Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The joys of small theater
We went to the Ashland Cabaret last night and saw “The History of Western Civilization, Abridged,” a musical comedy. It had all the energy (and budget) of a talented high school production, and the satire was only marginally sharper than what you would expect from American theater. Not pablum, but not as cutting edge as your average Family Guy episode.
Despite all o’ that, we had fun, and Jake really liked it. Bear in mind that his frame of reference includes only a high school production of The Nutcracker.
But I miss the Los Angeles small theater scene. In tiny venues on (or just off) Melrose, Karen and I saw “Specific Hospital,” an improv spoof on the soap; “Stumpy’s Gang,” which concerned the janitor of a genetic engineering firm and his friends, the company’s discarded monstrosities, with whom he creates a television variety show;and, best of all, “Zombie Attack.”
“Zombie Attack” concerned a group of 20-somethings who spend the weekend at the remote cabin of one of their recently deceased aunts. They’re there to clean up the joint, but on the way, a cat gets hit by a car. The group’s wannabe occultist attempts a resurrection ritual which, as you might guess from the title, has unintended consequences.
See, there’s a serial killer on the loose, which you ought to have surmised from the phrase “remote cabin.” The role was played by the guy from “Third Rock From the Sun,” the fellow with the crazy facial expressions. He wasn’t a TV star at the time. But lordy, did that man have star quality. He was amazing. Anyway, he has been burying his victims in a nearby field. The zombies have to come from somewhere, doncha know.
To this day, I can’t imagine anything more fun than a live action zombie show. Barring anything with nudity, of course.
Last night’s show lacked “Zombie Attack”‘s free-wheeling insanity and near-painful edge. But one look at the audience explained why: largely an older crowd, unlike the folks who showed for those Melrose productions.
It’s like the Las Vegas phenomenon: playing to the common denominator. Yet again, I want to be back in the City, any city (except Vegas), and this time it isn’t my stomach talking.
D.
I actually like small town theatre. I don’t expect it to be good, or at least not really good, but it’s mostly very earnest and enjoyable if you just accept that a dentist and not a professional actor will be playing Captain Nemo.
Hello.
No theatrics here, just regular erin saying hello.
Hello.
Hello?
Hello!
O’Brien, you nut. Just for that, maybe I’ll take a photo of O’Brien for you on the way home tomorrow.
O’Brien, Oregon, that is.
Ever year at summer camp we went to The Barnstormer’s Theatre to watch the same play: a 1930’s thriller called The Ghost Train. I saw the same show (with the same “surprise”) ending every year for ten years.
Loved it. Can still smell the pine of the theatre and feel the rumble of the train coming through the station.
(Every once in a while I remember thinking that it would be nice to see a different production, but one I got there, it was all good.)
Neat story, Suisan!