14 March 2011


Some shows are disappointing or annoying or even enraging. You have an idea of a performer, perhaps vague. You hadn’t thought him so amusing at the time, but he had a cult following so you watched him and he’s in your memory. So you go to see his retrospective. What do you find? Self-absorption. OK … to some degree unavoidable in a retrospective. Then the lame laughter from too-obvious witticisms. And the self-pity. He’s not exactly unknown or unsuccessful. His colleagues were famous names like ... and ... He’d performed at the Opera House. He’d sold 250,000 copes of a trivial tune and been no.1 on the Aussie hit parade for, what, 25 weeks? His musical was the first (only?) Australian one taken to the US by an American impresario. (Oh, deary me, just another casual self-aggrandisement). He’d even won a bloody Logie. Then to top it off as he’s leaving he sings “Don’t talk about me in the morning / Don’t talk about me when I’m gone”. What?!?!? He’s indulged himself for a couple of hours with inane chatter and tunes about himself and his so-tragic family and his characters that were too obvious rip-offs from that family that he’d turned into golden logies and we’d bloody-well paid for the privilege. [Identification not appropriate, but publication does something to relieve my annoyance]

No comments: