Speaking of cities on the coast or homosexuals or things I’m writing about in this blog post or any number of equally threadbare options for transitioning between two completely unrelated topics, the boyfriend and I joined a handful of friends to see a touring company of Forbidden Broadway on Saturday. Forbidden Broadway, for my heterosexual readers (both of you), is an ongoing cabaret act that usually cleverly satirizes performers, shows, directors, producers and anything else related to Broadway. I listened to many Forbidden Broadway albums I checked out from the library when I was a kid, but I’d never seen one of the shows live. And while some of the material in this show was pretty dated (do we really need a 2004 Tony Awards spoof in an age where Phil Collins just celebrated a year-long Broadway run of Tarzan?), most of it was laugh-out-loud clever. I was thoroughly impressed by the cast members, whose endless versatility as actors was trumped only by their powerhouse singing voices. (I am a sucker for big Broadway belters, and these four threw me against the back of my chair so often I may qualify for applauders’ compensation.) The best part, though, was when we got to meet them. In the middle of the show. In the middle of the Les Miz segment, in fact. Valjean was just starting to milk the laughs from “God, it’s High” when the stage manager turned on the house lights and stopped the show with words to the effect of: “There’s a fire in the building. Everyone please leave.” So we all
Sigh. If only the fire drill had happened after we knew what his abs looked like. Then we wouldn’t have wasted so much time talking to the other cast members on the street. I blame it on the 2004 Tony Awards segment. Stupid timing. Stupid fire. Stupid abs.