who takes care of Felicity and puts up with her cantankerous outbursts and lapses into the past. Agnes tells the interviewer about Claire running away and getting killed in a car accident. Claire’s death triggered Felicity’s decline, and in her delusional state, Felicity believes that Claire is alive and coming for a visit. Because of Felicity’s illness, Agnes helps her maintain this illusion by writing letters to her as if they were from Claire. Near death, Felicity lives for the next letter and a visit from her deceased daughter. Agnes is tired and hopes that Felicity will surrender to death soon but discovers through her interview that she has unwittingly prolonged Felicity’s suffering by giving her something for which to live. Over and over again, Felicity asks Agnes what time it is, hoping that the mail has come and that there will be another letter from Claire.

Most of the play’s critics concede that The Shadow Box uses many unique theatrical devices that increase its emotional power in performance. The first and most obvious is Cristofer’s intertwining of three short plots into one cohesive play. This episodic structure allows the audience to concentrate on all three “families” without being overly drawn to one character. Scenes switch effortlessly from one cottage to the next and also to the interview area. Often dialogue from one area is overlapped with or punctuated by lines coming from another area. In a lesser play, this technique could blur the focus of the play, confusing and confounding the audience. However, Cristofer’s mastery is in the flow of the play from one conversation to the next without any appreciable transitions needed. Although most episodic plays translate well to the screen, the television version of the play lacked the simultaneous impact of seeing all three families at the same time, even when the attention shifts from one to the other, making it flat and not as interesting on television. The beauty of the last two pages of the script had to be omitted, which robbed the play of its most powerful moments. This technique of having the characters walk through the fourth wall and become actors speaking directly to the audience is highly theatrical and most effective in emphasizing the play’s theme.

Another interesting theatrical device used in this play is the set, which is basically one cottage seen from three different angles. This device implies that all the cottages are alike, and by setting each family in a different area of the cottage, the audience sees the commonality as well as the individuality of the characters’ experiences reflected in the setting.

As in most plays, dramatic dialogue contains the action of the play so there is no need for a narrator that prose requires. Unlike novels that present the entirety of a character’s story, plays usually begin very close to the climax so that the most dramatic part of the story is told through the action of the play. It is important to note that dramatic action is different from physical activity. The term “dramatic action” refers to the action that characters carry out in the play, usually related to another character. For example, when Beverly is showing Brian her “medals,” she is “entertaining” him. Likewise, Agnes comforts Felicity, and Maggie resists Joe. The dramatic action is contained in the dialogue of the play and comes through vividly in The Shadow Box, even though the characters do very little physical movement or activity. Cristofer handles exposition, the part of the characters’ stories that is not presented onstage, in a purely dramatic way, finding present motivation to reveal past history between the characters. For example, Maggie and Joe’s reminiscing about their younger days does not feel artificial or didactic, but quite natural for a couple facing the end of their time together.

The mid-1970’s may be remembered as the time that death became fashionable, or at least respectable, in America. This remark is not intended to be facetious. The highly publicized studies and writings of such experts as Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the general media treatment of the subject, film and television documentaries, the new emphasis on “death counseling,” both for the terminally ill and for their survivors, even the inclusion of “death education” courses in high school and college curriculums (including visits to a crematory and the touching of a cadaver), all signal a new and more open acknowledgment of the always present, but traditionally avoided, fact of mortality as a conscious, central concern in one’s life.

One aspect of this new, more honest approach to dying has been the growth of the “hospice” concept, the creation of centers for the terminally ill where they can live out their final days, weeks, or even months in contact with family and friends and unencumbered by the false hopes and hypocritical deceptions that usually pervade such situations.

But, this new enlightenment notwithstanding, the hospice setting does not seem a promising one for a Broadway hit, nor terminal illness a very likely subject. The built-in bleakness of the topic and its potential for cloying sentimentality would seem to disqualify it as typical entertainment fare—perhaps in a small, offbeat, experimental or regional theater, but certainly not on Broadway. Michael Cristofer has, however, overcome both objections in The Shadow Box to offer an intense, thought-provoking, moving, even humorous play.

