The things I could tell you about Atima, the professor of my creative writing class, would not only surprise and provoke you, but cause uproarious laughter and painful side aches. Unfortunately for you kind readers, you are going to have to wait for quite some time until you get some Atima quotes; she’s quite the character. I think it would be more appropriate to intersperse them among blogs rather than include them in one post. So: there’s something to look forward to over the course of the semester! Quotes and tangents aside, Atima made the best first impression out of all of my first professors. She was a welcome breath of fresh air on Wednesday afternoon—I was feeling terribly overtired on that particular day due to some *ahem* late evening choices.
Billy Elliot: The Musical was insane. I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to attend the show after hearing that it was more of a dance show than a typical musical, but Izzy and the gang eventually convinced me to go. We waited for 15 minutes at the bus station for the 11; three minutes too long to arrive at the theater in time. After being informed we would miss the opening number (bummer!) we bought our tickets and trudged up to the 2nd row of the balcony. The show was devastating and inspirational and nothing in between. The musical numbers were few and far between, but the dancing was INSANE. Let me tell you, there is something about watching a 12 year old perform the hell out of a role that is both incredible and embarrassing; not only do you realize you are seeing great talent, but you have to note that the 12 year old boy in tights is cooler than you will ever be. It’s quite the feeling. My personal highlights of the show included the song “Solidarity,” the “Angry Dance,” and a song that Billy and his mother (deceased) share toward the end of the show. Favorite lines: “Just because I dance in the ballet doesn’t mean I’m a puff,” and “you’re really fucking special (followed by the most endearing hug between a boy and his ballet instructor ever captured on stage.)” Awesome stuff.
Today I had my last class of the week, and my last first class of the semester… Other than meaning that I am finished for the week, this moment also represents the penultimate occasion that I will have a syllabus from a new class. Weird! Regardless, Theatre: an Introduction, was a little much for me to handle today. The professor, Jen, is intense, and more than a little condescending. Per chance, she will warm up and my first impressions will be quaffed. The material itself is pretty awesome. Every week, we go see a play, read that play, and discuss it. Sweet. The play for next Thursday, “Pieces of Vincent,” is actually what I saw this evening at a small fringe theatre in Kingsland.
When I saw DOLLHOUSE at the Guthrie, it was the non-musical piece of theatre that I had seen in quite some time. I have to say that “Pieces of Vincent” was not only better than DOLLHOUSE, but is actually one of the best pieces of performance art I have ever seen. Ever. The premise of the story involves 8 separate scenes that occur in non-chronological order. The scenes always include 2 of the 9 characters in the show and somehow intertwine with the rest of the show. It’s all very “Crash” a la Best Picture if you have seen the film. The monologue in the very last scene, involving a father taking the training wheels off his son’s bike and watching him ride, was positively heart-wrenching; Ben, Jacque, Kelly, and I were nothing but quiet tears as the lights came up. What they say about London theatre being unmatchable has to be true. It’s unreal.
Right now, I am writing this post in the 5th floor lounge, watching a very odd girl dance with herself while typing to a friend on Facebook. I can’t help but wonder what music is playing in her head. I doubt it’s as good as anything from “Love Never Dies.” For those of you unaware of this title, it’s Andrew Lloyd Webber’s sequel to “The Phantom of the Opera.”
I am sitting 10th row, center tomorrow night. It’s a tough life in the motherland.
This post made me smile lots and miss you.
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