COLUMN: Returning to reality after Broadway
Everyone needs a little bit of Broadway every once in a while. I’m convinced of it. Or a Jew. But if you can’t have the Jew, have the Broadway.
These are merely my lessons from Broadway (last weekend).
Yes, Broadway. The epic of all things theater. The place where thespians open their mouths in hopes of catching a drop of the essence of drama.
Broadway. The home of Phantom, the “Miserable” people and Monty Python’s Spamalot.
Yes, Monty and his troop made it to the big town in 2004 when their famous “holy grail” transformed from film to theater. They did it for entertainment. I believe it’s for our very nourishment. The theatrical version discusses all of our own holy grails we search for, whether that’s a decent score on the GRE or making it to Broadway.
But traveling to Broadway must include peril, intrigue and usually an expensive plane ticket. For me, it included riding a bus out of Chinatown, D.C., to Chinatown, New York, to stay with an old friend living in Manhattan. The lesson here (and important enough to be blatantly stated) is if something travels between, is made only in or found in Chinatown, user beware.
This statement is not to be confused with the country China or its children toy-challenged economy. Maybe the warning I read on a bus line Web site about my choice of bus lines being shut down by the government really had some backing. Eh, it was $10 cheaper. A good bargain is always the way to go if you ask me, especially when considering being dropped off at midnight in a city I’ve hardly ever been to. $10 is like 10 junior bacon cheeseburgers. Nine if you include taxes.
We arrived in the Big Apple’s version of Chinatown, and after hailing a cab for the first time in my life – scratch that, after failing to hail approximately three cabs for the first time in my life – I landed us a ride to the apartment of a long time friend. The small apartment without an inch of grass within 100 yards of it whispered of New York. As I lay on the floor, the police sirens singing me to sleep with their lullaby seemed to whisper, “Broadway closer than ever.”
The next day, we got caught in a typhoon of a city rainstorm on our way to the island where stands the largest green-cloaked woman in the nation. Before making it to the Statue of Liberty, we holed up in the Wall Street metro station. Anyone can stand at Lady Liberty’s feet and read the famous poem she inspired – if they’re willing to pay the price of a simple ferry ticket, wait in line during a storm and brave the other cold, huddled masses yearning to stand at her feet. Being guided by her torch really is amazing. As a deserving side note, it’s well worth it.
After drying out, we jumped right into the world of Broadway. We walked past the familiar shows and some not so familiar. Ever heard of Xanadu?
We were assured by the advertisements that the play was lovingly ripped off the film. Spamalot, though not a signature classic of well-known theater, just has a nice ring to it. Really, say it with me: Spamalot. Now you’re feeling it aren’t you? Wish you were there don’t you? Try looking for a bus in a Chinatown near you. I’m sure there’s a connection somewhere.
During the production, which used a hand puppet for the killer rabbit of Caerbannog, as I’m sure you’re all wondering, King Aurthur is told he won’t succeed on Broadway if he doesn’t have a Jew. The task of finding a Jew sends him into despair before he is told his faithful friend Patsy was raised by a mother who counseled him in Hebrew. Wondering why Aurthur wasn’t informed of this earlier, Patsy responds in what should be the signature line of the show: “Well it’s not the sort of thing you say to a heavily armed Christian.”
This leaves our final lesson bestowed upon us from the gods of Broadway, Hebrew or otherwise: When the closing song comes and we raise our bodies from the chairs to give our final applause, reality is suddenly thrust upon us. Maybe the best lesson I learned in my trek from Broadway is reality is a little removed from Broadway. The climactic moment is just that – a moment where we learn the lesson. The songs don’t keep going, except for the really catchy ones. When we leave the theater and step back out onto Broadway Avenue in New York or Main Street in Logan, Utah, we have to carry the tune. We are responsible to be the good guys, with or without a Jew. Maybe taking in a little good Broadway is a two for one: theater and a Judaic religious experience. And maybe I should have left that line on Broadway …
Jacob Fullmer is a junior majoring in political science and journalism staying in Washington, D.C., for the semester to see what free shows he can get into and which ones he’s willing to pay for. Suggestions or notice of free tickets may be sent to j.fullmer@aggiemail.usu.edu