- or why a certain Minneapolis theatre critic is a Drunken Fool.
(This article was never published on Theatrehead.com)
TheatreHead had originally approached me with the prospect of reviewing local plays, but as I am directly involved in the Twin Cities theatre scene, I felt that I couldn't be objective enough, plus I didn't want to alienate anyone specifically. I would much rather insult people in general, vague terms. However, after the experience I just had, I'm seriously reconsidering, as there is at least one reviewer slot in the Twin Cities that desperately needs to be filled with someone intelligent and sober. Let me explain�
I went to that hole in the wall veterinary clinic that houses the People's Center to see Bald Alice's Gospel of the Messiah Widow. It didn't seem like something I would like, but I knew a few people in the show, so I went. I was standing in the lobby, looking at a picture of Zach Curtis and trying to figure out if he was the same guy as Don Maloney (but it turned out I was thinking of Bill Willamson) and someone teetered past me who smelled vaguely of alcohol, and went up to the desk thingy. The guy at the desk (the director, Stan Peal) gave him a large envelope and said something about a "press packet," so I figured the guy must be a critic, and thought it was kind of funny that he was (apparently) boozing it up before the show, but I thought that might actually work in the show's favor if the critic was feeling happy.
So I went in and had the bad luck to sit a few rows behind this bozo, and after about 15 minutes into the play, this guy starts shifting around and shaking his head. This went on intermittently through the first act, which could have been no big deal, the guy has a right to dislike the show, but he was in the first row and everyone including the actors could not help but see his infantile shifting and grousing. I was especially pissed off when the people I came to watch were on stage doing quiet scenes and all I could see, hear and think about was this asshole in the first row who, if he's a fucking critic, should know better than to act like he's sitting in his living room watching a disappointing episode of Full House.
So a few days later, the first act is over and I'm in the lobby enjoying a cookie and some coffee, and Drunken Fool (the name I'll use for this asshole from here on) bumbles past me and gets some coffee. He immediately lurches over to the director, who's again at that desk thingy by the door and says "no sugar or cream?" and Peal says, "Oh, yeah sorry about that, I forgot." (Apparently Peal, like me, drinks his coffee black, like a real man. Cream and sugar usually doesn't cross my mind, and when people ask for it, I try to belittle them, because really, c'mon, drink it black for pete's sake. Wussy.) So Drunken Fool sighs a grumbling sigh and leaves, probably to get some Bailey's for his coffee.
To his credit, he may normally drink his coffee black, but most drunks, when they start to sober up, crave sugar in that unpleasant transition to the land of the living. The body enjoys sugar as a good alcohol substitute in a crunch, so when you're working with theatre people in the morning, it's always a good idea to carry a few Snickers bars.
But I digress. So after Drunken Fool exits the tiny lobby, Peal catches me sort of watching and gives me a kind of nod and half-smirk (he does that a lot) and says, "Hope that doesn't mean he's going to give me a bad review." I laughed politely, not sure what to say. I don't like to talk about shows at intermission, so I didn't really want to say anything falsely supportive about the show (I honestly wasn't sure what to make of it at that point) so I just kind of nodded and said, "Yeah, that would suck." I finished my cookie and went back into the theatre. During intermission, Carolyn Pool, or rather her character, was changing the set. I love stuff like that. But I think they stole that idea from Fifty Foot Penguin. Then again, they�re all the same people (Why not just call themselves The Fifty-Foot Directors� Bald Ass Penguin Theatre?)
Anyway, the second act starts, and Drunken Fool is unfortunately back, shifting and grousing more than ever. Late in the act, I can actually hear his mumbles of disapproval. At the time I'm thinking "What piece of shit paper does this guy work for? Can't they afford to pay somebody who isn't an obnoxious, stupid-ass distracting drunken mother-fucker?" Another audience member actually had to lean over and ask him to please shut the hell up. My understanding is that critics, even if they hate something, shouldn't directly attempt to sabotage a show, that seems unethical somehow. If this guy isn't clinically retarded, he must have some awareness of how his shifting and mumbling might actually be heard and seen by every fucking person in the room, since it's a sixty-seat black box theater and he's in the front fucking row. Unless of course he's just a Drunken Fool, in which case, he would have no idea that he looks like a complete shithead moron. I contemplated finding a brick to throw at his head, but the show ended and he left. I sighed relief and tried to get up, but I couldn�t walk very well as I had to wait until I got the feeling back in my ass (it was like a three hour show). I apologized to the people I knew in the show and said I had to see it again, because I was too distracted by the Drunken Fool. This guy�s newspaper might do well to slip a few AA pamphlets into his thesaurus or just give his assignments to their other reviewer who maybe enjoys her drinks AFTER the show. Of course I can�t mention the name of the paper, but it might possibly rhyme with �Cults of the Swim Titties� and the critic�s name might sound like �Fright Blobs.� But just I won�t say for sure as there�s no way to anticipate the wrath of a Dumb Ass Drunken fucking Fool. I didn�t bother reading his review as I�m sure it sucked.
By the way, I saw the show again, and I liked it. Some of it was a little too hippy for me (people dancing with cloth and waving oriental fans and stuff) but a lot of it was really cool. Peal might be a little whacked, but maybe that�s good for a playwright. And man, were there a lot of babes in the show (None of them got naked, but there were lots of fight scenes. Yow).
The most memorable thing, though was that I did lose the feeling in my ass. Maybe if people know they have a three-hour show and sucky seats, they could put cushions in the set budget, 'cause seriously, my ass.
- E.A.P