The debate over corrective measures for disabilities didn't just begin with cochlear implants or gender-reassignments. As long ago as 1994, Brian Friel—after reading Oliver Sacks's account of a man's recovery from lifelong vision loss—wrote a play exploring the epistemological repercussions engendered thereby.
The blind pilgrim, in this case, is Molly Sweeney, a hearty, happily-married, gainfully employed (as a massage therapist) Donegal lass of forty years, whose remaining senses allow her to navigate her universe with cheerful enthusiasm. Her husband Frank, however, is a chronic rescuer, his idealistic intentions forever sending him off on ill-planned humanitarian ventures, the latest of which is to be the restoration of his wife's eyesight. But while the doctor selected to oversee this scientific "miracle" is not, himself, free of self-interest, he is sufficiently humble to question his own motives and the wisdom of fixing what might not be broken.
Audiences may find it curious that the Irish Theater of Chicago (whose former title—"Seanachai"—is a Gaelic word meaning "Storyteller") should re-launch with a play recounted exclusively in words, its three characters apprising us of their experiences and commenting thereon in monologues as comfortably chatty as they are candid. Make no mistake, though—these are not the screen-framed talking heads we recall from the Shutdown years, but multidimensional human beings making eye contact with us from barely a few feet away (depending on your seat in the Chopin's subterranean ballroom), with every twitch and hesitation clearly perceivable, resulting in a rich array of sensory impressions—in particular, the sunny smile worn by Carolyn Kruse for her portrayal of the kind and compliant Molly—to remind us of our blessings on a chilly spring night in Wicker Park.
