Articles Misc

Call a doctor

There must
be something wrong with me. Maybe I should go to the doctors. Or have a
lobotomy. I’ve often suspected it but now I’m quite sure that something is not
quite right with me. Or then there’s something wrong with everybody else.

The reason
for my pondering lies in the fact that I hated The Producers musical yet it is
one of the most popular musicals of all times. Why, oh why? Why does everybody
like it so much? I’m obviously missing the point. There must be something wrong
with me.

I saw the
opening night at the biggest theatre in Finland, the Helsingin
Kaupunginteatteri and that’s all I have to base my opinion on. I haven’t seen
the film, which I hear is a masterpiece in satire, my favourite form of comedy.
The stage production didn’t make me laugh at all. Not once.

In my
opinion The Producers should only be performed at the theatre museums as a cute
relic from the good old times. Why should the tragedy of Nazi Germany still be
given so much time and money on stage when there are tragedies happening at our
doorsteps this very moment?

And don’t
get me started on the way The Producers portrays women. Bloody hell. The long
legged blonde lead is drooling all over any man that cares to show interest in
her. And they all do as she’s well proportioned and giggles happily when the
men call her intelligent when she can answer the phone correctly. The army of
horny old ladies on the other hand chase the men as fast as they can with their
walking frames. They are to be ridiculed and taken an advantage of. They are
happy to depart from their hard earned cash in return to some silly sexual
favours by the leading men. The gay men are promiscuous, superficial and they
all seem to have weak wrists but strong lips. How ever so inventive!

I found The
Producers frightfully tedious and old fashioned. First I suffered from a severe
attack of theatre narcolepsy. It hits me quite often as soon as my bum hits the
red velvet cushions and normally lasts through the whole show only to be helped
by a refreshing walk during the interval. After a while The Producers didn’t
let me sleep though. It was slapping me in my face with its world view that was
not in focus. I simply couldn’t stand it and sneaked out before the end. I went
to the loos to squeeze the mighty pimple throbbing on my chin. Obviously that
was a big no-no as the gods of theatre punished me by making the pimple
infected. The morning after I woke up with a red crusty area the size of an old
man’s ego on my chin. Serves me right for not liking the Producers. 

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