Playwright: Tekki Lomnicki
At: Tellin' Tales Theatre at the Live Bait Theater, 3914 N. Clark
Contact: ( 773 ) 871- 1113
wwwlivebaittheater.org
Tickets: $20, $15 students
Runs through: June 26
Full disclosure: Tekki Lomnicki is one of my heroes. But speaking with absolute critical objectivity, I will must insist: See Blurred Vision: The Relapse, and she'll be one of your heroes too.
Consider that for most mortals, intensive, long-term dealings with the healthcare system in these here Untied States invariably leads to thousands of dollars of debt, uncontrollable bouts of weeping, tirades venomous enough so even the best physicians rue the day they took the Hippocratic Oath, and the sort of enraged desperation that makes the idea of moving to Canada seem as seductive as a big ol' bottle of Oxycontin.
Now, consider Tekki Lomnicki, a dwarf who has been contending with urgent healthcare issues since birth, when she came out feet first, 'little legs tangled like those soft pretzels you can get at the airport.' She spent the first 12 years of her life in a hospital, where she didn't walk for over a decade.
That was the easy part.
In the roughly 35 years since she was discharged, Lomnicki has dealt with an endless array of doctors, clinics, surgeries and set-backs. Yet, despite her life-long immersion in the Kafka-esque task of getting and paying for medical treatment, Lomnicki is no bitter, blathering emotional wreck.
She is a raconteur of the rarest order, a performer who can talk about her health for an entire show without once becoming maudlin, self-indulgent or boring.
In Blurred Vision, audiences will find a ruthlessly honest piece that is alternately harrowing and hilarious. It is also, even when Lomnicki describes the most excruciating tales from the healthcare frontlines, free of self-pity.
And contrary to your basic, emotionally manipulative disease-of-the-week movie, Blurred Vision doesn't romanticize illness. You'll never see the uncompromising gracelessness of a pap test on the Lifetime channel. Nor will you ever hear ( unless it's done for cheap prurience ) a woman who happens to be a dwarf talking about sex and lust.
Finally, this is no syrupy melodrama wherein being sick also means being a saint.
As Blurred Vision makes clear, Lomnicki is no saint. She talks too much in waiting rooms. She has an attention-craving ego that is as big as her talent. She has a gift for making fun of people, and she's not afraid to use it. In the simplest terms, Blurred Vision is about Lomnicki's attempts to find the cause behind the title symptom.
But Blurred Vision isn't simple. The piece has as much to say about fundamental human longings and the true nature of healing as it does about the medical profession.
Director Amy Eaton makes sure Lomnicki's performance matches her scalpel-sharp writing. ( 'There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vision,' notes one physician, 'But you do seem to have a form of dwarfism.' )
It is enhanced by a silent, luminous M.K. Victorson, who uses fluid, stylized movements to complement Lomnicki's words.
The result is a production that is droll, acutely perceptive and—at the risk of sounding maudlin—inspiring.