Friday, April 8, 2011
Foster's "Top!"
Back before grad school, back before the Four I Adore, back before Chick-fil-A served the breakfast burritos with which I am, admittedly, obsessed - way back then, I was a theatre reviewer. Well, that's probably overstating things. I went to the theatre and wrote about what I saw, and metro-Atlanta's Gwinnett Daily Post was good enough to publish whatever drivel I had written.
You with me? Good.
So, back then, I reviewed a certain show. Many of you have probably seen this show. In fact, most of you - MOM - probably love this show, and with good reason: Les Miserables is one of the most beautiful stories of redemption ever written for the musical stage. Its entirely-sung story is fool-proof, and I think we can all agree that this lyrical libretto, dripping as it is with pathos, makes it impossible for any company - regardless their level of professionalism - to mess up.
Right?
Don't kid yourself there, Jean Valjean.
In the late 1990's, a National Company of "Les Mis" toured through Atlanta's Fox Theatre. I was there, a pen in one hand and playbill in the other, ready to write the notes on which I'd base my review.
The curtain went up, and immediately, my spirits went down. I quickly realized that this wasn't the same "Les Mis" I'd seen so many times before. Instead of heart-wrenching, this lifeless production was heart-less. In fact, if you've seen the show, you'll know how epically the production failed when I tell you that, at a certain pivotal moment in Act I, I was squirming in my seat, screaming to myself, "Fantine, go ahead and cut your friggin' hair. In fact, I think I'll just cut the loss of the time I've wasted here, file my story, and get on with my life, because girl, you and your little cast mates have killed 'The Dream I Dreamed.'"
So much for "If you can't say something nice ...," huh?
Actually, I DID say something nice about this "Les" that so dreadfully "Mis"sed the mark. Its one (and ONLY) redeeming quality was the performance of its Eponine. Brilliant, beautiful, and heart-breaking, Sutton Foster's take on "'ponine" was the one positive part of an otherwise negative review. I came home knowing that hers was a star on the rise.
At least I was right about something.
From her terrific turn in that terrible tour, Foster's gone on to a Tony Award winning performance in the title role of Thoroughly Modern Millie. Among other Broadway smashes, she's also starred in The Drowsy Chaperone ("oh, I love it so much"), and, as of last nite, she is tearing it up as Reno Sweeney in the Roundabout Theatre Company's revival of Cole Porter's Anything Goes.Ben Brantley is a theatre critic whose reviews carry exponentially more weight than mine ever did. He agrees with my assessment of Broadway's brightest light. In his New York Times review of Anything Goes, Brantley wrote:
"Who needs a brass section when you’ve got Sutton Foster? ... When she leads the show-stopping 'Blow, Gabriel, Blow,' you figure that if no horn-tooting archangel appears, it’s only because he’s afraid of the competition."And who could blame him?
Sutton Foster, you amaze me and inspire me and make me so thankful I didn't skip the second act of that miserable "Les Mis."
In other words, Girl? "You're the Top."
Monday, April 4, 2011
Picture Perfect Friends
I make no secret of the fact that I am WAY outclassed by my friends. Just to name a few of these wonderful men and women, I offer these examples: there's Mandy. Mandy, witty and wonderful and as big a fan of basketball as I am, just wrote the single most brilliant piece about Facebook that I not only HAVE ever read but that I WILL ever read. Leslie can do math in her head AND has a concealed weapons permit, and Brooke? Well, Brooke runs a photography business so booming that it prompted the Professional Photographers of America (PPA) to feature her work in the latest edition of their Professional Photographer magazine.
You should read it.
I haven't been this proud, since my nephew named his new Webkin after Rex Chapman.
Friday, April 1, 2011
If THIS doesn't make you cry with pride ...
GOOOOOOOOOOOOO, C-A-T-S! CATS! CATS! CATS!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
If this doesn't make you cry with pride ...
And you SURELY don't bleed blue.
GO, CAT8!!!!!!!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tip-time
Don't worry, though. I've already promised to be a gracious winner.
Go, Cats!
Monday, March 21, 2011
My name is Kristin ...
... and I'm dating a Tarheel.
Raised in a strict, religious household, I was taught from a very early age that evil is a very real force in this world, and to my family, evil is easily identified, because it generally has some kind of association with the word "Duke" or, back when its basketball program still had some kind of national relevance, "Indiana." Only slightly less unsavory than these, though, are what my dad calls the "Tarheads" of North Carolina.Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
As a Wildcat whose die-hard allegiances will never falter, I realize that I'm taking a big risk here. In fact, the second weekend after we met, Jeremy and I went to the Carolina / Clemson game at Littlejohn. Upon seeing this picture of me in a lighter shade of blue than he's used to, Daddy texted me, "It's very nice of you to give your sister your inheritance." I can only hope he's not serious. To be honest, though, I don't care if he is.
Go, Blue!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
'Cat Scratch Fever
On Sunday, March 6th, I was at Thompson-Boling Arena.
The 'Cats had fallen to the Vols there last year, so I showed up for the rematch to be sure it didn't happen again. After all, this season has had more than its share of Conference road losses. In fact, before its Sunday stand in Knoxville, UK had exactly one SEC win outside of Rupp. One. Did you hear me say "ONE"?!? I was at this ONE WIN - but, interestingly, didn't make it to any other road contests. Coincidence? I think not.
Given this, I naturally assumed myself to be some sort of Big Blue Good Luck Charm. That - plus the fact that I'm dating a really sweet guy who very patiently indulges my UK fixation - compelled me to take a day trip to Tennessee. Consider it a sort of "scouting expedition" in advance of our plans to attend the following weekend's SEC Tournament in "Catlanta."
The Vols started off hot; the Cats, on the other hand, were "colder than a midget in a 'frigerator." Bruce Pearl's players took a 7 point lead into half-time, leaving me furious at Kentucky's seeming offensive apathy. Putting down my box of popcorn, I turned to Jeremy and huffed, "I am NOT going next weekend. If this is how they're gonna play, there is no use in us investing a ton of money to see a single game before being sent back home by the lackluster play of these no-good, second-rate, spoiled-brat little basket-boys."
"Sweetie," Jeremy said, his cooler head prevailing, "it's just the first half."
At this point, it has probably become clear that Jeremy's a North Carolina fan. As such, he's used to trailing at half-time and to watching teams full of "no good, second-rate, spoiled brat little basket-boys" (as I always tell him, "Five National Championships is nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe someday, y'all will catch up to our SEVEN"). I'm guessing that's why he was able to keep such a level-head.
Regardless of why, he was right (he usually is). The 'Cats opened Act II on a 7-0 run, eventually winning the contest and leaving me writing out a packing list for our Tourney trip, while Jeremy drove us home from Knoxville, making fun of me the entire time for ever saying "I am NOT going next weekend."
Boy, am I ever glad I did.
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