Genius at work

I'm abusing this blog and posting this video for no other reason than I want you all to see it. Why? Because it's brilliant and Madeline Kahn is made of epic stuff. Also because I have nothing better to say today. And because I'm being a very prudent student of procrastination.



Enjoy...!

An analysis of thought

There are moments in life, too many perhaps, when we are forced to pause and confront our own thoughts. It may sound strange, but consider it. Of all the things we think about, how much of it actually has an impact? How much of it do we remember the next day? How much of it do we really say out loud? So many thoughts simply come and go, swift and easy.

I think the best thing about having this blog is that it's been encouraging me to gather my thoughts. Even if hardly anyone reads them and even if no one cares, it's an important exercise for me and that's why I do it. At the risk of sounding like a commercial for an emergency cleaning product, life happens fast. Not everything that happens to us is significant enough to be remembered twenty years from now, but that doesn't necessarily mean we would prefer it that way. Writing them down gives us the option to remember them if we wish.

Tonight, I had the great fortune of seeing the phenomenal Anna Deavere Smith speak at my school. The school I go to is well-known for its emphasis on diversity, among other things, and diversity was the subject of her lecture. Although lecture is hardly the correct word for it - she spent the evening doing monologues from reality, imitating perfectly those whose words she spoke, right down to the accents and mannerisms. Everyone from Studs Terkel to Margaret Mead. It was astonishing to watch, and even more astonishing to think about afterward.

When I got back to my apartment, my roommates and I had a fairly lengthy discussions about gender and sexual orientation stereotypes that made us consider and reconsider our own views. We are, all of us, guilty of automatically placing people into stereotypes, even small ones. But we don't realize it because in our minds, it's normal. We don't question, we don't think.

It's normal to assume that blondes are stupid and redheads are fiery and dynamic. It's normal to assume that gay men love musical theater and lesbians are butch. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Stereotypes are everywhere. I think some of us even stereotype ourselves.

I want to end this very jumbled and possibly pretentious post with a quote from Anna Deavere Smith, who was actually quoting Rabbi Menachim Mendel.

"The only whole heart is one is a broken one."

Why? It's that crack which lets the light in.

Zip!

I'm back in Chicago now, back to a dreaded 8:30 am class on Mondays, and back to roommates. But Saturday night, I was in New York. Funny, to think in the last three days, I've gone from Philadelphia to New York back to Philadelphia and finally to Chicago.

I spent all of six hours in New York, after taking the train up with my friend Leslie to see a show. Which, of course, is typical. Aside from the theatre scene, New York means very little to me. The show we saw was Pal Joey, currently doing a limited run at Studio 54.

My thoughts on the show are quite mixed, though more on the favorable side. Both Martha Plimpton and Stockard Channing were fantastic, despite not being known for their musical talent, and Matt Risch, the newcomer who played Joey, was fine. Now, I adore Rodgers and Hart, and of course the music was absolutely sublime - but I think the problem was more with the libretto. Much of the time, the story felt incongruous with the music, as if the music had to reach in order to seem even vaguely in context with the content of the scene. Like one of those jukebox musicals - i.e. Mamma Mia! and Crazy for You. This detracted a lot from my enjoyment of the show, but not fortunately not entirely.

I would recommend seeing it, for the performances of Martha Plimpton and Stockard Channing, and for the experience of seeing the inside of the legendary Studio 54, which truly is a sight to be seen. But the music is the heart of Pal Joey, so if you can't see it, it's no extraordinary loss. Just run out and buy the wonderful 1995 recording starring Patti LuPone, Peter Gallagher, and Bebe Neuwirth.

The next shows are my list are, hopefully, The Seafarer at Steppenwolf, the Chicago leg of the Spamalot tour with Richard Chamberlain, and Our Town at Lookingglass. And over spring break, the epic-ness that is Jane Fonda on Broadway in 33 Variations followed by Susan Sarandon and Geoffrey Rush in Exit the King. Should be a good season.

