Sunday, December 16, 2007

He wouldn't want us to give it away.

Ahh! In the New York Times, for all to see, Jesse Green reveals what we've all been thinking:

"FOR months now, in anticipation of the Dec. 21 release of Tim Burton’s “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” theater buffs have been worrying themselves sick about what would happen to “their” masterpiece when it was remade as a film. Would it still be alive despite drastic cutting? Would it still sing, despite the casting of stars not known for their voices? Or would commercial pressures and Hollywood habit leave it just another corpse on the heap of butchered theatrical translations?"

I like that in one paragraph he manages to both potentially alienate the "theatre buffs" who consider Sweeney "their" show (sure, "we" think that, but if you say it like *that*, "we" look like snobs, man!) AND hook them. Or at least me. Alright, just me.

But I do love that he chose to use the phrase "worrying themselves sick." And of course, I screamed when I saw the article online. Dear god.

I want to say that right now, Aldo's listening to Bing Crosby crooning "White Christmas" and I'm listening to Sweeney.

Nitz gave me a fabulous book for my birthday called "How I Became Stupid." It's about a guy who's so unhappy being intelligent that he decides becoming stupid will make his life easier. He writes a manifesto and this is part of it that made me laugh:

"Nothing anoys me more than those stories where, at the end, the hero is in the same situation as the beginning but he's gained something. He's taken risks, survived adventures but, in the end, lands back on his feet. I don't want to be a part of that lie: pretending I don't already know how all this will end. I know full well that this journey into stupidity is going to turn into a hymn to intelligence. It will be my own personal little Odyssey-- after my share of trials and dangerous adventures I will end up back in Ithaca. I can already smell the ouzo and the stuffed grape leaves."

Today-- Bread and Puppet with Nitz. Tomorrow-- not working. Excellent.

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