I am a bit of a neophyte to this whole 'Theater' thing, having grown up much more on forms of art which featured the open destruction of instruments, which really didn't alter the tones they were producing all that much. For some reason this form of personal expression has never really seemed to gain the love of audiences everywhere, or even NEA grants, though it's hard to see how G.G. Allin is much different from Robert Mapplethorpe (Also, I cannot recommend google image searching (Yes, this is a verb now) those names. If you do, it's on you. I am just the messenger here). So, despite being the world's leading authority on most subjects, I am willing to admit that there are one or two people out there slightly more familiar with musical theater than I am. Your grandmother. Probably someone somehow involved in the production of Glee. John Hodgman. In fact, my background with musicals of any kind is mostly limited to a strong loathing of White Christmas, which definitely deserves it. So I am not necessarily the definitive voice to weigh in on this pressing issue, but as Hodgman has thus far remained silent, I must do the duty he is shirking, which is to say this: Renegade's performance of Parade is the best piece of musical theater I have ever seen.
This is not to say it is perfect. No, the only perfect piece of theater is my upcoming 9-act opera about dinosaurs with rocket launchers, which will (most likely literally) destroy all other plays. And mankind. But until some theater troupe finally gets the balls to put on THE GREATEST ACT MANKIND WILL EVER SEE, Parade can have top billing. Now, why am I telling you this right at the beginning of the blog post, you may be asking? Don't most great authors (Like Hemingway) save the climax of a piece (Dying in the rain) for the end of the work, hoping to keep up suspense among the readers (Clinically depressed/alcoholic English majors)? Probably. But here, I am hoping to set a (meta-)frame up for the rest of the piece. Because, you see, most art has flaws. Moby Dick had the cetology of whales. Bruce Springsteen had Hungry Heart. The Beatles had Paul McCartney. And Parade, while excellent, is not perfect. It has the chance to become more than it winds up being, and fails to take the extra step. So, lavish praise out of the way, let us now criticize.
(Note: I will probably (Unless I forget) be referring to characters by the first names of the actors portraying them both because I forgot my copy of the programme in the car, and because I am familiar with them primarily by first names due to the presence of The Official Girlfriend in the cast, even though most of them are not familiar with me. This will likely make me look like some sort of creepy stalker. But I'm not, as far as the police department knows.)
/puts on serious face
Parade is set in Atlanta in 1913, and framed with scenes featuring some battle imagery, which is pretty clearly symbolic, as Atlanta was either not involved in any armed conflicts that year, or was very sneaky about them if it was. This refers much more to a city that is still fighting a conflict that ended long ago, the Civil War. It has often been said by people in the North that the South never truly stopped fighting this war, carrying on a lingering resentment of the victors in the North, who were able to let it go because we're way better people than the Southerners. The main part of the play focuses on Jewish factory foreman Leo Frank, uncomfortably living far away from his home of Brooklyn. When a young girl dies in his factory, this resentment comes forth in a flood, the murder investigation becoming the excuse for an outpouring of long-smoldering anger. This is largely possible because the townsfolk do not see Frank as a person. Rather, he is an emissary, representative and veritable effigy of another , the hated North. And this is where the play has its greatest failure.
Leo's wife Jenna (Jena? Anyway, not the character's name) has been raised in Atlanta, and spent her whole life surrounded by the smoldering remnants of the war. She does not seem to be very close to Leo, who is clearly dismissive of Atlanta and its residents, and misses Brooklyn. But when the trial comes, she launches into a defense of her fairly-estranged husband, fighting with both those who seek to convict him and with Leo himself, who does not believe the help of someone he clearly views as inferior could be of value. Why? Because for her, the North has a human face.
