Oh what the hell, this thread is practically the off topic thread anyways. I wanted to post this somewhere, but I figure why not here. I saw a play last night, it was the play billy elliot. It was a fantastic play, it really tugged on my heart on numerous occasions. The beauty of the contrast between the young dancer and the civil unrest in britain was beautiful, it showed how a boy's pure self expression was more beautiful than the bigotry which surrounded him. I thought to myself, this shows the passion and beauty of dancing and the arts, the young boy's love of dancing when his father instead wanted him to do boxing, and all the homophobic ignorance surrounding him. It was inspirational to me, at times I almost wanted to cry, and wonder if I corrupt my own mind by not allowing myself, I didn't even once. There was also precious moments in the play, where the dancer boy's friend turned out to be gay and love cross dressing, and it was important that the lead character billy elliot not be gay himself, because it sent a message that you don't have to be gay to like things that others may seem to be gay and girly, and yet he still maintained his friendship with his gay friend, and it touched me so deeply when they would give each other a kiss as a sign of affectionate friendship.
It's not like me to feel so moved by a play, nor one that comes along that I bother seeing which has such issues about sexuality and art. The previous play I saw was absolutely ghastly. It was a play called In The Heights. It was in a poor town, where all the people seemed to me to be nothing more than ants, crawling around in their shabby insignificant town. The plot was deeply, severely contrived. The characters were dopey and had little redeeming values about them. There was this very disturbing overtone of belief in god, and the one thing that saved all of them from their poverty was one of the town members winner the lottery. What a fatally superficial twist of events, the lottery is as silly and shallow as they come. Yet, that's what it reflected of the character's lives. I felt as though I may as well have been reading Kafka, but in a very strange and un-self aware, ironic kafka, with an even more painful twist of tragic irony. Unware, tragic irony, is exactly how I would summarize that play, In The Heights. Not only was it absolutely ghastly, but there was one part of it which bothered me very much. A girl who's parents were trying to get her into college dropped out, and she came back and her parents were in such dismay, because college was the only way she could escape her poor town. They, of course, resolved that problem with another superficially and unsatisfying resolution; sending her back to college with the fucking lottery money, of course. She never liked college in the first place, and I don't like it either.
