I seem to be hemorrhaging words today. Hope you’re enjoying it.
Tonight I went to a show.
I say “show”, but I’m a little concerned that this might lend some preconceived notions as to its purpose, quality, and overall experience.
I saw the event listed on the NonsenseNYC email list update (thanks to Jeff Stark). He had an interesting description there, and had listed that the event would be starting at 8pm, and that the event price was $5. I say again, $5 – not $15, which I was asked for at the door.
Since the event was scheduled to start at 8, I came a little early, and bought a beer. Went outside to drink it – on the street! Ha! Outside, I met another couple of people – a guy waiting for a lady friend of his from Hungary to arrive, and another lady named Aida who was, like me, there alone, and because of the listing.
So we chatted a bit, and when the doors opened for admission, we entered a smallish performance hall, and got the best seats in the house, right on the floor, not a foot away from some of the actors. On the other hand, considering the performance value, it may not have been the best seats in the house – those might have been outside.
With harsh red overtones, and a 4-piece band playing discordant music, smoke pouring in, it was more than a little bit eerie. The name of the piece – Hot Blood Cabaret – seemed to be apt to the scene.
As the band played on, and my eyes adjusted to the dimness, they wandered over the room, where the performers were already in place, doing whatever they were supposed to do.
The once that stays fresh in my mind is one gal, dressing in black lingerie, heaving over a toilet bowl, for about 45 minutes – it never got old. She’s take a break, feel something come up again, and dive right back into it, with vim and vigor.
The show was MC’ed by a severed head, with running humorous patter – probably a large amount of improv worked in there. He was amusing enough to keep the audience from getting too restless with some of the other performers.
There was a guy who played both parts in a short classical monologue piece, turning from left to right to display the gender of the character he was speaking as. He strayed from the original, bringing in a lot of modern language and concepts to the piece. Quaint.
Anyways, as Aida and I left – we turned to each other and said the same – “It was worth $5 – not $15!”.
Good night.
