"Chair" is absolutely wonderful. Written by James Schevill, directed by Robert Hirschfeld. Magic Theater publicity bills it as being all about "technological groupies." It is, it is, it lives up to its billing.
Gist of it is, two women come upon an Oppenheimer shrine, complete with blowup photos of “Little Man” and “Fat Boy,” the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, a blowup of J. Robert’s poetic countenance, and his chair, a simple apple-green wooden kitchen straight-back—plus two black-cloaked and shaded heavies who guard the scene. Does such a shrine exist? Very probably—maybe even up the hill at Lawrence Hall. Who would enshrine such shit? The government, of course. What is the desired response to such an idiotic altar? Well, as Schevill shows us, you WORSHIP at it.
Specifically, since you are supposed to LOVE Oppenheimer, and all that is Oppenheimer’s, be it megabombs or simple kitchen chairs, you fuck the chair.—Don Mitor, Berkeley Barb (1971)