
TWICE-TOLD TALES
The seditious writers who unravel their own stories.
CASTING A LINE
The hard-bitten genius of Norman Maclean.
TEARDROPS ON MY GUITAR
Four years ago, when Ivan Cornejo was a junior in high school, he had a meeting with his family to announce that he was dropping out. His parents were alarmed, of course, but his older sister, Pamela, had a more sympathetic reaction, because she also happened to be his manager, and she knew that he wasn’t bluffing when he said that he had to focus on his career.
THE HADAL ZONE
Arwen Rasmont waits hours at Keflavík International for his flight; they call it as he leaves the men’s room. He walks past the mirrored wall and is assaulted, as usual, by his dead father’s handsome image: high-arched nose, yellow hair.
OPENING THEORY
Ivan is standing on his own in the corner while the men from the chess club move the chairs and tables around.
THE LAST RAVE
Remembering a summer of estrangement.
КАНО
I’ve dated all kinds of women in my life,” the man said, “but I have to say I’ve never seen one as ugly as you.”