Go forward, move ahead.
Despite the late hour and the green fairy that accompanied me home last night, I didn't forget that it was Devo savings time. I sprung forward.
But today's always such a funky day for me adjusting to it. I woke up lamenting having gotten tickets to a play, worried about using up precious daylight hours inside on a warm day when I realized that there'd still be plenty of sun after the curtain came down.
I almost (gasp!) forgot to eat lunch before leaving for HATTheatre because I wasn't hungry yet. Who knows how long I'll be up tonight waiting to be tired? Come on, Congress, stop the madness and pass the bills currently in both houses to end this nonsense.
But given the overnight clock change, it was nice to arrive at the theater and find that my seat for "Every Brilliant Thing" was an overstuffed armchair rather than a standard theater seat. I wasn't the only one, of course, because the set was made to look like a living room, with tables, lamps and the occasional love seat.
On the table next to me was a lamp with a pleated fabric shade and an open large print crossword puzzle with a pen sitting atop it. I wasn't going to start the crossword puzzle (really, I wasn't) but I spotted #49 down's clue - "plant that treats burns" - and how was I not going to write "aloe" in those four little boxes?
I was still scribbling answers when Chris Hester, star of the one-man play, came over and asked me to take two cards, both with a number and a phrase on them. My only job was to take note of the numbers and read off the words when he said that number.
#213: hammocks
#753: ham biscuits
It's almost like acting, right?
Obviously, I wasn't the only one handed cards to read. In fact, some playgoers were tapped to actually interact with Chris onstage. One guy played the vet to whom he took his childhood dog Paws McCartney (possibly the best dog name ever) and another played his Dad, driving him to the hospital and speaking at his wedding.
The woman closest to me played Mrs. Patterson, the guidance counselor who met with him regularly after his Mom's first hospitalization for depression and attempted suicide. Using her shoe for a puppet named Snoopy, she encouraged him to work through his feelings.
It's imagination that makes life worth living.
Retelling his life story from his earliest memories, Chris' character deals with his Mom's mental illness while navigating the world as he grows up. When he finally falls for a girl at the library, he has an epiphany. "Suddenly the lyrics to pop songs made sense to me."
Oh, good, so it wasn't just me.
Throughout the course of the play, his character works on an ongoing list of every brilliant thing, every reason a person should want to live, occasionally showing it to his Mom in hopes it'll remind her of why staying alive is worth it.
Instead, she corrects his spelling.
#186: conversation
#9,995: falling in love
#9,996: sex
#10,000: waking up late with the person you love
It's a sound list that begins with ice cream, moves through stripes and alcohol and touches on a host of life-affirming reasons such as seeing old people holding hands. With age and time, his character realizes that, if you get to the end of your life without ever feeling crushingly depressed, you probably weren't paying attention.
Can I get an amen?
The object of Chris' affection was Sam, played by a woman playgoer seated in an armchair near the door, whom he meets at the library. In an anecdote he relates about spending time with her and his parents, he recalls how she tore them all up by singing Daniel Johnston's "Some Things Last a Long Time" while playing the piano in the kitchen of their house.
Finally, after years of emotional setbacks and long periods where he ignored the list, Chris gets to the one millionth entry: listening to a record for the first time and reading the liner notes. A singular pleasure if ever there was one.
The choice of the multi-watt talented Chris Hester drove the energy of the play, imbuing it with a believability and sensitivity that was truly touching. Whether unsure about why his Mom was so sad or ecstatic about finally meeting a woman to whom he could make reading recommendations, the audiences' hearts and heads were rooting for him.
And at just over an hour, I barely gave up any afternoon sun at all. Walking outside after we'd given him a standing ovation, people milled around chatting, just for the pleasure of enjoying the warmth. My only regret was being alone with no one to share #186 with today.
And I don't care how much imagination you have, no ham biscuit on the planet can take the place of #10,000. That's why they don't write pop songs about ham biscuits.
Showing posts with label chris hester. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chris hester. Show all posts
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Friday, July 14, 2017
A Burden Every Woman Shares
Are all men freaks? Discuss.
Before that became the evening's theme, I played chauffeur and picked Pru up from her manse in Church Hill, where we promptly drove to the Roosevelt for dinner before the heat wilted our enthusiasm.
When asked to pick our poison, we both chose Early Mountain Vineyards Rose (bartender T: "Because it's Summer!") while I regaled Pru and the barkeep with tales from my recent outing to King Family Winery.
Wine on wheels, what's not to like?
Dinner was putty in Summer's hands, with a mixed melon salad with blueberries, bacon and basil under a blanket of burrata, a yellow tomato gazpacho with lump crabmeat, mussels with grilled bread and a special of octopus salad with tomatoes and white anchovies.
