It was interesting being in a theatre again after having started this blog. My instincts seem to be heightened. It amazes me that going to a see a show has now become old hat. There's rarely a sense of anticipation anymore. Mostly because when you see so much, so little of it is actually as good as you want it to be. I remember when I first started going to see shows, I would be sick to my stomach for the half hour before the show started. What if the actors messed something up? What if they forgot their lines or missed a dance step? What if they weren't as good as they should be? It was a generalized anxiety with no real root in reality, which is symptomatic of many issues in my life.
However, as a youth, these performers always pulled through and surpassed my expectations. For two hours or so I was utterly transported and I despised the 15 minute intermission. i wanted them to just keep going.
I was thinking about this yesterday afternoon waiting for the curtain to rise at "Pal Joey." I looked around the audience, one of the biggest blue-haired crowds I've ever seen. Were they excited to be here or was it work for them too? There was no buzz that awaits an eagerly anticipated production. There was no hostility either. It seemed as if people were just idling away a snowy Sunday in December.
There were certainly magical moments in this production. I loved the set. I hate that to be the first thing I say about a show but when the lights came up on it, I was impressed. The El tracks rushing out at us from the back of the stage were a powerful image, although too similar to the design of Mantello's "Assassins" in the same theatre just a few years ago. That was a roller coaster, I believe.
Martha Plimpton was simply fantastic. She takes the stage, unafraid to act, and is having the time of her life up there. Stockard Channing plays the world-weariness of her character just right. And you understand why she needs to fall for someone like Joey. It provides her with an escape from the unhappy routine of her daily life.
The costumes were almost cookie cut-outs of the costumes for "Cabaret" and I found that disappointing.
When intermission came, I wasn't disappointed. The first act stalled in regard to dramatic action about a third of the way through and I thought, "Are they presenting this without an intermission?" Then the lights came up and I looked at my watch, barely an hour and fifteen minutes had passed. Not a good sign. I did not feel the desire to leave. I wanted to see more of Martha and Stockard. But I wanted the show to be better all around. Even the script itself. It's just not very compelling. Of course I thought, "Well, if they'd asked me to direct it I would have to say 'yes' too." But, in my case, beggars can't be choosers.
The first time I left a show at intermission I felt an incredible sense of guilt. Would the actors notice? What if the show suddenly became fantastic in Act Two? Well, I soon learned time was precious and show's that were bad in Act One rarely got better in the second act. And now I feel no guilt. In fact, I sometimes find myself looking forward to it. Isn't that sad. Instead of theatre now being an escape, it's become something I wish to escape from. That's the problem when you your dream becomes a reality.
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