In this gripping, unexpectedly funny Pulitzer Prize-winning play, John is a rich, quick-witted grad student who has cerebral palsy. Ani is an hilariously foul-mouthed quadriplegic. The people who help them, Jess and Eddie, have their own struggles to contend with. Cost of Living is a haunting, rigorously unsentimental play about the forces that bring people together and the realities of facing the world with physical disabilities. Winner of the 2018 Pulitzer Prize, as well as the Edgerton New Play Prize; the Jean Kennedy Smith Prize, John F. Kennedy Center; the Women’s Invitational Prize, Ashland New Play Festival; the Lucille Lortel Award for Outstanding New Play; and named one of the “Best Plays of 2017” by The New York Times. Oct. 20–Dec. 16: Fridays @ 8 p.m. / Saturdays @ 2 p.m. & 8 p.m. / Sundays at 2 p.m. / Mondays at 8 p.m.; $25-$45; In addition to regular seating, Pay-What-You-Want tickets are available on Monday nights (subject to availability). Fountain Theatre, 5060 Fountain Ave. (at Normandie), Los Angeles, CA 90029; (323) 663-1525; www.FountainTheatre.com.
Cost of Living
Reviews
Although the script's seams and crevices are evident in this staging — the jigsaw assembly of the play remains like faded scar tissue; nevertheless, the drama's power hits hard and its poignancy lingers long after the show has ended.
“Cost of Living” is not a dreary treatise on economics. It's a story about survival in the face of physical and emotional pain: aloneness, neediness, distrustfulness, catastrophic disabilities, and chronic indignation. And it is, quite simply, one of the best plays I've ever seen.
It would be a major coup for any SoCal regional theater to snag the rights to Maryna Majok's latest. (The 661-seat Geffen gave her Ironbound its West Coast Premiere in February.) That it's a 99-seater giving Angelinos their first look at Cost Of Living is a much deserved vote of confidence in The Fountain Theatre, one that pays off as one of the year's most remarkable, compelling productions large or small.
The actors bring Majok's play to life in fearless, bold fashion. The director, John Vreeke, and the Fountain Theater itself, are also to be commended for the way they have supported diversity in theatre with this splendid production.
Cost of Living manages to depict humanity at its most vulnerable. None of the characters are victims, nor do they elicit sympathy of any sort. They're flawed, struggling, trying their best to get by and take care of those they love. They struggle to create meaningful, dignified connections with one other but mostly remain lonely. It's deeply, hauntingly familiar. - RECOMMENDED
The production, scrupulously directed by John Vreeke, balances discretion with daring exposure. Every naked (in all senses of the word) moment is dramatically accounted for — and with enormous care for the dignity of the actors.
Pulitzer Prize winning , Polish-born playwright Majok is a master of capturing emotions. She writes so well, the audience immediately develops genuine affection both for the disabled and the people who look after them. The cast is extraordinary, under the sensitive direction of John Vreeke.
Loneliness is the theme that rings the most true, especially based on the scenes chosen to bookend the play, but there are moments when this message feels muddled and it is hard to discern what precisely the piece is trying to say. That being said, the fact remains that simply seeing disabled actors playing people with disabilities—particularly people with disabilities who are also three-dimensional human beings—on stage is still incredibly rare.
Cost of Living gives us the opportunity to pay attention; to look behind the physical -- be it disability, appearance or class -- to the person inside. The show embraces, and loves, differences.
Cost of Living is a stunning example of the kind of magic four good actors, able or disabled, can achieve when they're handed a good director and a remarkable piece of writing.
All four actors are superb and Martyna Majok's dialogue is tough and hard and relentless, yet her genius for bluecollar drama is continuously underscored by a lyricism and poetic quality that makes her play, indelibly aided by the Fountain's usual impressively loving and beautifully designed production and director John Vreeke's sturdy, literally in-your-face staging, an instant classic.
Although Cost of Living deals with the serious issues facing people who daily deal with physical disabilities, it comes with a healthy dose of humor.
Although the script's seams and crevices are evident in this staging — the jigsaw assembly of the play remains like faded scar tissue; nevertheless, the drama's power hits hard and its poignancy lingers long after the show has ended.
“Cost of Living” is not a dreary treatise on economics. It's a story about survival in the face of physical and emotional pain: aloneness, neediness, distrustfulness, catastrophic disabilities, and chronic indignation. And it is, quite simply, one of the best plays I've ever seen.
It would be a major coup for any SoCal regional theater to snag the rights to Maryna Majok's latest. (The 661-seat Geffen gave her Ironbound its West Coast Premiere in February.) That it's a 99-seater giving Angelinos their first look at Cost Of Living is a much deserved vote of confidence in The Fountain Theatre, one that pays off as one of the year's most remarkable, compelling productions large or small.
The actors bring Majok's play to life in fearless, bold fashion. The director, John Vreeke, and the Fountain Theater itself, are also to be commended for the way they have supported diversity in theatre with this splendid production.
Cost of Living manages to depict humanity at its most vulnerable. None of the characters are victims, nor do they elicit sympathy of any sort. They're flawed, struggling, trying their best to get by and take care of those they love. They struggle to create meaningful, dignified connections with one other but mostly remain lonely. It's deeply, hauntingly familiar. - RECOMMENDED
The production, scrupulously directed by John Vreeke, balances discretion with daring exposure. Every naked (in all senses of the word) moment is dramatically accounted for — and with enormous care for the dignity of the actors.
Pulitzer Prize winning , Polish-born playwright Majok is a master of capturing emotions. She writes so well, the audience immediately develops genuine affection both for the disabled and the people who look after them. The cast is extraordinary, under the sensitive direction of John Vreeke.
Loneliness is the theme that rings the most true, especially based on the scenes chosen to bookend the play, but there are moments when this message feels muddled and it is hard to discern what precisely the piece is trying to say. That being said, the fact remains that simply seeing disabled actors playing people with disabilities—particularly people with disabilities who are also three-dimensional human beings—on stage is still incredibly rare.
Cost of Living gives us the opportunity to pay attention; to look behind the physical -- be it disability, appearance or class -- to the person inside. The show embraces, and loves, differences.
Cost of Living is a stunning example of the kind of magic four good actors, able or disabled, can achieve when they're handed a good director and a remarkable piece of writing.
All four actors are superb and Martyna Majok's dialogue is tough and hard and relentless, yet her genius for bluecollar drama is continuously underscored by a lyricism and poetic quality that makes her play, indelibly aided by the Fountain's usual impressively loving and beautifully designed production and director John Vreeke's sturdy, literally in-your-face staging, an instant classic.
Although Cost of Living deals with the serious issues facing people who daily deal with physical disabilities, it comes with a healthy dose of humor.