The only way it could have been better is if we'd eaten it on a seaside patio and, as far as we knew, no one was offering us that tonight.
When we weren't stuffing our faces (or ruing the continuous stream of people allowing the air conditioning to escape by leaving the door open), Pru and I were waist-deep in girltalk, which is to say I was sharing the glorious improvements in my personal life while she was reminding me how long she's been waiting for me to get a clue.
"I never had your patience," she told me, stating the obvious. It's not a virtue I'm proud of.
We passed on dessert for more Rose before heading down the hill and back up it to the Basement's cool depths for a play about that magical place between heaven and hell: New Jersey.
That's right, tonight was a night for livin' on a prayer.
Taking seats in the second row, we were soon joined by a favorite actor and his companion for the evening and the conversation flowed like we were old friends. And perhaps all theater lovers are. Discussion immediately followed on who'd seen the original 1984 movie "The Toxic Avenger," on which tonight's musical was based.
Well, certainly not me, but naturally Pru (the film omnivore) had, although she couldn't recall a lot about it. As we discussed, that has a lot to do with her coming of age in the '80s and having been a bit too busy living life to make many mental notes.
Once we noticed that it was all '80s music playing, the actor's friend shared that she'd seen REM for $5 at the Metro back in 1982 (the best I could do was REM at the Mosque in '87), as well as the Ramones, although that ticket price escaped her now.
Don't sweat it, honey, a lot about the '80s escapes those of us who lived through those days.
I suppose it's possible that I could have enjoyed "The Toxic Avenger" more than I did, although it would probably have required someone rubbing my neck and shoulders throughout the entire play - including intermission - to do so. It was that well executed and that much fun.
You're like Mother Theresa, if she was blind and hot.
Although I knew not a thing about the film, I was proud to say I'd seen several Troma films during last year's Troma series at Gallery 5, so I knew to expect the Troma tropes: nudity, horror, severed body parts, high camp and hilarity.
He's gonna jump my bones tomorrow at brunch.
The five-actor cast had the acting and singing skills of ten, whether it was Alexander Sapp as the lovesick environmentalist Melvin (or Toxie himself, with one eyeball perpetually dangling from its socket) or the incomparable Debra Waogoner as both mayor and Melvin's Mom, belting out songs to the rafters, oozing evil or baring her beautiful breasts.
When your face looks deranged, it's hard to get laid.
And don't get me started on the sheer range of Chris Hester as White Dude and William Anderson as Black Dude, who had more costume (and shoe!) changes than Cher. The two of them managed to convey menacing, coy, fey, simple-minded and just about every other type known to wo/man through a string of wig-wearing characters that left the audience in stitches.
So. Much. Cross-dressing.
Love isn't loud at all, it's soft and kind.
Rachel Rose Gilmour won everyone over when she arrived onstage as the stereotypical (and shallow) Jersey girl, complete with low-cut blouse, overly short skirt and a red glitter nail file. Oh, yes, and a probing cane because she was blind, always staring off into the middle distance, a feat unto itself.
If blind people can't love ugly people, who will?
The cast even tossed a bone to theater nerds in attendance when Toxie opened his mouth to roar and the sound didn't match his open mouth. "You ruined it, Joey Luck!" Toxie cried, referencing the much-awarded sound designer in the booth.
The roar that came up instead was laughter from every theater regular in the room.
The beauty of the play was that besides intestines, spleens and ripped off legs, "The Toxic Avenger" was a love story even if it did take place in New Jersey and, as with all good love stories, there were older, wiser women sharing their hard-earned lessons with young Sarah, the blind librarian.
It's been true since the dawn of time
From the Romans to the Greeks
Honey, face it, all mean are freaks,
Sweetheart, face it, all men are freaks
Find kindness in your female heart
No need to act superior
Men need lots of therapy
Cause they were born inferior
That's wisdom for the ages right there. That it was sung by a mother, a blind girl and two cross-dressing men only proves its universality.
This wise woman is here to tell you that there's nothing wrong with finding kindness in your heart and offering a little therapy.
Let's just say what happens at brunch should stay at brunch.
Before that became the evening's theme, I played chauffeur and picked Pru up from her manse in Church Hill, where we promptly drove to the Roosevelt for dinner before the heat wilted our enthusiasm.
When asked to pick our poison, we both chose Early Mountain Vineyards Rose (bartender T: "Because it's Summer!") while I regaled Pru and the barkeep with tales from my recent outing to King Family Winery.
Wine on wheels, what's not to like?
