Caligula – A Case For Re-examination

What do you think SirGay does after catching a cold during the hottest days of the year? Ha, he comes here, of course, to fuck with your brains, my darlings. That’s right, you better get some ice. You will need it!

During all this hot delirium New York City’s streets were breathing on me, your dear darling saw a dream with Kirsten Dunst. That was a bit random, I’d say, but okay. In the dream, her poster, where she poses as Marie Antoinette, was mutilated by a group of savage actors, who apparently, I found out that in the dream, hated her guts. Dear Plastikoff knew, his brain was triggered. That’s right, my darlings, my mind was going completely bonkers in this heat, add to it a running nose – a freaking running nose! – and you have ze Plastikoff back with his new (some people might think) deranged thoughts about, well, this time, Caligula. Oh my dear flying ducks, Caligula!? And what the fuckity fuck made him think about the Caesar? Well, first of all, it was hot, like in Rome hot. Second of all, Caligula was/is considered as deranged as your dearest Sir G. or is he? No, really?

Well, since ze Plastikoff had nothing better to do apart from making sure his sweaty balls didn’t stick to the chair, he created a case for Caligula. I am here to prove to you all that he – gasp! – was the sanest of them all. Oh, I can feel your temperature rising. You can’t wait to tell me how wrong I will be about the Augustus, but simmer down a bit. That ice bucket I told you about, yeah, grab some ice from it and make a mimosa. Now listen to me and to my oh so genially put case. I don’t even know what the expression in court is, but whatever, I’m Russian, so there, I make my own rules. I am going to prove to you that Caligula was as nice as me when a breeze goes through my balls on the beach, that is (smiley face).

Where do I start with all this mess, because I did get distracted by Hellen Mirren’s tatas and this six foot dick one of the ladies in the film was sucking for at least a good thirty seconds? I watched the film for the first time on a big screen, so yeah, I forgot to count for how long this debauchery lasted. This entry is not about the film I occasionally re-watch for educational purposes on my old VHS tape, even though it was inspired by the naked Malcolm McDowell’s tush. Oh my! Sir McDowell was running in the rain, making all kinds of moves, naked and not afraid, playing the efing Caligula. But see, this is where we get really confused. We have so many takes on the one and only Caligula that it is quite easy to get distracted by all these dicks and vaginas flying around, because, you know, the orgies and what not. Well as long as everyone is vaccinated and enjoying themselves, who am I to tell what is good for them? Should I put another smiley face here, or should I wait for later? Oh well, smiley face! I know you’re having a hard time reading these long-ass sentences (giggles – “long-ass”).

I am here to entertain unlikely thoughts about things that might not look the way they really are. Just to prove my point about the information we have about the Caesar and how it was, most likely, tailored to please a certain group of people, I am going to ask you to talk to somebody who doesn’t like you. Ask what they think about you. You, most likely, will get a contrasting picture of yourself from somebody who appreciates you. I have a very strong suspicion that Caligula at some point of his reign got crushingly bad yelp reviews, so all got real fetid real fast afterwards. Historians who wrote books about Caesars were people close to them, meaning, they were a part of the ruling class. But why was Caligula portrayed as some kind of blood sucking monster who slept with animals and raped the oh-so-vulnerable rich wives of Rome?

There were a few things in the book by Suetonius about the twelve Caesars that didn’t make sense to me and sounded a bit, in the words of today’s popular “literature,” sensationalistic. My first conflicting question was aroused after I read about Caligula’s disappearance from the environment Caesars supposed to always be in. Apparently, Gaius escaped to the populous, to the simple people, and stayed with them for quite some time. Evidently the crowds really loved the Caesar. On one hand you have this love coming from the plebeians, but on another Suetonius is painting Caligula behaving like a monster against the elite after returning to the palace. Suetonius “suggested” that Caligula might have contracted some kind of disease while being away. Did he contract the empathy or the compassion bug? Hmm, that is possible. These two are “crazy diseases” no ruler should ever have. “Clearly” because of that “disease” Caligula made the wives of the high-ranking senators at the palace prostitute themselves. He took their “hard earned money.” Oh my goodness, was he taxing them? Oh yes, he was! He behaved with the rich and the powerful the way they abused the populous. Well, of course, that was unprecedented and it could not be tolerated. The patricians in the senate had to make Caligula an example of how you don’t behave with your own, so the future Caesars don’t get similar ideas, because, well, who wants these socialist emperors? Uh-uh not them! Caligula at that time was at his most revolutionary age. The senators made sure that Caligula’s image was tarnished forever and ever, well until ze Plastikoff and his genius was born, of course, ha!

The next thing which didn’t make sense to me was Caligula’s sleeping with his horse and his alleged sexual relationship with it. Well, my dears, you are for a treat here after I tell you that horses sleep standing up. If you see a horse on the ground, it is, most likely, sick or just about to die from old age. Suetonius thought this little detail will fly over the heads of the readers of his book. He miscalculated my mind and my love for animals.

