My twee tree

The word "twee" in The Oxford Universal Dictionary is defined as sweet; dainty; chic. This tree is all of those; and maybe more. It's a living ivy topiary with 100 cat-penis lights stuffed up the middle and adorned with every small ornament I own; also probably about 100. It looks great both day and night and has many hidden pleasures when perused up close. To the right is a small ceramic creche (an artistic representation of the Nativity scene) from Mexico; given to me by a friend many years ago and sweet enough to overcome my basic lack of religiosity. It too is quite dainty and, well, sweet. I covered a box with Christmas wrap and placed the pot inside. The stuff around the bottom are all the toys and festive junk I could find.

Next year I'm straping on an athletic supporter, taking my biggest axe and going out to chop down a redwood and decorating it with my biggest balls. The man is the message...

What the heck; here comes Shrek!

I never thought I would live to see the day when a featured number in a Broadway musical would be totally about flatulence. Admittedly, some belching is also an integral part of the “lyrics” but loud and prolonged farting dominates a number called “I Think I Got You Beat” near the beginning of the second act of Shrek, The Musical which opened last Sunday at the Broadway Theatre. This “song” is fairly typical of how this show is positioned, that is, to attract the lowest common denominator of a middle class audience that probably can’t afford to go anyway; that is, 12 year-old boys in groups of four or more.

After an ill-deserved standing ovation (most of them are) and we were struggling to make our escape up the aisle of this huge theater, I overheard a woman say, “well, that wasn’t half bad.” In trying to assess my own opinion it occurred to me that could also mean it wasn’t half good either. And I guess that’s about where I stand. Shrek is yet another long, overstuffed, sometimes nicely performed Broadway show whose source material is a cartoon, even though it’s not Mr. Disney this time. I suppose Dreamworks felt they needed to elbow their way into this market too, if only for the cachet of the name value of Broadway.

I wasn’t a huge fan of the original animated film so it’s no surprise I’m not a big fan of the Broadway musical. The story line is exactly the same as the cartoon with the exception of a phalanx of famous fairy tale characters, led by an obnoxious Pinocchio, forming a picket line (shades of Billy Elliott) to protest their unfair "relocation" to Shrek's swamp and banishment from “normal” society. In fact there is a rather dark undercurrent, probably snuck in by the playwright David Lindsay-Abaire who is credited with the “book” although the blueprint is copied directly from the movie, which draws a parallel to ethnic cleansing by the Lord of the realm, Farquaad, and his pseudo-perfect henchmen. In an amusing twist Farquaad is outed late in the show as a “halfling” by the rabble because it’s discovered his real father was Grumpy. Yes, he of Hi-Ho fame; which accounts for the Lord’s rather short stature. It’s still not clear to me who his mother could be but the only woman around at the time went by the name Snow. I’ll have to scrounge the truth from my backstage spies to see what the inside consensus is about this in-or-out-of-wedlock mystery. Whatever the answer it leans dangerously toward the sordid.

Shrek, The Musical is now carrying the standard of over-bloat on Broadway and, again, I’m afraid I have to say that some judicious cutting desperately needs to be applied, no matter how cruel it might be to the egos of the hardworking actors. Most of the costumes, although colorful and sometimes clever, adhere closely to those in the film; sometimes almost to the immobility for the human beings trapped within. Unfortunately this applies to two of the leads, both the Donkey and the slime-green ogre, Shrek himself. Maybe it’s unfortunate that I was in the front row of the orchestra…too close for comfort and too easy to see the ear holes.

But, sigh, the show is what it is…and I guess it’s too late for any of my caveats and/or suggestions to be considered. Shrek, The Musical is yet another Broadway juggernaut that probably couldn’t be stopped once its financing topped $10 million. Even on opening night there were already various strategically placed vendors scattered about selling expensive souvenirs of the show. I was actually tempted by a t-shirt depicting the gingerbread man with the words “Eat Me”. It has no context in Shrek but, like the show itself, it’s cute and sort-of entertaining in a perverse way. At least I didn’t see anything for sale that breaks wind.

Claptrap in Space

As a publicity stunt for the current version of “The Day the Earth Stood Still” the producers of this remake of the classic 1951 sci-fi movie hired an outfit called Deep Space Communications Network to beam it in the general direction of Alpha Centauri, a triple-star system about four light years from Earth. If there is any truth to this tale (it’s really easy to say you’re going to do it to get some easy publicity but my doubt-radar is blipping madly at the moment). Anyway, the movie opened on Friday, was universally panned by all the critics and is flopping out of sight as we speak. So if it’s actually true this beam-out occurred then some space watchdog needs to follow up with an intergalactic e-mail apologizing for sending such claptrap to possible ET’s who might take umbrage at us…not for the depiction of the (rather cruel) space travelers in the movie but just the fact the movie itself is one big expensive piece of boring cheese.