Dinner was putty in Summer's hands, with a mixed melon salad with blueberries, bacon and basil under a blanket of burrata, a yellow tomato gazpacho with lump crabmeat, mussels with grilled bread and a special of octopus salad with tomatoes and white anchovies.
The only way it could have been better is if we'd eaten it on a seaside patio and, as far as we knew, no one was offering us that tonight.
When we weren't stuffing our faces (or ruing the continuous stream of people allowing the air conditioning to escape by leaving the door open), Pru and I were waist-deep in girltalk, which is to say I was sharing the glorious improvements in my personal life while she was reminding me how long she's been waiting for me to get a clue.
"I never had your patience," she told me, stating the obvious. It's not a virtue I'm proud of.
We passed on dessert for more Rose before heading down the hill and back up it to the Basement's cool depths for a play about that magical place between heaven and hell: New Jersey.
That's right, tonight was a night for livin' on a prayer.
Taking seats in the second row, we were soon joined by a favorite actor and his companion for the evening and the conversation flowed like we were old friends. And perhaps all theater lovers are. Discussion immediately followed on who'd seen the original 1984 movie "The Toxic Avenger," on which tonight's musical was based.
Well, certainly not me, but naturally Pru (the film omnivore) had, although she couldn't recall a lot about it. As we discussed, that has a lot to do with her coming of age in the '80s and having been a bit too busy living life to make many mental notes.
Once we noticed that it was all '80s music playing, the actor's friend shared that she'd seen REM for $5 at the Metro back in 1982 (the best I could do was REM at the Mosque in '87), as well as the Ramones, although that ticket price escaped her now.
Don't sweat it, honey, a lot about the '80s escapes those of us who lived through those days.
I suppose it's possible that I could have enjoyed "The Toxic Avenger" more than I did, although it would probably have required someone rubbing my neck and shoulders throughout the entire play - including intermission - to do so. It was that well executed and that much fun.
You're like Mother Theresa, if she was blind and hot.
Although I knew not a thing about the film, I was proud to say I'd seen several Troma films during last year's Troma series at Gallery 5, so I knew to expect the Troma tropes: nudity, horror, severed body parts, high camp and hilarity.
He's gonna jump my bones tomorrow at brunch.
The five-actor cast had the acting and singing skills of ten, whether it was Alexander Sapp as the lovesick environmentalist Melvin (or Toxie himself, with one eyeball perpetually dangling from its socket) or the incomparable Debra Waogoner as both mayor and Melvin's Mom, belting out songs to the rafters, oozing evil or baring her beautiful breasts.
When your face looks deranged, it's hard to get laid.
And don't get me started on the sheer range of Chris Hester as White Dude and William Anderson as Black Dude, who had more costume (and shoe!) changes than Cher. The two of them managed to convey menacing, coy, fey, simple-minded and just about every other type known to wo/man through a string of wig-wearing characters that left the audience in stitches.
So. Much. Cross-dressing.
Love isn't loud at all, it's soft and kind.
Rachel Rose Gilmour won everyone over when she arrived onstage as the stereotypical (and shallow) Jersey girl, complete with low-cut blouse, overly short skirt and a red glitter nail file. Oh, yes, and a probing cane because she was blind, always staring off into the middle distance, a feat unto itself.
If blind people can't love ugly people, who will?
The cast even tossed a bone to theater nerds in attendance when Toxie opened his mouth to roar and the sound didn't match his open mouth. "You ruined it, Joey Luck!" Toxie cried, referencing the much-awarded sound designer in the booth.
The roar that came up instead was laughter from every theater regular in the room.
The beauty of the play was that besides intestines, spleens and ripped off legs, "The Toxic Avenger" was a love story even if it did take place in New Jersey and, as with all good love stories, there were older, wiser women sharing their hard-earned lessons with young Sarah, the blind librarian.
It's been true since the dawn of time
From the Romans to the Greeks
Honey, face it, all mean are freaks,
Sweetheart, face it, all men are freaks
Find kindness in your female heart
No need to act superior
Men need lots of therapy
Cause they were born inferior
That's wisdom for the ages right there. That it was sung by a mother, a blind girl and two cross-dressing men only proves its universality.
This wise woman is here to tell you that there's nothing wrong with finding kindness in your heart and offering a little therapy.
Let's just say what happens at brunch should stay at brunch.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
I'd Rather Leave When I'm in Love
After being away so much the past few weeks, it was time to buckle down and we know what that means.
Massive intakes of food and theater.
My partner in crime was the lovely Mac, who'd cheated on me while I was away by walking with a 5'9" co-worker who complained about her fast pace.
Eager to be clear, Mac explained that she and I usually go even faster on our walks. "You must be running," her co-worker presumed. Nope, despite my diminutive 5'5" and Mac's even shorter stature, that's just our pace.
