Skip to main content

My Favorite Musical

 An indictment of Reagan-era greed, "Little Shop of Horrors" is as close as any work gets to "perfect musical" status. I have really only two complaints. One: the staging of the climactic battle, at least in the current version, is not very convincing. Two: Howard Ashman is sometimes a bit lazy in his mockery of Audrey (particularly in Audrey's awed reference to a "twelve-inch screen," in her "I Want" number).


What is especially chilling is the tension between the two main storylines. Seymour tells us that he wants "a way out of here." Audrey, meanwhile, wants domestic tranquility. These two wishes do not have to clash; Seymour could cash a check early in Act Two and leave the flower shop. But Seymour is rapacious.

It's Audrey who gets top billing--and, certainly, the current Audrey (Joy Woods) deserves top billing. Audrey's journey is perverse and fascinating. She can't even articulate her wish until the homestretch of Act One. (Joy Woods--with her "I Want" number--is capable of breaking hearts.) Toward the top of Act Two, Audrey makes various confessions to Seymour--then boldly lurches toward self-actualization.

Please understand--this is still strange and frightening.
With losers like I've been...
It's so hard to say...
Suddenly Seymour...
He purified me...

Audrey gets approximately two minutes to enjoy her new reality. When she comes to understand the dimensions of Seymour's own personal horror story, she is too tired to think about ethics. She clings to her dream--in one of the most arresting 11:00 numbers I know of.

When I die...give me to the plant.
You'll wash my tender leaves...
You'll smell my sweet perfume.
You'll water me and care for me.
You'll see me bud and bloom.
I'm feeling strangely happy now--
Contented and serene--
Oh, don't you see?
Finally, I'll be--
Somewhere that's green.

This is so complex--twisted and "wrong" and funny and moving and scary. It's audacious. Such a shame that it landed on the cutting-room floor--before the film adaptation.

It's amazing to me that Howard Ashman died before his 41st birthday.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more