I wonder what childless people do for terror. Since my two sons were born, all my worst fears have revolved around their lives. Not their natures or their choices but their lives. Though they’re both fully grown and self-sufficient now, the possibility of . . . something terrible . . . befalling either of them still scares me so much that I can’t bring myself to call that something by its right name here. Suffice to say that the cliche about parenthood is true: it’s absolutely as if your heart were running around loose in someone else’s body.
Mike’s death is disclosed at the start of Look, We Are Breathing, and Jacqmin isn’t primarily focused on why or how it happened. She doesn’t narrate the boy’s story so much as build a portrait of him, using flashbacks and the testimony of three women: his mother, Alice; his AP English teacher, Leticia; and nerdy classmate Caylee, who wants to be his girlfriend/spiritual widow.
As my tendency to quote the script may suggest, I love Jacqmin’s writing. Previous works like Ski Dubai (2009) and Dental Society Midwinter Meeting (2010) were heartfelt but decidedly eccentric satires. Look, We Are Breathing looks by comparison like an effort to move toward the mainstream with a more conventional, small-cast heart tugger that addresses a social issue or two in an audience-pleasing span of time. If that’s the plan, I hope it works. I’d be glad to see this play performed at every high school in the country, inasmuch as Jacqmin hasn’t sacrificed her unsentimental wit, verbal precision, or willingness to engage ambiguity to get there.
Through 5/16: Wed-Fri 8 PM, Sat 4 and 8 PM Rivendell Theatre 5779 N. Ridge 773-334-7728rivendelltheatre.org $22-$35