Keep up if you can.
Once we'd done the plenty tasty work of my hired mouth, we directed our attention to Richmond Triangle Players' production of "The Boy from Oz," a musical about Australian songwriter and performer (not to mention Oscar winner for the theme from "Arthur"), Peter Allen.
I won't claim to have known lots about the man beyond him being a songwriter ("I Honestly Love You," "I Go to Rio") and Liza Minnelli's first husband, but, please, doesn't that alone qualify him for dissection under the musical theater microscope?
Richmond Triangle Players has brilliantly cast Chris Hester as Allen, thus ensuring the audience will be dazzled by his myriad skill sets from a spot-on Australian accent to effortless-looking and impressive singing and dancing chops.
Looking fine in a t-shirt doesn't hurt, either, as any man or woman in the audience could have attested.
His performance alone could have carried the show, but the uncanny likeness of Grey Garrett as a '60s Judy Garland and Anna Grey Hogan as a budding "Liza with a Z" - both in looks, movement and singing - ensured that a play many of us had never heard of would be completely memorable.
Personally, I'm partial to plays where characters sing an ode to my people, the snappy "Only an Older Woman," in this case, acknowledging the wealth of life experience Judy can bring to up and coming performers.
You need an older woman to teach you
One who is barely reaching her prime
Who thinks you're fun, not someone to preach to
What do you say? Let's have a good time
Cause with an older woman
Nothing you do is a crime
Almost as good were costumes that evoked Garland's '60s style, Liza's budding "look" and Allen's trademark flashiness (think Hawaiian shirts and shiny silver loafers), but I'd also credit the fabulous falls the women in the ensemble wore (so very mod London-era) for nailing the little details.
Not only did we both have nothing but raves for the play afterwards (duh, the play's run wasn't extended for nothing), it also had had the best possible effect on us. Now we're both dying to read a biography of Peter Allen's oh-so interesting life, followed by a Liza bio so we can see where the stories overlap.
Mac even wants to read Garland's story, but I've read a couple versions so I already know it's pretty tragic.
But isn't that what well-executed theater does to its audience? Entertains but also engages to the point of informing, maybe even inspiring some post-show learning?
You know, like in school, except with glitter and jazz hands and no pesky grades at the end.
And even if there were, older women grade on a curve.
Only one who's been round the block
Can give you the ride that you need...
Massive intakes of food and theater.
My partner in crime was the lovely Mac, who'd cheated on me while I was away by walking with a 5'9" co-worker who complained about her fast pace.
Eager to be clear, Mac explained that she and I usually go even faster on our walks. "You must be running," her co-worker presumed. Nope, despite my diminutive 5'5" and Mac's even shorter stature, that's just our pace.
Keep up if you can.
Once we'd done the plenty tasty work of my hired mouth, we directed our attention to Richmond Triangle Players' production of "The Boy from Oz," a musical about Australian songwriter and performer (not to mention Oscar winner for the theme from "Arthur"), Peter Allen.
I won't claim to have known lots about the man beyond him being a songwriter ("I Honestly Love You," "I Go to Rio") and Liza Minnelli's first husband, but, please, doesn't that alone qualify him for dissection under the musical theater microscope?
Richmond Triangle Players has brilliantly cast Chris Hester as Allen, thus ensuring the audience will be dazzled by his myriad skill sets from a spot-on Australian accent to effortless-looking and impressive singing and dancing chops.
Looking fine in a t-shirt doesn't hurt, either, as any man or woman in the audience could have attested.
His performance alone could have carried the show, but the uncanny likeness of Grey Garrett as a '60s Judy Garland and Anna Grey Hogan as a budding "Liza with a Z" - both in looks, movement and singing - ensured that a play many of us had never heard of would be completely memorable.
Personally, I'm partial to plays where characters sing an ode to my people, the snappy "Only an Older Woman," in this case, acknowledging the wealth of life experience Judy can bring to up and coming performers.
You need an older woman to teach you
One who is barely reaching her prime
Who thinks you're fun, not someone to preach to
What do you say? Let's have a good time
Cause with an older woman
Nothing you do is a crime
Almost as good were costumes that evoked Garland's '60s style, Liza's budding "look" and Allen's trademark flashiness (think Hawaiian shirts and shiny silver loafers), but I'd also credit the fabulous falls the women in the ensemble wore (so very mod London-era) for nailing the little details.
Not only did we both have nothing but raves for the play afterwards (duh, the play's run wasn't extended for nothing), it also had had the best possible effect on us. Now we're both dying to read a biography of Peter Allen's oh-so interesting life, followed by a Liza bio so we can see where the stories overlap.
