Why I hate musicals
This is a complete off the record post, prompted by Kathrin’s note on the topic of musicals. And it is raining outside.
One of the few things I hate unconditionally – alongside cheese, of course – is musicals. Musicals represent the lowest of thought, the poodle of dogs and, I predict, will rightfully be considered so within a few generations of human evolution, conscious and physiological, in the same way that we consider burning witches a thing of the past.
One of the questions I have always wanted to ask people who are enthusiastic about this sort of thing is why it is appealing to you to have someone, who is clearly on some kind of ‘look-at-me-I-am-exaggerating-everything’ drug that has yet to be classified as illegal, dancing/singing/talking to you like you were a baby with no cognitive capacity of your own. A vulgar display of spoon-feeding.
Other instances of common lowest denominators come in the shape of awfully unsurprising narratives, a complete lack of subtlety, and the obligatory oh-so-forgiving audience of muppets (‘because we have paid a ridiculous amount of money for a West End show it MUST be good’).
I told you, it is raining outside.