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Well, play actually. We have to perform it in Theater class.
I'm pretty open when it comes to stuff I like. Even MORE so if it's something I hate. Take Tony Kushner's Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes. The thing with school assignments is no matter HOW much you hate the book, you have to finish it because It's An Assignment TM. You take the test and viola. You never have to see the damn book again. Until they assign it another year, that is. (But at least you already read it!)
It's funky really. I have an endless library of books in my brain I adored (Farenheit 451, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Animal Farm, etc.) and I'd bring up only if someone showed a copy of the book to me and I'd be all, "Oh yeah! The Pigman! I read that in middle school!" and look back fondly how good it was and blah blah blah. But there's something about bad books compared to bad movies that no matter how hard you try, you. Never. Ever. Forget.
Let's start from elementary to highschool. The Witch of Blackbird Pond bored me to tears, and that could be why I get a nasty taste in my mouth when I hear about Puritans. Summer of the Swans had the whiniest female protagonist I ever read (Not to be mistaken with Trumpet of the Swans by E.B. White--not only does the story actually center around swans *GASP! They're supposed to only exist as allegory you silly goose!*, it's a good book too!), rivaling only what has to be the worst fucking disappointment in the entire planet, Searching for David's Heart: A Christmas Story. (Yeah, the Christmas story tagline? That's a complete lie. *gag* Nothing remotely holidayish or even in the SPIRIT of the holiday remotely happens until the last two pages of the book!) I have never wanted anybody in a book to die so much. Finishing The Scarlett Letter was an agonizing trek shoving a boulder up a hill in the Sahara with no water. Only after reading (and liking) Dr. Heidegger's Experiment was I able to forgive Hawthorne a little... somewhat. A tiny bit. But you know how I feel about Puritanlit. *vicious grimace*
So you see? I got off on a tangent. But Angels in America, don't think you've got away! Here's what I have to say after reading the first act, Millienium Approaches:
( In Which Puri Rants About Gay Cliches, Self-Indulgent Drama and Assholes )
Part 2: Perestroika better be better than this crap. Is redeeming a little asking for so much? I doubt it's going to happen though. It's like every chapter of this play I read, I just get angrier and angrier. I hate plays like this. Reminds me of the other day when I picked up my college books, and these shiny copies of the Sweeney Todd script were like the glints of shaving knives. How I wish I were singing, scheming, and cooking meat pies right now!Who wants Louis Pie? Anyone? Oh well, Threed Zombies are hungry anyway.
I'm pretty open when it comes to stuff I like. Even MORE so if it's something I hate. Take Tony Kushner's Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes. The thing with school assignments is no matter HOW much you hate the book, you have to finish it because It's An Assignment TM. You take the test and viola. You never have to see the damn book again. Until they assign it another year, that is. (But at least you already read it!)
It's funky really. I have an endless library of books in my brain I adored (Farenheit 451, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Animal Farm, etc.) and I'd bring up only if someone showed a copy of the book to me and I'd be all, "Oh yeah! The Pigman! I read that in middle school!" and look back fondly how good it was and blah blah blah. But there's something about bad books compared to bad movies that no matter how hard you try, you. Never. Ever. Forget.
Let's start from elementary to highschool. The Witch of Blackbird Pond bored me to tears, and that could be why I get a nasty taste in my mouth when I hear about Puritans. Summer of the Swans had the whiniest female protagonist I ever read (Not to be mistaken with Trumpet of the Swans by E.B. White--not only does the story actually center around swans *GASP! They're supposed to only exist as allegory you silly goose!*, it's a good book too!), rivaling only what has to be the worst fucking disappointment in the entire planet, Searching for David's Heart: A Christmas Story. (Yeah, the Christmas story tagline? That's a complete lie. *gag* Nothing remotely holidayish or even in the SPIRIT of the holiday remotely happens until the last two pages of the book!) I have never wanted anybody in a book to die so much. Finishing The Scarlett Letter was an agonizing trek shoving a boulder up a hill in the Sahara with no water. Only after reading (and liking) Dr. Heidegger's Experiment was I able to forgive Hawthorne a little... somewhat. A tiny bit. But you know how I feel about Puritanlit. *vicious grimace*
So you see? I got off on a tangent. But Angels in America, don't think you've got away! Here's what I have to say after reading the first act, Millienium Approaches:
( In Which Puri Rants About Gay Cliches, Self-Indulgent Drama and Assholes )
Part 2: Perestroika better be better than this crap. Is redeeming a little asking for so much? I doubt it's going to happen though. It's like every chapter of this play I read, I just get angrier and angrier. I hate plays like this. Reminds me of the other day when I picked up my college books, and these shiny copies of the Sweeney Todd script were like the glints of shaving knives. How I wish I were singing, scheming, and cooking meat pies right now!
