
An Abortion Scene Gets Theater Audiences Talking, and Fainting
Onstage at the Harold Pinter Theater, the actress Romola Garai was holding two knitting needles while portraying a young Frenchwoman trying to give herself an abortion. The scene was set in 1964, a time when medical abortions were illegal in France, and Garai's character wasn't ready for motherhood.
Schwartz, 39, said she had started feeling faint as Garai's character, Annie, described her attempt to carry out the procedure in stark, if brief, detail. But then, Schwartz recalled, there was a commotion in the balcony above. An audience member had actually passed out.
Since opening last summer for a short run at the Almeida Theater, then again last month on the West End, 'The Years' has been the talk of London's theaterland. That has as much to do with audience reactions to the six-minute abortion scene as the near-universal critical acclaim that the production and its five actresses received for their powerful portrayal of one woman's life.
While fainting theatergoers are nothing new — several passed out over the onstage torture in Sarah Kane's 'Cleansed' at the National Theater almost a decade ago — the sheer number keeling over at 'The Years' stands out. Sonia Friedman, the show's producer, said that at least one person has fainted at every performance despite a warning to ticketholders.
Friedman said that she realized the scene's power, especially at a time when many women, particularly in the United States, fear a rollback of reproductive rights. After failing to carry out the home abortion, Annie describes her visit to a backstreet clinic, then, later, miscarrying the fetus at home. Still, Friedman said she worried that the scene had overtaken discussion about a play that portrayed women's lives in all their 'power, pain and joy.'
'What should dominate the discussion,' Friedman said, 'is, 'Why has it taken this long for such a work about women, by women, to be onstage?''
Based on a 2008 autobiographical book of the same title by Annie Ernaux, the 2022 recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature, 'The Years' is an attempt to not just capture a woman's life, but also show France's shift toward sexual liberation and consumerism.
Eline Arbo, the play's director, said that, when she read the book, she immediately wanted to bring its blend of emotional, political and social history to the stage, even if Ernaux's writing contained no dialogue. 'Everybody thought I was crazy,' Arbo said.
She didn't think twice about including the abortion scene. It was such a key moment in Ernaux's life, Arbo said (Ernaux almost bled to death), adding that it was vital to remind audiences of the importance of legal abortion.
Garai said she performed the abortion scene when she auditioned for the show, and had felt it was a 'great, accurate depiction' of something that many women experienced when abortion was illegal. 'It's their bodies, their histories,' Garai said.
During rehearsals, Garai recalled Arbo mentioning that a handful of audience members had fainted when the director staged the show in the Netherlands. But Garai said she had dismissed the possibility of similar reactions in London. British theatergoers, Garai recalled thinking, were used to sitting through bloody productions of Shakespeare.
Yet, two days after the play opened at the Almeida Theater, the stage manager rushed onstage mid-performance and stopped the show. Someone had fainted.
The cast feared they had traumatized a woman who had experienced an abortion, but it soon became clear there was no pattern: Men were fainting, as well as women.
Perhaps the summer heat was a contributing factor? But now that the play was running on the West End, during a bitterly cold winter, the fainting was 'even worse,' Garai said. (The run concludes April 19.)
Arbo said that her best theory for the reactions was that the show's stripped-back style left room for audiences to imagine the abortion themselves, and so increased the scene's intensity. Really, though, she said, she had no idea why West End audiences were fainting. 'Do you have an answer?' she asked. 'I don't!'
During a recent performance, the show, meant to run almost two hours without intermission, was stopped twice for about five minutes so that ushers could attend to flustered theatergoers. Other audience members said they had mixed feelings about those interruptions. Mary Tyler, 65, a retired management consultant, sighed when the play was first halted. 'You are joking,' she said. 'That is so rude to the performers.'
When the play stopped a second time, Chi Ufodiama, 35, a public relations worker, said she was sympathetic if someone who had experienced abortion was struggling, but she was 'suspicious' that the pauses were a deliberate part of the show. (Garai dismissed that notion: 'Why would we do that?')
During each pause, Garai walked to the back of the stage and formed a circle with the other four woman playing Annie at different points in her life: Anjli Mohindra, Harmony Rose-Bremner, Gina McKee and Deborah Findlay. Garai said the cast had decided to remain onstage partly to signal to the audience that the play was about women's communal experience. 'We're all here to tell the rest of this story together,' she said.
