“In the end, people don't view their life as merely the average of all its moments—which, after all, is mostly nothing much plus some sleep. For human beings, life is meaningful because it is a story.” — Atul Gawande, “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End”
Like Ella Fitzgerald, my favorite season in New York is fall. The veil of heat is chased away by chill and tourists are replaced by natives who head home from their Hamptons houses for the start of the school year. A ubiquitous soft-orange hue settles in; canyons of steel mimic Central Park trees at sunset. I love the feeling — the little regretful twinge over unfulfilled dreams, and the hope they might be realized in the year to come.
For some, though, as the crowd gathered at 59E59 Theaters on Thursday night could tell you, autumn means an ending. The set for “The Memory Exam” — just a stone, large enough to rest on — was covered in bright red maple leaves, like pages from a calendar. Although sound design is sparse, the performance was punctuated with chuckles and hums of recognition from the senior audience. “Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain….”
Steven Fechter’s piece is set in a not-so-distant future upstate New York where a slip of the mind can be fatal. Three people in their autumn years hire an expert to help them pass the dreaded “Memory Exam.” Hank and Jen, a married couple played by Alfred Gingold and Bekka Lindström, were reported to the Public Health and Wellness Bureau after getting lost on the way home. Tom, played by Gus Kaikkonen, was reported by friends for his frequent repetition of words and phrases.
“Most don’t pass,” the exam expert Dale, played by Vernice Miller, says. “Some do. And some is better than none.”
The test is surprisingly simple: the examiner will name five objects, and then, after 10 minutes of “calculated questioning, chit-chat, and phony concern,” the test-taker must recall them. Dale has risked her own life to develop a method for success that’s dependent on how well the test-takers can retrofit those objects into stories from their own pasts. Many great stories can be told with these five objects: a Bible, a pencil, a compact mirror, a red leather glove, and a gun.
A week after the exam is completed, any of the three who pass will meet Dale back in the woods.
Despite a poignant premise, execution undermines the ultimate impact of “The Memory Exam.” Ham-fisted jokes, like Dale requesting Tom’s fee “now — in case you forget to pay me later,” plus preachy dialogue and labored performances keep us from investing in (or, more importantly, liking) our protagonists. Strange b-plots about rape and extramarital affairs make it almost impossible to suspend disbelief. The space itself is too intimate, with only three rows of audience members. We see every look of panic after a missed line, every tear that doesn’t fall, every tiny wrinkle.
In spite of itself, though, “The Memory Exam” inspires important conversation by making us look at what we turn away from.
As Atul Gawande mentions in his acclaimed book “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters In the End,” society shies away from the uncomfortable realities of aging. We sterilize the disintegration as much as possible, often making the difficult decision to hide aged relatives in nursing homes and facilities where they might get the care we think they need. In this way, as Dr. Gawande points out, the upstate New York of the not-so-distant future is already here.
In a powerful moment, Dale asks Jen, the town’s former mayor, why her people have failed to protect her. The answer is simple: “People forget.”
Although the elderly may lose their way on a walk home, it’s the younger generation that’s lost its memory.