Here is another detail for you, Caligula was a short man. How do I know this? Well, I don’t and nobody does, though some “sources” today say that he was a tall man. Hmmm, but his nickname was a “little boot.” That’s right, Caligula means “little boot,” you mimosa drinking farts. Was he involved in bestiality and fucked his horse? Hmm, it could be, but I don’t think so. Remember, “little boot” means “small.” So how did he do it? Suetonius doesn’t provide the details. Bummer!

Did Caligula love his horse more than the people who surrounded him at the palace? That is for sure true. Horses are lovely animals, but Suetonius went a bit too far with the horse loving idea making it sound as if Caligula was a terrible terrible human being, who abused horses, because, you know, he built stables for them as beautiful as rich men’s houses. This horse was, most likely, his best friend, so it makes sense for Caligula to have it around in his castle, or whatever his apartment was called at that time. There are some folks in NYC, still to this day, who keep crocodiles and tigers as their pets. Do you think Caligula would not do the same? This bitch had all the money and power? Why the fuck not? What really pissed the senators off was the fact that he made his favorite horse a senator too. Now that was a kick into their balls. Ouch!

And then there was his sexual attraction to his sister, or even sisters (plural). Now, where do I start with this mess? If you really want to hurt somebody, say something so outrageous about the people they love and you are on your way of becoming one of those, I don’t even know the name for it. A “little” fact that he married Cezonia, a loose woman from a whorehouse, who gave birth to a daughter conflicted with this story of Caligula’s incest involvement with his sister. The whole family was killed though during this bloodshed the rich created after being overtaxed, because, you know, that’s how you rolled at that time. You didn’t like papa, you killed his children. But was Caligula really fooling around with his sister? Well, that we will never know. They both are dead to prove Suetonius wrong, but what is clear to me, Caligula had a healthy sex life which, yeah, could sound quite outrageous for some sex fearing people, but at that time having orgies was a norm. So, my dear Suetonius, you will not scare me with your stories of supposedly nasty perversions Caligula had. You were, most likely, excluded from these parties and felt hurt, so you made it sound the way you made it sound. Sorry, but the elite used you and made you write all this outrageous fiction about this damn Caligula, just to make them look good in comparison. Oh, also, a question, how the fuck do you know so much about Caligula and his behavior? Your book was written a century after his death?

Caligula, by the way, didn’t go to any war. Can you fucking believe this shit? An Emperor who values human lives instead of profits? This son of a bitch just sat in front of a lake or whatever and watched his soldiers collect shells on the beach. He must be crazy and must be destroyed. Well, sure watching soldiers swim happily made Caligula look crazy and… they did destroyed him.

It is clear that whoever wrote these historical entries about Caligula, was not happy with him. And who can be happy when “your people” are behaving the way they are not supposed to behave. You don’t rob your own. You don’t rape your people’s wives. That is what you do to the people who have no power. The ones who go to jail today are the poor and the rich who stole from the rich. When a capitalist thief steals from a poor person they say, oh this doesn’t make sense, I can’t rob a poor person, I am rich. If you don’t believe me, I can pay you to believe me, because I have money and money is power. Now, when a rich thief robs his own buddies, uh-ho, this becomes a problem, because the truth is on the side of who is richer. But the thing is, you are both rich, so what do you do? Well, let’s go back to Caligula. Imagine the confusion the high ranked farts had when the emperor who had all the power and all the money suddenly decided to level himself with the lowest of the lows, the poor working class? That emperor must be out of his mind! This “legend” about Caligula’s madness all of a sudden got pushed into the “news.” Of course, the madman has to be removed from the power. He doesn’t serve the rich anymore. Aagh, he serves the people! This can’t be! This is blasphemy and all these big words the powerful say wanting to intimidate you.

The system has not changed. In a society where the money rule, money can buy anything. How can any civilized society talk about morals when the main incentive for people in the power is to stuff their pockets with as much money as they possibly can? Caligula was critiqued that he didn’t go to any war. Instead, he decided to sit in front of a lake and watch half naked soldiers run happily around. That must be an absolutely clear sign of insanity, because look at all these wars we have to fight, look at all these countries we need to rob, because, you know, they are the “others,” which automatically makes them the enemy. Oh, and then there is the gold and all that shiny shit those countries have.

When somebody as powerful as Caligula sees that the real enemy is not the people, that the problem lays inside, that somebody must be killed, because he knows something we don’t know (as if). The confusion sets in, the revolution is just about to happen and we all know what happens when a revolution happens, the heads roll of the shoulders. Oh damn, ze Marie Antoinette! ze Kirsten Dunst and ze chaos sets in. The power becomes accessible to anyone, literally, to anyone! That is why it is so important to make sure that the future emperors learn from Caligula’s example. You do not go against your own. If you do, you are going to be called a horse and sister fucker, which, by the way, would be fine if you would still go to wars and rob the poor, then your horse fucking is the rule of the empire… And I thought I was going to talk about the film.

Sometime ago I went to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. They have a bust of Caligula there. This is what was written under this bust:

“The portrait style created for Augustus was adopted by his family and immediate successors in order to stress the unity and continuity of the Julio-Claudian dynasty. This fine bust of Caligula (r.A.D. 37-41) has regular features and carefully designed locks of hair, similar to those in portraits of Augustus. Here, however, the artist has also conveyed something of Caligula’s vanity and cruelty in the proud turn of the head and the thin, pursed lips.”

