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Something Rotten
Holy crap, Something Rotten is one of the best shows I've seen in my entire life. Take Shakespeare and every musical of the last 50 years, throw them in a blender, and add some brilliant actors and watch them compete for Tonys.
It's the new A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, tone-wise (language wise, it's a definite R; there's a fair amount of swearing.)
And oh, my god, the homages. The Tony award number was only the start of it (and THAT had been cut down a little for the Tonys, too, leaving out Jesus Christ Superstar, Drowsy Chaperone, and Pippin.) I'll need to see it three times just to catch them all; the reaction to "raindrops on Rosencrantz" wiped out the next two lines, for example.
The plot is basically that the Bottom brothers need a hit but Shakespeare is getting all the love and attention and funding (and girls). Christian Borle reminded me of a young Tim Curry; he had such personal magnetism that I'm half surprised the cast didn't stick to him. (Borle himself was obviously aiming for Mick Jagger and hit the target dead center.) In desperation, Nick Bottom goes to Nostramdamus to find out the future of theater. The answer? "Musicals!"
Raindrops on Rosencrantz is the least of what happens next.
The scene that lingers longest, though, is the one where Shakespeare throws a private party for his fans. Watching someone in a black pleather codpiece grind to "Now is the winter of our discontent" is both hilarious and permanently life-scarring.
It's the new A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, tone-wise (language wise, it's a definite R; there's a fair amount of swearing.)
And oh, my god, the homages. The Tony award number was only the start of it (and THAT had been cut down a little for the Tonys, too, leaving out Jesus Christ Superstar, Drowsy Chaperone, and Pippin.) I'll need to see it three times just to catch them all; the reaction to "raindrops on Rosencrantz" wiped out the next two lines, for example.
The plot is basically that the Bottom brothers need a hit but Shakespeare is getting all the love and attention and funding (and girls). Christian Borle reminded me of a young Tim Curry; he had such personal magnetism that I'm half surprised the cast didn't stick to him. (Borle himself was obviously aiming for Mick Jagger and hit the target dead center.) In desperation, Nick Bottom goes to Nostramdamus to find out the future of theater. The answer? "Musicals!"
Raindrops on Rosencrantz is the least of what happens next.
The scene that lingers longest, though, is the one where Shakespeare throws a private party for his fans. Watching someone in a black pleather codpiece grind to "Now is the winter of our discontent" is both hilarious and permanently life-scarring.