Wild hairs are terrible things. One second you're watching 60 Minutes, the next you're buying broadway tickets for a cartoon musical in the Big Apple.
That's what happened last month when a Leslie Stahl piece on Bono, Edge and Julie Taymor caught my attention before Andy Rooney's soliloquy. Faster than you can say "Peter Parker," I booked a flight and orchestra pit seating for "Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark," the most expensive stage production in Broadway history.
Part musical and part stunt show, this Cirque du Soleil-style production has all the visual intensity and comic-book theatrics of the films, but the guy who plays Peter Parker is even more gay than Tobey Maguire. I wasn't a fan of the movies, so I'm not sure why this thespian romp has me so intrigued. If you don't count that old sex show on 42nd Street, I've never been to a Broadway performance. Maybe that's the appeal. I haven't bought a U2 album since "All That You Can't Leave Behind," so I can't blame the Irish rockers for pulling me in.
No, I think the reason Spider-Man caught this fly was because the show's on my birthday. I'll be 49 January 21, and watching a ripped guy in tights shoot sticky goo above my face for three hours seemed like a great way to squander what's left of my middle ages.
See you in the funny papers…
1 comment:
dinner and a show, mon ami?
do tell
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