Sunday In The Park With George
This play began with some promise. I liked the part about the genius doing brilliant work based on scientific principles that nobody around him has the capacity to understand. But then everybody started bothering him about his emotions and singing about loving him all the time and I lost interest.
Cats
I was once beaten with a lead pipe in a Turkish prison. If given the choice between returning to that chapter of my life and seeing Cats again, I’d pick the lead pipe with a smile.
How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying
I had high hopes for this one, because how would one succeed in business without really trying? The answer, of course, is murder. My first thought was poison: why else would such attention be drawn to the coffee, in the song about enjoying a coffee break, of all things? A bit simplistic, but neat. However, as the time passed for the majority of easily obtained poisons of the era to possibly take effect, I began to suspect that a more tangled web was being woven here. You can find the most twisted men behind the most unassuming faces, and there was something about the naivete of Finch, the ambitious window washer, that whispered a suggestion of the psychopathic in him. As the young man ingratiated himself with his employer J.B. Biggley, claiming to share his alma mater and his hobby of knitting, I suddenly began to see the pattern. He was becoming his enemy, laying the psychological groundwork to drive Biggley to madness and death, and ultimately take his place. A worthy problem indeed! Then it turned out to be a tedious blackmail thing about a girl and I’m still smarter than everyone alive, so then I fell asleep.
A Chorus Line
It’s a logic problem. Most things are. Good god, any fool could have figured it out in the first act. There are seventeen dancers called back, eight “boys” and nine “girls,” as they say. So which nine are on the chopping block? Well, Zach lets Diana sing about her drama school experiences uninterrupted, and nobody wants to hear anybody talk about drama school unless they want to sleep with them on at least a subconscious level. Safe. She’s in. Good. Now, look at Don. The actor’s shoes look almost new, they show the least wear-and-tear of anyone on the stage. He’s clearly not going to be doing any choreographic heavy lifting later in the show. Doomed. At first I thought Kristine was a red herring, making such a big show of her inability to sing, but one look at that atrociously sickled foot and you can tell her dancing won’t compensate for her vocal incompetence. Goodbye, Kristine. Maggie studies ballet because she used to pretend her father was an Indian chief who would dance with her, which is nonsensical. Her mind is weak. She will fail. I can’t remember the name of the other girl in the song so she’s probably not important. Look, have I really got to spell it out for you? I’ll tell you the final eight, and you can give me forty-eight quid to tell you easy riddles for two hours.
Grease
I spent the entire first act enraged that I wasn’t sitting close enough to the stage to study the ash from the characters’ cigarettes and thus prevent the evening from becoming an utter waste of brainpower. The terrifying old dishrag of an usher wouldn’t let me walk up the aisle, so during the intermission I lifted a pair of opera glasses from a lady in row G. I had little remorse, as a quick glance at her fingernails clearly proved that she had been accepting bribes from an Iranian prince up until two weeks ago. Alas, though – by the end of the first verse of “Shakin‘ At The High School Hop” I visually confirmed that none of the cigarettes were real. Why does this musical even EXIST, then? I hated it. No stars.
The Phantom Of The Opera
Someone really ought to break it to the Phantom that if he listens closely, he can hear that Christine is in the early stages of developing vocal nodes, so he might not want to go through all this trouble to kidnap her if he’s either going to have to pay for some expensive throat surgery or hold auditions for an entirely new “angel” in six months. Let us hope Christine has some typing skills or something to fall back on, for her sake.
And, let me say this: just because you’ve got an underground lair doesn’t mean you must decorate it like you’re Dracula running a bordello. I’ve seen some that are quite tasteful. I wouldn’t be so indiscreet as to name names, but trust me, it’s possible.
