A French classic gets a new spin at the Huntington
Director Loretta Greco at rehearsal for "The Triumph of Love."
Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff
Advertisement
''Triumph of Love' is clearly a period piece,' says Greco, who is also the Huntington's artistic director. 'It is 'commedia-informed,' but Marivaux is writing during a time of profound change. Centuries of belief are being questioned and these characters, some of whom are entrenched in severity, are being challenged to loosen up and engage in the painful, messy business of falling in love.'
The plot follows Léontine, who has fallen in love with the rightful heir to the throne she has inherited, an exiled prince named Agis, who has been taught to despise her. To win his love, she must disguise herself, enlist the help of two clever and hilarious servants, and woo not only Agis, but his strict and dispassionate aunt and uncle.
Greco has been connected to 'Triumph of Love' since 1992, when translator and adaptor Stephen Wadsworth ('The Game of Love and Chance,' which the Huntington staged in 1997) first worked on the script at the McCarter Theatre, where Greco served as staff producer.
'It was a classic no one knew, and yet it was filled with so much truth and beauty,' she says. 'There had been stiff and boring adaptations of Marivaux before, but Stephen, who had experience directing 18th-century operas, poured himself into this play. It's as if a piece of him lives in that era.'
Advertisement
Wadsworth, responding to questions via email, says 'With Marivaux, all the characters felt luminous, layered, persuasive. It was like meeting fascinating attractive people you know you'll know for the rest of your life.'
Wadsworth's gift, says Greco, is his ability to capture the physicality of the comedy (personified by the servant Harlequin),
and
Marivaux's understanding of what makes people tick.
'There's a beautiful elegance to his language,' she says, 'and it's important that we create that lush, intoxicating beauty in the theater.'
It's almost impossible to translate Marivaux literally, says Wadsworth, who is a busy director of operas, in addition to teaching acting and coaching singers at Juilliard.
'The language is slippery in tone, suggestive rather than forthright, and there's a sense that nobody actually says what they mean or even, often, means what they say,' he says.
Altman says the heightened language keeps her on her toes, but while Léontine starts out confident that her goal is honorable, even she admits, 'the snare is … less so.' As she navigates the twists and turns her pursuit takes, she has to adapt, learning more about herself than she expected along the way.
'Nothing can prepare her for all the reactions and obstacles,' Altman says. 'She's wily, but she has a huge open heart and reacts in the moment. It's a fun ride, because it balances both levity and depth.'
'There are significant costs to the characters as they wrestle with desire. The ending isn't simple,' says Wadsworth. 'I think we're in a bigger, realer world of hard truths, where hope is ever present, where life can feel like a sitcom one minute, and psychodrama the next.'
Advertisement
'It's important for the audience to fall in love with Léontine, along with all these characters,' says Greco. 'She's teaching old dogs new tricks through the power of love.'
Marivaux has created a hybrid world, Greco says, that allows Léontine to move between the nobility and the servants, between the heart and reason.
'Style meets truth,' Greco says, 'and the balance and collision of the cerebral with the visceral is so delicious.'
TRIUMPH OF LOVE
Play by Marivaux. Translated by Stephen Wadsworth. Directed by Loretta Greco. Presented by At the Huntington, at the Huntington Theatre, 264 Huntington Ave. March 7-April 6. Tickets: $29-$165.
52 Songs, 52 Musicals, 52 Weeks
Robert Saoud ('Library Lion,' 'The Band's Visit') launched 2025 by committing to singing 52 songs from 52 musicals in 52 weeks on Facebook, with the goal of inspiring donations to the
'It's a challenge,' says Saoud, 'for me and the Theater Community Benevolent Fund.'
Over the first eight weeks of 2025, Saoud's songs have included 'Make Believe,' 'My Funny Valentine,' 'My Heart Belongs to Daddy,' and 'S'Wonderful,' to name a few, from such composers as George Gershwin,
'I'm trying to mix it up,' he says, 'balancing ballads with more upbeat songs. But I like including some obscure numbers. I started the year with a song from 'Show Boat,' because it marks the beginning of American musical theater, but I'm doing a Sondheim number and one from 'Wicked' in the coming weeks, so I'm including more contemporary composers, too.'
