Watching Remy make a fool of herself over Humbert Humbert is a little cringe-inducing. She is focused. She is swooning. She pays attention. She bats her fucking eyelashes, for God’s sake.
And I would definitely think this was a total waste of time, breath, energy, and pants-optional outfits, but I do declare, by rehearsal week four . . . I think she is making progress.
Here is the evidence:
Remy is Ophelia. (She got the part, naturally.) She is practicing this speech where she realizes that Hamlet has lost his marbles and she is bummed out to see such a great guy gone ape shit. “Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown.”
(That’s “overthrown,” bdubs.)
(“Bdubs” means “BTW,” bdubs.)
So, Remy is over there in another all-legs getup, getting all teary-eyed about bat-shit Hamlet, and I happen to take a glance at Humbert Humbert.
Well, let me tell you. The guy is in a state.
Depending on how you look at it, it’s either a state of forlorn longing or a look like a toddler just got his cookie taken away or the way a puppy looks at a “No Dogs Allowed” sign in an old-fashioned cartoon. Whatever it is, there is want there. Not even want. Need.
Humbert Humbert is starting to lose it. Just the sight of him induces a kind of half gag I try to conceal.
Remy finishes her (actually kind of great) monologue and everyone sits there, spellbound. Transfixed. Befuddled. Forlorn.
It is as if, in this one moment, all of us plebeians just lose all the studying, and midterms, and papers, and failed diet plans, and we just sit there, for one moment, together in Ophelia’s lost love, taking in the madness of her secret boyfriend prince.
I can’t help but wonder if Remy’s parents would think it was beneath her now. If they saw this. What she can do. If they saw what she just did to this room.
And Remy looks at me. And I nod toward Humbert Humbert.
There he is. In all his sage, skinny glory. Riveted.
Oh, Remy!
You did it! You really, truly did it. You hooked the bait. Your reeled him in. You got him.
Truly remarkable.
I really never thought it would happen.
Never ever.
And this is where I wonder, why am I worried about her? I mean, for Christ’s sake, she clearly has the world on a string. She’s getting the ungettable teacher, and she’s moving this entire auditorium to tears!
I should be worried about me.
Well, obviously, nothing bad can come of this. Right? I mean . . . it’s just an underage girl in love with an English teacher at a school where her dad is on the board.
Please check if you will have chicken or fish at the wedding.