Writers' 'Marjorie Prime' explores questions of memory, identity
How would you prefer your memories?
Raw, messy, unpleasant, imperfect? Or tidy and neatly embellished, with all the rough edges smoothed out?
Those are among the questions driving the thought-provoking, emotionally absorbing "Marjorie Prime," Jordan Harrison's elegant drama about memory, identity and technology. It's also about the desire to keep for ourselves a semblance of those we love even after they've gone.
Indeed, this deeply resonant play is very much about grief - grief over losing a loved one to death and grief over losing pieces of oneself as memory fades.
The subject seemed especially meaningful for the spry, seventy-something woman who sat beside me at a weekend matinee at Books on Vernon, where Writers Theatre's superb, impeccably acted production unfolds under director Kimberly Senior. (The 2015 Pulitzer Prize finalist premiered last year in Los Angeles and opens in New York City later this month. A film starring Geena Davis and Jon Hamm is reportedly in the works).
As we exited the bookstore, the woman praised the acting but said she wasn't quite sure about the play, which she found difficult to watch. She's right. For anyone who has or is an aging parent, "Marjorie Prime" is a bittersweet experience.
The action unfolds 47 years in the future where we meet Marjorie (Mary Ann Thebus, a Chicago-area veteran at the top of her game). She's an 85-year-old widow and former violinist whose body and mind are failing.
Marjorie, who suffers from dementia, resides in an assisted living facility. Her therapists have prescribed her a "prime," a kind of hologram, to help combat her memory loss. Marjorie's prime is her late husband Walter (a genially impassive Erik Hellman). Walter, who appears as he was in his 30s, has been programmed with memories Marjorie and her husband shared. Artificial intelligence allows him to "learn" new memories and embellish old ones according to Marjorie's will. For example, after Walter recalls the story of how he proposed after the couple saw "My Best Friend's Wedding," Marjorie decides she wants a better story and asks Walter to substitute "Casablanca."
"The next time we talk, it'll be true," she says.
There's the quandary. By rewriting her memories through the prime, Marjorie crafts for herself an idealized past. But it's not authentic.
Marjorie's "overly solicitous" son-in-law Jon (Nathan Hosner, ideal as the supportive spouse) insists that doesn't matter, that manufactured memories have their place. As long as the memories the prime Walter conjures provide Marjorie comfort, companionship and connection, what difference does a little embellishment make?
Plenty, insists Marjorie's daughter Tess (Kate Fry in a candid, finely crafted performance), whose relationship with her mother has always been prickly. Tess is wary of technology that makes people complacent and has the potential to make human interaction obsolete.
Further complicating these relationships are unresolved conflicts, lingering resentments and a family tragedy that has never been fully addressed. That being the case, is it any surprise Marjorie would prefer manufactured memories to the real ones?
Among this production's many strengths is the ever-vigilant Senior's eye for detail and the skill with which her cast renders those details. For example, after Marjorie remarks how her husband was a little "too pleased with himself," we see Hellman's Walter adopt a hint of a swagger. Then there's Fry's Tess, flinching almost imperceptibly when Hosner's Jon leans in for a kiss, suggesting unease below the surface of their solid marriage.
Thebus' Marjorie is complex and credible, shifting from anger to contrition to frustration to flirtatiousness and - in her more lucid moments - wicked wryness. But the most memorable performance comes courtesy of Fry, whose portrayal of the conflicted, grieving Tess is the production's most wrenching.
I found Harrison's quietly complex play to be poignant, truthful and humorous. Moreover, it stays with you long after you've left the theater, which is pretty much the point.
“Marjorie Prime”
★ ★ ★ ½
Location: Writers Theatre at Books on Vernon, 664 Vernon Ave., Glencoe, (847) 242-6000 or
Showtimes: 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Friday; 3 and 7:30 p.m. Saturday; 2 and 6 p.m. Sunday through Feb. 28
Running time: About 85 minutes, no intermission
Parking: Street parking available
Tickets: $35-$70
Rating: For adults