Advertisement
Saoud says he's hoping to raise $5,200 for TCBF by year's end with his weekly performances.
A Contemporary Folk Tale
Playwright, comedian, and activist Melissa Hale Woodman performs in
Proceeds support
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Boston Globe
3 days ago
- Boston Globe
Never get into a car with an Elvis impersonator — and other things I learned in Vegas
That afternoon, Elvis, né Jesse Grice, had obligingly received us at home, wearing only mesh shorts, so that we — Globe photographer Erin Clark and I — could witness his transformation into the King. I apologized for being late. 'It's OK,' he said. 'I keep Elvis hours.' Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up Inside his apartment, gilt mirrors shone from almost every surface, so the many pieces of Elvis paraphernalia refracted and seemed to multiply. Above the sofa was a huge shirtless portrait of either Grice or Elvis — at points, the distinction blurs. Advertisement That evening, Grice — who took the stage name Jesse Garon, after Elvis's stillborn twin brother — was scheduled to chauffeur Las Vegas Councilwoman Olivia Diaz through the parade. So he did a speedy version of his normal routine: heavy foundation (Dermablend, the stuff they use to cover tattoos), hair spray, and waterproof mascara on his sideburns. 'I learned from the best,' he explained, 'drag queens.' Advertisement By the time the Elvis transformation was complete, Grice was beginning to sweat. He rushed me into the Cadillac (license plate: VGSELVS) which, it transpired, was missing not only seat belts but also mirrors. And turn signals. The ride was tense. A woman from the parade kept calling — 'Elvis, where are you?' — and the Cadillac was starting to overheat. Steering with one hand and holding his phone in the other, Elvis pulled abruptly into a 7-Eleven, ran in for a Big Gulp cup of ice, and dumped it under the hood, murmuring to the car as if it were a spooked horse. Jesse Grice, an Elvis impersonator of over 30 years, zipped up his suit. Erin Clark/Globe Staff By the time we got there, the floats were already in motion — we stalled briefly behind a mariachi band — and the councilwoman was nowhere to be seen. On the back of the Cadillac, there was a special parade seat, a raised white platform, for her. But now, catastrophically, the seat was empty. 'I'll just get up there,' Elvis shouted to Richard, his protégé-slash-assistant-slash-body man, who I kept forgetting about because he had spent the ride curled over and silent in the back seat. 'You drive.' Richard looked uneasy but got into the driver's seat. You've heard the saying, 'Only fools rush in'? The accident happened almost before I realized it. Suddenly the car was turning, and Richard was hitting the brakes but nothing was happening, and we hit a trash can and then a floodlight and then people were running and a child was running the wrong way, into the path of the car. Before I could scream, Richard pulled something and the Cadillac rolled to a stop. Advertisement Jesse Grice left the 7-Eleven with a Big Gulp cup of ice to pour underneath the hood of his car. It was hot outside and he was worried about his pink Cadillac convertible overheating. Erin Clark/Globe Staff I should note that 'impersonator' is no longer the preferred nomenclature for someone who makes their living pretending to be Elvis Presley, who last played Vegas in 1976. The politically correct term is now 'Elvis tribute artist,' or ETA. Grice was actually our second ETA of the day. The reason we were late — setting the whole spangled domino chain in motion — is that we had come from seeing Pete Vallee, stage name Big Elvis, at his regular gig at Harrah's Las Vegas. The two Elvises — Elvii? — could not have been more different. Where Grice was scattered and nervy, Vallee was deliberate and philosophical. He wasn't wearing makeup, and he arrived in a normal car, the kind with seat belts. His mobility is limited, so pelvic exertions were out of the question. But what Vallee did have was the voice — something startling and soulful. Big Elvis, a.k.a. Pete Vallee, displays his rings at Harrah's Casino and Resort. One diamond studded ring reads TCB, Taking Care of Business, which is what Presley called his band when he returned to the concert circuit in 1969. Erin Clark/Globe Staff Vallee has been playing Elvis since 1980, when he arrived in Vegas at the age of 15. As he gets older, he is increasingly preoccupied with the shimmering boundary between himself and Elvis. He's seen other ETAs 'get lost,' as he put it. People who come to believe they are Elvis, who dress and talk like Elvis, who never step out of character. 'Nobody can be Elvis,' Vallee said, 'or anybody else for that matter.' Instead, he hopes to achieve a subtler alchemy — not pretending to be Elvis, but channeling him. In his car before the show, Vallee told me that certain types of women love — love — an Elvis. In the industry, he said, they are known as 'sideburn chasers.' Advertisement I laughed, but didn't really believe him. Then at his 2 p.m. show, one after another, women in their 50s and 60s pressed up to me boozily to say how much they loved Vallee. Some of them cried. 