It's a joke nobody knows

My head is full. Sometimes I feel that if I think anymore, I'll explode. But then of course, I can't afford not to think. I've been thinking about politics, award season, theatre, recycling, religious abstention, my imminent return to Chicago on Sunday, and of course, the ever-childish feeling of being left out.

Last year, I went to school in Washington, D.C. before transferring to school in Chicago this year. Some of my closest friends are, predictably, still there. And thanks to the strange and addictive networking tool that is Facebook, I've been bombarded with endless tales of their Inauguration adventures. It's hard to be happy for them when you're standing just outside the circle. I'd like to stop being human, just for a moment, and be able to jump for joy with them, but I can't.

I've been thinking about the new administration and the faith I have in them. The game is on now. I've been thinking about the film industry and its annual tradition of shameless self-congratulation. It's amazing how I managed to get so wrapped up in it. I'm thinking about the integrity of the struggling theatre scene, the show I'll be seeing in New York this weekend, and the shows I'm planning to see in Chicago as soon as I return. And I've been thinking about how much I can't afford it, and how little I care. [Incidentally, I've also been thinking that more people need to come to Chicago because it's incredible. And there's my obligatory Chi-town plug.]

I go to a pretty eco-friendly school, but I've been thinking about ways I can enhance that. I hate being just one person. Then again, that's all it takes. I've been re-reading The God Delusion for the third time, and thinking about minorities and being one. I've been thinking about school, and whether I could be successful in my chosen field without it.

And most importantly, I've been thinking that LOST will finally be on in three hours, and I can escape for a little while. Oh, entertainment. How I rely on you so unreasonably.

Raising the level of debate

Inauguration is (technically) tomorrow. As if you weren't aware of this previously, did you know I do newsflashes too, courtesy of Captain Obvious?

Anyway, redirecting back on point, none of it feels real. We've been anticipating this day for eight years, most of us, and now that it's finally here it feels like some gag piece out of The Onion. Is this really happening to us? Are we really about to have a Democrat in office again? Is it really time for a black president? Finally? I can't bring myself to get excited, because it doesn't feel like something I'm living.

I'll be honest. I was a Hillary supporter. Sometimes, I feel like that's a feeling that doesn't really go away. Once a Hillary supporter, always a Hillary supporter. I didn't like Obama until Election Night, despite voting for him. And let me just mention - not being ostentatiously gung-ho about Obama in Chicago is like being a Democrat in Alabama. It just isn't done. But being at Grant Park that night, hearing that extraordinary speech, being among all that celebration, living it...it's hard not to be won over. The screaming in the streets that night - you wouldn't believe it unless you were there. I would call the whole thing a religious experience if I wasn't an atheist. But in its own way, it was.

Since that night, Obama has been all over my life. My apartment building is directly across the street from the Chicago Hilton, which is the venue from which Obama has given all of his speeches during this transition period. When he and Joe Biden announced Hillary at Secretary of State, they were all right across the street from me. Walking to class every morning, I would pass a long long of news truck boasting gigantic satellite dishes. It's impossible not to be swept up in Obamanation Fever when you're stalking his motorcade with your roommates, bonding with various Obama fans on the streets. After awhile, it consumes you, whether you like it or not.

That said, I still have my problems with Obama. He can talk the talk, but I need to see him walk the walk, which has always been my main concern with him as a candidate. But he's surrounded himself with a fantastic team, and that's the first step, so I have faith. And really, right now, faith is the best we can do, and most he can ask of us.

On Tuesday, millions of people will line up behind this man and ask him to lead us. Expect him to lead us. And, in a way, to save us. On Tuesday, the work begins.

And so, to borrow the words of the greatest leader we never had --

"Break's over."

Thanks, President Bartlet.

Last Chance Harvey

I'll make a real post soon, but I need to take a quick moment to recommend a movie currently in theatres.

Last Chance Harvey. See it. "Sublime" is really the only word I can think of to aptly describe it. It's like the Godiva chocolate of movies.

So do yourself a favor: see it, love it, pass it on. That's all.