Les Miserables
I rely on my mind as my instrument and my only faith is in its power, but several days ago everything I thought I knew crumbled as I looked into the face of madness. My mother called to tell me she bought me a ticket to see Les Mis with her and Dad even though they had already seen it once before themselves. Assuming that she was having a stroke, I met the ambulance at my parents’ house, where she made the paramedics tea and told me that Mycroft, damn his eyes, told her that I’d like it because, quote, “there’s an incompetent policeman in it.” After several unsuccessful attempts to fake my own death (I’m usually fairly deft in that area but mothers always know), I found myself sitting there with a Playbill and an overpriced sack of M&Ms like a fool. The play was overwrought, saccharine, full of the emotions that make men weak, and I stand by my belief that the mind is superior to these little caprices. . . but I did like the part where the lawman was pompous and bad at his job then realized that he wasted his life and jumped off a bridge. Also, I think I should like to spend some more time in my local sewer system. But that doesn’t mean that Her Majesty won’t be getting some rather vivid pictures of the male anatomy from Mycroft’s email account tomorrow.
Sweeney Todd
Hmm. Yes, well. It was fine. Fine! I could see how a person of ordinary powers might find it amusing. If you like that kind of thing, you know, elaborate conspiracies and vengeance that plays out over decades. And, of course, madness, and betrayals from lethal female accomplices and cannibalism and political corruption and a brilliant, deeply FIENDISH, intricately constructed MURDER CHAIR . . . That kind of thing. Hmm, well, obviously that’s not my sheet music. I bought it for John. I mean, of course I’m aware he doesn’t play an instrument, I just thought it’s the sort of ridiculous thing he’d like. I, you know, it was . . . fine.
Tags: benedict cumberbatch, broadway, humor, musicals, sherlock, television
I am a simple woman, and this is all I need to make me happy.
DUDE. This RULES!!! A+++ Would enthusiastically read again!
I keep trying to find my favorite part to quote, but it’s literally the whole piece.
Yes, we’re having this problem on Facebook, where a friend posted, and people started posting quotes in the comments, and at this point we’ve just reposted the entire essay in a deranged jumble.
“I hated it. No stars.”
I loved this. Five stars.
Just FYI am IMing links to everyone I know, especially the people who had to listen/read my tirade about Season 3 of Sherlock yesterday.
This is PURE GOLD! I might bookmark this article so I can go back and enjoy it again and again. Sherlock’s analysis of “A Chorus Line” was masterful.
This is hilarious. I think my favourite one was How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. “The answer, of course, is murder.”
I loved this so much! Pitch perfect.
“overpriced sack of M&Ms” totally just broke me. so good.
I loved it because there’s a meme in the “Sherlock” fandom that Sherlock doesn’t eat willingly but loves sweets. I’ll take this opportunity to add that it is indeed pitch perfect. Sounds just like Sherly.
“I loved this so much! Pitch perfect. ”
I see what you did there.
oh god did you? what was it?
Using the term “pitch perfect” to describe critiques about musicals. Because http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1981677/
If that wasn’t intentional, my ridiculous sense of humor tips its hat to your subconscious and the part of me that hates feeling awkward and embarrassed offers an abject apology.
oh you just gave me too much credit that’s all! *preens*
Every other week, it seems, I find someone at The Toast that I need to kidnap and keep in my lair so I can summon them to amuse me at any given moment.
(Don’t even tell me how that’s unnecessary because I can just return to this site and be amused at any given moment. NOT THE POINT.)
Anyway, Kathryn Funkhouser, today you are my victim. Make elaborate farewells to your loved ones; I’ll be by around 8.
I think you owe it to her to decorate the lair properly first. She is obviously a women with opinions on lair decoration.
That’s fair.
We enter via a hidden door in the library’s row of bookcases, of course. I won’t tell you which Coralie Bickford-Smith Penguin Classic you have to stroke lovingly to open the portal, but if you think it’s P&P you’re much mistaken!
A spiral iron staircase leads inexorably down to a cobweb-free (what am I, a monster?) stone passage, where my handprint on the scanner (it also detects my pulse, so no killing me to get there!) opens a sound-proof door to the lair itself.
Unfortunately, the steel-lined chamber means there’s no wi-fi available; I understand this is a negative, but until technology improves, there’s not much to be done about it. I do provide the latest journals and books, and plenty of power strips so you can keep your laptops charged up.
Each “guest” has her/his own pod space for privacy (see, totally not a monster) and can furnish it from a selection of silk, organic cotton, hand-made quilt, down, and flannel bedding options. As many pillows as you like!