And who the fuck writes this shit? This is again one of the examples how we are manipulated to believe in certain things. What I see is a bust of a young, beautiful face, of somebody who was made into a monster, because he didn’t follow the rules of the rich, but instead was looking for the Moon.

My case is closed, my dears. Now I need to fart a bit, so excuse me, I am leaving you with that melted bucket of ice. Check if your head fits in it.

“Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom” in the Two Toed World of Thoughts and Prayers

Oh my dear darlings, the fallen leaves of last year left on the ground to rot. I know you missed me, as much as I missed the stench of clogged sewer holes of New York City. I would be still quietly enjoying this gooey muck the mad, mad world is spreading around like some kind of cow shit on the fields of freedom if not for somebody finding the picture of my innocent toes (gasp!) worth of removal from the Internets. Boy, oh boy, they are going to be not sorry they stepped on my two crusty chicken fingers. They woke me up like that bear I ate last winter (long story).

You see, all would be cool and dandy and I would be still posting bare assed celebrities on social media, but the removal of one of my personal photos from the Facethingy I love to stick around and watch how the facts disappear and opinionated flat earthers become the messiahs giving the free ranged “thoughts and prayers” was a bit too much. My two titsy-bitsy toes caught somebody’s attention. It was utterly appalling. The unimaginable happened. I looked at my toes as I have never looked at them before. Oh you naughty little things. How dare you prostitute yourself around like that. I put my feet into the crocs, two and a half sizes too small, and… damn, I needed to calm myself down, so I went to my vault of the most calming movies ever made and re-watched the delightful film of them all Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom, because, you know, that’s how I protest censorship.

Oh my dear darlings, if you just knew how this film calms me down. When the times are unsure there is nothing more enjoyable as watching some prune faced fucks (pardon for my French) torture kids. It is almost like watching a reality show shot somewhere at the Mexican border. I mean, there is a reason why raping, killing and abducting kids for prostitution and organ harvesting is so in vogue today. Just look at this film Pasolini created in 1975. He got killed before the premier of the film though, so there is no way for us to find about all these fashionable traits we are experiencing today, but the evidence he left behind in the film might reveal to us the mystery of it all.

Salo, o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom). Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Subject and Script: Pier Paolo Pasolini and Sergio Citti. Criterion, 1975, (that’s right, my darlings, you will need to read the subtitles, but you might be distracted by some titties, a random ass fuck or your upset stomach, so the subtitles might become the last thing you will worry about.)

The movie is divided in four parts “The Antiferno,” “The Circle of Madness (or Manias),” “The Circle of Shit,” and “The Circle of Blood.” Every circle is constructed as Dante’s “Inferno” deeper you go mushier it becomes.

In the Antiferno four men sign a paper where they decide to get married to each other’s daughters. (Oh, just look at that, the incest right from the top of the film, but there is more, no outsiders allowed to join the most exclusive club of them all!) The Duke, The Bishop, The Magistrate and The President are the rich and the powerful who will decide who will live and who will be punished during their “reign” in Salo “republic” they create. They have four libertine women to help them to achieve what their sick minds are imagining. They recruit four well endowed men as their guards (and occasional fucks) and go to the country side for…

Nine girls and nine boys are chosen during the Antiferno part. There are naked titties and penises flopping around. These “creators of jobs” are inspecting each girl and each boy. They are not interested in spending on no insurance, no. Perfect health and dental hygiene is checked on each of the teenagers who stand as some kind of cattle for sale. They are looked at, touched and otherwise humiliated by the four. It seems like there is no dental plan to be splurged on, so one of the girls is out of the picture, after it is discovered, she is missing a tooth. After the inspection is done, the boys and girls are collected into a truck and transported to their future job site. If I would not know when this film was set, I would have thought these boys and girls were taken to one of those places which name sounds like that forest in Brazil. Oh, there is one boy who jumps out of the moving car, but he finishes with a bullet in his scull. Poor lad, he thought he could escape the system.

In the Circle of Madness we see the chatto (fancy French name for the “castle”) where the victims will be living for the rest of the film (the rest of their lives). They are introduced to the rules. The four read them, as would a priest read the commandments in the church. They sounds pretty much like these agreements you must sign. If you don’t follow them, you will be punished. The first punishment drops in almost immediately. A girl who prays for God suffocates in front of His image. Poor girl, it seems like she didn’t read to the end of what she was signing for. She looked at something inappropriate on her wall. The Facething chocked her to death, thus banned her for life. (Oh my goodness!)

The first madam is introduced with her mad stories of sexual perversion. The behavior of the four is out of the proportions. Though, can you believe it, but this circle is not as bad as the circles which will follow it. In this circle an occasional rape with occasional nails in your soup or an occasional bullet in somebody’s skull are like this breakfast coffee with a croissant you might enjoy, though no coffee and no croissant is going to be served because…

In the Circle of Shit there is nothing more important than a piece of shit. It is served on a silver platter during the shit eating fiesta. The second madam tells her sexy scat stories. Nobody can poop before the party, because, hellooo, no turd can be wasted. It is the main dish on the dinner table, mind you. Of course, one of the girls could not hold it anymore. So she left a little tootsie roll in a poo-pee pot and oh my, my, she ended up with the rest of the punished girls and boys in a tub of browny delight, literally bathing in it, while the others enjoyed the shitfest with an occasional ass fuck as if that’s how you throw a party, all perfectly normal, don’t you think?