Mac even wants to read Garland's story, but I've read a couple versions so I already know it's pretty tragic.
But isn't that what well-executed theater does to its audience? Entertains but also engages to the point of informing, maybe even inspiring some post-show learning?
You know, like in school, except with glitter and jazz hands and no pesky grades at the end.
And even if there were, older women grade on a curve.
Only one who's been round the block
Can give you the ride that you need...
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Come Taste the Wine, Come Hear the Band
Sometimes my cultural gaps are so glaring even my friends are shocked. So what?
Until tonight, I'd never seen "Cabaret." Not the movie, not a theatrical production, nothing. And I've been a theater-goer since I was a teen.
So thank you, Richmond Triangle Players, for mounting a production so compelling I feel like I didn't need to see it until now.
When Pru had e-mailed me asking if I wanted to go, I'd responded with something only slightly more articulate than "duh," so we two ladies had met at Garnett's for dinner beforehand.
Random conversation revealed that we'd both been wildly complimented about our hair, of all things, within the past few days. We agreed that was perfectly marvelous.
Arriving at RTP to find our seats were in the front row, Pru insisted I take the seat next to the part of the stage that extended out "because this is your first time seeing Cabaret."
Besides, she knows I like to see the actors spit and admitted she'd rather it landed on me than her. What would you do?
As we sat there chatting while the band played "Mack the Knife," actors began coming out on stage, talking, posing, prancing and laughing with each other.
At one point, one of the actors called out to the audience, "$2 for a spank" and when no one ponied up, dropped to 50 cents to slap the firm young buttocks of the actor being held in place.
Then, from the moment Chris Hester - in lipstick and eye makeup, his junk outlined with suspenders - came onstage as the Emcee, not just inhabiting but owning the character, I was lost in a story I didn't know acted by an exceptionally strong cast who gave no sign that it was preview night given their assured performances.
Even the set impressed with the band on the back-most, top tier, a middle level where often the Kit Kat girls or boys lounged, danced or sang and the main stage inches from our faces where I could see the body glitter and sweat dripping.
And don't tell Mama, but who doesn't enjoy scantily-clad women? Men in skin-tight pants? Simulated sex of every variation? Bodies bent in supplication?
Of course, it didn't hurt that the score is fabulous, so sweet songs such as "Married" masterfully sung by Jeanie Rule and Doug Schneider as the courting older couple tugged at the heartstrings while emotional blockbusters such as "Maybe This Time" had the audience calling out, "Belt it, girl!" to Nicole Foret-Obertleitner as Sally Bowles.
One of the unintended funniest moments came at the beginning of the second act when the emcee came out and asked for a girl to dance with him.
The first volunteer was a tipsy woman sitting behind us who'd kept up a running commentary the entire first act to the point that during intermission, the guy sitting next to her had told her date he needed to keep her quiet or he was going to do it (she was off getting more cocktails).
But she was the chosen one and after stumbling up the large step onto the stage, began dancing with the Emcee.
He asked her name and she said Helen. When he asked her where she was from, she answered, "Really?" and he said yes, really.
West Virginia, she shared. "Are you inbred?" the Emcee asked to raucous outbursts of laughter. There was really nothing funnier he could have ad-libbed at that moment.
I was unprepared for how dark the second act was as the realities of the Nazis taking power affected so many of the characters' lives for the worse, but it was the kind of potent reminder of history not to be forgotten that good theater sometimes offers up.
We left RTP blown away by the caliber of theater we'd just witnessed. And if it was this strong on preview night, imagine how incredible it will get with each night's repetition.
It couldn't please me more to experience theater this strong in Richmond.
What good is sitting alone in your room?
Come hear the music play
Life is a cabaret, old chum
Come to the cabaret
If you don't, you're a fool. Or not a theater lover.
Until tonight, I'd never seen "Cabaret." Not the movie, not a theatrical production, nothing. And I've been a theater-goer since I was a teen.
So thank you, Richmond Triangle Players, for mounting a production so compelling I feel like I didn't need to see it until now.
When Pru had e-mailed me asking if I wanted to go, I'd responded with something only slightly more articulate than "duh," so we two ladies had met at Garnett's for dinner beforehand.
Random conversation revealed that we'd both been wildly complimented about our hair, of all things, within the past few days. We agreed that was perfectly marvelous.
Arriving at RTP to find our seats were in the front row, Pru insisted I take the seat next to the part of the stage that extended out "because this is your first time seeing Cabaret."
Besides, she knows I like to see the actors spit and admitted she'd rather it landed on me than her. What would you do?
As we sat there chatting while the band played "Mack the Knife," actors began coming out on stage, talking, posing, prancing and laughing with each other.