Once ushers had ensured the audience member was all right (they sometimes provide bottles of water or medical assistance), Garai returned to the front of the stage and continued acting as intensely as before, without missing a word. It was no different than having a director interrupting her mid-rehearsal, Garai said.
Within minutes of enduring the abortion, her character had moved on from that moment: She gets married, becomes a mother, and soon the play was racing through a divorce and other scenes that shed light on women's lives. Some were comedic, like a moment when McKee, playing Annie in middle age, attends her first aerobics class. Other scenes were more passionate, including one in which Findlay, portraying Annie in her 50s and 60s, describes an affair with a younger man.
For Garai, that May-December romance was as strong a statement as the abortion. Garai said it showed that older women 'not only can desire, but can be objects of desire,' adding she had never seen such a relationship on a London stage before.
Even for Schwartz, the audience member who felt she came close to fainting, the play's broader messages struck home. She said certain moments made her ponder what past generations of women lived through, as well as reflect on her own life experiences and those of her friends.
The play was 'such a relatable depiction of womanhood,' Schwartz added, and that meant it had to include the abortion scene, too.
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Chicago Tribune
6 days ago
- Chicago Tribune
Jay Friedman, the CSO's history-making principal trombonist, retires
In January 1957, Jay Friedman walked into Orchestra Hall for the first time. He was a gangly teenager with a passion for the euphonium. His band director at Hyde Park High School had bought him a ticket to hear the Chicago Symphony play Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 1. 'I didn't know who Mahler was; I didn't know what Chicago Symphony was,' Friedman says. Five years later, in 1962, Friedman would be onstage as the orchestra's new assistant principal trombone, an instrument which, at the time of that memorable concert, he'd barely begun to play. In eight years, he'd be principal. And though he had no way of knowing it then, he'd go on to become a prolific conductor himself — even, on occasion, conducting the CSO. After a staggering 63 years with the orchestra, Friedman officially retires on Sept. 14, after being on leave since the spring. At that point, he and second harpist Lynne Turner, who retires this month, will share the distinction of being the longest-serving members of the Chicago Symphony, their tenures spanning nearly half of the orchestra's history. Friedman's leadership of the trombone section — attendant physical demands and all — has even outlasted Adolph 'Bud' Herseth's then-unheard-of 56 seasons as principal trumpet and principal trumpet emeritus of the CSO. Friedman will be the last to retire from the quartet of brass principals whose sound made the Chicago Symphony known around the world: Herseth on trumpet, Dale Clevenger on horn and Arnold Jacobs on tuba. 'No one had heard those sounds before,' says Michael Mulcahy, who has played alongside Friedman in the trombone section since he joined the orchestra in 1989. 'It was such an even and resonant presence. It really changed the profile internationally of the orchestra. Before then, it was more of an insider secret.' Many equate the Chicago brass with the high-octane, muscular sound of the Solti years — 'halftime at a football game,' as the old jeer went. But when asked about their sound concepts, both Friedman and Mulcahy returned again and again to subtlety. 'Jay is very passionate about the soft dynamics,' Mulcahy says. 'When something's meant to be four or five p's (pianos), as Tchaikovsky writes in the sixth symphony, Jay would want to hear all the shades down to that… He would not take the easy way out.' Friedman grew up in Hyde Park, raised mostly by his mother and relatives after his father died. While his mother worked odd jobs, he attended a junior military academy in Kenwood — a miserable experience, with one exception. 'That's where I started music,' he says. 'It's the only good thing that ever happened to me there.' He started on the euphonium, common in wind bands but scarcely used in orchestral repertoire. After graduating from the military academy, he became part of a bevy of musical talent coming out of Hyde Park High: one Herbie Hancock, the year below Friedman in school, accompanied him on Arthur Pryor's 'Thoughts of Love' during the school's solo competition. (When they reunited on the Orchestra Hall stage decades later, Hancock remembered him. 