'I close my eyes, and he's there, ' said one woman. 'He's sensitive,' said another who had seen Big Elvis three times this year. A third was there to celebrate her honeymoon, and her new husband watched unfazed as she draped herself over Big Elvis like a tipsy rug. It was, her husband explained to me later, just part of the deal. Privately, Vallee said, the attention can wear on him. 'I've been married a couple times,' he said. 'It takes a certain woman, first of all, that's going to be attracted to you.' And if they do like him, he wonders, do they like him or Elvis? 'She's thinking in her mind: That's my Elvis. I'm Priscilla,' he fretted. And then, 'You just have to decipher, hey, do they really love you as a person? Or is it just a facade that they love?' Nancy Weyer leaned over Big Elvis, a.k.a. Pete Vallee, while her new husband looked on, at Harrah's in September. Erin Clark/Globe Staff The real Elvis used to wonder the same thing, once telling an interviewer, 'Well, the image is one thing and the human being another. . . . It's very hard to live up to an image.' That's one of the contradictions of Elvis impersonation: It's simultaneously unachievable — no one can be Elvis — and undesirable — the loneliness, the addiction, the ugly death, the fact that, at the end, Elvis himself felt like an Elvis impersonator. And yet. There have to be more Elvises per capita in Las Vegas than anywhere else on earth: Elvis singers, Elvis parade leaders, Elvis human selfie props, but most especially, Elvis wedding officiants. My third Elvis, Brendan Paul of Graceland Wedding Chapel, performed 33 ceremonies on a recent Saturday. They run about 10 minutes each and start at $249. Advertisement In a typical ceremony, Elvis takes the bride on a speedy walk down the aisle, has the couple recite Elvis-inspired vows ('I promise to always love you tender and never leave you at heartbreak hotel'), and then performs some songs (two in the basic package) before ushering one couple out and the next one in. It's Elvising as an endurance sport. Brendan Paul, an Elvis impersonator at the Graceland Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, sang for newlyweds Sarah and Stephanie Logia. Erin Clark/Globe Staff Of the wedding Elvises I witness, Paul is the best: campy and sincere in turns, and most importantly, unflagging. Once, the last couple of a long day marveled at his stamina. 'You paid the same amount of money as the people at 10 this morning,' he told them. 'So you don't deserve to get an Elvis that's worn out.' And when he does it right, a kind of illusion takes hold, especially for the older people who grew up with the real Elvis, he explained. 'They don't see me. They see through me and they see Elvis somehow.' B ack out on the highway, I've accepted my imminent death. Elvis and Richard are bickering, and we're speeding in the direction of a Los Tacos drive-through for burritos. The Cadillac was mostly undamaged by the accident, and Grice had got the brakes working again, but he was still not risking stopping at red lights or stop signs. He had a wedding to perform that evening, and if the brakes died again, picking the couple up in an Uber was not going to cut it. Advertisement The wedding would be held at the 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas' sign marking the start of the Strip. To me, the sign evoked all that was most artificial about Vegas: the drunk tourists pulling up in hired party cars, the people you can pay to help you take a flattering selfie, the Astroturf under our feet. Add a volatile Elvis impersonator and a failing Cadillac to that mix, and the whole thing seemed inauspicious. But one of the odd things I noticed over the course of the few days I spent among the Elvii, is that the line between artifice and real feeling was often thinner than I had imagined. Jesse Grice, an Elvis impersonator for more than 30 years, officiated a ceremony for Susan and Dean Norsworthy underneath the famous 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign' that marks the beginning of the Strip. Erin Clark/Globe Staff Brendan Paul explained this to me in Graceland Wedding Chapel. People come in expecting the ceremony to be a joke, he said. 'It is campy. I mean, look at me. I've made a living for 27 years in a onesie, sharing another man's hairdo.' But at some point in every ceremony, something shifts — when the bride walks down the aisle, or when the vows begin, or when the rings are exchanged. And it isn't a joke any more. At the Vegas sign, Elvis led the wedding party to one side, away from a rowdy group taking an apparently infinite combination of photos. Elvis's mic wasn't loud enough, and the photographer wasn't showing up. I could see unease sketched on the bride's face. But then Elvis pressed play on his speaker, and the notes I had heard, conservatively, a dozen times over the course of a few days rolled out and over us. Elvis's voice was weak, but it didn't matter — goose bumps rose on my arms as he began to sing the first words of 'Can't Help Falling in Love.' And just like that, the bride began to cry. Newlyweds Dean and Susan Norsworthy sat in the back of Elvis' pink Cadillac with their friend Joy Cross after getting married beneath the famous 'Welcome to Las Vegas' sign. Erin Clark/Globe Staff Annalisa Quinn can be reached at