At one point, one of the actors called out to the audience, "$2 for a spank" and when no one ponied up, dropped to 50 cents to slap the firm young buttocks of the actor being held in place.
Then, from the moment Chris Hester - in lipstick and eye makeup, his junk outlined with suspenders - came onstage as the Emcee, not just inhabiting but owning the character, I was lost in a story I didn't know acted by an exceptionally strong cast who gave no sign that it was preview night given their assured performances.
Even the set impressed with the band on the back-most, top tier, a middle level where often the Kit Kat girls or boys lounged, danced or sang and the main stage inches from our faces where I could see the body glitter and sweat dripping.
And don't tell Mama, but who doesn't enjoy scantily-clad women? Men in skin-tight pants? Simulated sex of every variation? Bodies bent in supplication?
Of course, it didn't hurt that the score is fabulous, so sweet songs such as "Married" masterfully sung by Jeanie Rule and Doug Schneider as the courting older couple tugged at the heartstrings while emotional blockbusters such as "Maybe This Time" had the audience calling out, "Belt it, girl!" to Nicole Foret-Obertleitner as Sally Bowles.
One of the unintended funniest moments came at the beginning of the second act when the emcee came out and asked for a girl to dance with him.
The first volunteer was a tipsy woman sitting behind us who'd kept up a running commentary the entire first act to the point that during intermission, the guy sitting next to her had told her date he needed to keep her quiet or he was going to do it (she was off getting more cocktails).
But she was the chosen one and after stumbling up the large step onto the stage, began dancing with the Emcee.
He asked her name and she said Helen. When he asked her where she was from, she answered, "Really?" and he said yes, really.
West Virginia, she shared. "Are you inbred?" the Emcee asked to raucous outbursts of laughter. There was really nothing funnier he could have ad-libbed at that moment.
I was unprepared for how dark the second act was as the realities of the Nazis taking power affected so many of the characters' lives for the worse, but it was the kind of potent reminder of history not to be forgotten that good theater sometimes offers up.
We left RTP blown away by the caliber of theater we'd just witnessed. And if it was this strong on preview night, imagine how incredible it will get with each night's repetition.
It couldn't please me more to experience theater this strong in Richmond.
What good is sitting alone in your room?
Come hear the music play
Life is a cabaret, old chum
Come to the cabaret
If you don't, you're a fool. Or not a theater lover.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Crab and Camp Jingle
It was the borrowed boyfriend redux.
I made it home from a foggy day at the river with just enough time to shower off the dust and debris from another 17 trips up and down two flights of stairs to complete the tree decoration and final adorning of my parents' house.
With tight hamstrings and taut calves, I changed clothes and personas to meet a charming man who is not my own.
No, he belongs to a workaholic friend who is not the fan of theater I am, so we'd made plans for dinner and a play.
He wanted to meet at Max's on Broad, fine by me since it's mere blocks from home and I had very limited time to get properly outfitted for a night at Richmond Triangle Players.
Since neither of us had been up there, we chose the upstairs dining room to eat and were fittingly greeted by a local actor I know.
If anyone understands how to get people in and out in time to make a curtain, it was this guy.
With the balmy-like temperatures outside, I started by ordering a glass of Jean-Mauraice Raffault Chinon Rose, getting major props from the actor who said it was one of his faves, and that he'd taken a bottle of it home just last night.
All around us were other people who looked theater-bound, although the boyfriend and I agreed that in all likelihood, they were on their way to see "Fiddler on the Roof" around the corner at Virginia Rep.
As he noted, we were on the young end of the demographic and that's saying something.
We both started with the Crab Louis cocktail, a surprisingly large mound of lump crabmeat and three cocktail shrimp.
Blame my Maryland childhood, but I still get a little thrill when I see a big pile of picked crab I can just inhale without any effort on my part.
Next I had a half hanger steak salad which my date labeled as "eating healthy" but given the abundance of medium rare red meat and bleu cheese on it, I'm sure there was at least some artery-clogging going on.
The boyfriend told me about his recent trips to Ireland and Nashville and wanted to hear about my recent weekend in Washington, leading to a discussion of career servers and how the Richmond restaurant scene could use the kind of people who make service their profession and not something they do in between other jobs or pursuits.
People can dream, can't they?
Before we knew it, it was time to get to Richmond Triangle Players in Scott's Addition for "It's a Fabulous Life."
Who else would produce a play based on "It's a Wonderful Life," where the protagonist's crisis necessitates him seeing what his life would have been like if he'd been born straight?
Perish the thought, of course.
Our hero, a gay playwright, is frustrated with his latest play, a gay Christmas musical where he's stepped into the role of Randolph, the gay reindeer.
