Last night, we went to the Eccles Theater in SLC to watch a performance of the play, To Kill A Mockingbird. I went black-tie with my jumbo black flip-flops Bow Tie o’ the Evening. (You’ll note that I posted a photo of my white-background flip-flop bow tie earlier this week.) The production was fine. The play was fine. The acting was fine. The narrative was fine. The issues the play dealt with—racism and bias being the bigly general issues—were certainly still relevant to what is going on in the USA in 2022—unfortunately. I had a pleasant enough time at the Eccles. I would even say I enjoyed myself at the play. But I’m not sure the play needed to be written and produced in the first place. It didn’t shed any new light on what’s contained in the novel. The book had already dealt with its topics brilliantly. The movie version, with Gregory Peck as Atticus, was somehow able to bring out added nuances to the ideas the book laid out so skillfully. But the play? It was not a profound piece of theater in itself, in any way. It was a nice night out, and if you liked the book, I think you’d enjoy the play. But don’t expect any new revelations about prejudice and reconciliation to come flying into your mind from what occurs on the stage. I suppose the play could serve as a nice introduction to the book, for anyone who hasn’t yet read it. The book wins!
Harper Lee’s novel, To Kill A Mockingbird, is a model piece of literature. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, it is brilliantly structured, especially from a writerly point of view. If you want to read a couple of books of fiction that can teach you how to construct (or deconstruct) the bones of a novel’s plot, narrative, voice, and characters, these are two of the most helpful pieces of fiction to read closely and learn from. The novel is also full of ideas to chew on: ideas about race, peace, injustice, community, and the individual. Degrees of freedom is a key subject, too. I could go on about it, but I won’t. I will say that To Kill A Mockingbird is a book I have read more times than I can count. I probably first read it when I was 8 or 9. I have taught the book to middle-school classes, to university-level classes, to incarcerated male and female felons, and to the locals in book groups all throughout the state of Utah. It is a book I know well, inside and out. The stage version of the book did not dwell much on the book’s rich plethora of eccentric side characters, except for the character of Dill, who was true to his character in the book by being both annoying and hilarious at the same time. As in the book, Dill provided comic relief and some spot-on wisdom. The character of Mrs. Henry Dubose showed up, but for only one scene. For those who know the book well, let me just say—SPOILER ALERT—there was no penultimate event from Chapter 10 in the play. In my opinion, it’s a sin to kill Chapter 10.An interesting note about this stage production is that Atticus is played by John-Boy Walton, of “Goodnight, John-Boy” fame—aka Richard Thomas. Nearly 50 years after The Walton’s, he was as recognizable by his voice as by his face. He was more than adequate in the role, but his performance was nowhere in the vicinity of Gregory Peck’s Atticus Finch. Suzanne and I were astonished to discover that two of the younger members of our five-member, theater-going group didn’t have the slightest cultural clue who John-Boy Walton is. I know The Walton’s television series aired way back in the Dark Ages of the 1970’s, but it’s been shown in re-runs almost continuously since then. Culturally, “Goodnight, John-Boy” is still referenced often on television and in movies. Did it make Suzanne and I feel super ancient that these younger whippersnappers were clueless about the character of John-Boy? Heck Tate yes, it did. 🤠 🤓