It has been a very interesting week. Have had a number of epiphanies, been locked in my floor against my will, FINALLY watched Machine Girl, (possibly the best damn show ever), experimented with stuff that was a contravention of morality, partook in a Thai buffet that almost killed off a quarter of the Reading Malaysian population, and attempted a foot journey that ended up in incredible disaster.
But all this will not be covered in this entry.
And why? Because Tegence is extremely happy at this point.
Why, I hear you inquisitive souls ask?
Because a few days ago he achieved his dream of watching Wicked, a West End musical he has dreamt of watching ever since his days in Malaysia.
You see, in case you haven’t realized by now, I ADORE musicals. Seriously. I’m not entirely sure if it qualifies as a genre of music, but my laptop playlist is chock-full of songs from Disney movies, Andrew Lloyd Webber hits, and Sondheim tunes. I personally think a song is nothing if it doesn’t have a mind-stoppingly infectious tune, witty rhyming lyrics and context within a story.I used to wish my life was a musical. Seriously. Who doesn’t want their life to be filled with elaborate show-stopping numbers and dance sequences? A world where everyone sing in perfect pitch and knows the steps to dozens of dance numbers? And where your problems, no matter how huge, can be solved by a rousing chorus of an appropriate song? (Final Examinations Aria/Not Enough Change for My Pizza/ Woe My Dog is Having Pancreatic Cancer, etc)
So I always wanted to see Wicked, which I’ve only heard glowing reviews about. All my friends told me how wonderful it was, and I had not read an online review which didn’t contain the phrase ‘orgasmically cool’ or some variation of it.
I also read Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, the book by Gregory Maguire that the musical was based on. For those not in the know, the book and musical is basically the story of the Wizard of Oz, but told from the point of view of Elphaba, the green-skinned, cackling Wicked Witch of the West, detailing all the events that turned her into what she is now.
The book was…extremely interesting. Turned the land of Oz from a happy colourful place into an extremely dark and ugly place. And don’t get me wrong, I like adaptations that show the darker aspects of children’s stories. In fact, I’ve done it myself (Enid Blyton and the writers of Archie comics are going to have a heart attack when they see what I’ve envisioned with their characters), but somehow..I feel Maguire overdid the darkening a wee bit? Seriously. What with the murders and rampant sex, and a scene where one of the characters gets publicly raped by a sapient Tiger in a bar, the book’s tone was a little too disturbing for me.
Keep in mind that coming from me, this is like an bat complaining the sky is too dark to fly in. But I’m glad the book got edited to be more family-friendly for the West End production. Because, honestly, it was one of the best damn shows I have ever seen. Incredible beyond compare.
And you, my lucky readers, will get to read about how I went to see the show. LUCKY YOU!!!!!! Yes, only here can you read about how I made it to the Apollo Victoria theatre in London to catch the musical. Aren’t you exhilarated already?
So, anyway:
Had been planning to see this for ages, as it was. But somehow, stuff always got in the way. Planned to go see it last semester, but working on the play Sepadu for Malaysian Night (which I regret not blogging about) somehow got in the way. And then came exams. Followed by the saga of the stupid Eye which you can read about in the previous entry. Does the Man Upstairs not want me to watch this, or something??
By the time the eye recovered, all the original people who were supposed to go with me went away on travels. So, called a few other people..only for them all to cancel at the last minute.
Bah. Go ahead and leave me, you people who know who you are! I shall have my vengeance by singing songs from the show at you at the top of my horrifyingly out-of-tune voice!! That will show you for abandoning me!
(goes to sulk and brood)
Anyways, point was, decided that I was tired of waiting for other people, and so decided to go watch it myself, poor sad pathetic little me. Ahh well.
So I left for the musical, early one Wednesday morning to catch the matinee show. They apparently gave first row tickets at cheap prices: apparently 24 seats in the FREAKING FRONT ROW were reserved for the people who came earliest.
And so, with a determination never seen in me before (if only I was half as motivated for my exams) decided: I will get those damn tickets!!!! By hook or by crook or by Peregrin Took, I was going to watch that show.
So, spirited me decided to go all out. Packed myself a breakfast the night before, prepared clothes in advance, prepared essentials: camera, rail tickets, wallet, phone packet of tissues (because I had a dark feeling the play was going to make me emotional.) Decided to get an early night for maximum enjoyment.
Unfortunately, the recent midnight-oil-burning for exams had fundamentally messed up my body clock (am going to have no problems re-adapting to Malaysian time, let me tell you that) and so, found myself unable to sleep! I think anticipation for watching the musical I had been looking forward to for years also played a part.
So, the next day, walked to the train station in semi-groggy state. Lack of sleep does nasty things to me. The way I walked made zombies look like aristocrats in comparison. Met a few people I knew along the way, who did not notice any difference. Not sure to be relieved or insulted.
Basically, reached the station, just in time to catch the second train to London. Unfortunately, spanner thrown in the works of my plan as there was a breakdown in the line I was planning to take and so had to go through alternate way. Damn it, why is it the Circle Line NEVER seems to work??? Honestly, every time I go to London, theres always a breakdown or a delay or a reroute or something. Ridiculous!!!! Is it the designated breakdown lane or something? Is it the work of gremlins, or Mole People?? Friend told me breakdowns apparently happen due to suicides throwing themselves on train tracks. Why choose the Circle Line then?