The chains are very discreet and almost comfortable. We’ve experimented widely enough on our earliest visitors (RIP) to ensure that each “guest” will feel minimally invaded while, of course, being securely bound to her/his Personal Area. Many report becoming quite fond of the imposed limits, and have, entirely spontaneously, stated that even if I unchained them, they would never, ever leave me. And they don’t. Ever leave, that is. They never leave.
Oh, and SAD lamps are available for all who want them!
You claim wi-fi is impossible, but you could easily run a CAT-5 cable in with the power lines and then connect it to a wireless router. Clearly you are denying your captives wi-fi for no reason.
You’re a monster.
I mean, the rest of this is totally reasonable, obviously.
No internet, comfortable beds, laptops and books…. You could just call it a “writer’s retreat” and they’d PAY you to live there. Might finance some other evil schemes.
I initially misread “and keep in my lair” as “and keep in my hair” and was nodding, like, that’s actually a pretty good place to keep a captive comedian. A sign I’ve been reading too much Toast?
And I can’t believe poor Sherlock has seen so many musicals with his parents. They are TORTURERS.
I like the implication that he’s called the paramedics before, and that him mom has a poised response.
SPECTACULAR.
Ok, so I’m having that issue where I want to comment that I love something, but I am so intimidated by how awesome the thing is and I want my comment to do the thing justice and I get all tongue-tied and all I can muster is: this was so good.
This happens to me several times a day on The Toast.
” After several unsuccessful attempts to fake my own death (I’m usually fairly deft in that area but mothers always know), I found myself sitting there with a Playbill and an overpriced sack of M&Ms like a fool.”
This is the best sentence, every phrase is perfect, well done.
“Assuming that she was having a stroke, I met the ambulance at my parents’ house, where she made the paramedics tea and told me that Mycroft, damn his eyes, told her that I’d like it because, quote, “there’s an incompetent policeman in it.” ”
It’s like a window into my own family.
The whole thing was hilarious, but that sentence was where I just lost it. Snort-laughing in a public place, always a good way to spend a five-minute study break.
I identify with how Sherlock feels about Cats. This is the first and only time I have ever identified with anyone’s portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. Good work, you.
Is it bad that I kind of want to see the How to Succeed… that Sherlock thought he was watching?
(Loved the whole thing, though.)
GOD BLESS, SERIOUSLY.
Of course Sherlock Holmes would find himself a Stephen Sondheim fan. Join the club, Sherly.
A SELECT Sondheim fan, though. Sweeney Todd and some of Sunday in the Park, yes. But one can imagine him quickly inventing an urgent case to get out of Into the Woods or Follies before the middle of Act 1.
“…just because you’ve got an underground lair doesn’t mean you must decorate it like you’re Dracula running a bordello.” DYING.
“If given the choice between returning to that chapter of my life and seeing Cats again, I’d pick the lead pipe with a smile.”
OH GOD. You and me both, BB. You and me both.
That exact line, yes. I think the resulting laugh fulfilled my yoga requirement for the day.
My grandfather saw Cats late in his life. When we asked him if he liked it, he replied “Buncha people running around in cat suits” and remained silent for the rest of the night.
(I agree as well.)
I JUST DON’T SEE THE APPEAL. The costumes and makeup are…cool? But the plot is nearly non-existent and what is there is just not very engaging, the music is marginal, and…and…
I mean, I freaking LOVE cheesy musicals, but if I hadn’t spent so much money on the damn ticket, I’d have left at intermission. In retrospect, my time would have been better served if I had. Oh, my twenties, when I was an optimist and thought things could get better halfway through.
We did leave at intermission. I will never understand the appeal. It’s just so…bad.
This is the first Sherlock-related creation that has made me smile since the premiere of season three.
Yes! This combines my two most recent thought circles: why I do not care for most live musicals (but movie musicals are worth repeated watching, especially when they feature Technicolor) and why B.C. is considered good looking. They both take up most of my brain time (so much so that I might as well be one of the many Cumber-enthusiasts).