The Circle of Blood is not for the weak. The last madam is there with her blood and gore stories of pleasure. After she finishes her last tale about bloody this and bloody that, the four prepare themselves for the big bloodshed where all the punished girls and boys will be tortured and later killed. During this part the piano player silently commits suicide by jumping out the window (ups!) Two boys, after being fondled by the Duke or the Bishop, I can’t tell it now, dance a slow dance while he watches through the binoculars how a tongue, an eye, and scalp are cut by the other three on the square outside of his window, which reminds of a pigsty with the kids running around naked in the mud. All of it is performed in silence and in the distance.

The film has all the things that show how lovable the human nature is. Who could deny torturing kids while some “proper” ladies in their most expensive ballgowns tell us how they were taken advantage of by one or several “proper” gentlemen and how much they liked it. I mean, they tell first world country’s problems, but still. Oh, Pasolini, how dared you show the high society in such a light. You should had known not to step on anybody’s toes (aha, the toes!)

Not sure how far you can go watching this film? My darlings, good news, we are living in it today. Isn’t fabulous? What are these mass shootings or occasional wars we don’t even know why we fight anymore in comparison to all this fun we see in this film. There are always thoughts and prayers to be sent somewhere. It’s not like we have to go to a post office and buy a stamp or something. It’s all free and we can do that while siting on the toilet. Click click and we are done. You might feel a bit queasy after learning about some random immigrant dying somewhere at the imaginary border, very reality TV I would say, but to feel like somebody just stuck a metal rod into your brain, scalped you off and popped your eyes out of the sockets with the kitchen knife is what we are aiming for, don’t we? Besides there are always opioids to be prescribed by doctor this or doctor that, you know. These lovely rich, hard working people, will prance on your bleeding guts after they skin you and leave you to bake in the scorching sun after paying you the “minimum wage” because, well, that shit they were serving you on the silver platter was full of nails, so be happy the price for the nails was not deducted from your paycheck. My darlings, no crocs will stop you from leaping out of the window the way this piano player lady did by the end of the film, because, well, you just have no insurance to pay for all this wonderful madness. But, I mean, how dared she leave you without her piano music.

My dear darlings, after emptying my bowels quite a few times (that might actually do good for my figure!) I realized that maybe these pruned faced people who pretend to be so proper, shitting on the golden toilets, really are preparing us for a similar party. Aw, how very considered of them, don’t you think? Isn’t delightful how all is decided for us? There is no need to be a hero the way this boy at the beginning of the film was. Do you really want to escape this madness you are forced to encounter? You might finish with a bullet in your scull, if you try something stupid, like protest or some shit like that. Oh, you would be such a waste. There is so much potential in you, so much young skin to be skinned, so much torture to be experienced. The big pharma would really miss you. Many might say, you are lucky if you end up with the bullet and I say phf, they don’t know what they are talking about.

This film will be hard to swallow. If these kids can eat the actual shit while being raped and tortured by these very few who have the power, you will be just dandy. Pasolini ended up with his member out in the mud with an open fly and his scull mushed in as if it was a deflated ball. His body was ran over by a car a couple of times, because, well, with this film he stepped on those two toes he was not supposed to step on.

Is this a film you have to watch? Absolutely! Should you watch it with your date? Sure! Especially if you are trying to ditch that date and be written off in their phone book as a pervert. I tell you, every time I am around this film, I put it on. See, it saves me breakfast. (Smiley face)

Oh, and here is that picture of my two sexy fish sticks! Go ahead, get your rocks off, I don’t mind, neither do they. Tah-dah!

How Changing a Minor Key Could Become a Major Improvement or What One Could Learn about Theater While Listening to a Christmas Song

Oh my dear darlings, I know you missed me like last year’s Christmas, I know. I missed myself too. Only a few days have passed after New Year’s smashing celebrations and I am already singing Christmas songs in the shower for you. Darlings, I missed being important as much as I missed Christmas. You don’t believe me? Oh, you’re so sweet. What do you think I do on those lonely nights being away from theater and all these artistic endeavors? Well, of course, I write blogs and critique others. It helps me to get my importance back, so get ready to hear something you could use if you are as smart as I am, that is. Besides, it’s winter, what else one does but listens to SirGay’s salty balls jingle in the wind while he shines his unbelievable intelligence while living on a mountain somewhere upstate New York.

Christmas to me is like this show I am forced to watch every day every year for two months. It is like a broken record stuck on the same song. God wrote a play called Christmas and nobody can change any word or scene in it. This is precisely how I feel about some theater shows and some playwrights who are running skitters when a director or an actor wants to change a line or a scene in their written play. Playwright is God. Everyone else is just a decoration. Or is it?

