JUST THE THOUGHT OF YOU
A sequel to a previous Hayford piece called From This Moment On: A Tale of Love and Exhaustion, the current performance is described on the front of the program as being about “forced utterance and prosthetic love.” But what, you might ask, does that mean? Love of prosthetics? Love by prosthetics? And just what does Hayford mean by “prosthetic” anyway?
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In this context, it doesn’t really matter what “prosthetic” means, because how it means whatever it means is much more critical. And how it sounds–clever, hip–I suspect might be even more important.
The romance with the mannequin is just that. She’s a silver, featureless creature, open armed, open legged, impaled on a steel bar for balance, naked but for a pair of long lace gloves and a red handkerchief draped over her head. The man, entranced, takes the handkerchief, elaborately celebrates it, folds it, and tucks it into his vest pocket–right there over his heart.
Part of the problem with the questions is that once you’ve accepted Hayford’s premise that there is indeed meaning here, you can’t really get to the how without dealing with the what, and the what is overwhelming.
As it stands, Just the Thought of You is admirable for its direction and art direction and for Hayford’s stamina during the hour-long performance, but ultimately I was not sympathetic to the situation, intellectually engaged, or touched. And because it’s so deadly serious, despite a few inspired laughs, it doesn’t give itself the option of being merely entertaining.
