Tuesday, June 30, 2009

My name is Jane. I want to be a mouse.

Today a press release arrived advertising a new one-woman play starting later this month at a new downtown theatre. I checked out the poster (above) and realized that I have lost the plot on this one.
My colleague TheBrat (funky clothes, some of them shiny and looking a little like lingerie, long deep red tresses – just like those Bratz dolls) usually tends have the lowdown on what’s hot and happening around town. So I forward her the poster via e-mail, with the message: “Am a complete and utter pleb when it comes to the arts? I look at this and I my reaction is more “Eeeeeeeeew, my gahd!” than “Good golly gosh, get me a ticket right now, dahling!”?
She looks across at me with a horrified expression and states that she is with me on this one.
So we forward this to TallandAttractive who declares the poster “a beautiful juxtaposition”.
Confusion mounts.
So we forward it to MomOfThree and ask her opinion.
“Personally, I would never see this play. But I find myself strangely fascinated by this sensual depiction of bestiality on another level. But that's the porn-lover in me,” she says.
The press release for the pending performances is headed: “Rejection. Desire. Obsession. Revenge. Escape. Mice.”
Still does nothing for me, I’m afraid.
Although I am a little tempted to fork out 100 bucks for a ticket just to check out what kind of audience this production draws.

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