He wants to write something universal instead of all the gay-themed plays he's become known for. To that end, he's already cut "I Came Upon a Midnight Queer" from the play.
There was an explanation of the difference in a vicious queer and an evil queer (it's all in how they tell you how you look).
The crowd loved the big, musical number, "The Pole Got Hot," which ended with all the dancers in g-strings of Santa hats.
By the end of the first act, our hero Joe has done it, he's wished that he were never born gay and that's when his angel shows up.
But unlike in "Wonderful Life" where the angel comes down to help a man so he can finally get his wings, this gay angel already has his.
So why's he down helping a lost soul?
Well, the standard-issue wings are white and he doesn't want to wear white after Labor Day so he's hoping to earn some lavender wings.
"Helluva Time in Heaven!" gave us angels in gold lame briefs that allowed plenty of, um, detail and movement.
The boyfriend and I had seats in different rows, but just behind each other and during the intermission, a man came over and asked if he could sit in the empty chair next to me.
Looking at the guy on my right, he checked first, asking, "Does she bite?"
"Yes, but in a really good way," my seatmate claimed as if he knew.
"Ooooh, your tights are fab!" the newcomer said, complimenting the perennially-popular Berlin tights.
He started right in asking me if I came to RTP often, what brought me in and if I knew any of the actors in the show, so I wanted to know something about him.
A Texan here visiting, he'll be directing an upcoming show at RTP and wanted to get a feel for the stage and sight lines.
I immediately explained that as a short person, I'd missed some great dance moves by Joe and the angel because of where they were on the stage and he said he'd take that into consideration.
Always doing my part for the vertically-challenged.
The second act started with Joe dressed impossibly preppy now and singing "Great to Be Straight," admitting, "It's dull but I can't complain" and extolling the virtues of wings, titties and baseball.
Who knew those things defined the straight man?
I loved that the play was set in Richmond, so when Joe runs into a gay man from his past and they try to figure out how they knew each other, the guy assumes it's his looks.
As in, he'd been on the cover of Gay Fitness and Gay RVA. "Or maybe you saw me in Style Weekly?" he guesses, pulling an issue of Style out and flashing a picture of himself from a real issue.
Joe slowly discovers that when one thing changes, everything changes. "I don't seem to be able to dance anymore," he laments.
Just another straight guy problem.
It was some time after we heard a lovely rendition of "We Three Queens from Oregon Are" that Joe finally comes to his senses and wants his true self back, problems and all.
When his angel instructs him to close his eyes and click his heels together three times, he looks down and sees Joe is wearing loafers, the ultimate straight man embarrassment.
By the time he returns to his real life, it's time for the audience singalong to the Hawaiian-flavored "Come on A Wanna Laya Christmas."
First the gays were instructed to sing along and then the straights, who unexpectedly turned out to be louder, causing the drag queen playing Mrs. Claus (Liza Minnelli-style, of course) to express surprise at how many of us were in her midst.
It's scary, we're everywhere.
The show closed with the affirming "God Bless the Road Less Traveled By" with the characters taking the time to appreciate who they were and how they got to that place.
Like in the classic "It's a Wonderful Life," it was a reminder during the bustle of the holidays to pause and be grateful for how each of us matters to others.
I like to think that there are a number of boyfriends I mattered to, some my own, some belonging to others.
Sending him home to his beloved, at the end of the night I thanked tonight's borrowed one for several things- for not wearing loafers, for being able to dance and especially for treating me to a lovely evening.
Some boyfriends you send home, others you want to keep. Maybe even bite in a good way.
I made it home from a foggy day at the river with just enough time to shower off the dust and debris from another 17 trips up and down two flights of stairs to complete the tree decoration and final adorning of my parents' house.
With tight hamstrings and taut calves, I changed clothes and personas to meet a charming man who is not my own.
No, he belongs to a workaholic friend who is not the fan of theater I am, so we'd made plans for dinner and a play.
He wanted to meet at Max's on Broad, fine by me since it's mere blocks from home and I had very limited time to get properly outfitted for a night at Richmond Triangle Players.
Since neither of us had been up there, we chose the upstairs dining room to eat and were fittingly greeted by a local actor I know.
If anyone understands how to get people in and out in time to make a curtain, it was this guy.
With the balmy-like temperatures outside, I started by ordering a glass of Jean-Mauraice Raffault Chinon Rose, getting major props from the actor who said it was one of his faves, and that he'd taken a bottle of it home just last night.
All around us were other people who looked theater-bound, although the boyfriend and I agreed that in all likelihood, they were on their way to see "Fiddler on the Roof" around the corner at Virginia Rep.
As he noted, we were on the young end of the demographic and that's saying something.