Husband agrees 100% with all these reviews, which is why he is not invited to see Wicked with us this weekend.
This might be the best, most accurate explanation of How To Succeed… that I’ve ever read.
Related: people NEED to understand why Robert Morse as Bert Cooper is the most brilliant casting ever.
I watched the Mad Men premiere and SHRIEKED when I realized.
Me too! It’s the most perfect joke.
And, let me say this: just because you’ve got an underground lair doesn’t mean you must decorate it like you’re Dracula running a bordello.
this is beauty itself
Saw subject line in submissions – accepted the piece automatically.
Read the piece – was happy to have accepted it.
WordPressed the piece – was filled with joy.
This is perfection itself. Also, I love that “Sunday in the Park with George” was included, because that is my favorite musical (or things that exist, in general) EVER and I don’t say that lightly. It makes perfect sense that Sherlock would identify with George and his brilliant-if-emotionally-aloof obsessiveness which both attracts and repels people.
His parents would ABSOLUTELY be Les Miz people.
/ I say this as an unabashed Les Miz person
but did you see that they did go to Les Miz… with MYCROFT? in the show, I mean. Mycroft called Sherlock at intermission and BEGGED him to take over for the second half.
RIGHT I FORGOT! I was too busy being pummeled by homoerotic tension in Season 3 to notice many details.
Totally off topic, but does anyone else think smiling Daniel Radcliffe looks like that thing where you dry your teeth with a sleeve or something and fold your lips under to stick there?
Well, now I do.
(.. is this a thing people do often?)
…maybe
yes yes yes yes yes
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE.
LOVE.
I LOVE that the only thing he likes is obviously Sweeny Todd
This is amazing and hilarious! The only good thing about Cats is that song “Memory.” But it’s almost worse for that, because there’s this one kinda-good part buried beneath layers and layers of crap.
If I may geek out for a moment and correct a common misconception, however…surgery is a last ditch treatment for vocal nodules. Absolute last resort. Speech therapy can often clear it right up, assuming that the patient is compliant with the home therapy routine, especially if it’s caught in an early stage. Additionally, surgery can sometimes leave scarring if it is unskillfully done, potentially leaving you with an even worse voice than you had before and irreversible damage. Soooooo try therapy first, if this ever happens to any of you. I am a last-semester grad student in speech-language pathology, you can trust me on this one. OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now.
Sherlock should have consulted John before writing his treatment plan for Christine. Though John is a GP, I think, so maybe doesn’t know much more about it than Sherlock.
I was helped by a speech therapist a few years ago, btw. My poor thin voice used to get ragged and I didn’t know why. Turns out laryngeal self-massage feels great. (That wasn’t the only therapy, but I do it from time to time when I feel strained.)
Probably the most beautiful thing I’ll read all day!
I liked this so much I retweeted it twice
Aaah so funny!
Aaah so funny!
A SELECT Sondheim fan, though. Sweeney Todd and some of Sunday in the Park, yes. But one can imagine him quickly inventing an urgent case to get out of Into the Woods or Follies before the middle of Act 1.
Oh what cumber-some experiences, poor Sherlock…
just perfection from start to finish
just perfection from start to finish
This is pure perfection. Every line of the Les Mis review is pure gold! ‘Damn his eyes’
Also the Cats review I consider 100% accurate.
‘Hated it. No stars.”
This is amazing!! This is perfection!
I just new Sherlock would be a fan of Stephen Sondheim – I bet he thinks Into The Woods is “fine” too
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I suppose I am glad you find this all so amusing. It really was quite torturous—the crushing tedium of breaking into songs about the woes of their lives. And who makes one pay £5 for M&Ms?
I suppose I am glad you find this all so amusing. It really was quite torturous.
I was about to say “But Sherlock isn’t this mean, and Watson said his friend enjoyed going to concerts and amateur dramatics!”, and then I saw it was the Cumberbatch version. Oh well.
(Also, I recall a radio play with Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes went to see some actor playing Sweeney Todd, and said that of course the actor was over the top but it was required for an over the top role. I wasn’t sure I agreed with him.)