MASQUERADE!

The Thornberries Party with the Phantom of the Opera

June 23 to June 25, 2006

Long had Jennifer dreamed of this moment. Long had she aimed her freckled nose into the skies, beseeching the heavens and clawing with stubby fingernails for the chance to sit before this stage, this time, this place. It was Saturday, June 24. Here we were in the Fox Theatre, she in her white dress and I in my Tuesday gray suit and new tie, waiting. Waiting for the curtain to rise, waiting for the off-Broadway performance of The Phantom of the Opera. This time, it was courtesy of a relatively well-known figure named Andrew Lloyd Webber. Both of us were prepared. [Cue the awe.]


The Show Experience

First we must flashback to January 2006. At that time, Jennifer and I had started laying out our travel plans for the year. I had promised her several times that we would someday go somewhere to see the The Phantom of the Opera, performed live. At long last, she was calling in that promise. Both of us thought it poetic that since we had made last year about art museums, this year we could start with the theater. Jennifer did her research and found that the tour would take the show to Rhode Island in March, the time frame we had specified. However, that was quite a trip and we really didn’t know of much else in that area to do beyond the show. So Jennifer cyber-stalked the show tour a little more and found that it would be coming to St. Louis if we were willing to wait a few more months. Having been there before, we thought that the better deal and tabled the off-Broadway performance, opting instead to go to Indianapolis in March, where we would, ironically, be able to catch the American version of Phantom (see that story for details!). Ultimately, Phantom was well done and enjoyable, but it operated on a different scale - humble budget, smaller stage, fewer cast members. Snug. The Phantom of the Opera, by contrast, was on the scale of the cosmic! The experience began with seating before a beautiful stage that had a crimson curtain.



The lighting was dim, barely above that of candlelight, creating a mysterious ambience reminiscent of the earlier eras into which the theater had originally been born.

Overhead, a huge glass globe caught what little light was available and refracted it like a spherical stained glass window. Along the back of the stage were golden sculptures, resembling a meditating Vishnu or Buddha, juxtaposed next to what appeared to be Egyptian lions. The walls around the audience area were decorated with blood red Ionic Greek columns, enameled in gold around their volute capitals (i.e. those scroll-like ornaments that flare out from the top of a pillar). Over it all, directly above the center of the stage, presided venerated Sri Ganesh, the elephant-headed deity known among the Hindus as a symbol of wisdom and intellect.

As Jennifer and I sat in our finery, the lights dimmed. A godly voice (not Ganesh!) boomed out over the entire chamber, telling us the show was about to begin. The Lord spaked again, reminding us mere mortals that the use of cameras, video recorders or cell phones WAS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

Then the show began.

It introduced the classic auction scene, in which the theater depicted in the story line is dank, dusty, used up and desiccated. Then the classic chandelier exploded with light and rose into the sky, while the exemplary live orchestral cast kicked in with the music of the Overture. Jennifer and I felt like we’d been smacked with a live duck. The fictional theater of the story quickened, rolled back in time by the vestige tides of the characters’ memories of it, existing again for us all to witness as it was in the year 1881. The setting was established.

Of course, the magic was spoiled just a little by the fact that the rising, lit chandelier kicked off a chain of camera flashes from the audience, all in defiance of the explicitly stated instruction at the beginning that their use WAS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. It annoyed both of us, since we had appropriately abided by the rule and put our own camera away. Like everyone else, we figured we could probably have gotten away with using it if we had desired. Jennifer would love to have had that scene captured for our own album (and narratives!), but it seemed…disrespectful of the cast members, who were out there performing their hearts out for our entertainment. Sometimes, you don’t follow the rules just because you think you can’t get away with flouting them…you do it because it’s the right and respectful thing to do. *Snort*

Such dumbassery aside, the performance was inspiring. The cast, from Christine and the Phantom, all the way down to the bumbling comic relief and the anonymous background dancing girls, were all at the top of their field, the upper crust of performance art. Not only was the singing talent superb, but the use of stage, lighting and special effects went far beyond what either of us had seen before in a live show. Mist, flickering candles that rose from the floor, simulated boats floating on stage and a Phantom who could throw balls of fire from his wand, all served to immerse the audience in the earliest form of virtual reality. Computers be damned!

