Two nights on Broadway.
On Monday night, most of the theaters were dark, so we took in a comedy show at ten. We entered the room with some trepidation: the last time we went, the comics were fairly lousy, and we weren't hoping for a repeat performance of THAT.
Most of the comics this time were good, but here's my big thing point: sitting in font of us, in the darkness, were six Jewish guys wearing yamikas from Queens, out for a night on the town. They were good-natured chaps, and tended to clap and scream at everything.
That is, except on three separate occasions. The emcee for the night went around the room, asking everyone where they were from, and when he came upon me and Corb, we said "Massachusetts"...and, one of the guys in the seats in front of us let out a noticeable "booo."
I wasn't sure what was up with that, although or some reason, I had some idea. But I decided to ignore it and just enjoy the show. I mean, it may have been a Red Sox thing, after all.
However, that night, on the bill, there were two openly gay comics. The first we had seen last year. He was funny, and we had enjoyed his act before. The second guy was hysterical, however--he was a thin man in a warm multi-colored button up sweater, and had a deadpan style that reminded me of a cross between Steve Carell and Kevin Kneeland, when he used to play Mr. Subliminal on Saturday Night Live.
The reception for the first guy was chilly, but for the second guy, who was far more cutting, the atmosphere was clearly filled with tension--especially from the table in front of us. I had noticed that when the first gay guy started his act, two of the guys in that table rose to leave. Perhaps it was a bathroom break, I thought. However, when the second guy came up, and announced who he was, the same two guys got up. This time one said, loudly, "This guy sucks. Let me know when his act is over."
I just think it's sad, frankly. Time and again, it always ends up that so many in one minority find an outlet by taking their aggression out on another group.
You think we'd learn to be smarter than that...but we never are. My friend Pauline once observed, way back in junior high, that the unpopular kids, the ones who were always picked on, never banded together, but spent their time taking pot shots and making fun of the other unpopular kids around them, as if to prove that they were somehow better than those other people. What it only serves to prove is that hate is contagious.
Our selection for Tuesday night was the musical The Drowsy Chaperone. My friend Judi had recommended it, and it was great fun. Nothing along the lines of a bombastic Broadway production, such as Les Mis or Phantom...and for that, I'm totally thankful.
See, I tend to get cranky during big Broadway blowouts. I have never had a desire, not once, to see Les Miserables. Phantom of the Opera annoys me after the first act. Miss Saigon, frankly, is an awful bore. I tend to like smaller shows, such as Avenue Q...although I will admit to a fascination for Chicago, which I've seen three times.
It was a pleasant surprise to discover that one of the stars of the musical is Georgia Engel, who used to play, many moons ago, Georgette on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. She plays a matronly woman who appears to have a touch of Alzheimer's, and is a total delight. Her character in the show is not unlike Georgette...perhaps, if you will, a logical extension of that earlier character. Pleasantly, she was not the star of the play, but only appeared in a supporting role.
It's always fun to encounter old friends that you grew up with in parts like this. Corb and I loved the music (which reminds me of The Boy Friend), and bought the CD after the show. We've been playing it ever since.
However...we will be seeing Wicked in two weeks. That one IS rather bombastic, but I'm looking forward to it.
IN OTHER NEWS: Last night, I was typing away, when Corb called out from the little bedroom. He thought that Theo had snuck into the room (as he does, from time to time), and touched him on the leg. But no, it looks as though it was our friendly poltergeist, the old man in the sweater, who often appears to Corb, and appeared to me as a shadow, last week. I'm getting chills, just typing this...and, Annie goes to her doctor tomorrow...my thoughts are with her...say some prayers, okay?