The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever
Last Saturday, my friend Airin called me and asked if I wanted to go see a production of "A Christmas Story" by the Chillicothe Community Theater. I said yes without hesitation. It was only after we got off the phone that I was like "Wait a minute. 'A Christmas Story?' As in Ralphie and the Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle?" I looked it up in the newspaper and confirmed that it was indeed a stage version of the annual favorite. I couldn't help but think that it was going to be...not good. Oh, how I wish I had been wrong.
The next day, we parked really far away from the theater. I had to stumble over a block's worth of rain-slicked brick alleys in three-inch heels, including the Majestic Theater's infamous Blood Alley.
Why is it called "Blood Alley" you ask? Well, about thirty years ago, a small boy saw his parents shot to death there by a petty thief called Joe Chill...
Just kidding! The truth is much more disturbing! During WWI, there was an Army encampment outside of Chillicothe called Camp Sherman. The Influenza Epidemic of 1918 devastated the camp and spread to the townspeople. There were so many bodies that the Majestic was used as a make-shift morgue. Legend has it that blood ran down the alley outside of the theater.
ANYWAY, Airin and I got in line for tickets. "Oh, look! They have a student discount! Only $6!"
"Two student tickets, please."
"That will be $18."
Airin paid for the tickets (I paid for dinner) and we entered the auditorium. It wasn't until we were seated that we were like "Hey! Six plus six is twelve, not eighteen!" There wasn't much we could do about it at that point, however. I expressed the thought that maybe it was a test to see if we were really students. Like, could we do math? Obviously, we failed.
The play started and my assumption that "A Christmas Story" wouldn't adapt well to the stage turned out to be entirely correct. About an hour in to the production, I found myself wishing for an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle so I could shoot my brains out. The CCT managed to turn a 94-minute movie in to a three-hour-long ordeal. Their pacing was veeeeeerrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy slllllllloooooooow.
There was one point when the actors had apparently forgotten whose line was next and were desperately whispering to each other on stage. Finally, some old guy in the back of the audience yelled "Get on with the show already!" Airin turned to me, aghast. I had to work not to crack up.
The guy working the curtain seemed very unsure about what he was doing. He would start to close the curtain on a scene and then stop in the middle. The curtain would hang half-open for a few seconds like "Maybe I'm not supposed to be doing this..." before slowly closing the rest of the way.
My favorite moment was the scene when the family was in the car (you know, when they have to change the tire and Ralphie says "Fudge"). The car consisted of a beautifully painted flat and four folding chairs. The actor playing the father held a steering wheel while pretending to drive. When he got out of the car, he put the steering wheel down the stage, and picked it back up again later when he got back in. It really would have been better if he had just mimed having a steering wheel.
The coup de grace of the production, however, was this little troop of girls who came on stage in-between scenes to sing Christmas carols. Other than the fact that their performances lengthened the running time of the play, I didn't have a problem with them until their final number. You may recall that in the movie version of "A Christmas Story," the Christmas turkey is stolen by a pack of dogs and the family has to go to a Chinese restaurant for Christmas dinner. There, the family is serenaded by the waiters. Well, this choir of five-to-twelve-year-old girls (all white except for one black girl) recreated the scene by squinting their eyes and singing "Ra ra ra ra ra" during the chorus of "Deck the Halls." I'm not even kidding. It was the horribly racist thing I've seen in a long time. I mean, the original scene in the movie is no paragon of tolerance, but this was worse somehow.
Thank God the play was finished after that so we could go to dinner and I could knock back a margarita.
* * *
I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately! I've left a few random comments here and there, but I haven't commented on any fic for some time. I decided to not read any of the WFGE entries until I had finished my own claims as sort of an incentive. So, I've been busy with writing and flesh life stuff.
Due to a complicated set of events including a snow storm, my post office job fell through. Fortunately, I have another job opportunity at the battered women's shelter. I'm applying to be their front desk person during the night shift. Even better, this job would continue after the holidays. I just hope that the shelter isn't secretly being run by Granny Goodness.
I hope everyone is doing well!
The next day, we parked really far away from the theater. I had to stumble over a block's worth of rain-slicked brick alleys in three-inch heels, including the Majestic Theater's infamous Blood Alley.
Why is it called "Blood Alley" you ask? Well, about thirty years ago, a small boy saw his parents shot to death there by a petty thief called Joe Chill...
Just kidding! The truth is much more disturbing! During WWI, there was an Army encampment outside of Chillicothe called Camp Sherman. The Influenza Epidemic of 1918 devastated the camp and spread to the townspeople. There were so many bodies that the Majestic was used as a make-shift morgue. Legend has it that blood ran down the alley outside of the theater.
ANYWAY, Airin and I got in line for tickets. "Oh, look! They have a student discount! Only $6!"
"Two student tickets, please."
"That will be $18."
Airin paid for the tickets (I paid for dinner) and we entered the auditorium. It wasn't until we were seated that we were like "Hey! Six plus six is twelve, not eighteen!" There wasn't much we could do about it at that point, however. I expressed the thought that maybe it was a test to see if we were really students. Like, could we do math? Obviously, we failed.
The play started and my assumption that "A Christmas Story" wouldn't adapt well to the stage turned out to be entirely correct. About an hour in to the production, I found myself wishing for an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle so I could shoot my brains out. The CCT managed to turn a 94-minute movie in to a three-hour-long ordeal. Their pacing was veeeeeerrrrrrrrryyyyyyyy slllllllloooooooow.
There was one point when the actors had apparently forgotten whose line was next and were desperately whispering to each other on stage. Finally, some old guy in the back of the audience yelled "Get on with the show already!" Airin turned to me, aghast. I had to work not to crack up.
The guy working the curtain seemed very unsure about what he was doing. He would start to close the curtain on a scene and then stop in the middle. The curtain would hang half-open for a few seconds like "Maybe I'm not supposed to be doing this..." before slowly closing the rest of the way.
My favorite moment was the scene when the family was in the car (you know, when they have to change the tire and Ralphie says "Fudge"). The car consisted of a beautifully painted flat and four folding chairs. The actor playing the father held a steering wheel while pretending to drive. When he got out of the car, he put the steering wheel down the stage, and picked it back up again later when he got back in. It really would have been better if he had just mimed having a steering wheel.
The coup de grace of the production, however, was this little troop of girls who came on stage in-between scenes to sing Christmas carols. Other than the fact that their performances lengthened the running time of the play, I didn't have a problem with them until their final number. You may recall that in the movie version of "A Christmas Story," the Christmas turkey is stolen by a pack of dogs and the family has to go to a Chinese restaurant for Christmas dinner. There, the family is serenaded by the waiters. Well, this choir of five-to-twelve-year-old girls (all white except for one black girl) recreated the scene by squinting their eyes and singing "Ra ra ra ra ra" during the chorus of "Deck the Halls." I'm not even kidding. It was the horribly racist thing I've seen in a long time. I mean, the original scene in the movie is no paragon of tolerance, but this was worse somehow.
Thank God the play was finished after that so we could go to dinner and I could knock back a margarita.
* * *
I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately! I've left a few random comments here and there, but I haven't commented on any fic for some time. I decided to not read any of the WFGE entries until I had finished my own claims as sort of an incentive. So, I've been busy with writing and flesh life stuff.
Due to a complicated set of events including a snow storm, my post office job fell through. Fortunately, I have another job opportunity at the battered women's shelter. I'm applying to be their front desk person during the night shift. Even better, this job would continue after the holidays. I just hope that the shelter isn't secretly being run by Granny Goodness.
I hope everyone is doing well!