The drama centers on three patients: Joe, an earthy, vigorous middle-aged working man; Brian, a sophisticated intellectual and would-be writer; and Felicity, an old woman confined to a wheelchair, alternately fiesty and senile. Cristofer carefully juxtaposes the stories of these three characters against one another, cross-cutting between them, to set up a dramatic and thematic counterpoint that is most effective. Each character must face—or not face—the fact of death in his or her own way; their loved ones also must encounter mortality and determine its meaning for them as, willing or otherwise, they take on the role of the survivors. The contrasts between the characters and their personal dilemmas are most vivid, but the underlying similarity of their situations forces their separate stories into a single potent theatrical experience.

Despite their relative youth, each of the two male characters has, at the beginning of the play, apparently come to terms with his own pending death, Joe by a retreat into a hard-won stoicism (“Ya get used to the idea”), Brian by a torrent of words and a posture of intellectual detachment. But these tenuous defenses are destroyed by the arrival of “family”—Joe’s wife and son, and Brian’s ex-wife. In old Felicity the problem is somewhat different; it is not the fact of death that plagues her, but the shifting reality of her life that must be dealt with.

When Joe’s wife Maggie arrives, she immediately begins a pointless argument over a ham she has hauled 3,000 miles on the plane, and she refuses even to enter their cottage. To do so would be to accept the fact of Joe’s dying, and she adamantly refuses to do that. Moreover, she reveals that she has not told their teenage son Steve the truth about the trip. Maggie’s refusal to accept Joe’s situation provokes resentment and bitterness in her husband. Not only is his stoicism vitiated, but his sense of meaning is disrupted. He begins not only to resent his pending death, but even to question the value of his life.

Brian is a far more complex individual, so his problems are more intricate and subtle. His defense is in “thinking,” in achieving a nonemotional, philosophical detachment, while at the same time doing everything he wants to, however meaningless it may be. As he tells his ex-wife Beverly,BRIAN: . . . You see, the only way to beat the thing is to leave absolutely nothing behind. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid, undone . . . not a word, not even a lonely, obscure, silly, worthless thought. I want it all used up. All of it. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

But, at the core, his defenses are even more precarious than Joe’s and, honest man that he is, he knows it.

Unlike Maggie, Beverly accepts her ex-husband’s terminal illness without any qualms, even making a joke of it. Commenting on the accommodations, she quips: “All the comforts of home. Amazing what you can do with a coffin if you put your mind to it.” Her desperation is the product of her sense of helplessness—not only in the face of Brian’s dying, but in the fact that she has already lost him and can do nothing for him, or with him, beyond offering a brief gallows humor farewell.

A bisexual, Brian has settled on Mark, a male lover, as the companion of his last days. When Beverly arrives, she and Mark immediately tangle in an apparent rivalry over the doomed man. The tense, volatile arguments between them provide some of the play’s most vivid (if overlong) moments as each accuses the other of using Brian as a pawn in their personal ego games. But as they assault each other verbally, it becomes clear that more then sexual competition and antagonism is involved. Mark is the emotional key to Brian’s equilibrium, and he is on the brink of emotional breakdown himself. In the end it is up to Beverly to salvage her rival and give him the strength he needs to support their beloved. Thus, in this segment of The Shadow Box those surrounding the patient are the moving targets. Facing survival, Cristofer suggests, is as difficult and traumatic an experience as facing death.

This is even more true in the third story. Felicity is actually beyond the point where the question of living has any real meaning. Physically she is barely alive; mentally she maintains a nebulous contact with reality, slipping frequently from the present to a past, partially real and partially imaginary, where she feels more comfortable. It is her daughter Agnes who is the main character in this relationship. It is obvious that she has spent the better part of her adult life in caring for her progressively deteriorating mother, a role that has given her life a shape and meaning, if not the appreciation and gratitude—and love—that she has longed for. But at the same time, it has left her “very tense, very tired . . . confused, awkward, and unsure of herself.”