'He was a genius back then, too. Every time you'd go in the band room, he'd be in the corner playing stuff on the piano,' Friedman attests.) On top of passing along tickets, Friedman's band director arranged for him to take lessons with Vincent Cichowicz, a CSO trumpet player and an influential brass pedagogue. After their first lesson together, Cichowicz told Friedman he ought to try an orchestral instrument — and the trombone had the most similar embouchure to the euphonium. Trombone it was. Musicians of Chicago Symphony orchestra, Adolph Herseth [left] and Vincent Cichowicz, trumpet players, warm up backstage before a concert. (George Quinn/Chicago Tribune)Friedman beavered away at his new instrument, sometimes as long as 10 hours a day. In a few short months, he was accomplished enough to get into the Chicago College of Performing Arts at Roosevelt University, and, after that, the Civic Orchestra of Chicago, the training orchestra affiliated with the CSO. In those days, Civic's top musicians would be invited to audition for CSO openings. But by a series of flukes, Friedman never once auditioned for the CSO. When a musician strike scuttled the orchestra's audition call for the 1962 season, he was promoted directly from Civic as a stopgap. The closest thing Friedman had to a tryout was arguably more stressful than an official audition. While rehearsing an all-Wagner concert in 1963, Fritz Reiner, the CSO's formidable yet formative music director, complained that he couldn't hear Friedman on the bass trumpet — an obscure doubling rarely seen outside of Wagner. He drilled all Friedman's entrances, alone, in front of the orchestra. 'Reiner had fired two or three assistant first trombones the decade before while playing these auxiliary instruments — he would just nail people, and you're out. It was the hottest chair in the orchestra,' Friedman says. 'So, Bud Herseth leans over and says, 'Put your stand down, pick the horn up and blow it as loud as you can, right in his face.' And I did.' In Friedman's fourth season, then-principal trombone Robert Lambert went on a sick leave that became permanent. A few months into the season, Friedman asked the CSO's president if he could audition formally for Jean Martinon, by then the music director. 'He said, 'From what the conductor tells me, you have the job,'' Friedman recalls. The worst he'd have to do, he told Friedman, would be to play an audition for him. In the end, Martinon never even asked him for that. In the years since, Friedman has appeared with the CSO as a soloist — starting with Ernest Bloch's Symphony for Trombone and Orchestra in 1969 and spanning through 2018, when the orchestra took Jennifer Higdon's Low Brass Concerto on a domestic tour. He's even stood before the orchestra as a conductor. Friedman has led the ensemble during donor performances and while it went on strike in 2019. Other career highlights include being a frequent guest conductor of the Civic Orchestra, his former stomping grounds; leading the Hawai'i Symphony on a tour of the islands; and conducting Daniel Barenboim in the Emperor Concerto with the RAI National Symphony Orchestra in Italy. 'He said I gave him maybe the best accompaniment to the Beethoven he ever had,' says Friedman. This year, Friedman is celebrating 30 years as the music director of the Symphony of Oak Park River Forest, a nonprofessional orchestra in the western suburbs. Though most musicians in the ensemble have day jobs outside of music, they tackle repertoire you'd sooner find at Orchestra Hall, like Beethoven's Triple Concerto (Oct. 26); a concerto by and featuring San Francisco Symphony principal trombonist Timothy Higgins (April 19); and the premiere of a new piano concerto written by Alex Groesch, a cellist in the orchestra (June 14). Riccardo Muti guest-rehearses the orchestra once a year, a tradition that has continued past his directorship at the CSO. Mulcahy has played in SOPRF as a ringer on occasion himself. 'He undertook incredibly ambitious projects, doing repertoire and pieces I can't imagine any amateur orchestra would ever (attempt),' he says of Friedman. So, what does a great conductor make? In Friedman's eyes, it's efficiency and a healthy dose of realism. He points to the strike concerts he led as examples. The last of those featured Mahler 1, the very first symphony a teenage Friedman had heard the orchestra play. 'I had a 90-minute rehearsal, not four days of rehearsals,' he says. 'But Mahler 1? The orchestra can play that in their sleep.' In retirement, Friedman will continue to play and conduct the SOPRF, play golf, and spend time with his wife and two Parson Russell Terriers, Roxie and Mr. Friedman. (You might already know them, if not by name: They're canine actors who have starred in commercials for Toyota, Starbucks and Crate & Barrel, to name a few.) With Friedman's retirement, the orchestra is losing a true original, says Mulcahy. 'The worst enemy of joy in a job is cynicism,' he says. 'Even when things disappoint you, you still have to hold on to your aspirations and somehow live up to your own individual code… His individualism helped me keep mine, that's for sure.' Lynne Turner, CSO harpist since 1962, retires from the orchestra


Chicago Tribune
12-08-2025
- Chicago Tribune
Column: Remembering astronaut Jim Lovell, one of a rare kind
