There Ain't No Sleeping Beauty Here
Jan. 7th, 2006 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Natalia has now been properly introduced to British culture (i.e. I made her watch Celebrity Big Brother tonight.) I warned her that it was trash, and she'd probably hate it, but she was laughing from the start, and so it's all good. We are predictably hooked, specially because there's a chick in there who has to fake she is a celebrity (and if one of the others finds out, she's outta there.) So far, she's given Dennis BigRodman the eyes, and vice-versa, so it looks like it's going to be our must-not-miss-car-crash. Or maybe it will get boring by day 4 and we'll switch off.
However, I'm glad I went to the ballet last night. Beforehand, while we were drinking our pints at the Marquis of Granby, we thought it likely that we'd get bored and even leave during intermission. It was a nice surprise to discover that The Sleeping Beauty was good: the production was beautiful, with plenty to watch and swoon over; the audience was respectul and nobody's cellphone rang; the dancers never missed a step or fell on their faces. We even had a good conversation about the cocks on display: do you think male ballet dancers pad their crotches to make them look bigger, or it just so happens that most of them are well-endowed? And don't you just find their butts the hardest, squishiest things on earth? They remind me of the white cheese made in the region where my mom's farm is located: it's a hard type of cheese, round and white, that would probably bounce off the floor if thrown against it.
One particular cool scene involved the evil witch, who looked like a zombie Queen Elizabeth I, arriving at the court with her bald albinos from hell and cursing baby Beauty. She made it almost feel like Panto, but never in a bad way. When Beauty pricked her finger on the needle, trees grew and a mist descended on the kingdom. The music, composed by Tchaikovsky, seemed familiar at certain points (I probably overheard it on Classic FM or BBC3). Sadly, I couldn't watch the orquestra musicians this time like I did with Billy Budd because we were sitting further away from the balcony's edge.
During the second intermission, we ran to the nearby pub for half a pint of lager. Paul O'Grady (aka Lily Savage) was standing outside having a ciggie. About 10 metres away was a drunk man, swinging wine and shouting his miseries to the world. When the show ended, and we were making our way home, we saw more of them, huddled in alleys, insulting passerbys, all over the place. I got home, had a bowl of cereal, and passed out on bed. I've felt like a zombie ever since.
However, I'm glad I went to the ballet last night. Beforehand, while we were drinking our pints at the Marquis of Granby, we thought it likely that we'd get bored and even leave during intermission. It was a nice surprise to discover that The Sleeping Beauty was good: the production was beautiful, with plenty to watch and swoon over; the audience was respectul and nobody's cellphone rang; the dancers never missed a step or fell on their faces. We even had a good conversation about the cocks on display: do you think male ballet dancers pad their crotches to make them look bigger, or it just so happens that most of them are well-endowed? And don't you just find their butts the hardest, squishiest things on earth? They remind me of the white cheese made in the region where my mom's farm is located: it's a hard type of cheese, round and white, that would probably bounce off the floor if thrown against it.
One particular cool scene involved the evil witch, who looked like a zombie Queen Elizabeth I, arriving at the court with her bald albinos from hell and cursing baby Beauty. She made it almost feel like Panto, but never in a bad way. When Beauty pricked her finger on the needle, trees grew and a mist descended on the kingdom. The music, composed by Tchaikovsky, seemed familiar at certain points (I probably overheard it on Classic FM or BBC3). Sadly, I couldn't watch the orquestra musicians this time like I did with Billy Budd because we were sitting further away from the balcony's edge.
During the second intermission, we ran to the nearby pub for half a pint of lager. Paul O'Grady (aka Lily Savage) was standing outside having a ciggie. About 10 metres away was a drunk man, swinging wine and shouting his miseries to the world. When the show ended, and we were making our way home, we saw more of them, huddled in alleys, insulting passerbys, all over the place. I got home, had a bowl of cereal, and passed out on bed. I've felt like a zombie ever since.
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on 2006-01-07 12:58 am (UTC)If that bloke from The Ordinary Boys should get get his guitar out and do an acoustic set, could you please let me know which episode it shows in? I'm sure they must all be repeated on ITV 29 or something.
Thanks Ollie, I know you won't let me down...
Ha ha, and your description of the evening ballet experience was superb!
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on 2006-01-07 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 01:08 am (UTC)I did work in a repertory theater company (sound, lights, and libretto-doctoring) and noted that it was somewhat ironic that what the male dancers wore to make them less floppy and chafey did appear to make the process more prominent under lights. Not a problem when we did musical comedy with baggy costumes, but it kind of bothered me when we did children's fare like Nutcracker (ooh! potential bad pun) and modern dance versions of, say Alice in Wonderland, which required tights.
I'm a bit mystified by the proximity of "hardest" and "squishiest" in a description of male dancers' buns, which I've known to be harder than diamonds (or at least hard-rock coal), but I'm not a connoisseur of such things. I imagine that when one is into that, as with cheese or wine, the strangest adjectives keep bedfellows.
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on 2006-01-07 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 06:08 pm (UTC)Exclusively straight men were not unheard-of, but they tended to identify more as actors than as dancers.
Stereotyping aside, I'm thinking that the rampant, overt sexuality that results when you put a lot of young, healthy, and hyperphysical people together might tend to drive out people who find their comfort level being tested.
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on 2006-01-07 01:18 am (UTC)I've known two dancers, they both were quite well endowed. when I've been back stage/ dressing rooms it seems to be a "normal" mix of endowments. I know when I played porn star Ron Jeremy I had to stuff!
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on 2006-01-07 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 09:36 am (UTC)But then I live in a culture vacuum. :)
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on 2006-01-07 12:56 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-08 12:16 pm (UTC)Rula Lenska I probably should have recognised seeing as I've met her before.
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on 2006-01-08 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 02:08 am (UTC)glad you liked the bally, male dancers' butts are even better looking up close. luckily (or not, really) for you, the majority in the company I knew were gay. and my god do I love it when they safety pin their leg warmers to their little shorty things.
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on 2006-01-07 12:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-01-07 08:59 pm (UTC)Send me the link!
(and the only reason why i know someone from GLC was there, is cause their website sent an email to my inbox with that info...and I was like, Damn!)
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on 2006-01-07 10:20 pm (UTC)There ya go!
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on 2006-01-08 01:17 am (UTC)