"The way I see it, there are no answers. Some people are happy. And some people are just lonely, mean and sad. And that’s the world."
I remember really liking The Lyons when I first read it. Reading it again now, a decade later, it was enjoyable enough (snappy!) but felt shallow. Facile. Like Silver was trying to be Neil Simon for the new millennium. Not that there's anything wrong with Neil Simon, mind you — the man knew his way around a one-liner — but for some reason I kept waiting for an actual rimshot on some of the punchlines here.
"I have been saddled with the same living room furniture for thirty years. ... I look at the sofa. I know it was cream when we bought it. Now it’s just some washed-out shade of dashed hopes. The chairs are the color of disgust. And the carpet is matted down with resignation."
The Lyons is a juicy play for actors. It's the story of a family that really doesn’t like one another, gathering in a hospital room while the father of the family dies. That probably makes it sound like a drama, but no. It's definitely a comedy, just one with a particularly dark and mean-spirited edge.
Here's one example, the mother talking to her son:
"Let’s be honest. Even if your short stories were wonderful, which they’re not, there’s no living to be made there. You’ve had a dozen years to write your way out of mediocre obscurity and you’ve failed. At a certain point it’s time to face facts, consider your options and devise a new plan. I might feel differently if I thought you were talented, but I don’t."
I guarantee a good actress can spin a big laugh out of that line (Linda Lavin originated the role on Broadway, to great acclaim), but taken on its own ... man, that's harsh.
Rita, the mother, also has an exit speech that's equally funny and equally brutal:
"My friends are strangers and my children are sad and unforgiving. Lisa, I cannot live, every day, under the mountain of tragedy you create. Your life is too treacherous and too exhausting. A cloud passes in front of the sun and you see Armageddon! Curtis, whatever your childhood was, it’s an old book and the pages are faded. You refuse to forgive anyone for anything and it’s enough! I realize you are who you are and I bear responsibility. But the days turn into years and it has to end!"
I feel, as I'm writing this, like I'm sort of talking myself into hating the play — and I really don't. Could be I just wasn't in the mood for it right now. But I keep coming back to a line Curtis says at one point:
"You are a horrible person. You are all horrible people. I hope I live the rest of my life and never lay eyes on any of you again!!"
Ba-dum-bump!