A Night at the Theatre
I went to the theater last night. Not the movie theater. A play theater, with actors and stages and lights and gay men. I generally don't go to the theater, because plays usually just aren't that good and cost a hell of a lot more than a movie that's not any good.
The play was "The Clean House", and was basically a chick-flic on stage about people cleaning their house. It was nominated for a Pulitzer, and I assumed that only works of the highest quality get nominated for such lofty awards. Boy, was I wrong. The play wasn't horrible, but it had the story, character development, and wit of your average TV sitcom. If that can get nominated for a Pulitzer, I feel pretty confident that I can shit in a Tupperware bowl and submit it for consideration.
Oh - I did think the set design was rather well done. So kudos to the production designer, or art director, or whatever you call the guy with the graph paper and the hammer.
Despite my general shallowness and stupidity, I actually do support things like culture and the finer arts. I have a useless BFA in film, and did a stint in community theater. During my college years, I thought if I learned more about the acting process, I would be a better film director. Also, I thought it would be a good chance to nail some actresses. Here's some advice to anybody that wants to date an actress or a theater major - don't. They're all bat-shit insane, and they've all been touched wrong by an uncle, so intimate moments are always a crapshoot in terms of what sort of emotional outburst to expect. Sobbing and hysterical screaming are fairly normal. To be fair, I tend to do a fair bit sobbing during sex myself.
Despite my years of film obsession, I've recently lost all interest in the medium. It seems like such a horribly self-indulgent industry. Watching a bunch of actors pat themselves on the back during the Oscars makes my spleen hurt. And theater actors are even worse. There's only one reason a person decides to become an actor - they want other people to look at them. They want to get up on the stage so everybody can see how talented and brilliant they are.
Our society seems to give actors a lot of respect. We listen to things they say, we show interest in their lives, we attribute qualities of intelligence and insight to their persona. The end result of this warped sense of priorities is Sean Penn. Actors are not smarter than anybody else, and they're sure as hell not doing much to make the world a better place. They're entertainers. They provide mild amusement for 30 - 120 minutes. Unless they're in a Peter Jackson film, then they provide mild amusement for about 19 hours.
This is not a bad thing - I enjoy watching the moving pictures on the magic lantern in my living room as much as the next guy. And many actors seem like interesting people, who have a sense of their place in the world. My problem is actors who are filled with delusions of self-importance. Actors who assume we give a shit about what they have to say. Actors that have no sense of humor. They fail to understand that art is simply a privilege of living in a free society.
Back to the theater - when I was at the play, from the moment the first actress stepped out, I could just feel the sense of "Everybody needs to look at me now" emanating from her. Total turn off. I wonder why some people need so much attention? Like that David Blaine jackass. What the hell is his problem? He's no magician. He's no illusionist. He's no stunt man. He does stupid things, like stand on a pole for a week, and we're all supposed to care? I have to assume his mother tossed him into the river as a baby, and for some reason he didn't die like he was supposed to, which broke the time-space continuum, so now the rest of the world has to put up with his childish antics.
Admittedly, one could argue that by writing columns and game reviews for a webzine, I also am crying out for attention. Perhaps I need acknowledgement from strangers that I exist, so that I don't just curl up in a fetal position in my closet and wonder if maybe my life is all just the dream of a fat autistic child.
Well, that could be the case. But I'm not the introspective type, so I'm not going to sweat it. Personally, I think I'm just hoping that The Atlantic Monthly or Redbook will take note of my writings and offer me a job, so I can start dating hot columnists.
I'll also consider any offers from Swank.
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