Description: A stream of consciousness tour-de-force for three voices. It takes the audience channel surfing through a turn of the millennium mind trapped in the collective body of a night secretary.

First Produced: 2000
Date Added: 6/15/2011
Content Advisory:
Keywords: Politics  Single Set  Feminism  Non-traditional/Non-narrative/Experimental/Post-dramatic  Philosophy  Postmodern  Small Cast Size 
1 Act, 50 Minutes
3 Gender Neutral Characters

NOTE: Word To Your Mama is fully protected by copyright law and is subject to royalty. All inquiries concerning production, publication, reprinting or use of this play in any form should be addressed to julia.barclay@gmail.com .

Original Production Information

Word To Your Mama was first presented by Screaming Venus Productions, as part of the New York International Fringe Festival in 2000 at Under St. Marks, with the following cast and credits:

Night Secretaries Nicole Higgins, Monica Sirignano, Kate Ward

Directed by: Julia Lee Barclay

Set Design: Daniel Jagendorf

Lighting Design: S. Ryan Schmidt

Assistant Directors: Rachel Solomon

Stage Manager: Kimberly Justice

The author gratefully acknowledges the immense contribution and support of the members of Screaming Venus, where this play was developed, with a special thanks to the cast and her tireless assistant directors and stage manager.

Word To Your Mama is dedicated to Jani Mace, Robin Schmidt, and Darcy Seaver.

“All is water and the world is full of gods.”—Thales

Review by Ken Urban

Watching Julia Barclay's Word To Your Mama conjured up two intense memories in my mind, one disturbing and one of utter excitement. First, I recalled my father obsessively watching videos of the Gulf War set to heavy metal music and the gloom it produced in me. Second, I remembered the sensation of seeing Richard Foreman for the first time when I realized that theatre can change the way you see the world. These two disparate memories are a testament to the power of both Barclay and her cast's work. Simply put, Word To Your Mama is a must-see at FringeNYC.

The three night secretaries (Nicole Higgins, Monica Sirignano, Kate Ward) lead the audience through the linguistic detritus of our age in order to figure out if redemption is still possible. From the opening work-out routine done to the sounds of Patti Smith's "Rock'n'Roll Nigger" to the continued ironic refrain of "I'm so glad you like my work," Word charts the frustration of living in the country of plenty while also believing that "surplus is immoral."

The three performers deliver their lines with such a frenzy of energy and conviction that I could not help but be enraptured. The production is a first-rate example of what playwright Suzan-Lori Parks calls the "drama of accumulation," where the meaning and the pleasure come not from following a narrative or identifying with a character, but from the accretion of words, pictures and sensations. I walked away from the experience not feeling defeated or overwhelmed, but exhilarated. Word left me with the sense that while all is not well with the world, the very act of surviving is political; to not give in is to say no to the status quo. Or as the play's defiant closing line puts it, "I'm still here motherfucker," and don't you forget it. See Screaming Venus's production of Word To Your Mama. It is a rare theatrical moment that rewards its audience's efforts ten-fold.

reviewed at the 2000 New York International Fringe Festival

Excerpt from Word To Your Mama

In the dream, we were in a space ship—

in Zero Gravity.

I saw pictures from my past on video cameras—a blurry stepfather on one screen—

a small child on another—

me, probably—

very colorful

but hazy.

And outside?

Outside the window, the planets were

Exploding, yellow, pink, orange, purple,

Red gasses forming a new universe.

Right before our eyes.

She said to me:

anything is possible.

She said: let’s go there… instead.

She asked me:

Are you ready?

In the Movie a man sits in a wheelchair. He has had a stroke and can barely speak, but is watching coal miners being rescued from a collapsed tunnel. As they emerge from the mine alive, he whispers to his son,

the deconstructionist,

God is here.

God is Here.

Again with nothing.

I saw—

Don’t say it!

Don’t say it! I saw God while I was waiting at a bus stop.

For a moment.

Blasted out of the universe,

like in the last scene of 2001—

faster than the speed of anything—

I was shot up off the planet,

saw the stars and the rest of the universe disappear rapidly behind me—

then I was outside of everything—

for a moment—

and I was shot back as quickly as I left.

My body never left the ground.

At the bus stop, a Mother was yelling at her Son—a scene that usually disturbs me, but didn’t. It all had to happen that way.

I could see that.

Even as my thoughts said otherwise.

I don’t like this part of the story.

And I got on the next bus.