Singleton + Writer + Book Lover + Moviegoer = Screen Spinster

Welcome to the loneliest blog on the web. I have no words of wisdom to espouse. (why does espouse sound so much like spouse? Is that word trying to rub it into my spinster brain?) Anyway, I don't own a cat. Never will. I don't cook, nor do I sew or knit, but I do spin a yarn (tale) from time to time. I have no domestic talents, I am not a domestic engineer/goddess, nor do I want to be. I'll sometimes post my views on scripts, (mine & yours or theirs) movies, television shows and maybe theatre, along with my own musings usually in the style of a poem. So pull up a rocking chair, sit back as your cherry pie bakes and stay a while if you like.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Priscilla Queen of the Desert: The Musical. Koalas, Tight Abs, and Feathers, OH MY!

Not only was it RAINING MEN when I saw this musical, but it was also raining confetti! I love confetti (environment be damned!). Priscilla, based on the film, and now a successful musical in its native Australia, has travelled across the world and hunkered down in Toronto, before it makes its Broadway debut next year. And this "fag hag" is happy, well ecstatic, that I saw it. What a Deeeelightful night at the theatre.

I don't remember the movie very well, it's been ages since I saw it. It slowly came back to me in tiny pieces during the musical, but overall it was fresh and new to me. The plot's the same, pretty basic, a gay man travels to the outback to finally meet his son, and he takes along two drag queens with him so they can do a show! It's a road trip! How does one show a road trip on a single stage? By having a bus that rotates on wheels and a conveyer belt with passing road signs, and roadkill! (RIP Purple Teletubbie).

The musical is nonstop action from start to finish. I don't think I've ever been to a show with such energy. It starts off with the 3 Divas as they descend from the rafters, singing. They're like a modern day chorus via pop/disco songs. I won't go over the plot point by point because well, who cares! Because the plot, although there is one, is minor here. This show is about the COSTUMES and the MUSIC and the DANCING, and the rock hard BODIES on stage. Dear God! The bodies. The muscles. The abs. The asses. The legs. I could go on and on. These performers are intense. They are disciplined actors and singers and dancers and they transform into these wonderfully crafted characters who just pop and fill the theatre with excitement. I could feel their passion with every step they took and every note they sung.

I tapped my feet, clapped my hands and bopped my head along to the classic anthems of "I will survive," "We belong," and "Go West" (naming just a few), and screw the old fart behind me who gave me a glare at the end of the night. It's not my fault that I am tall and like gay singing drag queens! Stay home, old man if you can't handle this "fag hag's" enthusiasm.

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