It is a long way from Lake Forest to the moon — 240,000 miles, give or take — and Jim Lovell made that trip twice, never setting foot on the moon but seeing things that few people have ever seen and living a life of estimable grace. Lovell, who was 97 years old, died Thursday in that leafy northern suburb where he had lived for decades. It was where, for a time, he operated with his son Jay a terrific restaurant named Lovells and filled it with some of the memorabilia he had accumulated during his long, high-flying and honor-filled career. There were awards aplenty, models of aircraft and spacecraft, a moon rock and a framed 'Apollo 13' movie poster signed by actor Tom Hanks, who portrayed Lovell in a 1995 film based on the mission. Most obituaries contained the many facts of his long life: childhood dreams of being a rocket scientist; losing his father at 5 and growing up in poverty in a one-room Milwaukee apartment with his mom; college at the University of Wisconsin and the U.S. Naval Academy; marrying his high school sweetheart, Marilyn, the day he graduated in 1952, and remaining together for 71 years, until her death in 2023; four children, many grandchildren; picked for the astronaut program and joining two Gemini missions; two Apollo missions that made him one of the first three astronauts to fly to and orbit the moon; ticker tape parades, the cover of Time magazine, becoming president of the National Eagle Scout Association, success in business… Emphasis was understandably given to Hanks, who posted his thoughts on the internet, saying in part, 'There are people who dare, who dream, and who lead others to places we would not go on our own. Jim Lovell, who for a long while had gone farther into space and for longer than any other person of our planet, was that kind of guy. His many voyages around Earth and on to so-very-close to the moon were not made for riches or celebrity, but because such challenges as those are what fuels the course of being alive.' The word 'hero' justifiably peppered the stories and television segments over the weekend. But this was a man who wore that tag lightly. One night, shortly after his restaurant opened in 1999, I asked him what experience he had in the business and he told me proudly that when he was in college, money was so tight that he worked at an off-campus restaurant washing dishes and busing tables. 'That'll teach you a great deal,' he said. Self-effacing, gentlemanly and energetically friendly, Lovell was an astronaut, a member of a very exclusive club. There have been 600-some people who have flown into space. By comparison, there have been more than 900 Nobel Prize winners and more than 3,500 Congressional Medal of Honor recipients. To know him was to like and admire him. Local best-selling author Robert Kurson was compelled to post on the internet, shortly after hearing of Lovell's death: 'Jim's most outstanding quality was his warmth and kindness, how welcoming he was to those who asked to shake his hand, to take his picture, to describe the first Earthrise ever witnessed by humans.' He would know, because he wrote a book, 2018's 'Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man's First Journey to the Moon' (Random House), that vividly captured that 1968 flight and its crew. That was, Kurson feels, 'the greatest space story of them all,' the story of how Lovell and fellow astronauts Frank Borman and Bill Anders became the first humans ever to leave Earth for another destination and how this mission helped save the country's space program. The three of them are gone now, Borman dying in 2023, Anders last year and Lovell on Thursday. But they come to vivid life in the book. Kurson's internet post was touching, intimate: 'Jim smiled a lot when we talked, but never more than when he spoke about his family… We were on a radio show together and the host asked what impressed me the most about Lovell. I responded by saying that, more than anything, Jim was a regular guy, one of the nicest guys I'd known, a good guy. The host recoiled and scolded me, asking how I could describe such a legend, a man with so many singular and astonishing accomplishments, as a regular guy. But, to me, after watching Jim talk to diners at his son's restaurant even as his own meal got cold, after seeing him sketch trajectories and launch angles in my notebook so I could understand difficult concepts, after hearing him describe the moon to children, I felt like his standing as good guy was as important as going to the moon, and when Jim gave me a little smile after I took that guff from the host, it felt like he might have thought so, too.' I met Lovell a number of times. I liked him plenty. After his restaurant closed in Lake Forest and relocated to Highwood as cozy/casual Jay Lovell's, I would drop in whenever I was up north, hoping to run into the astronaut again. There was no one quite like him. On Sunday, Kurson told me another thing. He said, 'In all the time I knew Jim, he expressed just a single regret — that he'd been forced to give up flying at age 85.'


