Lydia

Leave everything on the field.
I had a soccer coach who used to say that. It's a popular saying among athletic coaches, and it means play hard. Give everything of your self in the game. There should not be one ounce of energy or effort left in you by the final buzzer.
The term has come to be borrowed in the performance world. I've heard dancers say, "I left it all out there."
Last night, during the curtain call of the Denver Center Theatre Company's Lydia, I saw seven performers who had absolutely nothing left in them. They looked like runners who had just finished a marathon.
In many ways they had.
Octavio Solis's world premiere play is emotionally, physically, and spiritually demanding for both cast and audience. It's also one of the most beautiful and tragic stories I've ever seen.
I have written and erased now three different plot synopses, because any description I give of the story seems woefully inadequate. There is so much to this story of the Flores family and their new maid, Lydia. So many levels. So many secrets. If you've seen it, you know exactly what I mean. If you haven't, well, saying that I "highly recommend" that you see this play feels like it falls a bit short of the mark. This play is . . . important.
There are six remaining performances of Lydia. Just six. 'Nuff said.