Its strange watching another person’s dreams get crushed. Its even stranger when you realize that they don’t realize they were crushed. I suppose it could be called the indelible spirit of the hopeful, optimisim, or perhaps…delusion? Whatever it is, I am equal parts pitying and envious of that mentality. Pity because you know that they don’t have it. Envy because they just don’t care and are happy in what they do. And really, shouldn’t days be measured in your own personal happiness rather than others’ opinions of you?
For full reading enjoyment there must be some backstory for how I came to find myself sitting in a theater while the aged singer of "Sister Mary" Queensryche fame belted out her tunes and a "low battery - find a power source" Windows notification flashed on the screen behind her.
There is a man, whom I never met, but somewhat know. Such is the age of Facebook, mutual friends and a job that has me in front of a computer all day. If all sources can be believed (and I feel that they are varying degrees of trustworthy) this man is a bonefied genius, eccentric, has already had a fleeting affair with fame on a regional scale, and was until recently quite focused and driven. But life, as its apt to do, threw him a curveball and all that defined him slipped from his grasp. Or perhaps he tossed it. Details remain unclear and, quite frankly, none of my business. Suffice to say he is now in a place of exploration and redefining who he is and what his passions are. Untethered from 24/7 domestic duties of husband/father he is literally dancing the night away and running to his own music. His latest passion is a production company that was putting on an "Off Broadway Revue" style show. In addition to this connection, a friend was also recruited to help behind the scenes, so now there are two points of commonality associated with this show.
Tie into those connections, that I am the kind of person who is up for something new and different whenever, I try to be a yes girl when it comes to experiencing the randomness of life. So of course I immediately put out an invite to go support this show. No idea what its gonna be, but I'm gonna see it. The promotional material he posts looks very professional, heck he even used my "caption this photo"suggestion on one of his photos. Ohhhh aren't I clever with my theater promo worthy puns! The venue is a legit theater. At $35 the ticket price is certainly saying "there are expectations for this show" as that's how much an established theater house charges. I'm excited...this looks promising. Sign me up Prefontaine*, I'm picking up what you are laying down and bringing friends to support your cause.
*This is clearly not his real name...but if he somehow ends up reading this he should like the name I picked for him, even if the rest realllly pisses him off.
The day finally arrives and me and my girls prefunk with some drinks, edibles, and games of pool. I made an epic shot that had me convinced it was going to be a great night, combo shot, sunk two balls. There were witnesses. It was a glorious moment...and a good omen, right? No. Sufficiently sauced we go to the venue and right out of the gate I know we are in trouble. We arrive with 5 minutes to spare and the doors are closed. Never a good sign when you aren't actually allowing people in the house. Time ticks on giving me plenty of time to eye the crowd. Looks about right for fringe theater, which is to say everything from sequins to sweats. The ticket agent and merch-booth rep are decked out in cheesy cheap boas that are supposed to scream, "we're festive! We're having FUN! Don't you want to be fun too? Ohhh this is going to be fun!! Smile!" when really, you're just standing next to some masks with a line of bored people in sweats and sequins. Cheap feather boas should -never- be worn unless you are in a bar, as part of costume, a member of a bachelorette party, or attending Pride...cause anything goes at Pride. Let me make this super clear right now to anyone contemplating the purchase of a cheap feather boa outside of these circumstances...cheap feather boas are not festive, they merely say "we're gonna annoy the fuck out of you at some point tonight" (this would be warning #2)
The doors open about 20 minutes after the show is suppose to start. We take our seats. Its a meager showing, but you know there are "friends of" in the crowd, we're all here to be supportive. It's going to be a good time... The house lights don't really go down but a spotlight comes up on a particularly enthusiastic crowd member who I had been eyeing. Recognition of Prefontaine's face dawns simultaneously with my, "seriously dude enough with the clapping, the show hasn't started yet," thought. Groan. Oh god he's not only broken the fourth wall, he's in the crowd. You are not supposed to do that without warning people. Attending theater is like a date, you aren't certain what you will get but are hopeful for a good time. This "in the crowd" opening is like making a grab for the tits before the first drink hits the table. Awwkward.