UPI
03-08-2025
- UPI
'Happy Gilmore 2' cast celebrates rapper Eminem's comic chops
1 of 5 | Left to right, Adam Sandler, Eminem and director Kyle Newacheck on the set of "Happy Gilmore 2." Photo courtesy of Netflix NEW YORK, Aug. 3 (UPI) -- Adam Sandler and the actors who play his sons in Happy Gilmore 2 are praising rapper Eminem for his surprise comic appearance in the long-awaited movie sequel. "Eminem is funny as hell," Sandler captioned a video of outtakes featuring the hip-hop star that he shared on social media Friday. In the sequel's final golf game, Eminem plays a bucket-hatted heckler, the son of a similar-looking trouble-maker played by the late comedian Joe Flaherty in the 1996 original. Happy (Sandler) ultimately wins, earning the $300,000 he needs to send his only daughter Vienna (Sunny Sandler) to a prestigious Parisian dance school. The actors who played Gilmore's rambunctious adult sons said getting to beat up Eminem and throw him into an alligator-infested pond was a highlight of the movie, which is now streaming on Netflix. "That was a nuts day," pro wrestler Maxwell Jacob Friedman, who plays Happy's eldest son Gordy, told UPI in a recent Zoom interview. "When I work out, Eminem is my go-to [music] over and over and over again. He has created some of the best pump-up music in the history of music ever, point blank," Friedman said. "So, I'm just standing there and I'm like: 'Wait, I'm beating up Eminem with my closest friends on this random day? OK, sign me up!'" Friedman said the hip-hop icon didn't just film is scene and make a quick exit. "Not only was he a good sport, he stayed way later and he was like, 'Let me try to do a different take and say something different there,' and he improvised so many different lines while he was in the water with the gators," Friedman added. "He's something else." Philip Fine Schneider, who plays Gordy's brother Bobby, chimed in: "He was, literally in the water, which is crazy. I didn't even think he was going to be in the water. I was like, 'Oh, it will be a body double or whatever.' But he was in there and wanted to be in there and wanted to stay. It was great." Friedman said the professional behavior of Eminem and the rest of the big stars who had cameos in the film was a great example for the younger members of the cast. "The big takeaway was the fact that, no matter who the person was that came on to set -- big or small -- everybody put in 110 percent and was just so amped to be a part of the project, so it was really inspiring stuff," Friedman added. Conor Sherry, who plays Terry, said he and the actors who played his siblings were all honored to help carry on the Happy Gilmore legacy. "it was everything," Sherry said. "We had high expectations, obviously. Adam's reputation is so great and he exceeded it in every way. To be able to do something and learn so much is such a joyous [experience,]" he added. "It was a full-fledged master class, more than you could ever learn in any classroom or college. I'm pro-college, but Adam Sandler taught us a lot." "To have such a chill environment and to be able to also learn so much at the same time and have it not feel forced was just really cool," Friedman said. The brothers' constantly fight and talk over each other, but they also are protective of and affectionate with their widower dad and little sister. "They're, basically, just the exact same copies in a certain way. I feel like we all have the same IQ," Ethan Cutkosky, who plays Wayne, said with a laugh. "When we're together, we can collectively solve some math equations." Schneider added, "We're bonded by love. We beat the [expletive] out of each other, but we love each other." "When Happy's down, it's on us to lift our father up," Schneider said. "There are a lot of moments I think will hit home with people, who have parents or parental figures who are struggling," Friedman said. "You get to watch the kids go through the same exact roller coaster that Happy is going through. When he's up, we're up," he added. "When he's down, we're down, but we're rooting for him the entire way through and I think it's such a beautiful thing as far as unconditional love goes." Adam Sandler, Bad Bunny attend 'Happy Gilmore 2' premiere in NYC Bad Bunny (L) and Adam Sandler arrive on the red carpet for the Netflix "Happy Gilmore 2" New York premiere at Jazz at Lincoln Center on July 21, 2025 in New York City. Photo by John Angelillo/UPI | License Photo