It is easy to demonize a group of people. For example, from 2000 until 2008, it was clear to me that America was a bunch of ignorant Rednecks fully intent on running the country directly into the ground and picking fights with any nation who wouldn't grovel when we glanced in their direction. And yet, most everyone I met was really nice. When you meet the demon in person, it often turns out you share much more than you disagree on. This is how it is for Jenna. For her, the demon is a man. He is not The North, he is not the Jew. He is a man who goes to work every day to try to get ahead in life, like just about everyone else. She has been raised in this resentful atmosphere to the point where it must permeate her every pore, and yet for her the demon is a human. And as the first act rolls on, this internal conflict comes close to the forefront, but always pulls away just before it can truly be addressed. And when act 2 comes, the character has been completely neutered, and spends the rest of the play as The Good Wife, a character from whom all the interesting facets have been removed. There are not many characters out there who even have the chance to get close to the heights this one just misses, but it is a miss nonetheless. This pains me far more than any of the sad songs she sings.
The lesser place where the show misses the mark is with Andy's governor in Act 2, a man who is pursuing the truth while knowing it likely will lead to his political downfall (That he also helped cause the mess seems to be strangely unaddressed). This is a much more common sort of character conflict than that of Jenna in Act 1, and also a less rewarding one, but still not an opportunity to be treated as briefly as the script does, essentially referencing the situation for about 90 seconds before moving on, leaving this as another lost chance (Man, these both deal with internally conflicted characters. I must really sound like a Democrat right now (<--THIS IS WHY I'M NOT A POLITICAL SATIRIST)).
Now, these are more criticisms of the play itself, not the specific performance. This is because I know little of acting (Though I do know enough to know that Expectant Dads will be the greatest movie ever), and clearly much about writing, so most of what I have to say has focused on the area of my expertise. But there is one more point I am wholly unqualified to discuss, and that is the music. You see, it turns out musical theater often features music (Who knew?!). Parade is no exception to this apparently time-honored tradition. I suspect I am in the minority of the audience when I say that the songs did not really stick with me, but I also suspect I am in the minority when I go to a musical theater performance without really looking forward to the music part of the proceedings. I make no claims to being normal. There were two parts that stood out even to me, though. The first is a rather excellent drunken number performed by Andy in Act 1 as a reporter. The second, more lasting one is the decision to drop the musical accompaniment for the first couple bars of the closing refrain, with pretty much the entire cast on stage belting it out. This was an extremely striking moment, and thoroughly excellent, closing out the performance on a high note. And for a performance that hits the heights this one does, that note is a fitting way to remember it. When I think back on it, Jenna's character conflict in Act 1 brings to my mind nothing less than Dostoevsky's 'Grand Inquisitor' from The Brothers Karamazov. You're not getting praise much higher than that in these parts unless you figure out a way to reanimate DFW (No, not Dallas Fort Worth). Odds are if you're reading this you're related to me and live in Vermont, but if this is somehow not the case, get on down to Teatro Zuccone and watch a showing of Parade. And try the Two Hearted Ale. They go well together.
Showing posts with label Dinosaurs with rocket launchers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dinosaurs with rocket launchers. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Monday, August 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
V: Taking Over
Look, here's the thing. I thought this idea would be a fun lark, but it's really not working so far. While it is still fun to watch a terrible movie every now and again, it turns out writing up every single event in said movie is not really all that enjoyable (How is it to read?). So after a lot of thinking about it (Seriously. How long has it been since I wrote one of these?), I have decided to man up and admit it. If you're at all interested, right now some indeterminate Asian man is performing kung-fu in front of a pagoda. I am not. To give you the full background, here's where the idea came from. I used to live in Park Slope, a nice neighborhood in the oftentimes terrifying Brooklyn, New York. This area features approximately two bodegas per square foot, which presumably decreases profitability significantly. So to compensate for this, one of the bodegas on the way to the subway evidently rented out their window as advertising for Dragon Wars, with a poster featuring two dragons (Which are Chinese dragons, meaning they really just look like oversized snakes. Lame) snarling at each other over the ruins of a city. Needless to say, this made me rather excited. And when the movie came out, my fellow awful film afficionado Robert Fliegel (Hereafter referred to as Bob. Because that is what he goes by) took the initiative to both rent this cinematic masterwork and invite myself and Sir Nicholas Managanananananan, along with our significant others, over for a night of Masterpiece Theater and Malt Beverages (By the way, the next time we are in the same city, the film of choice is going to be Outlander, a movie about a man from outer space whose spaceship crashes in 8th century Norway. He then has to team up with Vikings to fight a monster that escapes from the ship. I am excited). About halfway through the film, two of the others retired to any room in the apartment not showing Dragon Wars, with only the Official Girlfriend sticking it out for the fair sex. Afterward, she mentioned how bad the movie was. Now, I clearly had to defend its honor, so I countered her false accusation with the demonstrably true statement that it was, in fact, the best movie ever made. And, barring occasional references to it in the months that followed, I figured that would be just about the end of that.