But I'm there to support, so ignore the rudeness of proper stage/audience etiquette (warning #3) and clap and sway and sing. I will say...the music selection was good. Highly groovable, but far too long...as we bopped around for minutes at time wondering "where the hell is this going?" Prefontaine got his groove on, wondering around, pulling up ladies from the crowd to dance with him. Others looked away or were gratiful to be out of reach of his hands. The theater collectively sighed and relaxed their nerves when finally, he climbed to the stage and shakily started the show in earnest.
For full reading enjoyment there must be some backstory for how I came to find myself sitting in a theater while the aged singer of "Sister Mary" Queensryche fame belted out her tunes and a "low battery - find a power source" Windows notification flashed on the screen behind her.
There is a man, whom I never met, but somewhat know. Such is the age of Facebook, mutual friends and a job that has me in front of a computer all day. If all sources can be believed (and I feel that they are varying degrees of trustworthy) this man is a bonefied genius, eccentric, has already had a fleeting affair with fame on a regional scale, and was until recently quite focused and driven. But life, as its apt to do, threw him a curveball and all that defined him slipped from his grasp. Or perhaps he tossed it. Details remain unclear and, quite frankly, none of my business. Suffice to say he is now in a place of exploration and redefining who he is and what his passions are. Untethered from 24/7 domestic duties of husband/father he is literally dancing the night away and running to his own music. His latest passion is a production company that was putting on an "Off Broadway Revue" style show. In addition to this connection, a friend was also recruited to help behind the scenes, so now there are two points of commonality associated with this show.
Tie into those connections, that I am the kind of person who is up for something new and different whenever, I try to be a yes girl when it comes to experiencing the randomness of life. So of course I immediately put out an invite to go support this show. No idea what its gonna be, but I'm gonna see it. The promotional material he posts looks very professional, heck he even used my "caption this photo"suggestion on one of his photos. Ohhhh aren't I clever with my theater promo worthy puns! The venue is a legit theater. At $35 the ticket price is certainly saying "there are expectations for this show" as that's how much an established theater house charges. I'm excited...this looks promising. Sign me up Prefontaine*, I'm picking up what you are laying down and bringing friends to support your cause.
*This is clearly not his real name...but if he somehow ends up reading this he should like the name I picked for him, even if the rest realllly pisses him off.
The day finally arrives and me and my girls prefunk with some drinks, edibles, and games of pool. I made an epic shot that had me convinced it was going to be a great night, combo shot, sunk two balls. There were witnesses. It was a glorious moment...and a good omen, right? No. Sufficiently sauced we go to the venue and right out of the gate I know we are in trouble. We arrive with 5 minutes to spare and the doors are closed. Never a good sign when you aren't actually allowing people in the house. Time ticks on giving me plenty of time to eye the crowd. Looks about right for fringe theater, which is to say everything from sequins to sweats. The ticket agent and merch-booth rep are decked out in cheesy cheap boas that are supposed to scream, "we're festive! We're having FUN! Don't you want to be fun too? Ohhh this is going to be fun!! Smile!" when really, you're just standing next to some masks with a line of bored people in sweats and sequins. Cheap feather boas should -never- be worn unless you are in a bar, as part of costume, a member of a bachelorette party, or attending Pride...cause anything goes at Pride. Let me make this super clear right now to anyone contemplating the purchase of a cheap feather boa outside of these circumstances...cheap feather boas are not festive, they merely say "we're gonna annoy the fuck out of you at some point tonight" (this would be warning #2)
The doors open about 20 minutes after the show is suppose to start. We take our seats. Its a meager showing, but you know there are "friends of" in the crowd, we're all here to be supportive. It's going to be a good time... The house lights don't really go down but a spotlight comes up on a particularly enthusiastic crowd member who I had been eyeing. Recognition of Prefontaine's face dawns simultaneously with my, "seriously dude enough with the clapping, the show hasn't started yet," thought. Groan. Oh god he's not only broken the fourth wall, he's in the crowd. You are not supposed to do that without warning people. Attending theater is like a date, you aren't certain what you will get but are hopeful for a good time. This "in the crowd" opening is like making a grab for the tits before the first drink hits the table. Awwkward.
