In many ways, Lincoln Center Theater’s LCT3 is the perfect place for Zarina Shea’s Let’s Call Her Patty: a play about a Brooklyn-raised, Upper West Side–dwelling arts-supporting ACLU donor who shops at Zabar’s, votes blue, and will likely live the rest of her days on 88th Street between West End and Riverside. Patty (played by Rhea Perlman) is probably even an LCT subscriber.
Her niece, Sammy (Leslie Rodriguez Kritzer, warm and welcoming), tells us everything we need to know about Patty, in between giving us a brief but meandering history of the Upper West Side, going back to the Lenape, and a glimpse into the future, when “eventually of course this whole area will be underwater” because of carbon and straws and Joe Manchin. Patty steps in to share her own bits of wisdom here and there. For example: “A woman over 50 should not have Long Hair.” Well… “Really 45.” Also: “A woman over 50 should not wear Short Shorts—no matter how good her legs are.” Unless they’re workout shorts, of course. And: “Never leave the house without lipstick.” (Perlman lands these one-liners but otherwise gives a disappointingly one-note performance.)
Here’s the most important thing to know about Patty: Her 28-year-old daughter, Cecile (Arielle Goldman), is a sculptor who turns to drugs because she can’t handle fame. And Patty can’t handle that her daughter is on drugs. “It was really bad,” Sammy tells us. “Like Kate Moss in the ’90s bad.” But it’s nothing Patty can’t fix with a couple month’s rent, a fresh supply of clay, and fully stocked fridge, right?
Patty’s trip to see Cecile in a touchy-feely Arizona rehab—their one and only face-to-face interaction—is a terrific study in discomfort. Mom is overly chatty and nervous, daughter is quiet and nervous, and though they’re only a few feet away, they’re miles apart. Goldman is wonderful here, conveying hopelessness, helplessness, and fear in just a few lines. This is the Patty we want to see—tentative, loving, and messy. Or in the next scene, when she and Sammy are talking about Patty’s friend Barbara’s son Seth, and Rita the bead-wearing mom in Al-Anon, and how Cecile might never get better. Those unforced, realistic moments of connection are all too rare in this play.
Instead, Patty is forced to spend most of her time chopping an invisible onion for her invisible dog who’s on a new gluten-free vegan diet. (Chop, chop, chop…after 70 minutes you’ll be well and truly sick of the sound of that knife hitting the butcher block.) We’re supposed to believe that this savvy born-and-bred New Yorker doesn’t know that onions are toxic for dogs? Maybe she can’t tell Mark Zuckerberg from Jesse Eisenberg, but a woman who’s had dogs all her life would know better. Also, Patty would not eat Chinese food with a plastic fork. No self-respecting New Yorker does that…unless they just moved and haven’t unpacked their flatware.
There’s also a whole tangent about Sammy’s wife, Kelly, whose mother is dying in Tempe, which would feel more organic if the play focused more on Sammy. Or Sammy and Cecile—who, frankly, are the most intriguing characters. But let’s not forget that the play is called Let’s Call Her Patty.
Let’s Call Her Patty opened July 31, 2023, at Lincoln Center Theater’s Claire Tow Theater. Tickets and information: lct.org
