I'll probably write a considered, analytical review of this show shortly, breaking down the various reasons I disliked it. For the time being, though, here's my non-analytical response: an emotive rant which let me get a few things off my chest...Now, I've been to a few openings in my time, but never have I seen more money, more people who've had work done, more theatre luvvies and art fags gathered together in the one place than at last night's gala opening of the stage musical incarnation of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at the Regent Theatre. It was quite astounding. And that was just at the pre-show canapes and champagne soiree.
The after-party was even more remarkable: in my borrowed suit, I felt like an observer or an outsider, like I was visiting an alien world of privilege and position rather than part of what was going on around me. Cerise and I left after about an hour and a half, retreating to more comfortable, less pretentious confines of the Fringe Club, where I had a much more relaxed and enjoyable time.
The amount of money that must have spent on the Priscilla after-party makes me pale: I can't fault the look and feel of the Forum when we walked in, but fuck, how many small theatre companies and arts organisations who actually produce good work might have been funded for a year for the same amount? Lavish, opulent, overstated, extravagent, chose your adjective accordingly.
But let's talk about the show itself, shall we?
Strip away the fabulously over-the-top costumes and the elaborate staging, and you were left with very little. As a show, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is an empty, fascile spectacle; a glorified covers band of a musical which repackages a neutured version of queer culture for the safe consumption of the middle class and Middle Australia. It's a show with no heart: when it tries for emotion it became Disney-manipulative and sacharine; its story relies on caricature and cliche; and the few good jokes added to its threadbare story felt coldly cynical and contrived.
In short, I was offended by its gross stereotypes, its faux-irony, its contempt for regional Australia, its shrill songs, and especially by its lack of anything even vaguely resembling artistic merit or value. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: The Musical, I despise you, and everything you stand for.
Other than that, Mrs Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?