The event that originally stimulated the old woman’s physical and mental decline was, it develops, the sudden death of her other daughter, Claire. As Felicity’s faculties have disintegrated, Agnes has attempted to placate her with the lie that her favorite daughter was not dead. To that end Agnes has written letters “from Claire” which she dutifully reads to the old lady. This make-believe therapy she has devised for her mother has become an emotional trap for herself. It is certain that Felicity’s rhapsodic responses to these letters have become Agnes’ only emotional satisfaction, the vicarious love that the old woman has always denied her “plain” daughter directly. When asked twice what she planned to do after her mother’s death, Agnes cannot answer. Her own life is so tied up with her mother’s that the death of the old lady will effectively end her own; she cannot look beyond. And because she cannot come to terms with her own existence, her problem is the only one left unresolved by the end of the play.

The other characters, those who will soon die and those fated to live on, do come to accept their respective fates. The act of forcing Maggie to acknowledge the fact of his dying returns Joe to an acceptance of the present and gives them both the strength to confront their son with the tragic news. And having seen the love and respect that exists between the father and son—one of the finest touches in the play—we know that Steve will be able to handle it. Perhaps he has known it all along.

Beverly finally breaks through Mark’s shell and forces him to the desperate realization that his composure is an act, that he is really distraught by Brian’s pending demise, unsure of his ability to handle it, and guilty of “a bad case of the hopes.” In the end Beverly and Mark manage to turn their hostility to strength, and the final image of Mark is that of a man truly in control of himself and capable of ministering to his dying lover with courage and compassion.

Cristofer ends the play with a coda in which the characters recapitulate the play’s themes in a commitment to the moment.

The Shadow Box is not without its faults. Some of the plotting is contrived and occasionally sentimental. A few scenes, such as the Beverly-Mark exchanges, are overdone. Cristofer also brings in an “Interviewer” who periodically quizzes the characters, but his function is never really evident. If he is present only for exposition, then the device is clumsy. If he is meant to function thematically, that is not clear. Occasional references are made to cameras that apparently view the patients constantly (and record their actions?), but this idea is never developed. In short, some of the play’s plotting seems too tight, some of its loose ends, too loose.

But the overall effect of the play is strong and memorable; it is a serious work laced with humor. Early in the drama when Brian says: “Our dreams are beautiful, our fate is sad. But day by day, it’s generally pretty funny” he defines the tone and mood of The Shadow Box well. In the end it is not a play about death, but one about life.

The Shadow Box was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Best Drama and the Antoinette Perry Award for Best Play in 1977.

The 1970s served as the backdrop for Cristofer’s play, The Shadow Box, an era characterized by uncertainty. American political confidence was shaken following Nixon’s resignation. Never before had a president so blatantly breached the sanctity of public office. The nation also faced the aftermath of the Vietnam War, which came to symbolize failure. Vietnam veterans returned to a home that met them with indifference instead of applause. This atmosphere led Americans to question their values and national identity.

The political and social climate of the time was deeply engaged with debates around the right to die and the essence of life. Cristofer’s detailed examination of mortality in his work echoes this concern. The case of Karen Anne Quinlan, similar to Cristofer’s play, delved into issues regarding the quality of life and determining when life truly ends. Quinlan lost consciousness on April 15, 1975, after allegedly mixing alcohol with narcotics. She slipped into a coma and was kept alive by artificial life support, including respirators and intravenous feeding. Doctors declared her brain irreparably damaged, leaving her body reliant on life support. Yet, traces of electrical activity on an EEG indicated she was alive from a medical and legal standpoint. Quinlan’s parents sought the right for their daughter to die with dignity, free from life-support machines, and pursued this right through legal channels. This led to prolonged courtroom debates among doctors, ethicists, and judges regarding the definition of life’s end. Some argued life was sacred regardless of physical condition, while others supported the Quinlans’ stance.