The Fox Theatre—A Murky Cathedral of Creative Imagination

The show was so explosively enacted that it justified the hurdles we’d suffered to get to it.

Despite the hot weather, the Thornberries dress up and hoof it to the theatre.

It began with the public transportation of the MetroLink. Granted, we really didn’t have any major problems navigating it, since we’d not only used this particular system before, but also similar trains in other cities. However, one of Jennifer’s pet peeves on public modes of transportation is the tendency of boarding passengers to crowd in before the departing passengers can get off and give them some room. We’ve also seen this on elevators. When we were the departing passengers at our stop where we would walk to the Fox Theatre, a young adolescent girl jumped onto the train, almost running right into Jennifer before she could make her exit. So Jennifer dispassionately and tonelessly trampled on top of her with those caricaturishly massive feet of hers, like a steamroller with curves. The girl collapsed to the floor. Bones crunched. Teeth broke. Blood and bile blew out of the girl’s lips like a tiny red and black fountain. She was left like a deflated balloon filled with broken glass. Jennifer distastefully cleaned the blood from her shoes on the girl’s pelt. The rude little priss learned her lesson. And we went forward to enjoy our show.

It was a walk of 15 to 20 minutes in our formal attire in the June summer heat. Once we reached the right location, we had to contend with the theater environment itself.

We had deliberately purchased tickets for a daytime show, figuring it would be less painful overall to reach and we wouldn’t have to worry about getting slugged and mugged of our kidneys if we didn’t walk back to the MetroLink station afterward in the dark. We’re not wealthy, but coats, ties and theater dresses tend to make thugs and thieves see one as a succulent hog of a target! Consistent with our past attempts, we’d also hoped to avoid the worst of the crowds, as we predicted that the day shows would be lightly attended.

Wrong.

It was still 2 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon and this was an off-Broadway show – one of the most popular ever. We arrived at the Fox Theatre, where we were promptly picked up onto the shoulders of the crowd, involuntarily crowd-surfed everywhere but where we wanted to go, and fondled in every part of our bodies with wide, blunt fingers every step of the way. I ate a foot. Jennifer almost lost her purse in someone’s gut fat. The herd was atrocious. If I had any complaint about the theater, it was that the staff seemed to have very little control or direction over getting a large group of people where they were supposed to be at the appropriate time. The team at the Beef and Boards Dinner Theatre in Indianapolis did a much better job. While we were willing to concede that this was a larger audience, most likely the same efficient algorithm used in Indy would have worked just as well here, if they had bothered to implement it.

To beat all, we were surprised at how many people chose to wear burlap, hefty garbage sacks, Fred Flintstone togas, patched denim and other casual wear. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw someone wearing a cardboard box that was originally for a popcorn popper. We’d been just as astonished by this with the show in Indianapolis, but we chalked up the appearances there to it being a more rural state and a smaller venue. To come all the way to St. Louis for an off-Broadway iteration, and still see so much frumpy-wear was something of a disappointment. Jennifer and I both feel the theater should be respected more. One should be willing hoist up the potbelly, cinch in the thunder thighs and accept a little discomfort to pay homage to the cast. You can bet they aren’t comfortable in those heavy costumes! Life, dignity and respect aren’t always about doing what feels good for oneself in the present moment. If you can afford the show, you can afford to dress your best for it.

Once we had time to study the theater itself, we were struck by how much of an Indian influence it had in the décor. The colors, the decorations and the sculpture all depicted Hindu figures and artistic styles.


