Monterey County Post April 6, 2000

Theatre Review by Dodie Barkley

Ah, Broadway, the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” where many are called but few are chosen. Yes, all of that. But what if, after choosing a life in the theatre, you merely endure a lesson in futility to find that your life is going nowhere? Then, somehow, you find yourself left with a feeling of wonderment and joy? Was not all of the above worth it? For, how many famous people are truly happy? How many of them are still filled with wonderment and joy?

in A Long Drink of Silence, Jill Jackson’s one-woman show presently at The Carl Cherry Center for the Arts in Carmel, we see all of that. Coming across like: 16-cylinder rocket, a Ia Betty Hutton, this young woman — prancing nimbly around the stage flys, sings and plays guitar wistfully, angrily and, at times, just “shakes, rattles, and rolls.”

The program tells us that Jackson has been acting professionally on the stages of the Monerey Peninsula and at The Western Stage for the past five years. She decided to take a one-year absence from acting to write the show. The program lists many well-known locals who helped her — Marlie Avant and Elsa Con — among others.

As a kid, Jackson engaged in all the ranks of most of the children with “stars” in their eyes. She and her brother were songwriters, which made their mother very proud of them. The love Jackson has for her mother is strongly evident throughout the well-done monologue. When her mother became bed-ridden, Jackson became her final care-giver.

The pivotal incident in Jackson’s young life occurred when she was invited to play in “The Littlest Angel.” All was going fine, but she found that she was not allowed to fly. Looking at the audience, Jackson screams: “What? I am going to play an angel, and I can’t fly?” It was then that she decided to “do her own thing.” And she pulled a large rope from behind the set that was attached to the ceiling, stepped into it, and flew back and forth, bringing gales of laughter from us. Jackson, childlike throughout the show, is never “childish.”

As you watch her, somehow you sense that she is not telling all, and that is true of all of us. Who really can do that? You never quite know why she made the choices she made, or took the road to strange places where she knew she did not belong. She talks about nasty bars and bikers’ hangouts, and that she was always afraid that they would: ... “kick the s. .t out of her.” She used people and people used her, but she never stayed in those circumstances very long.

The best part of the monologue is that she, in telling of disaster, doesn’t linger with maudlin feelings. So although we feel her pain, she allows us to go on to the next moment with her. In the telling of her “out-of-world” experiences with animals — snakes and birds — Jackson displays a touching depth of feeling that borders on mysticism. Somehow, this good-natured imp is not going to let anyone or anything get her down, and she sings “I’d rather be here than in Nashville, “to let us know that she is looking forward to new discoveries and new moments right here! She has an overpowering sense that life, the mere living of it, is truly the most important activity anyone can do. You leave knowing that she is going to try to do everything right from now on. Thank you, Jill Jackson, for cutting us a valuable slice of life.

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