Theatre Terrorism

Saw a play called Terrorism on Saturday night and wrote my review of it when I got home. I was a little drinkified at the time of writing, and the following day at Earthdance when roaringly drinkified (not that I roar a hell of a lot) I couldn’t remember what I wrote in the review. Just now I opened the mag and read with trepidation, but it’s okay. I don’t think you can tell I was a little squiffed.

In the review I refer to a bonehead in the audience who went “Aaaahhh…” in two syllables when the penny dropped for him. Just thought he’d let those around him know that he knew what was going on. What the fuck is wrong with these people? We’re all watching the same play, dumbfuck. It’s not a competition to see who ‘gets it’ first. And in any case, why is it that the people who feel this need to let everyone else know they get it seem to get it so much later than everyone else?

Worse than this bonehead, though, was the guy eating something wrapped in crinkly plastic. You get these retards in movie theatres and you kind of expect it, and probably avoid movie theatres because of these people. But in a drama theatre? It just went on and on and when I looked over my shoulder and locked my death rays on him, the sorry fucker just kept on crinkling away, all of his attention taken up with the muesli bar that he was peeeeling like a banana. Slowly slowly, crinkle crinkle, munch munch. Do that shit outside, for fuck sake. And why was no one telling him to stop it? The people sitting directly next to him or behind him, it was their duty to give him grief. Bah! Humans!

At another point in the play, two of the actors get their kit off. Both were good looking and in great shape, especially her. They were doing a bedroom scene that changed in mood from sexy to playful to tense to darkly dramatic. Due to the lying down nature of the scene and the guy in front of me with the strangely conical head and wiry hair, do you think I got more than the most frustrating glimpses of the actress’s gorgeously naked body? I mean her courageous acting talent? Conehead was effectively censoring the whole scene for me. It was fine while they were standing up, but that lasted all of a minute or so, then they got into bed and a bit of bondage ensued and all I saw was Hair Of Conehead. Situation like that, you can’t exactly lean over to see or ask the guy to please change the shape of his head. I mean, this is theatre, all sophisticated and stuff. One crane of the neck and everyone is going to be thinking “Look - it’s that sweaty perv guy.”

Needless to say, The Dreaded One was greatly amused when I told her I saw bugger all of the nudey action, because she had a clear view of everything.

Anyway, it was a good play. So good I might just pop along to see it again...