"Hinch? Shame. The rest was horrorshow." (In Nadsat, that means 'good', okay?)
I've only had to do that once. To file for the next morning's edition. I had to phone a review in, parked in the bourge mobile. Once that was out of the way, I went out dancin'. I heard my review quoted by Neil Mitchell on the way home. (It was a big night!) Anyway, neither of tonight's 'crickets' made an appearance at the after-show party. (Pussies! You missed out badly!)
Anyway, by request, here is the first page of my almost legible notes... and an exegesis of sorts!
"...if you can get a nine week suspension for gobbing in the general vicinity of a member of an opposing team, what do you suppose a bloke should get for spraying all over his leading lady?"
Village Voice dance critic Deborah Jowitt reckons the key to note taking is 'impression' words. I don't entirely agree with her, legibility is my first priority!
"Karaoke music" (the top line) reminds me that the musical accompaniment to Tamsin Carroll's singing in the opener was too too perfect. It didn't sound live.
The second line reads: "Brad's a spitter." (Yes, I even punctuate in the dark. Without looking down. Weird, huh?) So he deserves a bit of a spray, right?
If you can get a nine week suspension for gobbing in the general vicinity of a member of an opposing team, what do you suppose a bloke should get for spraying all over his leading lady? His character's new fiancee no less? How about Hepatitis?! (How dare he spit on Kellie Rode!!) (And, yeah, Kel's playin' a virgin AGAIN!) [I just googled Kellie Rode virgin to locate that last link -- I'm a bit disappointed to discover that this blog ranks 4 -- wot, so low? -- out of three and a bit million.)
The next line? "Hinch -- Shame." The best I can say about Derryn's narration is that he had his lines down, pat. He didn't miss a cue or an entrance. He only lacked a pulse. Any animation at all would have been welcome.
Next line: "Tap - clicktrack." When Columbia (Sharon Millerchip) went tappa tappa tappa across the stage, the audio didn't match up with her footsteps.
The next bit, ahem, is a zygote of a blog post that will probably be thrown out with the embryos for stem cell research and general cloning. I was off on one of my time-warping reminiscences... Thinking back to the first time I saw the Rocky Horror Show at the Johnston Street Teletheatre in the '70s. I wondered how we heard performers, way back when, before integrated circuits and radio microphones... Anyway, the line reads: "Bulge in the pants from cordless mic battery pack."
See, all I really needed to write was bulge in the pants, yeah? But what if I'd lost my notes! Or someone read them. Sometimes you've gotta spell stuff out!
Rocky (Simon Farrow, a stuntman no less!) used his utility belt in the first act. Janet (Kellie Rode) had some bizarro pouch thing hangin' from her bra strap, rear.
Suspension of disbelief in contemporary music theatre (now that's an especially ridiculous concept!!) demands that one ignore cables snaking down spines, bud microphones in headgear, five thousand pieces of clear sticky tape on faces, shoulders, et cetera... Oh, and being able to ignore those goddam bulges.
Idle/Idol thought... the better the performance, the less visible/noticeable the pack. (Rode excepted... there was nowhere to hide!) I don't think I once noticed iOTA's, for example. But before I begin my raving about iO [staggeringly good] and Paul Capsis [as Riff Raff, talk about luxury casting!], a quick line or two from the last page of my notes.
Overheard at the par-tay:
Said (by a woman) to Ouzo-swigging, 26 year-old, mother-of-three dancer with happy teeth [I couldn't make this shit up!]:
"You look sexy. [Pause. Then, matter of factly:] What happened?"
Same mob, later:
Don't party too hard!The short version? Great show. (I mean, really, I can't tell you how relieved I am that it was worth a few hours of my time! I missed Criminal Intent for this! LOL) OUT STANDING party. My compliments to the caterers at Comme. I haven't been there since it was Mietta's... Sigh. More ghosts. More stories to tell...
As fucken if!
Rocky Horror Show is at the Comedy Theatre, Melbourne, until the proverbial cows come home.