And then she bought the movie for me as a Christmas gift.
Now what was I to do? What started as a bit of a laugh on Terrible Movie Night had turned into a game of one-upsmanship, a game which she evidently had mastered on the sly without telling me. So I began this series of blog posts as an attempt to raise the stakes even higher, but sadly it looks like this is one game I'm going to lose. So I guess I might as well tell her and oh my god, that's a dinosaur with a rocket launcher. I cannot even begin to tell you how awesome this is. The time-honored 'Period after each word' strategy does not even begin to do it justice. G.r.e.a.t.e.s.t. i.d.e.a. e.v.e.r. Think of the most awesome thing you can possibly think of. Now think of that thing getting blown up by a dinosaur wielding a rocket launcher. Not that I am necessarily calling the rest of this film the greatest thing ever (Though it's certainly moving in that direction now), but that is a reasonable approximation of what is happening on the television at the moment. In a movie as uninspired as this one, where did this genius come from? Well, let's start at the beginning.
Much as there are 55 dramatic situations usable by authors the world over, for years there have been attempts to precisely codify the possible animal-weapon combinations. As with most things, this began with Miguel Cervantes, who introduced the world to the concept by arming a horse with a lance-wielding buffoon in Don Quixote. And while this was certainly a ground-breaking beginning, there was clearly work to be done. This would be continued by Thomas Jefferson, who, in an attempt to better protect the populace, gave all Americans the right to an armed bear (Congress, feeling this could be dangerous, changed bear to buffalo, something that completely fails to help people now that the species has dwindled). Henry David Thoreau chimed in with Turtle Chainsaw Massacre, a book whose title he changed to Walden upon having it pointed out to him that it was unclear whether the turtles were the massacrers or the massacrees (It was the first). But scholars generally agree that the definitive work on the subject was provided by Carolyn Keene (Who knew? (Also, I'm not going to say who she is. You have Google. Look her up)) in 1951, when she officially submitted two lists to the world for consideration:
Finally, writers everywhere knew what options they had. By combining an entry from column one with one from column two, every possible animal-weapon combination was literally on the tip of their pen, waiting to be brought to life for consumption by the masses. And while I mean no disservice to Carolyn, one of these combinations is clearly better than the rest, as measured in sheer awesomeness. And it is sitting on the TV screen in front of me. And thus I shall boldly press on. Bravo, Dragon Wars. Bravo.
And then she bought the movie for me as a Christmas gift.
Now what was I to do? What started as a bit of a laugh on Terrible Movie Night had turned into a game of one-upsmanship, a game which she evidently had mastered on the sly without telling me. So I began this series of blog posts as an attempt to raise the stakes even higher, but sadly it looks like this is one game I'm going to lose. So I guess I might as well tell her and oh my god, that's a dinosaur with a rocket launcher. I cannot even begin to tell you how awesome this is. The time-honored 'Period after each word' strategy does not even begin to do it justice. G.r.e.a.t.e.s.t. i.d.e.a. e.v.e.r. Think of the most awesome thing you can possibly think of. Now think of that thing getting blown up by a dinosaur wielding a rocket launcher. Not that I am necessarily calling the rest of this film the greatest thing ever (Though it's certainly moving in that direction now), but that is a reasonable approximation of what is happening on the television at the moment. In a movie as uninspired as this one, where did this genius come from? Well, let's start at the beginning.
