Curb My Enthusiasm

Until last night, I had not been to a play in a couple years. Plays, in general, are not my bag. But, after seeing a very funny youtube preview for the show, I decided to roll the dice and break my thespian fast.

The theatre itself is carved out of the remnants on a brick and concrete warehouse. The questionably intentional art moderne look was 'pretty cool' I thought, as I noticed the steel beams and trusses, elegant in their own way, holding up scaffolding and lighting equipment. The aesthetics ended there, however, when I saw the seating arrangement, which looked like a middle school band setup.

I sat down with an Amstel Light, my friend Larry, and no expectations (good or bad). I was just there to be entertained.

I'm not sure when it actually happened, or if there even was a defining moment, but at some point I vaguely realized that there was nothing happening in front of me. I don't mean nothing, as in a void of space and matter, but close to it. It reminded me of the Christopher Guest mocumentary For Your Consideration, where the (very talented) actors, pretend to be, well, very untalented.

I'm sure you are familiar with the awkward scenario of trying to walk past someone, only to have both of you step to the same side, suddenly engaged in a mental chess game of non-verbal clues and 'after you' gestures. This happened on stage, first being met with a few chuckles and smiles (even on my part), but as they continued to tango, neither passing the other, it started to get old. But they kept going. And going. And as they resulted to convulsing in front of each other like a fish in front the mirror (which, coincidently was done later by another character!), I covered my face with my hands, peeking through intermittently to see if they were done.

The four characters constantly engaged in meaningless banter, which I assume was intended to portray metaphors for metaphysical ideas, larger than life concepts , or hopefully, at best, some reincarnation of the dada movement. But as I watched a character flailing around on a newly polished floor like a poorly choreographed Charlie Chapman film, I realized that theses characters were actually trying to be funny.

Other things that might have 'meant something':

-Baby being a bowling ball
-Dancing flowers in a giant fishbowl
-Newspaper falling from the ceiling
-No plot
-A lot of sand
-A desert diorama with an errant jumbo jet in it. It gets flooded with water. Metaphorically.

Take Alice in Wonderland, just remove the engaging dialogue, any sense of direction, and Lewis Carroll's frontal lobe, and PRESTO, you have Fishbowl. I have another friend, very conservative on a lot of issues (mutters f-ing hippies angrily when encountering a liberal, or a liberal idea), who I am very glad did not accompany us to this show. It would have given him enough ammunition to last a lifetime.

As the audience applauded at the conclusion of the performance, I gave a few polite claps, but remained stone-faced and appreciative that the ordeal was over, and that my mind could try to unravel and focus on real things. Things that made sense.

Larry turned to me. So what did you think?