Two Humourous Shores, One Pond

I was raised on the BBC. This is in part because my mother preferred to pretend she was British. Although this was true in heritage, she was born in Boston and therefore not of the directly British persuasion. When I was younger, I watched Casualty instead of E.R. I lived on Absolutely Fabulous, The Vicar of Dibley, Keeping Up Appearances, As Time Goes By, and more. French & Saunders was my life. American humor, at the time, was virtually lost on me. Unless of course you count Rugrats and Doug, and the occasional Kenan & Kel.

Last night, late in the evening when sleep was an elusive beast, I decided to have myself an Ab Fab marathon, beginning from the premiere episode of season one. It occurred to me as I was watching - and feel free to refute this statement if you disagree - that British comedy is just flat out funnier than American comedy.

I've been trying to discern why, both for my own knowledge and the benefit of this post, but it's still a little unclear. Maybe it's simply by default. Maybe British people think American comedy is funnier, who knows? Hell, maybe it's the accent.

Although I think it's possible that the British style is humor is a bit less crass. As Americans, we're so focused on being funny, in finding humor in odd places, while the British just seem to find humor wherever they go. Would Monty Python be as funny if it were done by Americans? Probably not. Would a show as brilliantly funny as Keeping Up Appearances be a success in the U.S.? Doubtful.

If you notice, Britcoms are exceedingly simple in terms of plot. An wildly immature mother and her stern daughter, a female vicar, an inexplicably haughty old woman and her classless sisters, a couple who reunites after forty years of leading separate lives. Simple, brilliant, and shockingly hilarious. Most episodes of Ab Fab don't have much going on in them. Often there are ten minute scenes of Edina and Saffron having an extended exchange in the kitchen, about nothing. And it's utterly hilarious. In the U.S., we don't laugh unless Jack McFarland puts on a gay spelling bee or Tracy Jordan dresses up like Thomas Jefferson. We laugh at what people do rather than what they say.

And then of course you have movies like This Is Spinal Tap, made by Americans about British people, that completely cast my theory to the wind. Damnit. Back to the drawing board.

...that's probably why he killed himself.

The initial plan was to make a post about the Golden Globes. How much Kate Winslet rocks, how much I adore Emma Thompson, how Sally Field was robbed, how Colin Farrell won something (seriously how did Colin Farrell win something?), and how Meryl Streep lost. Twice. But this has all been done to death already, I think.

So. This instead.

As a film student, folks are always asking me for film recommendations. I was on a cruise recently, and when my tablemates at dinner heard I was about this, their first remark was: "Name your top five films."

My response: "Uhhh...uhhh...well...let's see...hmm..."

Word to the wise: don't ask a film student for their favorite films. They will spontaneously combust before your very eyes. And while that would certainly be a sight to see, it's inadvisable for obvious reasons. That said, I think I'm going to start doing film recommendations here. Why? I don't know, because it's my blog and I'll do what I want! Or something.

The first film that has the honor of receiving my esteemed recommendation: The Big Chill

I recommend this film for many reasons, the first of which is it's relevant to everyone. If you have friends, it will mean something to you. And for most people, it will mean a lot. I could watch The Big Chill every single day (and go through periods when I do). I would still laugh, still cry, still be overwhelming attracted to Kevin Kline.

This movie is about people. How they change, and how they stay the same. The things that keep them alive, the things that they would die for, the things that make the in-between worthwhile. And it has some of the best one-liners in movie history. Not to mention one of the greatest ensemble casts ever assembled.

And to borrow a relatively new cliche: It's funny because it's true.

Fiddler Off the Roof

Clearly, the writers of Saturday Night Live read my thrilling post about Broadway and the economic crisis.

For those who didn't see, a hilarious sketch from last night's episode hosted by Neil Patrick Harris about the fate of Broadway:



Also, because this shouldn't be ignored: A typically pantsless Liza Minnelli makes an appearance with her best friend, Tomato.

Lastly, the following shows close today: Gypsy, All My Sons, Spamalot, and the L.A. run of Wicked.

A Tough Act to Recognize

I have always belonged to the Court of Unpopular Opinion. I'm aware that isn't a real thing, but let's make it one for the purpose of this blog.