The 1970s also witnessed religious fanaticism. In 1978, Congressman Leo Ryan, along with journalists and relatives of cult members, traveled to Guyana, South America, to investigate cult leader Jim Jones. They acted on concerns from family members of those involved in the Jonestown cult, fearing their relatives were being exploited financially, physically, and emotionally. When Ryan and his group attempted to leave with fourteen defectors, Jones’s gunmen attacked them, resulting in deaths and narrow escapes. In response to the violence, Jim Jones orchestrated a mass suicide, instructing his followers to drink cyanide-laced fruit punch. This tragedy claimed 913 lives, including 276 children.

Domestically, the United States in the 1970s faced economic struggles due to "Stagflation," a mix of high unemployment and inflation. The situation deteriorated further with rising petroleum costs imposed by foreign nations. The Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), formed by major Middle Eastern nations, initiated an oil embargo against the United States and other countries, causing gas prices to skyrocket.

Amid what appeared to be an economic downturn, the nation was simultaneously experiencing significant technological progress with the introduction of the personal computer. Once considered a science fiction fantasy, the PC became affordable for the average American, providing them with access to vast amounts of information. Enthusiastic about this technological breakthrough, theorist Marshall McLuhan viewed the PC, alongside the rise of television, as a tool for forming a "global village," an international community free from borders or political biases.

Structure
The play consists of three interwoven storylines that together create a cohesive narrative. Transitions between the plots are seamlessly executed at specific moments, where one set of dialogues fades out and another begins. The perspectives of characters from these three plots converge at the conclusion, offering a comprehensive understanding of the experience of dying and its effects on both the terminally ill and their loved ones. In Cottage One, Joe attempts to communicate with his wife about his impending death, aiming to not only express his emotions but also to help her prepare for a future without him. In Cottage Two, Beverly and Mark are in conflict over Brian's care. Meanwhile, in Cottage Three, Agnes grapples with the guilt and sorrow of not meeting her dying mother's expectations. Despite the interweaving of these plots, the play adheres to a strict dramatic structure. The storyline unfolds over a single day and is confined to one location, the hospital grounds.

Point of View
The events of the play are presented from a third-person perspective, detached from any single character's viewpoint. At no point does a character directly address the audience or provide insight into their own motivations or actions. Instead, the audience gleans understanding of the characters by observing their interactions with others. This dynamic interaction enriches the characters and aids the audience in grasping their motivations. For instance, Agnes admits to the interviewer that she has been fabricating letters from her deceased sister to their mother, Felicity, for two years. In subsequent scenes with her mother, Agnes merely asks, "If I told you the truth, mama, would you listen?" The audience is already aware of the truth without needing to hear Agnes explicitly confess to her mother.

Objectivity
The work achieves an objective tone primarily through its structure. It presents snapshots into the lives of three distinct groups, each grappling with terminal illness, without arriving at a definitive conclusion about what it means to "die" or what actions those affected should take. The characters explore various interpretations of terminal illness, bouncing ideas off one another to form their own conclusions. This open-ended approach allows the audience to experience terminal illness from multiple viewpoints, enhancing awareness and emotional depth. For instance, Beverly confronts her ex-husband’s illness directly, using humor as a coping mechanism. In contrast, Maggie avoids discussing Joe’s illness, choosing instead to maintain their routine as if unchanged by Joe’s hospital stay.

Foil
The characters serve as "foils" to each other, with their psychological traits often sharply contrasting. These contrasts emerge within a specific plot or when comparing actions across different plots. For instance, Beverly’s straightforward, albeit blunt, approach to Brian’s illness highlights the self-serving nature of Mark’s seemingly altruistic behavior. Beverly, though a bit of a drinker and flirt, candidly acknowledges her flaws, admitting she is no hero but a "whore." In contrast, Mark frequently feigns offense in response to Beverly’s comments. Unlike Beverly’s boldness, Maggie struggles to confront her husband’s impending death and fails to offer Joe the comfort of a listening ear, where Beverly succeeds, Maggie falters.