Boston Globe
3 days ago
- Boston Globe
‘Our Class' expands across the decades to confront a historic evil
'Our Class' introduces 10 twentysomethings — five Catholics and five Jews — who have gone to school together since they were 5, and then follows them from the 1930s to 2000. The show focuses on the impact of one pivotal incident in their lives, when several hundred Jews in their town were rounded up and deliberately burned to death in a barn. For many decades, the Poles blamed the Nazis, denying responsibility for murdering their friends and neighbors. 'I went to the site where the barn stood outside the town of Jedwabne,' Golyak says. 'It's a beautiful, peaceful landscape. You almost feel you are in the presence of God. And then to know something so tragic happened here, it makes you realize how easy it is for people to shift from a gray area of humanity to super dark and violent.' Advertisement As events spiral out of control, the play includes the seemingly unimportant details, such as a neighbor offering advice to a new mom on how to treat her son's colic — even holding him tenderly and suggesting a simple remedy — before sending both mother and child to their death. Director Igor Golyak during rehearsal. Matthew J. Lee/Globe Staff 'We can't take in the horror unless we see the mundane details of their lives and recognize these people as longtime friends who fall in love, gossip together, tease each other,' says Golyak. 'Growing up together, these young people are bound together by their years together in school,' he says. 'If these people can do such an awful thing, we are all capable of doing something horrible.' Inside Arlekin's modest rehearsal and performance space in Needham, Golyak's actors and production team — who hail from New York, Russia, Latvia, Ukraine, Germany, and the Boston area — walk through some of the play's toughest scenes. In Golyak's inventive and always-engaging approach, high-tech tools, like images projected on a chalkboard backdrop, mix with low-tech props, like balloons on which the characters draw faces before letting the balloons go and watching them float away. In the midst of a suspenseful scene in which people are being herded together, two characters perform a graceful, slow-motion dance. Advertisement 'The ritualized Jewish dance brings a kind of beauty and joy to a horrifying moment,' says Richard Topol, who is reprising his role in 'Our Class' after the New York performances. Boston audiences may know him best from his current TV series, 'Godfather of Harlem,' as well as his appearance in the Huntington's 2019 remounting of the Tony award-winning 'Indecent.' 'I play Abram,' Topol says, 'who was the classmate who moved away as a teenager to become a rabbi. He writes to his friends, and misses them, but he never sees them again.' Abram serves as a kind of narrator, and Topol says Golyak's vision 'creates a kind of magic that lifts us up between two worlds, allowing us to be distant and then close to the action.' Chulpan Khamatova during rehearsal for "Our Class." Matthew J. Lee/Globe Staff Chulpan Khamatova, a renowned Russian film and theater actress who now lives in exile in Latvia, says the trauma and pain the survivors experienced led to a numbing denial. Khamatova plays Rachelka, a young woman who is saved by a classmate, but must convert to Catholicism to survive. 'She dies two times,' says Khamatova. 'First when she loses her entire family, and then when she decides to hide the truth — about her true identity and about who is responsible for the atrocity.' 'It's fascinating to see how long a common lie could last,' says Boston-based actor Deborah Martin, who plays Zoha, a woman who saves some of her classmates, but finds that brave choice forces her into impossible situations. 'I have to look my friend in the eye and tell her I can't save her baby,' she says. 'It's harrowing.' At one point, one character says to another, 'We are classmates. We are like family, better than family,' which makes their actions even more incomprehensible. Advertisement 'I am like a narrator,' says Topol. 'I'm tasked with retelling the story, so that we don't forget.' New Works Festival runs June 26-29 Moonbox Productions Fourth Annual Boston New Works Festival will feature three full productions of new plays and four readings June 26-29 at the Calderwood Pavilion and the Boston Center for the Arts. Full productions include 'Fangirl,' by Luna Abréu-Santana; 'Guts,' by Rachel Greene; and 'Mox Nox,' by Patrick Gabridge. Readings include 'Choose and Celebrate,' by Catherine Giorgetti; 'Creature Feature, ' by Micah Pflaum; 'Hitch,' by James McLindon; and 'How to Kill a Goat,' by Mireya Sánchez-Maes. OUR CLASS By Tadeusz Slobodzianek, adapted by Norman Allen. Presented by Arlekin Players Theater, at the Calderwood Pavilion in the Boston Center for the Arts June 13-23. Tickets: $84-$124.