Many times I would hear some playwrights complain how one or another director or actor changed something in their play. They would make it sound as if the world is just about to collapse. I don’t know why I am so concentrated on these poor playwrights. Maybe that is because I care about them and I want to prove to them that if a creative mind decides to change something in their work that change is a really good thing.

For some reason musicians are less uptight about somebody else covering and changing their music. Maybe that is the nature of music or maybe they are smoking too much MJ in studios, who knows. The point is that most musicians welcome interpretations of their music by other artists, be it another composer, a singer or a DJ. Why there is this uptightness in theater, I ask?

Before I prove my point that any change improves your work, dear playwrights, I want you to listen to two versions of the same Christmas song. I actually bought one of them to listen for my own pleasure. What the what? I am asking this myself too. I can’t believe I bought a song called “All I Want for Christmas Is You?” I must have lost my mind somewhere in my sweaty ass-crack. The song which inspired this entry is the Mariah Carey song, but here is a twist, the version of the song I purchased is Chase Holfelder’s. There is a major change in the song and the change is – the minor key. Before I go further please listen to both versions here.

Mariah Carey’s version

Chase Holfelder’s version

No, you really need to listen to them before continuing reading what I have to say about theater and playwrights. Listen! I said (smiley face).

Now, remember my rant about how some playwrights are just (insert a curse word here), because they believe that “if anything is changed in their plays they are going to be somehow destroyed and what not?” Remember that letter I wrote to them? Well, if you don’t remember it, here is a quick break down for ya.

For some reason there is this notion that if a director or actor or any creator but a playwright changes anything in a play, the play becomes like that herpes everybody is afraid to claim to have. My darlings, herpes has nothing to do with it, smell your farts. It is quite challenging to explain to today’s self proclaimed Shakespeares that Shakespeare’s works actually improved by all these cuts and different interpretations throughout these years Shakespearian plays have been performed.

But let’s not distract ourselves from the Christmas songs I presented to you here. Even though Chase Holfelder’s version of the song is almost unrecognizable and eerie as Christmas is to me, for some “weird” reason it is still the same song. The same way a Shakespearean play is still a Shakespearean play even though Romeo and Juliet are played by two boys in some productions. Well, of course, if you know the history of theater you know that there were no female actors allowed on the stage at the time Shakespeare wrote his plays. All the female roles were played by men only. To see two men play Romeo and Juliet nowadays is somehow innovative while the biggest innovation of the play happened at the time when women stormed onto the stages and the role of Juliet was given to a female actress. Do you see what I have done here, or you are still thinking about herpes?

In any case my dear theater people, especially you my darling playwrights, every time you are not sure if you like an interpretation of your play just remember Christmas and Mariah Carey, then remember that killing is not an answer ever! Enjoy those different takes of your work made by other creative minds and just let it be even if your jingle bells are up your ass and you want to vomit flowers. Believe when I say this, because of that Christmas song I forgave you all. I found my old/new love and you will find it too.

I’ll point it out to you and say it again; anybody who is inspired to give their take on your work is only improving your work? Anyone who is able to find something worth changing/interpreting in your play is giving you a great compliment. Your work could tremendously improve if you just let another creative soul to be creative with it. You could reap a major success by letting it happen. Enjoy and let it be.

Ciao-cacao and don’t forget to flush after you do your do-dos. Oh yeah and you should take care of that herpes!

Lord Has Smiled at the Orchard of Rimas Tuminas

Oh my sagging balls, why oh why is it so hard to write this next blog entry? I could put the blame on my pretentious writing genius who needs to get drunk to be able to give you all that, whatever that is that you are reading right now, but… I would be telling you lies. The bar is fully stacked. I can’t find any excuse for staying sober and for not being able to write something spectacular about the next theater director I have been having dreams about. I should tell you the truth, I forget about any need to be artificially intoxicated when I watch theater works directed by Rimas Tuminas. His works are just that good. I feel a natural buzz and my soul gets that needed je ne sais quoi to survive in this age of consumerism.

I saw his Cherry Orchard for the first time more than twenty years ago and… I became his lifetime fan. I could just write: Rimas Tuminas is perfect in what he does in theater and that would be it, so why do I need to write anything else about him while “perfect” defines everything he touches creatively? You know what? I should just put a bunch of videos with his work here and say, see this? This is how theater should be made. End of story! Plastikoff is besides himself. He is not able to say anything clever. No, no, no, no this is not me! I have to find a way to tell you about this tremendous theater director who is becoming better and better like this wine which with time turns into an expensive Cognac.

That Rimas Tuminas is one of the greatest theater directors is not even a question. The question is: how does he do it? Is there some kind of drug one needs to take to be able to release all this wonderful madness? Do I need to dip myself into some kind of magic lake and kiss a frog or something? I don’t know. This really kills me! I want to be just like him. That’s right, I said it, so deal with it.

As a young actor I grew artistically watching shows directed by Tuminas. I was broken as Ranevskaya in his Cherry Orchard. I traveled to Vilnius like Ephraim in his Smile at Us, Oh Lord. I got frozen into a statue from love while watching his Masquerade. I feel like Tania from his Eugene Onegin in the scene where she tells to her nanny how much she loves Eugene when I talk about Tuminas. I can recall almost every scene from these shows, even though I saw some of them, that’s right, more than twenty years ago.

