I Love You So Much I Could Die tickets

Thought-Provoking, Gimmicky, Stimulating of Mind but Flat in Other Ways, Experimental, Depressing, Darkly-Humorous If bell hooks is right that it is easier to discuss loss than love, perhaps one can discuss loss through love. In I Love You So Much I Could Die, written and set during the pandemic, we hear one woman’s journey to love through the interwoven story of multiple losses. Those who show great love, as her partner (Lucas Hnath) does, are those who help put you together, bathe you, feed you, put you to bed when the world crumbles. COVID-19 is shattering. A dead dog triggers memories of a dead father. A sister who never fully recovers during COVID, and the loss of one’s sense of purpose punctuate this story where living and dying seem like twins, as does comedy and grief. The protagonist—Mona Pirnot, playing a version of herself—never speaks and, yet, we hear her story fully, through a combination of Microsoft David (a text-to-speech program) and music/song. Near the end of the show, the woman (via David’s TTS program) explains that sometimes grief is too much and all she can do is type her words and have David speak them back to her therapist or her boyfriend. It’s not weak—it’s creative. But I suppose the expression of being grabbed by the throat comes to mind here. She is choked with grief, suffocated with feeling, smothered in love and loss alike. It’s all moving, somehow, despite the robotic voice. There’s a poetic prayer here. There is, yes, something cold and sterile—something that feels like a perfect preamble to AI. But it’s nice to know that the self can still keep itself warm and alive via storytelling. This is not a play for everyone; in fact, droves of people left throughout at least the first ¾ of the show, which is unfortunate, for though it may seem like a tedious, gimmicky premise—a young woman, back to the audience, lets a laptop spew forth her words while she sometimes picks up a guitar and sings; or she drinks water and listens (as we do) to her own words spoken back to her and then sings while accompanied by another musician, the music director Will Butler (a talent all his own). So, the skills and the story is here, but sometimes there’s a disconnect from the feeling and the pseudo-intellectualism that makes us feel cold. Still, I’m glad I had an opportunity to experience this show, from the front row, to watch the hypnotic cursor moving across the page as David “read” the words, anticipating the next song, wondering what would happen if the lights—which stayed on for most of the show—were to suddenly get cut, the power, too, removing any chance for self-expression via technology. Who are we when we don’t use our own voice? Or are the words alone enough?