NYT theater critic, Charles Isherwood, sums up the 2006 Humana Fesitval thusly:
"There's not much point in aiming high if you can't hit your target. And is it really necessary for playwrights to dream up new worlds? As Ms. Rebeck's intimate and affecting play reminds us, the one we live in still provides durable material for theater that moves us, makes us laugh and allows us to see even a small frame of experience in a new light."Got that? Aim low unless you're absolutely certain you won't fail.
I get his point about there still being material in the world to be mined, but can't something else be made of quotidian life other than naturalism? And can't those other forms be just as intimate and affecting?
O'Neill didn't hit his target every time, but if he had let that stop him, we might never have had The Hairy Ape, A Touch of the Poet, or Long Day's Journey Into Night.
Ponder failure in its many forms at The Institute of Failure. Interesting side note: My first attempt at embedding this link failed; anyone clicking on the link landed at Microsoft. Failure or fate?