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My eighty year old uncle likes cartoons. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Coyote and Roadrunner and the like. So, when the Wallace and Gromit movie came out a couple of years ago, I opted to take him. Unfortunately, by the time he was free, three weeks after the invite, the movie was no longer playing locally (the movie didn’t do very well). Rather than the day be a complete bust, I asked what other movie he’d like to make. After paging through the local paper, he chose The Producers, the remake. I’d seen the original. Hysterical. I thought Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick would do a nice piece and I agreed.
We got to the theater and sat down. It was maybe a third full and the crowd was made up almost entirely of young Asians. “Hmm…that’s odd,” I thought. The curtains came up and the movie started. A few minutes into it someone, I don’t remember who anymore, burst into song. I winced. I can’t stand singing in movies. “Why is that here and when will it go?” I wondered. Finally it stopped, “Ahhhh.”
A few minutes later, another song, and another and another! The whole fucking movie! The remake was a musical! Nobody told me! I had no idea! Though the original had numbers, they were part of a comedy and more satire than song. This was different. This was unmistakably a musical. The crowd roared! They laughed, they cheered, they let out gasps corresponding to appropriate points in the movie and I sat there, skin crawling, shifting in my seat, glancing around and keeping an eye on my watch counting the minutes but minutes didn’t come. Instead, time slowed down to a stand still I all I could count were seconds. Grueling, agonizing, painful seconds. Singing, dancing. Torment, torture. All of it. Every moment of this movie was completely unbearable to me. I hate, loathe and despise musicals, all except Sound of Music and Singing in the Rain (I have no explanation as to why those two don’t suck and all the others do). Nothing is more uncomfortable for me to sit through, including horror (another least favorite of mine). I’m allergic to musicals. The only thing worse would be sitting through a musical having to eat ginger. Vile herb! I’m allergic to it also. In almost any form, I’m immediately nauseated by it. Obviously, I’m tasting something other people are not. My reaction is unique. I’m allergic.
When the movie ended, the audience rose with applause. Maybe for a musical, it’s that good. I don’t know. I know at the end of the movie I felt relief. Relief like water dripping on my forehead for days finally came to an end. For this reason, I applauded also.
Not wanting to spoil the experience for my uncle, I had a plan. I decided to keep my mouth shut and keep him busy answering questions about his favorite parts of the movie while we drove home. It worked like a charm! I managed to keep him going about it without so much as a hint of suspicion. Ten minutes later we walked through the door and his wife (my aunt) greeted us (she didn’t want to go). My uncle walked straight to the bathroom. Again, he’s eighty. “Sweet! Deflect one question from her and by the time my uncle’s out of the bathroom, I’ll be home free,” I thought.
“How was the movie?” she asked.
“Jerry loved it!” I dodged.
“Great! How about you? Did you enjoy it?”
“The audience roared! Blah, blah, blah.” I gave some long explanation of how they carried on hoping she’d forget her question and just accept the general praise. With this, I figured I’d be done and the topic would die.
Instead, she looked at me curiously.
“But you…
The bathroom door opened and Jerry walked out to hear my aunt ask:
“….how did YOU like it?” she probed.
“He hated it,” said my uncle matter of factly.
“What?” I exclaimed. “Why would you say that? I didn’t complain once!”
“Sirvice, you sat through the entire movie in silence. Even when everyone else in the theater was laughing, you sat still without making a sound. Not even a chuckle. You hated it.” My uncle explained.
“Is this true?” my aunt asked.
The jig was up.
“Yes, every word. I hated it! I can’t stand musicals!” it poured out of me in relief. “I didn’t know this remake was a musical. I never would have gone! Never, until now, have two hours lasted longer than half my life!”
Oddly, they understood.
“Some people don’t like them. Not everyone does. We don’t watch action/adventure. Personal preference. Next time, we’ll see something we all like.”
Last week, I got an email invite from my cousins to “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” at the Pantages Theater. Tickets were in hot demand selling for $300. I got mine free, not to mention lunch. All of it was included as part of my late aunt’s (a different aunt) gift to her family.
Today was the day and I drove out to Hollywood for the big show. After the greetings, we walked down the aisles and found our seats (great seats, center stage).
“This is gonna be impressive.” I thought. “The Pantages’ production of a cute, childhood classic? Should be adorable.”
The lights dimmed and the curtain came up. Max, John Larroquette as the Grinch’s dog, introduced himself and no sooner did he start narrating than the singing began. It lasted the length of the play until the curtain fell and beyond into the encore! Encore! Idiots! All of them! You know what happened next…
I survived. Barely.
My cousins are dead to me….until Christmas. Dinner’s at their place.
