I had just listened to an LA Theater Works production (SO good, these folks, and I suggest you listen to them!) of Brian Friel's Dancing at Lughnasa, which I loved, and loved the film adaptation. This one I liked less but still found engrossing. It's the story of Molly, blind since close to birth, who marries passionate but annoying and self-centered Frank, who urges her to get surgery to see if she can see again.
As he and the surgeon, Dr. Rice, agree: "What does she have to lose?" But as it turns out, a lot. Frank wants to accomplish this feat because he has these manic obsessions, as does the alcoholic doctor, to rescue his lost reputation, and to make a smash in the medical community. These guys are well-written and intriguing, but the person we love is Molly, who is happy, has a good job, loves life, as a blind person. What do we (and Frank and the doc) assume about what it means to see? Who wouldn't want that, right?
Though what is "vision," anyway? Clearly Molly has more of it in that spiritual sense than these other two guys do, though they are not exactly monsters, either. But for her to see, does it fundamentally add to her life? What do we without certain disabilities assume about folks with disabilities? That we want them to be like us, right?
So it's a sad and powerful play that reminds me of Oliver Sacks' Awakening, where some folks with autism were given an experimental drug and were temporarily made better.