Rimas Tuminas is able to “open” actors and their creativity. He makes them feel secure on the stage. Every single piece, directed by Rimas Tuminas I saw, has stuck into my brain like some kind of spell. As it often happens when one begins to talk about a great director one finds himself talking about ideas, feelings, emotions. One finds himself talking about meaning of life and… damn where is that port I need so much right about now? You know what? Instead of talking about Tuminas I am going to talk about his actors and their work on stage. They might be that magic potion Tuminas drinks before bed every night to become this fantastic.

A Lady Bug (Bozhya Korovka in Russian = Little Cow of Gods) just landed on my finger and Lord smiled at me (this I am going to count as my smiley face, no?)

Cherry Orchard and Sigitas Račkys

I believe we would have not known how good Sigitas Račkys is if not for Tuminas. Lopachin was his first break through role in Cherry Orchard. It seems like Cherry Orchard was a break through show for many actors of Little Theater of Vilnius whose Artistic director Rimas Tuminas still is to this day, even though he has also become the Artistic director of Vakhtangov theatre in Moscow.

A side note: it is said that Cherry Orchard almost didn’t happen. The little gossip gnomes of theater have told me that the show was literally created a day before opening. Apparently Tuminas was so unhappy with the way the show was going that he scratched almost all of it a day before opening and built a brand new version that is still running to this day. Is it true? I don’t care to know. I love stories like that. They create the needed drama and mystery. Theater loves s**t like that.

Who knew that Cherry Orchard would become the defining moment of Tuminas’ creative life as well. The show has all the elements Tuminas is famous of: a great quiet opening which turns into a large movement later, little scenes defining every character, a slow pace which builds up into a dramatic emotional explosion and, of course, a quiet ending which leaves your soul burning long after the show is over.

I decided to tell you about Tuminas’ creative genius through his actors for a reason. First, of course, you needed to be reminded about how great Plastikoff is and second… well this makes me more excited about writing and the process of connecting the dots. I know, of course, that for some of you connecting what Račkys’ acting has to do with Tuminas way of directing might be challenging, but… I believe in you. I am not going to write about each character and actor in every production Tuminas directed, no. Are you crazy? That would take me days and days with no end to finish. I decided to cherry pick (see what I have done here?) actors from some of his shows and just concentrate on their work highlighting certain specifics in Tuminas productions. Sorry, but you will need to find those dots yourself. I apologize in advance to those actors I haven’t picked. I promise to redeem myself later somehow. Maybe I will just come and put a show with you or something?

As you already have guessed from the name of this part, I am concentrating on Sigitas Račkys while talking about Cherry Orchard. It seems like Račkys really understood Tuminas and vise versa. After Cherry Orchard Sigitas became one of the leading actors of Tuminas’ productions. I am so glad that they found each other. This relationship gave birth to Galileo Galileo and Smile at Us, Oh Lord, two of Tuminas’ shows where Račkys leads the gang.

I could be clever and say that Račkys bought Tuminas’ attention the way, his created Lopachin, bought Cherry Orchard, but I digress. Nobody was buying anybody. This collaboration became one of the greatest collaborations seen on theater stage. I should say that you all are a very lucky bunch because you can watch the whole show right here:

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=17

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=19

Vytautas Šapranauskas and his Jewish nose

About Vytautas Šapranauskas one needs to write a book or several of them for that matter. The way this guy lived on the stage and made everything even the most tragic scenes comic is uncanny. There is no comparison to him in Inspector General and in Smile at Us, Oh Lord.

While a student I experienced this great theater moment. I got a comp to watch Smile at Us, Oh Lord. There was absolutely no space anywhere in the audience even to stand. The only way to watch the show was to stand in the sound booth on tiptoes holding your breath. Just before Šapranauskas came onto the stage I found myself surrounded by actors who just finished a scene I just watched. Later I realized that they all came to the booth to watch the mastery of Šapranauskas. One could only wish to be honored like this by their colleagues. Šapranauskas was Tuminas’ actor. It felt like Tuminas just let Šapranauskas play in his sand box called theater. You can see Šapranauskas almost in every production of Tuminas. Here I am giving you Smile at Us, Oh Lord.

http://www.lrt.lt/mediateka/irasas/15965

http://www.lrt.lt/mediateka/irasas/15970

Eglė Gabrėnaitė

There is a lot to say about Eglė Gabrėnaitė, but instead I’ll say nothing. If you already watched through Cherry Orchard you already know that this actress is one you are not going to forget. I am presenting here excerpts from Inspector General to remind you that she is as great in a comedic role as she is in a dramatic one. Enjoy! Oh yeah, watch Vytautas Šapranauskas and Arūnas Sakalauskas do their magic there too. My mouth is salivating from all of this wonderful madness.

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=29

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=30

I could continue writing, but I am just too lazy. Besides you have all this tremendous gorgeousness of theater to watch and connect the dots. Who knows, I might return to Tuminas some other day and tell you why I cherry picked these three specific actors, but… maybe we could discuss that in the comments section?

