Who is this Anita Gates you speak of?

A.G.’s journalistic triumphs over 25 years at The New York Times include drinking with Bea Arthur (at a Trump hotel), Wendy Wasserstein (at an Italian restaurant) and Peter O’Toole (in his trailer on a mini-series set near Dublin). It is sheer coincidence that these people are now dead.

At The New York Times, she has been Arts & Leisure television editor and co-film editor, a theater reviewer on WQXR Radio, a film columnist for the Times TV Book and an editor in the Culture, Book Review, Travel, National, Foreign and Metro sections. Her first theater review for The Times appeared in 1997, assessing “Mrs. Cage,” a one-act about a housewife suspected of shooting her favorite supermarket box boy. The review was mixed.

Outside The Times, A.G. has been the author of four nonfiction books; a longtime writer for travel magazines, women's magazines and travel guidebooks; a lecturer at universities and for women’s groups; and a moderator for theater, book, film and television panels at the 92nd Street Y and the Paley Center for Media.

If she were a character on “Mad Men,” she’d be Peggy.

Polly Draper Looks Too Young

Polly Draper Looks Too Young

Anita Gates
OLD CELLMATES  From left, Polly Draper, Kathryn Grody, Franchelle Stewart Dorn and Ellen Parker in "20th Century Blues." 

OLD CELLMATES  From left, Polly Draper, Kathryn Grody, Franchelle Stewart Dorn and Ellen Parker in "20th Century Blues." 

ONE WOMAN IS REHEARSING for widowhood -- by staying alone at the W Hotel, pretending her husband is dead. (When the time comes, she doesn't want to feel unprepared.) Another is facing the probable end of her career, because her field -- print journalism -- is dying. A third is just trying to compete with the younger people selling real estate. And their hostess wants to take their picture.

The premise of Susan Miller's "20th Century Blues," stands out, in this otherwise intelligent one-act at the Pershing Square Signature Center, like a sore thumb.  Danny (Polly Draper), a photographer, has been taking group shots of her three old friends for 40 years, ever since they all met in jail (for social protests and other noble crimes, it's implied). Now she wants to show the pictures in a Museum of Modern Art retrospective of her work, and at least one woman objects. Sil (Ellen Parker), the real estate saleswoman, doesn't particularly want old, unflattering images of her out there, undermining her reputation for confidence and vitality.

But premise isn't everything. Frankly, we don't care that much about Danny's retrospective.  We care about the futures of the women of "20th Century Blues," facing old age and irrelevance, looking back at their youth and longing for "the romance we were having with the future," as Gabby (Kathryn Grody) says. The transition from adulthood to an age-defined existence isn't going to be easy. "I don't know how to be an old woman," says Mac (Franchelle Stewart Dorn), the journalist. And just in case the crystal ball isn't clear enough, Danny's mother (Beth Dixon) turns up for a couple of scenes to demonstrate the dementia, memory loss and helplessness that lie ahead.

Ms. Miller, best known for "My Left Breast" (a 1995 solo show about her mastectomy), is on the women's side, of course. So she celebrates their energy and passion with a group dance number to "You're All I Need to Get By," And she panders a little by having Danny's son (Charles Socarides) confirm their worst suspicion about millennials. "We don't have fun," the young man admits, speaking for his generation. "We're too busy aspiring."

A word about casting. The late-'80s TV drama "Thirtysomething" went off the air 26 years ago, so Ms. Draper, one of its stars, is certainly past her ingénue period. But with her loose, long, dark hair and her size 2 jeans (that's a guess), she looks, at 62, like the other three characters'  annoyingly pretty younger sister. Ms. Grody, Ms. Dorn and Ms. Parker's ages range from  68 to 71, and they embrace the years in various ways, including deliberately unstyled gray hair.  

Some 15 years ago, I reviewed an Off Broadway novelty called "Menopause: The Musical." Much of it was silly and sophomoric, but it touched a nerve. I'd love to combine some aspects of that show with the intelligence and compassion of "20th Century Blues" and give the women of a certain generation the tribute they (we!) deserve. 

 

 

 

 

 

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