Bravo Barbara! I loved your show. You dare talk and show what people usually don’t want to talk about, and you make us laugh about it. Amazing!
I was very moved and happy at the end of your show.
Barbara’s one woman show is a tour de force–of human frailty, compassion and humor. Well done! The standing ovation in the sold out house was well deserved. Don’t miss it!
This is a full blast of love and laughter! Barbara puts it all out there in her show about family and the ties that bind — and save — us.
A moving tapestry of familial love and human flaws. Barbara weaves a decades-long yet timeless story about the moments in our lives when the decisions we make — or fail to make — shape what is to come, and what we are to become. In so doing, Barbara gifts with a flash of insight into how each of us may have arrived at the time and place we currently occupy. Thoughtful, thought-provoking, and touching.
Loved Barbara Selfridge’s show and learning more about her quirky family. Much of her content was laugh out loud funny, and other parts were painful. Watching her simulation of an epileptic seizure was hard. We meet her developmentally disabled sister, Margaret. and through the story, we see the evolving societal views about how we care for disabled community members. Barbara’s love and devotion for Margaret Ann (please) are a constant. She portrays her sister in a way that is both funny and respectful. We meet the immigrant women who care for Margaret and they remind us of the many women we have met or will meet who will care for our loved one (or for us) as we age. And how will Barbara make peace and forgive the father who walked out on them when his health deteriorates and he needs her help? I highly recommend this play, both funny and poignant, and so relevant to all our lives. Bravissima.
I just loved this show. And laughed out loud the entire time. Barbara does an incredible job of telling the painful and at times absurd story of her family — divorced aging parents, playboy dad, mom who loves white russians and an older sister with a seizure disorder who keeps it all real. Caretaking in every direction, she does a brilliant job of intermingling the embodiment of multiple characters with her feminist and comedic commentary. At the end of the day, this is a beautiful and very honest show about how we show up for our family members despite our best interests. GO SEE IT! And thank you, Barbara!
Wow, I”ve never laughed in that whole belly, whole heart way I laughed last night at a one-person-play before, and I’ve seen a lot. Like i only laugh with my siblings, or really really old friends. She shows all the complexity of her parents, her sister and herself with amazing honesty – the true hilariousness and horror of being part of a family, or being human. Wow. So funny and sad and true. Stars, stars, stars.
You’ll laugh! You’ll cry! No….seriously! This is a confection of mordant wit and compelling pathos. Ms. Selfridge cleverly interweaves moments from multiple story lines to convey a lifetime of conflicted filial duties, performed with astonishing immediacy.
Flat-out terrific! Very funny despite its pain and deeply moving while shunning sentimentality — “Sex, Math and Seizures,” like its title, seamlessly connects heart, head, and funny bone. The show deftly dovetails smart, evocative writing with a richly embodied multi-character solo performance. Selfridge leaps back-and-forth thru time — even to her own conception — and rapidly shifts perspectives — even commenting on her own portrayals within a scene. She casually but fully connects with the audience, allowing us to experience her story of familial disability, dysfunction, and love both cerebrally and viscerally. Go see this!!
I laughed throughout Barbara’s show, which is pretty amazing given some of the tough nature of the subject matter she deals with. I’m really amazed how she could take a story that is rather harrowing and make it so comical. Takes a lot of talent to do that.
Shhh! I don’t like to admit my father ever did anything right, but I know he was good about turning my sister’s brain damage into joke fodder. Then the rule was that you could laugh, but not AT Margaret. Always the credit for the wit had to go to Margaret.
So my father, the mathematician, would ask 6-year-old Margaret if she could count to ten. Yes, she could, and she did, demonstrating her skill for all the assembled partiers. And then the mathematician father asked his brain-damaged daughter if she could count to eleven. No, she said sadly, not eleven. And then everybody laughed, everybody joined the spontaneous celebration of Margaret’s inherited math skill, and it worked: Margaret laughed loud and proud.
So distressing later when I met people whose families had been shrouded in shame after the birth of a special needs sibling.
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