The floor had a neat variegated, iridescent pattern reminiscent of a kaleidoscope. Beautiful, but to be honest, it made me dizzy at one point, as it apparently did another poor sap.

Brief aside. Right before the show, I had to make use of the restrooms. After grabbing a few dim-looking people by the lapels and hurling them left and right out of my way like crash test dummies, I almost fell down the stairs going into the bowels of the building (where, ironically, bowels are the focus).


The restrooms were so far beneath ground level that I actually passed the Phantom and Christine as they paddled to the lair of the former (They said, “Hello” and asked me not to say anything to that boob, Raoul).

Anyway, when I returned up the stairs, I saw some poor older man who had fallen on the stairs. The staff already had someone ministering first aid to him, as he appeared to have sprained or broken his ankle. Poor guy. Other than the people I threw out of my way or those chins I cracked with their own knees to get back to the other end of the theater, he was probably one of the few people ever injured at a theatrical event. Ball games and concerts, perhaps, but off-Broadway? Urk!

Other than the usual crowds and these few hiccups, the show was definitely worth the trip. Speaking of the trip, that begs a little to be said as well….

Flashback to Friday, June 23, 2006

We were prepared with all the essentials: beer, spirits, entertainment, and of course, the lesser-important but still necessary items like food, clothing and map directions.

All but a Flying Delorian

Our cars are old and used. We trust them to get us around the city and on short jaunts to surrounding territories, but neither of us really wants to put our venerable wheels against too much road, lest they get their asphalts kicked. Ergo, we had settled upon the same course of action as our last St. Louis trip, that of renting a vehicle. Again, we went for a mid-range ride…something with enough horses under the hood to get us past the mamas and the papas out there who pedal their cars at pre-industrial speeds. A CD player is nice, as well as an air conditioner that will prevent us from bubbling and frothing, without freezing us so solid that we would break off appendages while trying to have a good time.

But apparently, the rental company must have run out of cars in our selection category. We found ourselves with a complimentary vehicle in the next category up…a virtual flying Delorian, complete with the necessary 1.21 jiggawatts necessary to power the Flux Capacitor (and thus make time travel possible, but that’s not our story!). Jennifer and I powered that baby up, roared into the sky and blasted our way to destination, St. Louis!

The Amish Buffet

At first, we thought we had blasted back in time, because we passed a 17th century eatery that served olde style food. However, it actually turned out to be a specialty restaurant known as “The Amish Buffet.” Admittedly, we didn’t stop there or sample their fare, but it seemed like quite an interesting place from the road signs along the Interstate (er…um…that, is, from the hot air balloons we saw from our vantage 1,000 feet in the sky…all but a flying Delorian, y’know!) In fact, that legendary Exit 25A must have been a virtual cornucopia of sensation-satiating pleasure places, because it seemed to offer everything from the Amish Buffet, to various churches, to an adult shopping place with [ahem] “peep shows” for sale. At least that what the signs said.

St. Louis: Refried, Reheated and Twice-Baked…+/- 1 of Everything

When we zoomed our flying car underneath the awe-inspiring Gateway Arch, we knew we’d returned to St. Louis. This was the first time Jennifer and I had ever gone back to the exact same place in the exact same city. Funny, even though we know intellectually that places exist all the time and the people there pretty much go about their routines every day, on some emotional level, we tend to still have the irrational idea that everyone in a new location turns out just for us. So it was a bit weird to see so much there that was pretty much the same as when we saw it eleven months ago. Sort of. At the same time, it seems like we were destined to bump into familiar experiences, with just a teeny little change. Everything was “off” by one. Some examples:

Forty-Eight Weeks to the Day

We ended up being hosted in the same hotel—the Drury Inn—as last time. Part of this was that by sheer coincidence, the closest good hotel to the Fox Theatre was the one in which we’d stayed in July 2005. The other reason was that Jennifer and I liked that hotel. In our previous narrative, we recorded mostly good qualities about it, and we thought we’d advertise our appreciation by frequenting the franchise again. We were amused as we walked up and down the familiar staircase to determine that we had arrived precisely eleven months—forty-eight weeks—to the day of when we stayed there the first time. Off by one month.

