tenlittlebullets | FUCK NO. EPIC FAIL.

Hey, you know what is a recipe for compete, utter, total shit? An avant-garde staging of A Streetcar Named Desire.

I... really don't want to talk about it. To give you a pretty good idea of what it was like, the final confrontation--the really dramatic one that's supposed to end in an implied rape scene--was delivered in monotone, with Blanche and Stanley standing side by side and her head kind of leaning on his shoulder. And was followed by twenty minutes of the actress who plays Eunice, who cannot sing, singing an interminable pop version of something-or-another that might have some relation to Tancredi, with a random text in Old French projected onto the scenery.

I DON'T EVEN--

toi_marguerite and I went and got drunk afterwards. It was the only logical thing to do. I had to sit through the whole thing, since I have to give an oral presentation on it on Monday. She walked out. I don't think either of us has ever walked out on a piece of theatre before, and there was no graceful way to do it since this sucker was three hours long and had no intermission, but goddamn I envied her.

I'm still kind of tipsy. It took a martini, half a bottle of wine, and a lot of silly conversation about cracky orientalist AUs of Les Mis for us to stop ranting about how Tennessee Williams was spinning in his grave.

Ughhhhh. Avant-garde-fanboy professor can go fuck himself.