Disclaimer: I am a musicals person.
No, that's not a type-o. That is an "s" you see before you. Musicals. Stage, screen... wherever there are folks spontaneously breaking out into song to lament a love lost, a home found, and everything in between, you'll find me. Laughing, crying, whatever. I'm in.
Until last night, that is. When I sat through the train wreck known as "We Will Rock You". Rock me? Hardly. This show was a crime scene. A sickening accident that, despite being destructive and brutal, one feels compelled to watch. Hideous, gory and loud loud loud. A concert gone awry, a story gone south and some creators gone bonkers.
My pal and I sat, mouths agape, wondering if what we were watching was for real. Who was the demo? Youngsters? Nostalgists? This hokey farce of a show appealed to neither. Suburbanites on a big night out? Is that who those freaks were with the glo-stix? There were plenty of 'em, whoopin' and screamin' and jumping to their feet. While my theatre directing pal and I, as I said, sat stunned.
First off: volume issues. Volume, as in wa-a-a-a-a-y too loud. How did the stage-diving fogies lapping this shit up stand it? Was it that loud that they didn't even know what they were hearing? Maybe.
Secondly, performances. I know, I know, touring companies, right? Wrong. This was/is a big deal. And is continually extended. Mamma Mia, anybody? I guess Brian May and his pals are laughing their way to the bank on this one. And poor Freddie M must be rolling in his grave. At least make the campiness work!!
It didn't. 'Cuz it was earnie earnesto from beginning to end. Set in the future and - gasp! - all musical instruments are banned. Only one hero - swoon - The Dreamer, can set the kids free so they can rebel and play air guitar and find their soul.
Soul? Not in this show. Spunky heroine? Too nasal. "Show-stopping" diva? Bored off her socks. Baddie who turns good? Hey, he wasn't bad! And our hero? Well, his voice was OK but he's no triple threat. Can you say the word "wooden"? With feeling? Neither could he.
And the list goes on. Mediocre support characters? Earned screams of delight. Lame Britney Spears jokes? Had 'em rolling in the aisles. Breaking into "flash" as skeletons - wow! - flashed on screens? Gasps of approval.
Where the hell were we? Oh yeah, downtown Toronto, where the self-congratulatory Canadian references guaranteed a standing O. Or two. And they got 'em.
You're probably wondering why didn't leave. So was I. But, as I said, it was strangely compelling. Like an open casket. You're totally uncomfortable, but you need to look.
So my fellow Musical-ists. And Queen fans. And subscribers to theatre packages. Go forth and be rocked if you must. But don't say I didn't warn you.
And don't forget to drink. A lot. Maybe that's the secret to its success...
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Monday, September 03, 2007
Back to School Blues
Put away your whites, people, 'cuz it's Back to School time.
Yep, for all us North Americans, it's the real deal new year. Doncha think? You get all sentimental about the summer. Then you reflect: too hot, too cold, too fast. Blah blah blah. Same time next year, right? All through August you lament the end of summer and now it's here. The end, that is. But instead of looking back and waxing nostalgic, it's really a time of looking ahead. To fall. And the rest of the year. As I said it's Back to School time.
Despite all the ads and plans and warnings, it doesn't hit until Labour Day. And then, poof!- it's here. New Year's Rockin' Eve.
For the kiddies, it's a new grade, new teachers, new friends. For the rest of us, it's the memory of that back-to-school feeling. It's makes even the die-hard drop out feel new-ish: new season ( not really, but it feels like it, right?) New job/attitude (even if you've worked all summer, there's a different, fresher, more serious vibe, right?) New movies (Goodbye silly boy flicks, Mr Apatow and co notwithstanding. Hello Oscar Bait. Right?) New footwear (even if it's boiling, you're tempted to put on your boots, right?) And of course new outifts (September mags, right?)
Everything is new new new.
Labour Day (Labor Day for our American cousins) has a certain weight to it. It's far more momentous than any January 1st has the right to be. So I say Labout Day is the new New Year. Why not? New year's resolutions? Do 'em in Sept. Starting a diet? Post-summer's the perfect time to start. Quitting smoking? Hell-ooo? What better day than the one after a long, hot, smokey summer?!
So what, you may wonder, are my resolutions? Hmmmmm....To tell would be giving away too much, don't you think? 'Cuz resolutions aren't really that different from wishes and I'd hate to think that if I told they wouldn't come true.
Let's just say...well, I'm here, right?
Besides, I'm trying to keep my own resolutions at bay. My focus is on my oldest child. For this week, anyway. My almost-4-year-old starts school tomorrow. Real school. The kind that is no longer filed under optional. It's Junior Kindergarten - not just another program in his overprogrammed world. This one is It. The Biggie. The school he starts tomorrow will be, (hopefully, please god, poo poo poo) the one he graduates from in 9 years. Or 10. Whatever. It's the one that'll teach him to read. To write. And god only knows what else. For better or worse.
Yes, this Labour Day is all about Back to School. The first of many for some. And yet another slew of hopeful new beginnings for others.
Healthy. Wealthy. Wise. And working. What more could a girl ask for - for herself, her kids, her people? Aside from a few more glorious weeks of open-toe shoe that is.
Happy New Year.
Yep, for all us North Americans, it's the real deal new year. Doncha think? You get all sentimental about the summer. Then you reflect: too hot, too cold, too fast. Blah blah blah. Same time next year, right? All through August you lament the end of summer and now it's here. The end, that is. But instead of looking back and waxing nostalgic, it's really a time of looking ahead. To fall. And the rest of the year. As I said it's Back to School time.
Despite all the ads and plans and warnings, it doesn't hit until Labour Day. And then, poof!- it's here. New Year's Rockin' Eve.
For the kiddies, it's a new grade, new teachers, new friends. For the rest of us, it's the memory of that back-to-school feeling. It's makes even the die-hard drop out feel new-ish: new season ( not really, but it feels like it, right?) New job/attitude (even if you've worked all summer, there's a different, fresher, more serious vibe, right?) New movies (Goodbye silly boy flicks, Mr Apatow and co notwithstanding. Hello Oscar Bait. Right?) New footwear (even if it's boiling, you're tempted to put on your boots, right?) And of course new outifts (September mags, right?)
Everything is new new new.
Labour Day (Labor Day for our American cousins) has a certain weight to it. It's far more momentous than any January 1st has the right to be. So I say Labout Day is the new New Year. Why not? New year's resolutions? Do 'em in Sept. Starting a diet? Post-summer's the perfect time to start. Quitting smoking? Hell-ooo? What better day than the one after a long, hot, smokey summer?!
So what, you may wonder, are my resolutions? Hmmmmm....To tell would be giving away too much, don't you think? 'Cuz resolutions aren't really that different from wishes and I'd hate to think that if I told they wouldn't come true.
Let's just say...well, I'm here, right?
Besides, I'm trying to keep my own resolutions at bay. My focus is on my oldest child. For this week, anyway. My almost-4-year-old starts school tomorrow. Real school. The kind that is no longer filed under optional. It's Junior Kindergarten - not just another program in his overprogrammed world. This one is It. The Biggie. The school he starts tomorrow will be, (hopefully, please god, poo poo poo) the one he graduates from in 9 years. Or 10. Whatever. It's the one that'll teach him to read. To write. And god only knows what else. For better or worse.
Yes, this Labour Day is all about Back to School. The first of many for some. And yet another slew of hopeful new beginnings for others.
Healthy. Wealthy. Wise. And working. What more could a girl ask for - for herself, her kids, her people? Aside from a few more glorious weeks of open-toe shoe that is.
Happy New Year.
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