The Los Angeles times provides a roundup of the critical response to the Spider-man musical. Let’s just say that the Sinister Six never presented Spidey with this much of a problem. I’d still like to see it. Maybe just so I could say that I saw it. Because I’m starting to doubt that it’s going anywhere else.
It looks like the major critics have abandoned waiting for “opening night” — whenever that will be — of the musical “Spider-man: Turn Off the Dark,” and are now running reviews. Their calculation, no doubt, is this: The show is doing major box-office business, it’s big talk in theatre circles, and it’s essentially being reviewed daily on the internet by people who’ve seen it. So yet again, old media and its old way of doing business is responding too slowly to new dynamics.
So the “professional” reviews are in, and they are punishing. The LA Times’ Charles McNulty calls it “a teetering colossus,” a “frenetic Broadway jumble,”and “an artistic form of megalomania.” In his review for the New York Times, Ben Brantley shares his paper’s decision making process in going ahead with a review, before swooping in for the first strike:
But since this show was looking as if it might settle into being an unending work in progress — with Ms. Taymor playing Michelangelo to her notion of a Sistine Chapel on Broadway — my editors and I decided I might as well check out “Spider-Man” around Monday, the night it was supposed to have opened before its latest postponement. You are of course entitled to disagree with our decision. But from what I saw on Saturday night, “Spider-Man” is so grievously broken in every respect that it is beyond repair.
Of the many effects in the show, he adds: “But they never connect into a comprehensible story with any momentum. Often you feel as if you were watching the installation of Christmas windows at a fancy department store.”
To me, two things are worth noting from these reviews:
Remember back here I was lauding the fine soup and beer I had while in the Eugene, Oregon? I was just filing my receipts and realized I left out the key element: the charge for the home-made soup, and the beer (a Boddingtons), cost a grand total of $6. I can say with authority that in LA, that would have cost more like $13. (Eight bucks for the Boddingtons. Five bucks for the soup.) And then we would’ve added state sales tax, to the tune of 9.75%, for a whopping $14.75. In Oregon, The Bier Stein did add tax, by the way: a nickel. I think that was to cover the can.
Above you can find another drink I had while in Oregon. This is a locally brewed “Organic Free Range Red” — i.e., a beer — that I consumed in the airport in Portland. The branding isn’t right for me, but the taste fit perfectly.
Bristol Palin’s forthcoming “memoir.”
Theoretically, the memoir form calls for self-reflection. I hope someone tells her that this doesn’t just mean looking in the mirror.
Friends of mine are producing the LA premiere of Neil LaBute’s “The Mercy Seat.” I’m looking forward to it, because these friends of mine are really really talented and always put on a good show.
Here’s more information, in a way.
I’m originally from an area where sometimes wildlife just shows up — possums, deer, beavers, snapper turtles, owls, and the occasional bear. But this was a first: yesterday, these 15 turkeys arrived in front of my sister’s house. My brother-in-law emailed me these shots of the 15 turkeys. Picturing his response to this event, I wrote back: “How do they taste?”
Because otherwise, he might do this.
Yes — take 1 minute and 16 seconds to watch this.
How come game shows in America aren’t this much fun?
Case in point: Using other people’s political misery and suffering to try to sell shoes.
Update:
If you click no further re the thing above, make sure you read this. The backlash was instant — and hilarious.
It’s always nice to visit some place new. (I can say that with confidence because I’ve already visited Newark, NJ.) Right now I’m in Eugene, Oregon for a couple of days of speaking with the nicest, most socially committed people imaginable, helping them look at new ways to get out their message about what they do. This is my first visit to Oregon, birthplace of my good friend the writer EM Lewis and, for all I know, many other people as well. I have found a lot to like. Principally among them: crisp clean air that reminds me of my birthplace in the Pine Barrens in the late autumn; friendly service; and good beer.
The Bier Stein, above, presents one perfectly valid reason to visit Eugene, Oregon. Within, one can find billions of biers from which to choose, as well as fine kraut and sausages to accompany them. What I did not expect was this: a cream of portabello mushroom soup with smoked gouda, roasted red peppers, and spinach, that was so slam-bang good that you would swear off all competing soups for the rest of your life. Look, I know: That soup sounds a) like a cliched Oregon soup gone bad, and b) like something I would not only never eat but would also gladly mock. Too fey, too hippie, too something. But I asked the bartender or whatever they’re called around here what was good, and I drank the bier he recommended and it was good, and I asked him what was good to eat, and he recommended that soup and he was absolutely right. Here’s a tip: Whenever you’re someplace new, ask the locals, or the bartender or whatever, what’s good. And then order that. As a general tip for living, this is a good one to follow. I wish I had taken a photo of this soup to help cement it into my memory, but I inhaled it faster than any digital camera could have captured it.
As is unfortunately all too often the case, I won’t get to see too much of this city. Last year I did a lot of traveling around the country, and when my wife would ask me how, say, Castle Rock, Colorado was, I would say, “Do you mean the airport, or the hotel?” ‘Cause usually that’s about what I get to see. I hope I get to come back to Eugene and spend some more time with the fine people here, and if I do, I’m ordering that soup again.