Room 548, Up the Silver Elevator from Hell

[Sigh] The Drury Inn has two elevators, a silver one and a gold one. Apparently, the silver one gets used for half of the floors, plus the floor with the pool and the hotel restaurant (more on that below). We had had to use it before, and when they gave us our room keys, we found we’d drawn the short straw for it again…the elevator that everyone and their third cousin twice removed had to be on. So it was slow, cramped and annoying.

More, our floor this time was the same floor as last time! Ultimately, it was nice to just follow the previous routes to the staircases and the ice machine, without that much thinking. Eventually, we just started using the gold elevator, which was smoother and less used. By getting off one floor below ours, we could take the stairs and still make better time than aging into dried bones while waiting for the plodding silver elevator. The seeming coincidences didn’t stop. We discovered we’d been placed right next to the same room we had last time. Off by only one room.

Hooters, a Bit Farther Out

I like Hooters. Fortunately for me, Jennifer lets me have them on a relatively frequent basis. They can be quite flavorful and tender if handled appropriately…

Especially their chicken wings. Yes, Jennifer and I had gone to the local Hooters restaurant over at Union Station on our last trip, and since we already knew where they were, we went back again this time.


Plus, their wings had been in flavors we didn’t have back home and both of us were eager to re-experience them, even though we knew there would probably be a hellish crowd on a Friday night. To our delight, they really weren’t as busy as we had expected and we were seated right away…one seat away from where we sat last time. Off by only one table.

Union Station, Fudgery Style

Alright, the “off by one” theme ended at those examples. But other experiences were just as we remembered. The little store right inside the door of Union Station, called “The Fudgery” was still open with employees regaling audiences by singing and dancing while they prepared one of their many concoctions of fudge flavors. The employees must all have to pass some kind of performance test, because they seem to be good at playing to the crowd (which always gathers when the staff signals them by ringing a loud bell). At one point, an employee called out to a customer who was leaving, “’Ey, get back here! If you walk away from me, you gonna have fudge all over th’ back o’ yoh head!” The audience laughed. Jennifer and I bought fudge. Lots of it. A shameless buttload of it. I thought we were going to have to sew it into the lining of our clothes just to transport it all. But then we would have left fudgey little slime trails behind us. Ew! And it was good!

Lombardo's Again: God's Guts with Fungus

After the show on Saturday, we returned to the restaurant we’d praised so highly on our first trip, figuring a good way to wrap up a “cultured” evening was by wearing our dressy clothing to a nice place that provides inspiring food to fill the orifices most proximate to our craniums. Called Lombardo’s, the place resides in the basement level of the Drury Inn. Jennifer and I had similar excellent pasta meals to last time, but added an appetizer of portobello mushroom that was absolutely sublime. Who would have thought it would be so good to have anything fungal in one’s body?

The St. Louis Art Museum (Again)

Not much to tell on this one. Jennifer and I returned to capture a few images that we had either forgotten to take with our camera the previous year, or later found to be flawed in some way. Like old friends, the pieces from last time were still there. Click, snap. Our images forever.

ABOVE: Thomas squats before Zurbaran's St. Francis Contemplating a Skull (1635).
BELOW: Jennifer poses before Shiva, the God of Destruction (12th century).

Conclusion

And that’s pretty much the end of our story. We found our way back to the car, navigated the interlocking roads until we found the Interstate landing strip for our flying car and rode the road of air back to home base. This was a quick weekend trip in which the mundane, the merely familiar and the awe-inspiring were woven together in a beautiful tapestry. Unfortunately, since my weaving skills are rusty at best and probably more like none-existent, all I can offer is my written account. We hope you enjoyed it!

Ye Ende

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