Climax
Both acts 1 and 2 build to a climax, marked by a significant shift in dialogue. In a powerful moment at the play’s end, the characters express what truly matters to them, what makes them feel alive. Joe mentions "this smell, this touch," Beverly adds "this taste," and for Brian, it’s "this moment." This conclusion underscores the simplicity of a moment where all characters, despite their differences, find common ground, reflected in the statement, "They tell you you’re dying, and you say all right. But if I am dying... I must still be alive."

1970s: Following a ruling by the New Jersey Supreme Court, Karen Anne Quinlan's respirator is disconnected.

Today: In 1999, Dr. Jack Kevorkian is convicted of second-degree murder for assisting Thomas Youk, a patient with Lou Gehrig's disease, in ending his life.

1970s: The American Psychological Association decides to remove homosexuality from its official diagnostic manual of mental disorders.

Today: The U.S. Supreme Court rules that the Boy Scouts have the right to exclude homosexuals from leadership roles as part of their freedom of association.

1970s: A fifty-nine-year-old man in Cape Town, South Africa, receives a heart transplant using a chimpanzee heart.

Today: Scientists are exploring the potential of genetically modifying pig organs with human genes for "xenotransplant" procedures, which involve transplanting organs from animals to humans.

1970s: Jimmy Carter wins the U.S. presidential election in 1976, enjoying significant public support.

Today: In the highly contested 2000 election, George W. Bush is declared the president of the United States.

1970s: In 1977, the United States launches Voyager, one of two space probes.

Today: Russia's Mir space station, the longest-operating station, orbits Earth for fifteen years before its mission concludes in March 2001.

The Shadow Box was transformed into a television screenplay in 1980. Directed by Paul Newman, the production featured performances by Joanne Woodward, Christopher Plummer, and Ben Masters, along with other distinguished actors.

Sources
Axelrod, Alan, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Twentieth Century History, Alpha Books, 1999, pp. 377–94.

Coe, Richard L., ‘‘An Eloquent Expression of Regional Richness,’’ in Washington Post, April 24, 1977.

———, Review of The Shadow Box, in Washington Post, April 1, 1977.

Cristofer, Michael, The Shadow Box, Drama Book Specialists, 1977.

Fretts, Bruce, Doug Brod, and Chris Willman, ‘‘The Week,’’ in Entertainment Weekly, October 29, 1999.

Kroll, Jack, ‘‘Where Is Thy Sting?,’’ in Newsweek, April 25, 1977.

Lemon, Brendan, Review of Gia, in Advocate, No. 752, February 3, 1998, pp. 51–52.

‘‘Shedding Light on Life,’’ in Washington Post, October 12, 1978.

Simon, John, Review of The Shadow Box, in Hudson Review, Vol. 31, No.1, Spring 1978, pp. 147–48.

Further Reading
Carleson, James W., ‘‘Images of the Gay Male in Contemporary Drama,’’ in Gayspeak: Gay Male and Lesbian Communication, Pilgrim, 1981. In this analytical piece, Carleson explores the portrayal of homosexual themes in Cristofer’s writings.

Cristofer, Michael, Black Angel, Dramatists Play Service, 1984. This play focuses on a former Nazi who, after being released from incarceration, must confront the remnants of his past actions.

Duclow, Donald F., ‘‘Dying on Broadway: Contemporary Drama and Mortality,’’ in Soundings: An Interdisciplinary Journal, Summer 1981, pp. 197–216. In this analysis, Duclow examines Cristofer’s work in relation to themes of death and mortality.

Gross, Leonard, ‘‘Michael Cristofer Writes ‘A Play of Questions,’’’ in New York Times, June 25, 1978. Gross offers a thoughtful review of Cristofer’s play, providing valuable insights.