A simple question: does any work of art touch the pure singular perfection of “Angels in America”? I’ve read the play many times, seen it on stage, and watched the movie a dozen or more times, but it never gets old. It touches me more deeply every time, familiarity only serving to deepen and widen the channel it has made in my heart.
I quite seriously think my New Year’s Resolution for 2008 might be to memorize the whole entire thing. I heard about this guy on the radio who has memorized “The Great Gatsby,” and in high school I memorized that long monologue in “Six Degrees of Separation” about “The Catcher in the Rye,” (as well as countless hideously cheesey quotes, and all of “Subterranean Homesick Blues.”)
“Angels in America” might take me a little longer, but if I could hold all its pain and complication and astonishingly heartbreaking beauty in my heart at all times, 2008 would see me becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be, I know it.