The Price of Boston 2.18.04
Boston, that jealous city north of us in NYC, covered in ice and fat people in SUV’s was graced by my presence this weekend. I would continue about what I ate each day and my times with Seabiscuit Anna and a moment with Gabi, but what’s really important—besides a person I missed—are the two bits of entertainment we caught.
A Winter’s Tale was put on by Brandeis’ performing arts crew. The sets were tight, two stories of metal doors, with the image of bare trees etched out of the frosting on the glass. Backups painted for wintry gloom in Europe and desert heat in Africa.
That was the good. The bad included the play reimagined as the friendship between a European and an African monarch—cool concept—and opened a frenetic second half with kids doing some cockamamie version of African dance. Words won’t describe it but if you drop you jaw and look confused, like when your neighbor’s SUV knocks on your door to tell you to stop changing naked with the blinds open, you’ll get the same impact. I was wondering why none of the people had a better tan. And what was with the snakes coming out of the men’s pants.
Truly amazing, the acting. Limp, unconvincing, and Autolycus was played by the very fruity Andrew Fitzpatrick. Any of you WU kids remember him? The boy who went around telling everyone how he and the chancellor’s son got nakedly acquainted? Apparently he is up there at Brandeis, over-the-top as always. And then he did a pop song, set to Shakespearean lyrics. Think a stripped down budget-ass *NSync. Then think of having not slept in a day and watching this play drag on like a LOX freestyle. It’s long to begin with and falls apart in the end—it’s obvious that either Billy Shakespeare was playing a joke on theatre or he got really lazy… or drunk. My eyes were drifting down and I wanted it to end, to end, to end.
Also of note is that the Perfect Score features Darius Miles… and fired St. John’s coach Mike Jarvis. More on that in the other blog, soon, but of humorous note: Darius’ character (the well-named Desmond Rose) has to get his grades up to get into St. John’s. Oh, I laughed about that one.