It don't matter if you're black or white
In London, we saw MJ the Musical in the West End, at the Prince Edward Theatre. It was really good!
When we arrived at the theatre, we discovered a couple elderly dames in our seats, a mother and daughter. The two of them had enormous glasses of red wine and they were both already so sloshed, it was a bit of doing helping them relocate to their actual seats in the row behind, but nonetheless they were obliging and funny. However, as the show would go on, things got, er..... a little edgy.
To put it charitably, the old but spry mother turned into an angry drunk. She was bored, apparently not a fan of Michael Jackson, and she wanted her daughter to take her home! Her daughter was hurt and cranky at the notion they'd leave before the end of the show, after all the arrangements she'd made.
After intermission, all that red wine had completely obliterated any remaining British inhibition. The two engaged in a foulmouthed, most ridiculous kind of circular debate about whether or not to leave the theater. While it was distracting, it was also an entertaining sideshow in that shocking sort of way. My younger son would periodically lean into me, I'd look over and see his eyes wide as saucers in recognition of the farce going on behind us. I've never heard so many octogenarian F-words. All those "fucks" in a British accent made it seem positively titillating. Every so often, one of the hardworking ushers along the side of the theater would squint in our direction, trying to figure out who was talking so loudly, and I grew more thrilled by the minute at the prospect of a good old-fashioned throw-down between the elderly matrons (all that wine!) and the do-gooder ushers but the mother and daughter would inexplicably simmer down just long enough, that the ushers would get distracted by some other bozo in the theater (such as audience members attempting to record minutes-long videos with their phones, which thankfully occurred just a handful of times). Sooner or later, the mother would once again start cursing her daughter out, for spending what she considered an obscene amount of money on tickets for such a boring (to her) musical. Then, the daughter would start in on her mother! Ridiculous!
In spite of the insane flurry of fucks, fucker, fuck this, and motherfucker behind us, it was an entertaining musical with incredible choreography. But oh boy, those ladies sitting behind us were something else!
It don't matter if you're black or white
In London, we saw MJ the Musical in the West End, at the Prince Edward Theatre. It was really good!
When we arrived at the theatre, we discovered a couple elderly dames in our seats, a mother and daughter. The two of them had enormous glasses of red wine and they were both already so sloshed, it was a bit of doing helping them relocate to their actual seats in the row behind, but nonetheless they were obliging and funny. However, as the show would go on, things got, er..... a little edgy.
To put it charitably, the old but spry mother turned into an angry drunk. She was bored, apparently not a fan of Michael Jackson, and she wanted her daughter to take her home! Her daughter was hurt and cranky at the notion they'd leave before the end of the show, after all the arrangements she'd made.
After intermission, all that red wine had completely obliterated any remaining British inhibition. The two engaged in a foulmouthed, most ridiculous kind of circular debate about whether or not to leave the theater. While it was distracting, it was also an entertaining sideshow in that shocking sort of way. My younger son would periodically lean into me, I'd look over and see his eyes wide as saucers in recognition of the farce going on behind us. I've never heard so many octogenarian F-words. All those "fucks" in a British accent made it seem positively titillating. Every so often, one of the hardworking ushers along the side of the theater would squint in our direction, trying to figure out who was talking so loudly, and I grew more thrilled by the minute at the prospect of a good old-fashioned throw-down between the elderly matrons (all that wine!) and the do-gooder ushers but the mother and daughter would inexplicably simmer down just long enough, that the ushers would get distracted by some other bozo in the theater (such as audience members attempting to record minutes-long videos with their phones, which thankfully occurred just a handful of times). Sooner or later, the mother would once again start cursing her daughter out, for spending what she considered an obscene amount of money on tickets for such a boring (to her) musical. Then, the daughter would start in on her mother! Ridiculous!
In spite of the insane flurry of fucks, fucker, fuck this, and motherfucker behind us, it was an entertaining musical with incredible choreography. But oh boy, those ladies sitting behind us were something else!