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This week has been all about SPOOKY THEATER. We went and saw some Grand Guignol short plays on Sunday night in a pub. Every single one was motivated by jealousy. Lessons: if you're a chick and sleeping with a married dude, don't kneel in front of an open fireplace while his disabled wife is in shoving distance; if you're a married guy, you probably don't want to be in a room with your wife and your girlfriend and a gun; never, ever go to the house of the psychotic guy you maimed after you get out of jail "just to see how he's doing." Oddly, one of these plays had what I would consider a happy ending. The next night I got together with the guy who runs the festival to do a preview of the rest of the shows: the result was this writeup. We're going to see a double feature of his top pick and my top pick (a Cthulu show) Saturday night: it should be a great time!

After our fun talk about evil and hostile alien intelligences, I ruined it all by going to the Donmar to see Roots, a play written in the late 50s about an English country girl coming to realize how she lacked a true connection to the people around her - all of whom suffered with being dreadfully unenlightened to the socialist cause. Now, I'm a socialist, but this show's emphasis on lecturing people and "who do we blame for the current situation" and just underlying sense of superiority to the unenlightened made me want to puke. Well, actually, it made me want to eat strawberry ice cream "from pink cows" and maybe some trifle, but I just couldn't believe how incredibly tedious and dull the whole thing was.

I also got to see English "repression your emotions" in (theatrical) action, and I got to hear Norfolk accents all night long (music = moozik), so it was incredibly realistic, but rather feeling a sense of pity for the people who couldn't see that their self-interest lie in working together to deal with their problems (and listening to "enlightening moozik" instead of the 3rd rate pop stuff they actually enjoyed), I felt sorry for them having such a spoiled brat for a sibling/daughter. For all of her talk about how she was "no better than anyone else," in fact, it was clear that both she and her boyfriend felt they were far superior to these "idiots." It's English liberalism to its Victorian roots, I tell you: talking about how repressed people are and whose fault it is while feeling entirely superior and being intolerably bad company. Give me Oscar Wilde any day; at least he knew how to liven up a dinner party (and solving hypothetical moral quandaries is not it).

Meanwhile while A was in town last week we saw the world's most flaccid gay musical: Bare, about a bunch of Catholic high school kids dealing with being gay, but in an obvious and not very rocking way. "Bore" was more appropriate.

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