But I'm there to support, so ignore the rudeness of proper stage/audience etiquette (warning #3) and clap and sway and sing. I will say...the music selection was good. Highly groovable, but far too long...as we bopped around for minutes at time wondering "where the hell is this going?" Prefontaine got his groove on, wondering around, pulling up ladies from the crowd to dance with him. Others looked away or were gratiful to be out of reach of his hands. The theater collectively sighed and relaxed their nerves when finally, he climbed to the stage and shakily started the show in earnest.
Because I knew Prefontaine's history I was painfully aware of the absolutely literal translation of what he was going through in life being played out on the stage. The amazing woman, the losing of the woman, the re-emergence through running. These snippets of Prefontaine's emotional turmoil over the past year or so were spliced with "acts". These acts weren't horrible, but they weren't remarkable. Cheesy costumes, basic choreography. The singers belonged in bars, not on the stage, their music had nothing to do with the plot. So it was a hodge-podge of cringing at a man's personal pain and general enjoyment of music...that was until, the music went out...twice...in one act. Total silence...for long stretches of time. Go ahead, just stop and count to 30....that's a long time for there to be nothing happening. Awwwwkward (warning #4). When the music went out for a second time that is when I started feeling genuinely bad for Prefontaine...watching his dream of an amazing night slowly slipping away from his grasp. The audience was lost. People got up and left mid act, walked out, on his dream. That has to be hard.
In the frist half there was a ring artist who tried to enchant the crowd, but made me understand the true brillance of a real ring artist. Though she had painted her face and neck with "tin man" silver paint, and bedazzled her lips with jewels she could not hide the fact that she was not talented at what she did. There was none of the grace and fluidity that you see at Cirque de Soleil or even Teatro ZinZanni...it was like watching someone with a reallllly cool hobby, but not polished enough to warrant a spot in the show. Not yet, maybe she will improve...and maybe she will get more than 6 inches off the ground. Somehow being able to hop down from the ring ruins the illusion of daring. But I clapped and clapped hard...they were trying, so hard! They were so earnest.
The boa wearers returned with the next musical act. Like nazis they pulled people out of their seats to dance. FUN! I almost called CPS the way they kept luring this unwilling little girl to dance with them. The parents were clearly ignoring her stiff gait and clenched fist and closed eyes that said, "WHY have you allowed these freaky boa wearing strangers to take me from the safety of your love!!" Sometimes the best thing you can do is recognize that what you were supposed to do, isn't going to work and stop. But the cheap boa mantra won out and they simply were annoying and would not stop. The musician they danced to was actually good and had I not been living in fear of the boa-wearers snatching me at the first sign of enjoyment, I might have relaxed more. When the last note died out there was silence.
Utter silence.
Was this another production delay or were we done? I took a risk and broke into applause with the assumption that my years of experience told me this was intermission. Applaud here. After the applause stopped it was silent again.
Utterly silent.
Then they announced that this was in fact intermission. That is what happens when you break the 4th wall too often...we didn't know if you were coming back to the crowd or if you were done with us. And we weren't about to make eye contact to find out, cause then you might pull us up out of our seats. Seriously. No eye contact.
I will say that if they made a profit, it was probably at the bar. For so few people there were lots of drinks at intermission. Personally we were stealing our nerves for the second half. I'm not letting us walk out, we're staying. Beers chugged we head back in. It is noticably more empty than before. Ding. Round two.
OUR FRIEND! He makes an appearance in the cloak of darkness between acts, but we see the white of his sneakers...We cheer and whistle. Yes, the stage crew drew more whistles than the acts...not more claps, but more whistles for sure.