Boston Globe
4 days ago
- Boston Globe
This Pride Month, Sister Lida Christ manifests a message of joy and tolerance
Advertisement Sister Lida Christ and her companions departed for an evening out in Boston on Sept. 7, 2023. The group was going to attend the History Maker Awards ceremony, where the Boston Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence would be honored with the 2023 Lavender Rhino Award for their, 'invaluable contributions to creating queer-welcoming space in Boston," and "efforts to protect queer freedom of expression, individuality, and joy.' Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Sisters Lida (left), Jessa Belle, Judy B Good, and Tori D'Affair had their picture taken during GAY BASH'D at the Roadrunner in Boston on June 8, 2024. Sister Lida was a cohost for the prominent Pride party. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff 'Pride is, jokingly, the high holy month,' she says. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up In their vivid makeup and distinctive outfits, the 15 or so Boston Sisters are ubiquitous in June. Their itinerary this year includes a fund-raiser for Sister Lida, a North Shore native who asked that the Globe keep her everyday identity private out of concern for her safety, joined the resplendent Sisterhood in 2013, attracted by the order's wit and irreverence, but also its outreach and commitment to community service. Most recently, the Sisters participated in a fund-raiser to replace the decrepit heating system at Arlington Street Church. (The drag nuns proved to be effective auctioneers, driving up the price of items with their antics.) Advertisement Sister Lida and Sister Rosetta Stone called numbers during Drag Bingo at Club Cafe in Boston on Sept. 11, 2023. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were hosting a fund-raiser for Harbor to the Bay, an AIDS benefit bike ride. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff 'I've always been that person who stood up to the bullies in the high school hallway,' says Sister Lida, who came out at 14 and attended prom with a same-sex date. 'Sometimes, though, bullies are not a person, they're a concept. Sometimes bullies are the inequality in our life.' The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence originated in San Francisco in the 1970s, a whimsical response to so-called (The Sisters now 'You're creating a superhero. It's a temporary costume that I put on. It gives me anonymity. I become a conduit for people's stories,' says Sister Lida. 'You can tell me your most painful truth or what you're most happy about and you don't know who you're talking to. Sister Lida worked on her makeup during her 'manifestation' at her home in Boston on Sept. 7, 2023. 'It is definitely a moment for reflection and meditation. You're bringing forth your sister persona when you're manifesting. You're creating the work of living art. It's an opportunity to take whatever is happening in your life at the moment and go, 'OK, this goes on pause.' You're here to be part of community and to make sure you're leaving the house centered and ready to be a conduit,' she said. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Sister Lida mapped out a route for Sister Betty Esem (right) while departing for an evening out in Boston on Sept. 7, 2023. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff 'At the end of the night,' she says, 'I get to wash it off and when I do, it leaves me.' A Sister's persona evolves and the names tend to be playful: Sister Faith N. Humanity, Sister Bearonce Knows, Sister Nova Aggra. (Sister Lida Christ is a play on 'Light of Christ.') The outfits? They vary. Sisters typically wear a wimple with a habit or robe that approximates a nun's cloak. Some garments are custom, while others are gems found at Off the Rack, Marshall's, or, for Sisters on the West Coast, Ross. Advertisement 'This one is loosely inspired by Judy Garland's look toward the end of her life,' Sister Lida says, taking a sequined jacket from her closet. 'It's got a loose swing pant and this long, almost-kimono coat.' It's not all about face paint and garish get-ups. The Sisters' practice is focused on ministry, activism, education, entertainment, and service. On this particular day, once she's painstakingly applied her makeup, Sister Lida is driving to a studio to tape a public service announcement. Sister Lida used a water bottle while collecting donations before the Boston Dyke March in Boston on June 7, 2024. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence took donations from the crowd before and after the march to fund future events. Sister Lida explained the playfulness involved in their mission, 'I'm not manifesting drag. I'm manifesting my joy for the community." She said, 'I do think there needs to be room for comedy. If we can't be the jester in society, then society has lost its ability to commentate. We are the sacred clowns.' Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff @font-face { font-family: BentonSansCond-Regular; src: url(" format('woff2'), url(" format('woff'); } @font-face { font-family: BentonSansCond-Bold; src: url(" format('woff2'), url(" format('woff'); } .dipgrid { display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; align-items: stretch; margin: 25px -28px; } .dip__main { position: relative; overflow: hidden; } .dip__image { position: relative; top: 50%; left: 0%; } .dip__image.portrait { height: auto; width: 100%; padding-top: 24px; } .dip__image.landscape { height: auto; width: 100%; padding-top: 10px; } @media only screen and (min-width: 700px) { .dipgrid { display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; align-items: stretch; max-width: 1200px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } .dip { width: 48.5%; } .dip:not(:nth-child(2n)) { margin-right: 3%; } .dip__image.portrait { height: auto; width: 100%; padding-top: 10px; } .dip__image.landscape { height: auto; width: 100%; padding-top: 0px; } .dip__main { position: relative; overflow: hidden; } } .dip_cap_cred { font-family: "BentonSansCond-Regular", "Times New Roman", Times, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: .5px; text-align: left; margin: 3px 15px 0px 0px; font-weight: 200; } .dip_cap_cred span{ text-transform: uppercase; color: #6b6b6b; } .theme-dark .dip_cap_cred{ color: #fff; } .theme-dark .dip_cap_cred span { color: #fff; } Sister Lida Christ passed through the Public Garden on her way to the Boston Dyke March in Boston. Sister Lida Christ walked among the crowd at the Boston Common to volunteer for the Boston Dyke March. 'A comforting and inspirational message reminding folks that the arc of justice does swing, and to have faith, work together, and watch out for one another,' she says. To those who think the Sisters are 'I have nothing but the deepest respect for all faiths,' says Sister Lida. 'With the simple caveat that as long as those practicing their beliefs do no harm unto themselves or unto others.' Sister Lida of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence took a break backstage during GAY BASH'D at the Roadrunner in Boston. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Sister Lida of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence entertained the crowd while introducing the next act during GAY BASH'D at the Roadrunner in Boston on June 8, 2024. Sister Lida was a cohost for the prominent Pride party. She said she was reborn when she joined the order. 'When in my life would this have ever happened if I hadn't joined this organization and made a commitment not only to myself but to community? One thing I truly believe is when you say yes to the universe, the universe says yes back to you in ways that you can be not at all prepared for,' she said. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Her devotion to the work of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence has grown over time, in part because of the country's political climate, which she considers increasingly less tolerant of those who live, or love, on the margins of society. Advertisement 'What I'm seeing are words that we would never use — the n-word, the r-word, the f-word — all these slurs that are coming back,' she says. 'When you say to a kid that queer people don't exist, or you ban this or that book, they don't know. They think they can say the f-word. Then you've got a generation making decisions based on a reality that's not true. 'I'm going to try to make the world better,' Sister Lida says. 'As long as I'm physically able, I'll do this until I'm in the ground.' Sister Lida checked her makeup, wimple, and jewelry before taking the stage. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Craig F. Walker Globe Photo. Follow him on Instagram
