What the Constitution Means to Me at BCT (MainStage)

Or: The Woman and the Dog

Every time I see Heidi Schreck’s What the Constitution Means to Me I am astounded at what powerful piece of writing it is. It seems so personal, so off the cuff, so casually created, and yet it is so powerfully constructed and carefully balanced that it is a masterwork of writing. “There are no tangents,” Heidi (Jessica Ires Morris) promises, and there are not, everything the fun moments, the asides, the structure, and grim cold facts of the case are laid just so to create a stunning story.

Reconstituted from an American Legion competition of her youth, Heidi conjures a ceremony of speech and debate, a foundation of democracy where, supposedly anyone could come forward and by the strength of their speech sway the body politic and change the course of the ship of state. Summoning the legion hall (courtesy of designer Nicholas Jules Hewitt: dark paneling, proud but dingy furniture, pictures of dead men) complete with Legionnaire (David J. Cowan), she kicks us off with the particulars of the contest, and the love it was meant to instill of the United States Constitution. But the seams of the memory, like those of that precious living document, start coming undone…

Heidi’s mix of fun and earnestness, the disciplined silliness of an actor and the deep anger, a disbelief of a woman living in a country that does not value her, all these facets of a human being are showcased to perfection by Morris. Clad in the bright yellow jacket (costume designer Gretchen Halle) she bounds across the stage, a force of energy shining directly to us. It is hard to believe at points that Morris didn’t write and perform the show entirely herself, she makes it so seamlessly her own, full of easy laughter and personal die-on-this-hill passion (particularly if it’s Patrick Swayze related). Even the straight laced Legionnaire cannot help but be drawn into her orbit (though Cowan himself has a few surprises up his sleeves).

Yet Morris can also still a room, and drop a fact so heavy that all members of the audience struggles under its great and terrible weight. She hands these down without extra freight, but reflecting the horror that stories both national and personal, must engender: it cannot be like this, can it? And yet it is.

The final minutes of the play are between Morris and a young debater (Amira Danan) to discuss the future of the constitution and America. The argument will different every time the play is performed, both Morris and Danan squaring up to a friendly, electrified competition. It’s an ending that gives no pat promises but inspires hope all the same, that if we can only move forward, and stay courageous, then perhaps all the promises will come true, if only because we fulfill them for ourselves.