We both started with the Crab Louis cocktail, a surprisingly large mound of lump crabmeat and three cocktail shrimp.
Blame my Maryland childhood, but I still get a little thrill when I see a big pile of picked crab I can just inhale without any effort on my part.
Next I had a half hanger steak salad which my date labeled as "eating healthy" but given the abundance of medium rare red meat and bleu cheese on it, I'm sure there was at least some artery-clogging going on.
The boyfriend told me about his recent trips to Ireland and Nashville and wanted to hear about my recent weekend in Washington, leading to a discussion of career servers and how the Richmond restaurant scene could use the kind of people who make service their profession and not something they do in between other jobs or pursuits.
People can dream, can't they?
Before we knew it, it was time to get to Richmond Triangle Players in Scott's Addition for "It's a Fabulous Life."
Who else would produce a play based on "It's a Wonderful Life," where the protagonist's crisis necessitates him seeing what his life would have been like if he'd been born straight?
Perish the thought, of course.
Our hero, a gay playwright, is frustrated with his latest play, a gay Christmas musical where he's stepped into the role of Randolph, the gay reindeer.
He wants to write something universal instead of all the gay-themed plays he's become known for. To that end, he's already cut "I Came Upon a Midnight Queer" from the play.
There was an explanation of the difference in a vicious queer and an evil queer (it's all in how they tell you how you look).
The crowd loved the big, musical number, "The Pole Got Hot," which ended with all the dancers in g-strings of Santa hats.
By the end of the first act, our hero Joe has done it, he's wished that he were never born gay and that's when his angel shows up.
But unlike in "Wonderful Life" where the angel comes down to help a man so he can finally get his wings, this gay angel already has his.
So why's he down helping a lost soul?
Well, the standard-issue wings are white and he doesn't want to wear white after Labor Day so he's hoping to earn some lavender wings.
"Helluva Time in Heaven!" gave us angels in gold lame briefs that allowed plenty of, um, detail and movement.
The boyfriend and I had seats in different rows, but just behind each other and during the intermission, a man came over and asked if he could sit in the empty chair next to me.
Looking at the guy on my right, he checked first, asking, "Does she bite?"
"Yes, but in a really good way," my seatmate claimed as if he knew.
"Ooooh, your tights are fab!" the newcomer said, complimenting the perennially-popular Berlin tights.
He started right in asking me if I came to RTP often, what brought me in and if I knew any of the actors in the show, so I wanted to know something about him.
A Texan here visiting, he'll be directing an upcoming show at RTP and wanted to get a feel for the stage and sight lines.
I immediately explained that as a short person, I'd missed some great dance moves by Joe and the angel because of where they were on the stage and he said he'd take that into consideration.
Always doing my part for the vertically-challenged.
The second act started with Joe dressed impossibly preppy now and singing "Great to Be Straight," admitting, "It's dull but I can't complain" and extolling the virtues of wings, titties and baseball.
Who knew those things defined the straight man?
I loved that the play was set in Richmond, so when Joe runs into a gay man from his past and they try to figure out how they knew each other, the guy assumes it's his looks.
As in, he'd been on the cover of Gay Fitness and Gay RVA. "Or maybe you saw me in Style Weekly?" he guesses, pulling an issue of Style out and flashing a picture of himself from a real issue.
Joe slowly discovers that when one thing changes, everything changes. "I don't seem to be able to dance anymore," he laments.
Just another straight guy problem.
It was some time after we heard a lovely rendition of "We Three Queens from Oregon Are" that Joe finally comes to his senses and wants his true self back, problems and all.
When his angel instructs him to close his eyes and click his heels together three times, he looks down and sees Joe is wearing loafers, the ultimate straight man embarrassment.
By the time he returns to his real life, it's time for the audience singalong to the Hawaiian-flavored "Come on A Wanna Laya Christmas."
First the gays were instructed to sing along and then the straights, who unexpectedly turned out to be louder, causing the drag queen playing Mrs. Claus (Liza Minnelli-style, of course) to express surprise at how many of us were in her midst.
It's scary, we're everywhere.
The show closed with the affirming "God Bless the Road Less Traveled By" with the characters taking the time to appreciate who they were and how they got to that place.
Like in the classic "It's a Wonderful Life," it was a reminder during the bustle of the holidays to pause and be grateful for how each of us matters to others.
I like to think that there are a number of boyfriends I mattered to, some my own, some belonging to others.
Sending him home to his beloved, at the end of the night I thanked tonight's borrowed one for several things- for not wearing loafers, for being able to dance and especially for treating me to a lovely evening.
Some boyfriends you send home, others you want to keep. Maybe even bite in a good way.
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