To end this entry I am leaving you with a link to Vilnius Little Theater. Get familiar with the place where a lot of the above mentioned magic was born.

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video

Not So “Delicate Dis-Balance” of SirGay’s Salty Balls

Last weekend I had quite an event. My friends took me to see a show on Broadway. Oh my goodness, I thought, I am going to see a Broadway show. Like a good boy (in my case a man, I am not trying to kid anyone anymore) I put my fancy pants and went.

Damn it, I knew I needed to have a drink beforehand…

I sensed that there was something wrong with the show as soon as it started. After twenty minutes into the “action,” for some reason, I wanted to storm onto the stage and scream at everyone, like, and what is wrong with all of you people here? But then I realized, I was surrounded by rich white people and the exit was way too far.

Well, darlings, even though I had only thirty five cents in my pocket, I remembered that I am white too, so I blended in. My whiteness saved me from being looked at, like, and what the f*ck are you doing here watching white people talk on a couch for three hours and… oh my gog… they were drinking too.

As soon as I saw by whom I was surrounded, I put my tailbone on my seat, sat on it and patiently watched the whole damn show. I just kept thinking, my friends spent their two day’s paycheck just to have me with them, so I better behave or the next time… well there would be no next time for my tailbone on any Broadway theater’s cushioned seat if I don’t behave.

Being a true (emphasis on “true”) theater artist I kept thinking, is this what you need to put on stage if you want to be on Broadway? I thought that you need to sleep with somebody there to get a part, or… or, wait, is this what you do to get a part in Hollywood? I always mix these two. The feeling that grabbed me by my balls was not the most pleasant. (Disclaimer: SirGay’s more detailed descriptions of events involving his balls, Broadway theater seats and what not were edited out, we decided not to dilute real problems with such descriptions) I just kept thinking, what is it I am watching now? Watching a show that had a bunch of rich white people drinking around a couch and having all these drunk conversations about their, so called, “problems” was kinda… I don’t know… I just don’t know. I kept looking at the audience and the huge chandelier on the stage which probably cost more than five or six shows to mount Off-Broadway, an amount which could pay full salaries to everyone involved with these Off-Broadway shows and still have some leftovers for some Off-Off-Broadway performance to make. The chandelier mesmerized me and then something else happened… (The description about SirGay’s salty sweat dripping down his crotch was edited out. Yes, it involved his balls.)

There is a reason why I want to avoid naming actors involved in the production. Yep, like a real Broadway show there were big names attached to this show. Why have they agreed to be in this production? I don’t know. I didn’t have time to ask them that. I was too busy with my own important busyness of being appalled. I just kept thinking, would the show have the same amount of people sitting in the audience if the show would have been made with less known actors? I asked my friends, if they would see the same show if not for these stars? My friends almost in unison said, no. I knew it. It was another conspiracy against me and my art. (Where do I put my smiley face?)

What bothered me in this show was the absence of enlightenment and inspiration. Pff, no. What bothered me was that the show was built by the rich, for the rich, with the rich actors. And it was, of course, about rich people’s “problems,” like, why can’t I sleep in my room while there are at least fifteen other rooms available in the house? God damn it, I’d take any of them, as long as I don’t pay the rent. Absurd? Ummm… I don’t think they (meaning rich) thought it was absurd. You might say, maybe that was the point of the show, to show how absurd it is to be rich and not to be able to sleep in your room. Ummm… that can’t be true, but then you see the audience of predominantly white and no doubt rich and then you go, and who the f*ck if not white and rich can afford to buy tickets to Broadway shows today? Damn it. How the heck was I excluded from this VIP club? (I think I want to hug my pillow and cry myself to sleep now.)

When you see the audience of old white people in a Broadway theater, that nobody can afford to rent, with the stars, who have as much money as these people in the audience, talk and talk and talk about nothing, you might start thinking that you were abducted and were made to sit and listen how “bad” these rich people have. How absolutely terrifying it is not to know where the coffee beans are in the house, because you’ve never made a cup of coffee yourself before. I kept thinking, maybe at some point actors were going to go into a song or into something more absurd and the set would suddenly change into… well, more exciting than this piece of rich people’s house full of expensive chandeliers and furniture. I kept thinking and why the f*ck am I watching these white rich people drink expensive drinks in their expensive house when I, ze Plastikoff himself, cannot afford the cheapest Port anymore, why? And then it donned on me, I was there to see how Broadway really works. If you are not in the club of these one percent people who own everything, don’t even think to dream to have anything on Broadway. But if that is the supposed dream, I want to wake up. This terrified me more than the last year’s ass contest started by Kim Kay, yes, that’s how you supposed to say, Kim Kay.

Somewhere by the end of act two I started feeling nauseous. I could not take it anymore. The status quo of a poor artist “surviving” in the city was so obvious to me that I… wait, what did I do? Oh, I went to see act three. I understood that my nausea was also provoked by my (description about the state of sweaty balls was edited out).

