Joseph and the Amazing Hyperactive Weekend
Well, maybe my weekend wasn't quite so HYPERACTIVE as the title may suggest; I spent a large majority of it on the couch in my pajamas, washing clothes, reading French plays, watching Audrey Hepburn films, and (tragically)breaking my iBook. There was, however, at least one element of my weekend that was undoubtedly hyperactive, and that would be 1990s British pop star, H! from Steps as the title role in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
Let me begin by saying (and perhaps this, more than anything, speaks to my Atheistic frame of mind) that I don't really think I get Joseph. It just doesn't seem to have a point. There isn't any real character development or involvement, and the plot, while based on a biblical story, is minimal. And, I just don't feel like having a mysterious blond woman (or camel, or pyramid as the case may be) and accompanying child-choir singing a repetitive round of "poor, poor, Joseph whatcha gonna do?" constitutes a compelling pre-intermission climax or even a valid basic point of conflict. While generally speaking, I don't really insist that basic literary elements be present in the plays/films/musicals I enjoy most, I need for there to be SOMETHING. Yet, there is nothing much in the way of theme, obvious comedy/satire/humour of any kind, or even any obvious sense drama. On some level, however, Joseph still manages to be entertaining, and I believe that it is down to unabashed C H E E S E. I mean, the pharaoh of Egypt is portrayed as ELVIS.
So, Friday night, after too much wine and a pre-theatre Italian dinner, I found myself sitting second in a row of eight Britons of varying acquaintance, watching a fading pop star parade about in a "dreamcoat" that resembled nothing so much as this pattern, most notably featured on my Cynthia Rowley for Target pajamas:
All the while, I was inundated with memories of my 1998 involvement in Bensalem High School's summerstock production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and that, I think, just compounded the ridiculousness. A mental comparison:
1998: 10. Bored. Awkward. Making papier maché horse heads. Paying for the privilege of sweeping Bensalem High School's crew room. Braiding yarn as older girls talk about their periods.
2006: 19. Tipsy. In Scotland. Sweeping only the floors of my fabulous flat. Giggling. In part, at the musical. In part because everything is finally so right.
Which led me to two conclusions: (1) the only way to really enjoy Joseph is to be both drunk and sentimental. That then reminded me that (2) my life is fantastic, especially in comparison to the way I used to live it which means, essentially that I WIN! And that realization makes all those years of embarrassment and community theatre 100% worthwhile.
- - - - -
Saturday, again, I was drawn into the ever-loathsome world of my high school self. A friend had told us that one of our favorite clubs was hosting a black tie birthday party for The Skinny, a music magazine, and that it would be an awesome night, complete with cake. When we arrived, however, we found ourselves overdressed, drinking horrible £2 cider, in a crowd of mohawked crazies and scenesters who reminded me of nothing so much as myself, aged 14. It was like walking into a wormhole and coming out where I would have found myself if I had never stopped going to "indie" shows in church basements three years ago -- the proverbial "scene" as I had left it, a few years older and a little bit stranger. I was ready to put my past in front of me and keep on drinking, but Steph, never having had THAT phase, was horrified, so we left soon after the on-stage band sang their "hit song" about pedophilia. And though I protested at the time, I think that all in all, leaving was the thing to do. Only having asserted my status as a life-path winner the night before, jumping into my sordid past may have proved a bit too risky.
Let me begin by saying (and perhaps this, more than anything, speaks to my Atheistic frame of mind) that I don't really think I get Joseph. It just doesn't seem to have a point. There isn't any real character development or involvement, and the plot, while based on a biblical story, is minimal. And, I just don't feel like having a mysterious blond woman (or camel, or pyramid as the case may be) and accompanying child-choir singing a repetitive round of "poor, poor, Joseph whatcha gonna do?" constitutes a compelling pre-intermission climax or even a valid basic point of conflict. While generally speaking, I don't really insist that basic literary elements be present in the plays/films/musicals I enjoy most, I need for there to be SOMETHING. Yet, there is nothing much in the way of theme, obvious comedy/satire/humour of any kind, or even any obvious sense drama. On some level, however, Joseph still manages to be entertaining, and I believe that it is down to unabashed C H E E S E. I mean, the pharaoh of Egypt is portrayed as ELVIS.
So, Friday night, after too much wine and a pre-theatre Italian dinner, I found myself sitting second in a row of eight Britons of varying acquaintance, watching a fading pop star parade about in a "dreamcoat" that resembled nothing so much as this pattern, most notably featured on my Cynthia Rowley for Target pajamas:
All the while, I was inundated with memories of my 1998 involvement in Bensalem High School's summerstock production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and that, I think, just compounded the ridiculousness. A mental comparison:
1998: 10. Bored. Awkward. Making papier maché horse heads. Paying for the privilege of sweeping Bensalem High School's crew room. Braiding yarn as older girls talk about their periods.
2006: 19. Tipsy. In Scotland. Sweeping only the floors of my fabulous flat. Giggling. In part, at the musical. In part because everything is finally so right.
Which led me to two conclusions: (1) the only way to really enjoy Joseph is to be both drunk and sentimental. That then reminded me that (2) my life is fantastic, especially in comparison to the way I used to live it which means, essentially that I WIN! And that realization makes all those years of embarrassment and community theatre 100% worthwhile.
- - - - -
Saturday, again, I was drawn into the ever-loathsome world of my high school self. A friend had told us that one of our favorite clubs was hosting a black tie birthday party for The Skinny, a music magazine, and that it would be an awesome night, complete with cake. When we arrived, however, we found ourselves overdressed, drinking horrible £2 cider, in a crowd of mohawked crazies and scenesters who reminded me of nothing so much as myself, aged 14. It was like walking into a wormhole and coming out where I would have found myself if I had never stopped going to "indie" shows in church basements three years ago -- the proverbial "scene" as I had left it, a few years older and a little bit stranger. I was ready to put my past in front of me and keep on drinking, but Steph, never having had THAT phase, was horrified, so we left soon after the on-stage band sang their "hit song" about pedophilia. And though I protested at the time, I think that all in all, leaving was the thing to do. Only having asserted my status as a life-path winner the night before, jumping into my sordid past may have proved a bit too risky.