Anyway, this entry is not to contemplate the mysteries of the British Underground, which thanks to Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere I already know is a surreal, mysterious place. Well, a surreal mysterious place that keeps on breaking down and losing power at the most inopportune moments, with its many stations and interlinking lines making its tube directories look like webs woven by technicolour spiders high on crack.
Have newfound appreciation for the Malaysian LRT trains. They only go in two directions, and break down very rarely, and my only complaint with them is that they are too commercialised. A not sure I blogged about my previous experience with a McDonald’s sponsored LRT ride, with big pictures of foldovers plastered all over the walls and the announcer making lame references to burgers and fries every upcoming station. I swear, if the Burger King and the A&W Root Bear die and are destined to go to Hell, that train would be the one to take them there.
So, anyways, made it to the theatre, did not get the front row seats after all (sadness) but eventually got very good seats as well at nice little student discount. Its good to be a student sometimes. Yes, you slave away to fact memorisation and get your soul devoured from time to time by exams, but hey, souls are overrated anyway, right? (goes out to lie and cheat and steal and take candy from infants)
While waiting for show to start, journeyed to MAS headquarters to get ticket home validated (so fast, I go home in a month) and had lunch. Went to a little café for sandwiches and hot chocolate, was amused that every customer in the restaurant seemed to be flirting with the sole waitress of the place. French bus driver was offering to take her to visit his village (“just give me two days notice!”) and stated that he was not above blackmailing the local mayor to do so. Ah, the wonders of love.
And no, did not flirt with the waitress. She was too old for me. And lack of sleep dulls my sharp and ready wit, which no one seems to understand anyway.
Went to Victoria theatre after that, where had my mind blown in a way I had never experienced before.
Wicked was AWESOME. Seriously. Incredible, the best damn musical; nay, the best damn show I have seen in my whole life. The stage design was fantastic, the actors magnificent, I could spend twenty pages describing all that went right with the show, from the incredible singing to the shiny clean floors of the theatre washroom. Rarely have I enjoyed myself this much.
Wicked is surprisingly, a lot like the other musical I’ve seen here, Hairspray, in which they both are themed around people that are usually misunderstood and ignored getting their chance to finally shine. Both involve dashing (if slightly air-headed) love interests initially linked to overly perky, shallow blondes that give the lead character trouble at the start. And while Hairspray championed the rights of the black people, Wicked, well, featured a movement started by a green woman.
But I enjoyed Wicked a lot more than the also-awesome Hairspray, don’t know why. There was just such a wonderful atmosphere to the story, an air of wonder and delight that made it hard not to smile as the show went on. L. Frank Baum did after all create a memorable world of munchkins, winged monkeys and ruby slippers, and to see another side of it, backed up with glorious music was just awesome.
And the songs..geez. Am embarrassed to say this, but they made me all teary eyed. I blame bloody Defying Gravity. Why does it have to be so touching? Seriously, everytime I hear Elphaba go: “I’m not afraid..its the Wizard who should be afraid”, I feel a lump in my throat and the urge to bawl like a little sissy schoolgirl. That song is doing damage to my masculinity!!!! Affects me in ways I just cannot understand. Seriously. If you ever want to torture me in pursuit of information, just tie me up and play that song, prefably the Idina Menzel version. I’ll be an emotional wreck in seconds.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, For Good shot an emotional torpedo right into my already ravaged heart. Beautiful stuff. More tear-inducing. Damn, in a way I’m glad I came alone..if my friends saw me, they’d never let me live it down!
Just to set the story straight: I am not one of those overly sensitive male SNAGs that burst into tears everytime a butterfly flies by or a baby laughs. I am a manly man who eats steak and doesn’t use moisturiser (at the detriment of my face) and ogles Megan Fox like the rest of you people. Its just that, like Superman has kryptonite, everyone has his weakness, and mine is the bloody musical! And if I am emotionally affected, I weep MAN TEARS! Yes, man tears! 23% higher in testosterone than regular tears! Which can be used to strip paint off furniture if distilled! And cure syphilis if combined with ginseng!
Anyway, entries that damage manly credibility notwithstanding, enjoyed show very much. Developed crush on actress that plays Nessarose, she had such a sweet voice.
Nessarose is obviously the ONE ON THE RIGHT. In the chair. My fetishes have not yet developed to the point they involve bald men in robes. (Bald women in robes, though..)
From there, ended up waiting 40 minutes outside the theatre waiting for cast members to sign autographs. In the rain. If that doesn’t make me a fan, don’t know what does. Good-looking actor playing Fiyero got mobbed and screamed at by assorted teenage girls, and videoed by their middle-aged mothers. Lucky man. Talked to other Wicked fans, many of them were repeat viewers, two girls were watching this show for the FIFTH time. Could see why though, because honestly, the show was a thousand kinds of awesome. The only thing that makes me slightly creeped out was the realization after the show that a million fan-fiction writers are probably writing Glinda-Elphaba femmeslash as I type this. And that’s disturbing.
Went home after that. Sat on train next to two gruff looking biker guys in leather. Would have been intimidated if not for the fact that they were discussing loudly which country Paddington Bear came from. (Biker 1: “If he’s REALLY from Peru, why do they call him Paddington?”) See. I’m not the only one losing masculine credibility.
Musicals are the best thing about this place. Seriously, the arts here are really flourishing, and the plays they stage always awe me. It’s a shame Malaysia (though its working hard on it) doesn’t have the same capability to launch long runs of shows like this, and all the major productions all never go there. (Where do they go? Bloody SINGAPORE.)
Next mission: to watch Les Miserables, the musical that started my love of musicals in the first place.
