Hamilton Armstrong 2005-03-17
10 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
"I am my Own Wife" is the new play (2004) by Doug Wright (screenplay writer of Quills) based on his interviews and friendship with the late gay German crossdressed hausfrau, Lothar Berfelde, better known as Charlotte Von Mahlsdorf. A magnificent one-man show that mesmerized Broadway, actor Jefferson Mays played thirty-five separate characters.
The title comes from 40-year-old Charlotte's answer to his mother's clueless plea "don't you think it's time you settled down and found a wife?": "But, Mutti, don't you know that I am my own wife?"
Do buy (and go see) this play! It is well-written, entertaining, very "theatrical," and you will enjoy reading and discussing it with your friends. I also recommend Charlotte Von Mahlsdorf's autobiography. (See my "So You Want To . . . be Your Own Wife" guide to find more materials related to Charlotte's life and times).
HOWEVER . . . it may sound contradictory, given what I've said, but I have a lot of problems with the central character of Charlotte. I've thought for days about this play and the story. I was very attracted to it because of the sheer theatricality of the situation and the character, not to mention the frisson of the "non-drag-queen-drag-queen." But, despite myself, I have been bothered by something that hasn't struck me quite right.
Charlotte is astonishing because this dowdy cross-dresser survived both the Nazis and the subsequent communists to become the leading expert on the Grunderzeit period (approx. 1835-1918) of German furniture design.
That said, there is something strange at the core of this piece: this central character of Charlotte, this hopefully sympathetic trope for beauty and the everlasting human spirit, despite survival at all odds (or maybe because?)---is an empty, severely alienated person. "Autistic" and "disconnected" are the words that stick in my mind. He never really connects with anyone, hermetically sealed in a world of obsession for this furniture and a fantasy past constructed to block out horrible realities. He (debatably) sells out his friends. He is born, lives, and dies for (and with) . . . the furniture. I can't love him because he can't possibly love me back.
For an example of this genre where real human love and sacrifice are manifest, read the play "Bent."
This is my final analysis after discussing it with many friends.
The whole confection is tasty but, after the meal, there has been no lasting nourishment.
Again, it has been a fun process of discovery and I whole-heartedly recommend reading this play. Whaddaya think? Do you agree or disagree? Read and see.