Much as there are 55 dramatic situations usable by authors the world over, for years there have been attempts to precisely codify the possible animal-weapon combinations. As with most things, this began with Miguel Cervantes, who introduced the world to the concept by arming a horse with a lance-wielding buffoon in Don Quixote. And while this was certainly a ground-breaking beginning, there was clearly work to be done. This would be continued by Thomas Jefferson, who, in an attempt to better protect the populace, gave all Americans the right to an armed bear (Congress, feeling this could be dangerous, changed bear to buffalo, something that completely fails to help people now that the species has dwindled). Henry David Thoreau chimed in with Turtle Chainsaw Massacre, a book whose title he changed to Walden upon having it pointed out to him that it was unclear whether the turtles were the massacrers or the massacrees (It was the first). But scholars generally agree that the definitive work on the subject was provided by Carolyn Keene (Who knew? (Also, I'm not going to say who she is. You have Google. Look her up)) in 1951, when she officially submitted two lists to the world for consideration:
Finally, writers everywhere knew what options they had. By combining an entry from column one with one from column two, every possible animal-weapon combination was literally on the tip of their pen, waiting to be brought to life for consumption by the masses. And while I mean no disservice to Carolyn, one of these combinations is clearly better than the rest, as measured in sheer awesomeness. And it is sitting on the TV screen in front of me. And thus I shall boldly press on. Bravo, Dragon Wars. Bravo.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Finale (Not of this blog)
So tomorrow is moving day. Unfortunately, no one wants to live in our (Myself and the Official Girlfriend. Not multiple personalities. This time) crazily-priced apartment, meaning I will have to come back here to work for the month of May so that we (same) don't go bankrupt. Suck. Anyway, the original plan had Friday being my final day, so I decided to go out with a flourish. Said flourish is presented below, with no changes. So if it sounds like you personally are not the target audience at any point, rest assured that this is true.
Here we go.
I like to think of myself as a kind and benevolent person (I suspect this is hardly a unique thing on my part. Guerilla rebel leaders/dictators aside, most people probably don't like to think of themself as someone willing to crush anyone in their way to get what they desire. Unless, of course, that person is on a reality television program). And a large part of this can be shown by my desire to leave behind something better than what I found when I arrived. As I am moving Sunday, I have spent a good amount of the week pondering this problem, and I have come up with a plan which I would like to lay out here. As all of you know, Macy's is in something of a transitional phase at the moment, as the company reshapes itself to respond to the changing environments of both the workplace and the market, with the changes occurring primarily being motivated by the age-old desire to maximize profits while minimizing costs, the very core of business philosophy (At least as far as I know. I'm a history major with an english minor). In an attempt to improve the company's success, I have come up with a two-part plan that will help Macy's thrive on into the forseeable future; perhaps in time achieving global market dominance, depending on how they implement it. I now will lay this plan out to you chosen few, my sounding board.
1: Fire all security personnel. This is a regrettable reduction in workforce, but unfortunately it must be done to implement the following step.
2: Replace them with dinosaurs with rocket launchers.
The benefits of this are apparent to all of you, I am sure, first and foremost being that it would be COMPLETELY AWESOME. If you think Macy's is a must-see location now, imagine when it has a rocket launcher-wielding T-Rex inside. Kids love dinosaurs, and they will be lining up to visit Macy's once this happens. What's that little Billy? Mom's going shopping and dreading every moment of it because of how you behave once you enter the store with her? Well, no one blames you for that. After all, shopping is boring. Or at least it used to be. But today, Mom's taking you to Macy's. Wouldn't that make a great commercial? Maybe I should send this to the advertising department too. One of the major problems faced by any retail operation is a reduction in profits due to theft. Or at least that is a problem anywhere else. Not at Macy's with the new security force. Do you want to explain to the T-Rex how that pair of sunglasses ended up in your pocket? I don't think so. And those people who come inside just to browse and then leave without buying anything? Simply put, they have no value to the company. But imagine them trying to leave without a Macy's bag in their hands as the Velociraptor at the door hisses at them, rocket launcher strapped to his back. I think they'll be making a purchase. This would send company profits through the roof.
