A prior idea for the Aladdin play included modern-day Chinese Muslims illegally held as Guantánamo Bay prisoners, their plight contrasting with Aladdin’s good fortune.
Months later that idea has devolved into the concept of pairing one of my genies with a modern-day Major Nelson.
Just doing what I do best: setting the bar low.
By spying on George Hunka’s performance calendar, I see a production of Hedda Gabler is coming to Brooklyn all the way from Sydney, Australia. The production carries with it the star power of Cate Blanchett and Hugo Weaving.
Wait a minute, the last time we saw that pair was in Lord of the Rings! That’s a long way from Ibsen.
I’m really upset that BAM chose to stage this instead of my homoerotic stage adaptation of Lord of the Rings, titled Brokeback Mount Doom.
Don’t tell the elf!
I accompanied our own Nancy V. to a preview performance of Adam Rapp’s Red Light Winter this afternoon. Now, it’s impolite to say bad things about a play before it opens, but I will say this: don’t waste your money.
That’s not a play critique; I am strictly talking dollars and cents. Nancy graciously provided complimentary tickets; otherwise the cost of each ticket would be $65. That’s high, but it’s not an unusual off-Broadway price.
But there’s a history here. Red Light Winter is a transfer from Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago. There are no cast or designer changes. The one change? Tickets in Chicago were a mere $15 each.
Over four times the price for the exact same thing! I’m sure the numbers work out. An open-ended New York run has a vastly different budget than a limited-run regional theatre production.
Still, a $65 ticket feels like an investment. I spend $15 regularly without thinking about it. For example, The Bent Spoon starts selling their hot chocolate mix for $15 and the next moment I’m broke and eating the powder straight from the tin.
Meanwhile the lovely Curt and Mel have moved to Chicago and are paying a reasonable rent for a reasonable apartment. They see shows, and often pay for their tickets! I don’t think I’ve ever paid for a show in New York—except for ones by Mac Rogers.
In the second act of Red Light Winter, the set becomes the decrepit, one-room apartment a character rents in the East Village for $285 a month. A few years ago I was paying $150 more than that each month to live under the same conditions in Princeton; I can’t imagine New York being a better deal.
So before Red Light Winter opens, they’d better jack up their fictional prices to go along with their real ones.