Next act. The projectionist lurking in the front row flips the cover off the machine and there is the next graphic, dig in, here we go again. I feel the distinct awareness that the fourth wall is being broken, again...sure as shit there are people crawling down the aisle. Then wiggling onto the stage to writhe around, though why I'm not sure. I think its to symbolize angst...clearly we are in the angsty chapter ofthis story. Just as long as you crawled past us I'm good. Yes, yes...there is a hookah and mood lighting....and the hand to the forehead that is the universal sign for "woe is me,", okay you can stop with the cliches of angst, we get that you are symbolizing the darkness of love. I look at the audience and I notice the only thing they are looking at is a brown paper bag with a bottle that is being passed around to the writhers (cause alcohol from a brown paper bag = angst). I think the only thought anyone had was, "pass the bottle please, after all you've been very heavy on audience participation up to this point". Again, the musician was good, rockin' it on his piano but all I could see was awkwardness of the writhing people who really brought nothing to the story. Quite to the contrary, aside from their removal of their boas, they detracted from the real talent on the stage.
Then things seemed to get better, there were belly dancers, and they were actual belly dancers, and no one can be bored when presented with an actual belly dancers. Whether it be lustful stares or the amazed "how does she do that" stares, everyone is interested. People are re-engaging... there's hope! We're on the upswin.....ohhhh.....no. Nope. More Prefontaine snippets in which he jogs in place for a while. A long while...even he grew bored with his jogging and started goofily dancing at about the 4 minute mark. At this point you just have to give up and start laughing. I held it together for as long as I could. But when my two girlfriends mimic the singers "hush" by reaching over and lovingly placing their fingers on each other's lips I lost it. It was too much. It was simply a mess and the only joy that was going to come was by making our own. When the "low battery" notification came up on the background screen in the middle of an act, I laughed. When the sound stopped again, I laughed. When my friend leaned over and ask if this was a comedy, I laughed. It wasn't meant to be a mean laugh...it was the release of awkward tension, of admitting that this just wasn't a success and trying to make the best of it.
With the loss of the boas to angst I thought we had moved past the cheesy factor...but then, the cousin of the cheap feather boa aka- the stripper's gauzy feather lined floor length coat walked on stage. I officially turned into a retarded seal, you know the clap where no sound comes out and you just shake and put your hands together?? She wasn't a stripper, she was an aging rocker...she was clearly living on a prayer from the eights glam band days. You could see that she was trying, you could see that she loved it...but it just wasn't enough for the stage. it was karaoke, bad karaoke. I gave up and prayed for a finale. When everyone showed up on stage (neon blue fishnets and booty shorts) and danced it was an auspicious sign that the end was close. When the last Prefontaine snippet played out in an awkward come hither dance with someone and then left the stage in a muddled motion that left the crowd wondering, "what was that?". I silently prayed,"please let that be the end".
My prayers were answered, it was done. Followed only by the worst bow line I have ever seen, including when I was 7 in a hula dance recital and my friend fell off the stage and took two of my friends with her.
Now, having snarked my way through this performance as an unbias 3rd party paying customer, let me tell you why Prefontaine and his band of D-list artists are an inspiration to me. They have conviction. They have passion. They have the bravery to do what they love and not what's expected. That's a lot more than I have and should therefore be respected on some level. Sure they fell on their fucking faces, are still learning or past their prime, and might have shriveled up and died a little on the inside if they were being honest with themselves about the definition of a "good show". But I don't think that's where they were at, or at least not all of them. They were smiling, they were happy, they were realizing or continuing a dream. The ring artist was clutching flowers to her chest and strutting her silver flesh and bedazzled lips about the lobby like the world was hers. She was happy. When is the last time you had a dream, much less brought it to fruition?
I think I just demostrated that its easy enough for anyone to sit in judgement and mock what's in front of them. But looked at in another light...I wouldn't even get up and dance...these guys might have failed, but they did it in a blaze of spotlit glory and had an amazing time. They most likely felt exhileration that I haven't felt in months. And guess what...they're going to do it again because they loved it. I just might have to go, its techno themed, how can you not go back for a techno themed trainwreck. Only this time I'm bringing a "brownie" and just might dance in the aisles.
Cheers.
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