Icarus

by Edwin Sanchez

An empty beachhouse settled between dunes and the roar of the sea … a perfect spot for swimming — though it’s the middle of March! A woman, her brother, and an eccentric dream catcher set up camp, but a masked stranger’s arrival complicates their fantastic plan to swim out to touch the sun. This poignant comedy of loneliness and escape reevaluates notions of beauty as five outcasts discover just how much they’ll give — and give up — for love.“The mercurial qualities of love, dreams, and beauty provide the gently pulsating thrust of Edwin Sánchez’s new play ICARUS … New plays are often either hard and edgy or soft and sappy. ICARUS is the rare creation that is allowed to be both. Unabashedly sweet, often lyrical and even incisive, Sánchez’s play takes a group of oddball characters — all searching, all damaged — and lets them do quietly wonderful things for one another … Like the Greek myth from which the play takes its name, ICARUS is about super-charged dreamers whose wax wings melt when they fly too close to the sun … ICARUS plays out like an inverted Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, though there’s no magic to whip up a happy ending. But there are moments of grace that fill the play’s one hundred minutes when the characters are momentarily released from their own traumas and attempt to help one another in unassuming but meaningful ways … in an enchanted setting, dreamers almost win, lovers nearly find happiness, and beauty kisses those who most deserve its fleeting glory. Reality ultimately kills the fairy tale, but nothing can stem the heartfelt charm and warmth that radiates from ICARUS.” —Chad Jones, Oakland Tribune“Like two battle-weary soldiers, Altagracia and Primitivo plod toward the beach. Primitivo, a boy whose contorted body languishes in a wheelchair, is nudged forward. His sister, half-dragging the chair, is marked by a maroon-colored gnarl that runs across her forehead and down the side of her face. Just then, Primitivo, as cranky as a sleep-deprived two-year-old, begins to cry. The disquieting scene that opens Edwin Sánchez’s ICARUS is enough to make anyone uneasy. But what initially seems like some postmodern cross between Beach Blanket Bingo and Freaks, Tod Browning’s 1932 cult film, methodically unfolds into a thing of profound beauty. And that’s the point of ICARUS: Beauty is not just in the eye of the beholder. It’s something that runs deeper than the roots of an oak tree, down to some inner sanctuary that provides safety even in the harshest conditions. Sánchez’s lyrical, often soaring portrait of dreamers is one of the sweetest, most affirming plays to come through the Bay Area in the last two years … ICARUS is propelled by Sánchez’s winning, playful script. His moving text is laden with the nuggets of information … that go into building a richly etched picture. A consummate story-teller, Sánchez also is careful to leave enough blank spaces on his canvas for the audience to fill in from their own imaginations …” —Mark de la Viña, San Jose Mercury News

72 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1999

Reviews

[Martin Denton · Rating 5 out of 5]

Words lose their oomph through overuse, but know this: Edwin Sanchez's Icarus is--honestly--wonderful. (I looked it up in the dictionary: "capable of eliciting wonder": precisely right.) Sensitively and thoughtfully conceived, and beautifully written, it reminds us that we can still laugh, cry, and feel.

Sanchez uses the ephemeral stuff of gossamer and dreams to spin this touching and moving tale of boundless unconditional love. The play begins with the arrival of Altagracia and her brother Primitivo at a deserted house on a lonely beach. They decide to move in, along with their fellow traveler Mr. Ellis; but their plan is momentarily jeopardized by the arrival of a young man named Beau who actually knows the owner of the house (a guy named Frank) and is surprised to find three strangers living there.

What's so extraordinary about Icarus is the matter-of-fact way that Sanchez lays out this unlikely chain of events, as if people showed up at abandoned houses all the time. Still more remarkable are the people themselves. Primitivo uses a wheelchair and Altagracia's face is horribly disfigured. Mr. Ellis carries around a stuffed cat named Betty (whom he feeds and sets out on the beach outfitted in dark sunglasses). And Beau, alluding to some mysterious and recent accident, hides his face under a ski mask.

Occupying the house next door is the Gloria, a faded blonde beauty with one feature film to her credit. With the most economical exposition imaginable, Sanchez introduces us to these very special, very damaged characters: daringly, disarmingly, he lets them be who they are, with nary a why or how in sight. Early scenes portray, for example, the Gloria trying to connect with a Hollywood executive; or Altagracia and Primitivo practicing small talk for an imaginary power dinner (Patty Duke's seated on one side, John Astin on the other); or Mr. Ellis repeating a strange mantra on the beach ("I'm not staring. I'm not staring. I'm not staring."). Sanchez revels in their eccentricity, without comment or explanation: as if it all made perfect sense.

And of course, it does, finally; for Sanchez's method of getting us into his characters' souls is dazzlingly effective and affecting. We quickly come to understand that Altagracia has stolen (or rescued) Primitivo from a hospital, and that she is keeping him alive by having invented for him a seemingly impossible task to complete: he must swim, farther and farther every day, until he touches the sun.

It becomes clear, too, that Altagracia and Beau are falling in love, initially attracted, perhaps, by the revulsion they believe their faces inspire in others.

I want you to read Icarus for yourself to find out what happens. I promise that you will be touched profoundly by Sanchez's affecting story of Altagracia, her brother, and the unexpected stranger who together learn how to give--and how to be worthy of--unconditional love.

[Luca D'Agruma · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm still attempting to process this play. My only wish is that there was included in the publication a little more discussion, commentary, or context as the material is so elusive at times. That said, I really enjoyed this play. The narrative arc grew to become something larger than life, tragic and heroic and beautiful. I'm curious to see how this was staged and directed, and especially how the characters were cast and characterized. This telling of Icarus is one of damaged souls ever-dreaming despite heartbreak and loss. Beauty is achieved through the gift of love.

[Maggie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This may be one of the best things I’ve ever read.

[Timur Markowitz · Rating 4 out of 5]

A wonderful play. The central romance is as beautiful as the characters.