Happy Tony Day!
Technically it's probably "Happy Tonys Day," but that sounded rough on the ear, and I'm a stickler for arbitrary rules I make up for myself based on random fictions.
I saw exactly two nominees this year: The Band's Visit (best musical) and Travesties (best revival of a play). Both should win, because I chose them, but I suppose the world does not work that way. And what are prizes for artistic endeavors anyway? Darts on a pinboard. Yet both are worthy of audiences—smart and weird and unexpected, a little off balance, wise and world weary. Both felt resurrecting, somehow. A balm for the spirit.
It's no secret that I fell out of the habit of going to the theater over the past few years, or simply grew jaded and old and crabby. I could say that theater isn't what it used to be, but when has it ever been? And of course I mean Broadway, which is a very specific business venture, and not theater in toto. I saw a local production of Hairspray last night, and it was delightful. It was exactly what it needed to be, which is alive. Theater exists because we the people in the dark, and they the actors on the stage—not to mention the creators, the designers, the producers, the crew—keep saying yes. Only and always yes.
+ a few snaps from a previous Happy Tony Day party, flip phones at the ready:
Lastly, and just because, 2018 is the 45th anniversary of the Original Broadway Production of A Little Night Music, and you know how we feel about that. Never have I ever loved anything more than the cast of bumbling boobs who make up this glorious show. It is my shining star and guiding light. Pay heed!
These daily posts are somewhat...unfocused, aren't they? THE END.