Now I know there will be naysayers out there, making criticisms like 'Dinosaurs don't, technically, exist' or 'The dinosaurs will eat the customers'. To these people I say that those who can't do become critics, and have no value to our society. But soon they will. As to the first criticism, it may very well be true that dinosaurs do not exist, or it may be true (As has been posited) that they just hide really well. Either way, I am not a scientist. I am an idea man. Let the scientists get the dinosaurs ready for us. And as to the second one, the dinosaurs won't think to eat the customers (Probably. Maybe we should ask a scientist just to be sure) if they're not hungry. So, to keep them well-fed, we'll let them eat the aforementioned critics. It'll be a perfect, utopian, dinosaurs-with-rocket-launchers led department store of the future! As someone who saw the first 20 minutes of Jurassic Park, I am absolutely certain that nothing can go wrong here. I don't know if it counts as insider trading or not (Again, the history/english thing), but I would advise buying Macy's stock now, because as soon as the first wave of dinosaurs hits the main floor, that stock is going through the roof. And then, both as a company and as individuals, our future will be so bright that we'll have to wear rocket-proof shields.
Here we go.
I like to think of myself as a kind and benevolent person (I suspect this is hardly a unique thing on my part. Guerilla rebel leaders/dictators aside, most people probably don't like to think of themself as someone willing to crush anyone in their way to get what they desire. Unless, of course, that person is on a reality television program). And a large part of this can be shown by my desire to leave behind something better than what I found when I arrived. As I am moving Sunday, I have spent a good amount of the week pondering this problem, and I have come up with a plan which I would like to lay out here. As all of you know, Macy's is in something of a transitional phase at the moment, as the company reshapes itself to respond to the changing environments of both the workplace and the market, with the changes occurring primarily being motivated by the age-old desire to maximize profits while minimizing costs, the very core of business philosophy (At least as far as I know. I'm a history major with an english minor). In an attempt to improve the company's success, I have come up with a two-part plan that will help Macy's thrive on into the forseeable future; perhaps in time achieving global market dominance, depending on how they implement it. I now will lay this plan out to you chosen few, my sounding board.
1: Fire all security personnel. This is a regrettable reduction in workforce, but unfortunately it must be done to implement the following step.
2: Replace them with dinosaurs with rocket launchers.
The benefits of this are apparent to all of you, I am sure, first and foremost being that it would be COMPLETELY AWESOME. If you think Macy's is a must-see location now, imagine when it has a rocket launcher-wielding T-Rex inside. Kids love dinosaurs, and they will be lining up to visit Macy's once this happens. What's that little Billy? Mom's going shopping and dreading every moment of it because of how you behave once you enter the store with her? Well, no one blames you for that. After all, shopping is boring. Or at least it used to be. But today, Mom's taking you to Macy's. Wouldn't that make a great commercial? Maybe I should send this to the advertising department too. One of the major problems faced by any retail operation is a reduction in profits due to theft. Or at least that is a problem anywhere else. Not at Macy's with the new security force. Do you want to explain to the T-Rex how that pair of sunglasses ended up in your pocket? I don't think so. And those people who come inside just to browse and then leave without buying anything? Simply put, they have no value to the company. But imagine them trying to leave without a Macy's bag in their hands as the Velociraptor at the door hisses at them, rocket launcher strapped to his back. I think they'll be making a purchase. This would send company profits through the roof.
Now I know there will be naysayers out there, making criticisms like 'Dinosaurs don't, technically, exist' or 'The dinosaurs will eat the customers'. To these people I say that those who can't do become critics, and have no value to our society. But soon they will. As to the first criticism, it may very well be true that dinosaurs do not exist, or it may be true (As has been posited) that they just hide really well. Either way, I am not a scientist. I am an idea man. Let the scientists get the dinosaurs ready for us. And as to the second one, the dinosaurs won't think to eat the customers (Probably. Maybe we should ask a scientist just to be sure) if they're not hungry. So, to keep them well-fed, we'll let them eat the aforementioned critics. It'll be a perfect, utopian, dinosaurs-with-rocket-launchers led department store of the future! As someone who saw the first 20 minutes of Jurassic Park, I am absolutely certain that nothing can go wrong here. I don't know if it counts as insider trading or not (Again, the history/english thing), but I would advise buying Macy's stock now, because as soon as the first wave of dinosaurs hits the main floor, that stock is going through the roof. And then, both as a company and as individuals, our future will be so bright that we'll have to wear rocket-proof shields.
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