The undiscerning funders of "The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond" were as irresponsible with their resources as the main character's wealthy old aunt who lent out the priceless jewelry which started the worst raucous Tennessee Williams' southern states have ever seen. Viewing it was painful, and not because I was emotionally invested in the plights of a heroine or a hero. I empathized with nary an onscreen belle or farmhand. I did empathize with my fellow audience members. Everyone, even the man who roused jealousy in me when he literally crawled down the aisle & into a seat half-way through the showing, obviously strung out on some substance which I needed at said point during this sorry subject, seemed downright insulted that the smaller than life cast tended to their dixie accents & displayed their emotional motivation in the most noncommittal manner possible, save abandoning the project altogether. Which would have been an ideal move. Why would anyone do this to Tennessee? That script was long lost for a reason. Even the best playwrights are allowed to hide some skeletons of shame in their closets. Have you never heard of respect for the dead?