Grey's Anatomy? Hate it. The Hills? What, are you kidding? Despise it! Harry Potter? Over it! Twilight? You know the drill.

Meryl Streep? Okay, here we go.

Last night, watching the Critics' Choice Awards, I found myself face to face with a very real fear. Is it possible, is it really and truly possible, that Meryl Streep might win yet another Oscar? Am I the only one who is just a wee bit terrified of this prospect?

Now before you start jumping down my throat, I think Meryl Streep is fantastic actress. It's hard to deny this. But is she the greatest actress of all time? ...No. It's important to mention that I don't think it's possible to determine the greatest actress of all time in general. That's like trying to determine the best sex you've ever had or the greatest voice in a generation. It cannot be accurately and definitively done. Some actresses are better than others are comedy, some at drama, some on stage, some on film. Some are subtle, some are ostentatious and in your face. There are different styles, different fortes.

The Trouble with Meryl is that her talent has become assumed by the majority of moviegoers. It is assumed her performance will be brilliant, it is assumed that any film she deigns to appear in will be brilliant. No one actually stops to judge whether or not either or those things are true. Was Mamma Mia! a good movie? Great god in heaven, no. It was a terrible movie. It was a painful and cringe-worthy movie. Was Meryl Streep good in it? No. Let's be honest here. She was not. And yet you still see her racking up Golden Globe nominations and the like. For a performance that was not in any way worthy of an award.

If I were Meryl Streep, I would be insulted by this. I would be insulted that everyone just naturally assumed I was brilliant rather than really judging and analyzing my hard work for what it is. It's almost as if she need not put any effort into it at all. Look at The Devil Wears Prada - fun movie, good performances. But to receive an Oscar nomination for something like that? It's a joke. To be nominated alongside Helen Mirren for The Queen? Laughable. When I think of the other actors who are being robbed of nominations simply because it is in vogue to nominate Meryl whenever possible, it's embarrassing. Lavishing this woman with praise has become more of a tradition than a true honor.

I hate to rant and rave, but I just think it's a shame that it's come to this. And I'm relatively certain that, if they wanted to, Meryl Streep and Oprah could take over the world.

What a world it would be.

[I should note that this post is inspired in part by Nellamity Jane, who brought it to my attention that I am not all alone in my winter of Meryl discontent. And I'd like to take a second to pimp out her fantastic blog, Rogue Valley Girl.]

A Slump Grows on Broadway

In the course of journeying through the internet - which I am in the habit of doing, something tells me you are too - it occurs to me that The Hip Thing to blog about right now is the economy.

I could dip my foot into this esoteric pond of bitching and moaning - not to be confused with the proactive pond of doing - but then the terrorists win. But since they are persuasive terrorists, I'll meet them halfway. (Possibly someone from Homeland Security will stumble upon this and I'll be on my way to Guantanamo within the hour.)

Let's talk theatre. I'm an admitted theatre junkie. Philadelphia is my homeland, though I live primarily in Chicago these days, and New York is that one and a half train hour ride I take only when there are shows to be seen. I've never been to the Statue of Liberty, I have little interest in Central Park, and the Empire State Building is just that skyscraper I catch a glimpse of on my way from 42nd Street to Penn Station. Some might say I have a bias.

However. I often hear people complaining about the high price of theatre tickets these days - "astronomical!" they say, "sky high." Maybe. But these are live shows we're talking about, comrades. This isn't like going to the movies. Do you have an idea what it costs to put on a production eight times a week? Actors, crew, ushers. And these people are not rich, let me tell you. You do not do theatre for the money, you do it purely for love.

On January 4th, nine Broadway shows closed for good. Nine. In the coming weeks, quite a few more shows will go dark. Why? Because the first casualty of an economic crisis is entertainment.

Well. I hope you'll all be satisfied with your joyless existences, listening to the radio for entertainment like your forefathers did while you watch Broadway come crashing to its knees. But seriously, folks? Once you've taken care of the rent, groceries, and your electric bill - buy theatre tickets. Think of it as supporting a good cause.

At the very least, the experience will last you a lot longer than Pay-Per-View wrestling or porn.