I CAN’T KEEP RUNNING IN PLACE
And a musical that, because it was neither too militant nor too cute, I found myself liking. I Can’t Keep Running in Place contains no gratuitous male bashing, no smothering sisterhood-and-solidarity smugness; and on the other hand nobody ends up deliriously happy because she’s finally landed the man of her dreams and there’s only one tears-and-hugs reconciliation. The surprisingly intelligent and insightful script, written, I’m told, by Barbara Schottenfeld at the age of 21 when she was at Yale, distinguishes between assertiveness and aggressiveness, recognizes that women are manipulated by other women as well as by men, and even considers the possibility that self-help classes like the one in the play may be nothing more than “menopausal masturbation.” When the play ends, none of the characters’ lives has been radically changed, their successes are small or undetermined, they probably won’t ever see each other again–but it’s still upbeat. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere, and although thinking of preparing to perhaps take a first step toward independence may be a small step, it’s better than–well, running in place.
