...is a big bag of wank.
I intend to daub these words on a billboard and stand outside (London location)'s (theatre name) Theatre in an attempt to warn off anyone foolish enough to venture inside to see this production.
The lovely B took me to a show at the weekend. She's aware I have somewhat of a fetish for space-related topics and also that I have a weakness for theatre. So a play with the title of this journal entry would surely be perfect. Right?
The posters implied that excellence might lie within the walls of the theatre. I humbly suggest that the producers may have lifted the nice words out of the reviews for not altogether honest purposes.
For example, the poster said:
"Breathtaking, comic, drama, mystical"
The review actually said:
"Breathtaking, comic, drama, mystical are all words I wouldn't use when describing this pile of crap"
The first half was poor. The second half (during which the theatre emptied) was coma-inducingly bad. It was only lightened by the fact that the director had decided to be clever and have the actors play many different roles. A noble gambit, crushed by the fact that, as well as a script that doesn't belong on a toilet roll, you need good actors to pull it off. And sadly, these were not good actors. B and I found ourselves hooting with laughter as we tried to guess which tortured accent one particular actress was attempting. Was it it Russian? Geordie? Welsh? Scottish? No! Irish, of course! Occasionally she'd segue between a variety of accents for countries that have yet to be invented in the course of just one sentence.
An actor who played a Norwegian character (that would be Norway via Clapham Junction, judging by his intermittent accent) shot us a particularly dirty look as the cast took a bow to an embarrassed trickle of applause from the audience.
Highlight of the play? The bar, and spotting a girl in the audience who looked exactly like one of the bloggers in my list of links.