My top topper

I’ve owned this Christmas tree-topper for at least 25 years…I can’t remember its acquisition date, even the year. Although I haven’t used it on my tree in at least ten of those years (I’ve downsized my trees considerably) it always claims a place of honor on my mantel; a favorite objet amid my holiday decor. To the right is a pomegranate, which is in the photo because I happen to have a pomegranate and, well, they are a nice healthy, and currently popular, fruit.

Bully for Billy

The dance critic for the New York Times, Alastair Macaulay, gave Billy Elliott a rave review which was, naturally, skewed toward that particular art form. Combined with the drama critic Ben Brantley’s words-of-wisdom I pretty much expected to be able to climb on their particular bandwagon, big time. But, although I am unable to tap my half vast reservoir of superlatives like I had hoped, the show is actually very, very good. Maybe I should even triple the verys. There were moments of theatrical transcendence but overall I was not blown away, which is always a disappointment when one falls for the hype and just itching to be able to say it’s the most fabulous musical on earth. The show is certainly going for it by throwing around all the Broadway glitz possible, sparing no expense, but actually I think that is one of the problems. I became very aware of how long the first act is and when the Margaret Thatcher puppets came out I threw in the towel about controlling my individual squirm factor. A judicious pair of scissors would have been most welcome and I could even tell them where to whack. Maybe it’s a good thing nobody ever listens to me.

The concept of Billy Elliott really shouldn’t work. A boy in a mining town during the historical and ill-fated British miners’ strike in the mid-80’s who aspires to be a ballet dancer? Are you kiddin’ me? I remember the movie, on which it is based, being good even though at the time I didn’t buy the premise. But, last night, the magic of live theater put a lump in my throat two or three times and made sitting through yet another scene depicting the grime, hardship and unfairness of the strike almost palatable. Although I didn’t end up shaking a figurative fist at the injustice of it all and with the gargoyle presence of Ms. Thatcher always looming backstage (and sometimes on-stage…see the puppets comment above) I certainly sympathized with our perfect, hardworking miners, but as an audience member I got it after the first illustrative stride-around stomp-around scenes. It did not need to be driven home a second time; or third; or…

By contrast, the story of Billy is small potatoes although certainly a lot prettier. And, baby, a whole lot snazzier with not only some dazzling ballet; but tap, modern, acrobatic, hip-hop and just some great finger snappin’ group movement in general. This includes the 15 or 16 minors, both boys and girls, who warmed the cockles of me heart with their precision and emotive power. Topping the list, as it should be, is the boy who plays Billy. In this case it was an incredible Kiril Kulish, who convincingly played his 11-year-old character’s transformation from an awkward street-kid with no apparent talent of any kind living in abject poverty with his Dad, Brother, Grandmother and the memory of his late mother (who, what else, comes to visit occasionally…the book writers are shameless), to an amazingly sure-footed hoofer confidently at home even with the required lines and grace required by ballet. There are two other boys who share this role and it’s little wonder this is done because Billy has to dance his butt off and is rarely off stage.

It’s also and incentive to maybe see the show again, that is, to see another boy, another Billy, transcend. Despite my own personal caveats Billy Elliott is a big hit and there had better be at least a dozen young actors in the pipeline to play this role because, as they grow and change (and age), there will be a need for numerous wunderkinder to fill Billy’s shoes. I just wonder if it’s in their contracts that at the first sign of a growth spurt or a cracking voice, they’re out the door. A sad thought but, like the failed miner’s strike, inevitable.
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Update August 29, 2009: Sure enough, it was announced today that Kiril Kulish (the boy I saw play Billy) will be leaving the show. Puberty can be a bitch in so many ways.

Dog Whispering

No, this is not the illustration to Chapter 4 of the Kama Sutra. Doggy Style is a walking, sleepover, daycare and obedience business in Oakland, Calif. that dares advertise itself as “Leading the Pack in Dog Care Since 2002!” Exclamation point. DS is licensed, bonded, insured and animal first-aid certified with excellent references (reviewed on yelp.com). Alesia Vaughn is the CEO and DW (dog-whisperer) and, although I don’t really know her I feel like I do since (full disclosure) her mother is a good and excellent friend of mine and I sometimes get the wayward-daughter proud-mother stories. The name Doggy Style is certainly an eye-catcher in the San Francisco Bay Area and I’m sure those of us with smut-for-brains, when first encountering the advertising, share an eye-rolling moment. Nonetheless, I understand the business is doing well and is quite popular with a certain segment of the population in the Bay Area. Oh, and you should thank me for not indulging my penchant for puns and word-play that is so tempting.