Cecilia Corrigan belongs on television, on a channel transmitted to millions of Americans ready to laugh and cringe and gasp at satire so incisive that Culture, spellbound by Cecilia’s performance, fails to notice its own evisceration. Cut to May, 2013: Cecilia was working towards her comp lit doctorate, writing poems (her debut collection, TITANIC, drops this fall), and experimenting with fiction. Which is to say, she’d yet to take the stage when HENRY filmed her reading her story Dyatlov Pass in the guest bedroom of her grandparents’ Washington Square apartment. Reviewing that footage while editing Cecilia’s episodes, however, the beginnings of her default theatrical mode—aggressive insights packaged in pseudo-ditziness—are evident. She may have even poked some fun at us for intellectualizing a piece about James Franco, trapped, 127 Hours-style, between two beds. Deservingly so.
Because Cecilia’s work exempts nothing, least of all herself. The persona she adopts, in all of its grotesque, utterly entertaining absurdity, requires full commitment that must be so taxing. HENRY was in the audience for Cecilia’s very first production at a friend’s backyard series last summer, and then, in December, for her show FULL DISCLOSURE at Cage. Given the velocity at which Cecilia’s character and showmanship is developing, it’s difficult to make any aesthetic statements beyond that she’s a natural.
The full text of Dyatlov Pass is up on n+1.
* This piece was previously titled Franco.
Edited by Jerone Hsu
Director: Phil Primason
Camera: Ryan Nethery and Matt Porter
Sound: Jacob Blumberg
