The Brantley review proves what has been floating through the Shubert Alley ether: this isn't the new CARRIE, because you can't want to be CARRIE to be CARRIE. It has to happen accidentally, like all freaks of nature. Or complex, flawed art.
CARRIE took risks and at its core it was daring. And primal. And because for all its ludicrous style and bizarre tone mistakes, it had a relationship -- the marginalized, damaged Carrie and the abusive, frightened, clingy Margaret -- that was specific and universal, true of all teens and their controlling mothers. The authors found something profound, disturbing, and for the ages in that small story. No amount of camp sensibility about teen angst and getting laid at the drive-in could fully upstage the inherent integrity in the operatic sequences created for the symbiosis between mom/daughter. IN MY LIFE doesn't have that core integrity -- truth -- and yet tries to pretend, from the outset, that it's present. The chasm between the shows remains huge -- one is an unforgettable wildly miscalculated flop that harbored the spark of true genius; one is a forgettable overproduced mis-fire that mistakenly assumed CARRIE-like exccess and earnestness would earn it a cult follwing, in real time. Won't happen.
"I'm a comedian, but in my spare time, things bother me." Garry Shandling
Updated On: 10/20/05 at 11:00 PM