Hi, did you guys know I don’t fuck around?
More yellow journalism from J. Jonah Jameson.
I have missed you, New York.
A movie that contains the deaths of three teenagers, numerous jokes surrounding teen suicide and what is, for all intents and purposes, a school shooting (it actually takes place just off school grounds in the woods, but still - a guy in a black trenchcoat and his hot girlfriend kill two popular football players). Can you musicalize such a movie? In a post-Columbine world?
Yes. Holy shit yes.
The edge has been shaved off a little (and only a little, and in very subtle ways (the guns are kept FAR off school grounds, for instance) and probably only noticeable if you, say, wrote a book about the source material) but Heathers is a teen musical with a dark streak, a huge heart and a great score. It dimensionalizes characters that might have seen cardboard-y in the film, not just through song, but with denser back stories and an intimacy that only theater can give you. Take for example Martha Dumptruck - a fat punchline who is an object of pity in the movie (and is compensated with the gift of the films last line) but in the musical is a) the catalyst for everything that happens and b) an ingenue with a beautiful 11 o’clock number sung gorgeously by the lovely Katie Ladner. The changes continue throughout - this is not a beat for beat copy like Legally Blonde or a campy spoof a la Silence the Musical, this is a true adaptation, adjusted and streamlined and made more theatrical, but still retaining the dark humor, shoulder pads and tart lines of the film.
And judging by the crowd I saw it with - a dozen of them in various states of Heathers cosplay- it works fine by itself for a younger crowd.
Right now, Heathers the Musical has 12 more shows at the New World Stages in NYC. It’s not for the little ones. But for the love of God, take a high schooler. They’ll thank you.
(Source: cbs.com, via fuckyeahcabaretrevival)
at MoMA The Museum of Modern Art
Sounds fun, but the desert tastes just like the appetizer. This is, admittedly, not my big tent material.
I mean, in a literal sense. Like, you paid for it. We were thinking of calling it Bailout Field, but that seemed a little too on the nose. Anyway. Thanks?
"Por favor, me llamo Juan. Señor One Dollar es mì padre."
An old circuitboard from a clock radio – some Elmers glue – the beginning of my sons’ robot costume.