Suddenly I saw Mr. Albee sitting on his couch and getting drunk to the point of oblivion and saying (maybe to himself), oh you want a play about rich people for rich people? Okay, I am going to give you that. Let me write something while I am still drunk. The play would make no sense to most of poor (who needs them on Broadway anyway?), but would absolutely tickle rich people’s egos. You see, they would say, there is a show on Broadway about us. See how important our problems are. These other (meaning poor) people will never understand what it means to be this filthy rich when you literally can start drinking whenever you like and just keep drinking, because there is nothing else more dramatic to do. And why don’t they (meaning poor) understand how hard our lives are? Thankfully we know how to squeeze fresh orange juice for an early morning drink. Screw you all, I am having a screwdriver now…

I am afraid my dear darlings that after this review I might be banned from all Broadway theaters, because how do I dare to say anything bad about rich people’s entertainment and even more, about white rich people’s entertainment, which only they are entitled to enjoy. You know what, my darlings, there is nothing for me to lose. I am going to sacrifice myself for the humanity. See how selfless and heroic Serge Plastikoff is? You haven’t heard from him for such a long time and now he is ready to put his well white being on the chopping block for you. You might want to ask me, what was happening with you our dearest SirGay? Why weren’t you sharing your wisdom with us for such a long time? Darlings, I was on a break, on a break from all these things that matter to you. I went to Broadway to find that it is so broad, this so called Broadway, that there is no place for anybody who is not rich there.

I feel like I need to put some lemon juice on my balls and spray it with pepper spray now. But talking about spraying my (edited)… so tha-dha for tonight. There is nothing else I want to tell you today.

Nothing about Nipples, but I Got Your Attention: Sony Reads “The Producers,” Releases “The Interview”

Alright my dear darlings, finally I got drunk enough (again) to be able to say something (again) about something.

I am going to say three things:
Sony
The Interview
The Producers
Sonny tanks, reads The Producers, makes the film The Interview. Everybody screams in fear (ha) and flops to the “theaters” to see the above mentioned film. Bravo PR people. You need to get a raise. The world’s best publicity campaign. End of the story (smiley face).

Oh yeah, you can discuss it here.

but… I woke up on this sunny New Year’s morning and realized that I have this chocking need to elaborate on whatever f*ck I have said in this entry last year. It is quite uncomfortable to write these words right now while still in bed and having a hangover. But you know what, my darlings, I am realizing that I am less and less tolerant to some bullshit somebody else is trying to make me to believe. So I am going to give you my own bullshit so you have something to compare with. Which bullshit stinks more, you decide.

What upsets me the most is that the other bullshit is making me an angry duck. Yes, a duck who wants to nip you in your privates when that above mentioned bullshit is overflowing. Well since this is my blog, I feel like it is my duty to flush this bullshit with some “proper” English dipped in Russian vodka. Hmmm, now that I think, maybe the vodka is making me this angry? Who knows. When you have dipped your brain in it, some crazy diarrhea comes out on paper. Yes, I wrote this whole thing on a piece of paper, so bite me! Ugh, you see how angry I am and this is happening on the very first day of the New Year. What is going to happen on the tenth day, I wonder? I am a little afraid for you, my dear readers. Switching between alcohols might prove that I have become completely insane. And you know what? IDGAF. Scratch it, IDGA Duck. You already thinking that I am insane anyways so here are no surprises there but you might start believing that I completely went nuts after you read what I have to say about all this hacking business going around. My darlings, it is not a secret for you anymore that I like finding some things where they might not be. I cannot help myself, my brain, when it is swimming in alcohol does something to me and the next thing you know I find myself swimming in thousands of words about something that might prove my insanity and insanity of others like you, thank you…

Now, since I have warned you, let’s talk about all this Sony slash North Korea business.

When I heard for the first time about Sony being hacked by North Korean hackers because of some film, I was like, uh-oh, or rather my brain was like “uh-oh, hot dog.” If you know where this is from, five points for you. I don’t know why five points? It seems appropriate to give you that credit on this early morning.

So okay, “uh-oh, hot dog” happened and I found myself thinking what a brilliant idea to advertise a film which actually deals with North Korea. But then my brain got its own “uh-oh, hot dog” thing about some tax break loopholes, mind you, and I went… Wow, wow, wow, brain, stop it. This is a completely different topic, nobody is going to understand what the f*ck you are talking about… And it said, give me more vodka.

Okay, my darlings, I don’t remember what exactly I was doing when I heard this excruciating news about Sony’s privates being exposed by the good ol’ buddy North Korea. I also have absolutely no idea what is happening over there, behind that heavy curtain of Socialism and I am not going to pretend that I am not ignorant, but come on, you need a little bit more than that to convince me that North Korea suddenly saw a film which was only seen by a selective few behind closed doors and… and realized shit… yes, literally they realized that they are in a deep shit. This is how bad this film was. And it could happen that then the producers even wished that North Korea had something actually to do with the creation of this film, but… okay, brain, you need to return, you are not going to get vodka there. Liquor stores are still closed. You are out of luck. It is a New Year’s Day. Come back, my darling, and let me finish this whole… I don’t even know what to call it… thing I am writing now?

It seems my brain’s back. Talk to me, darling… My brain says, go f*ck yourself. Ups, you again, went to the wrong direction. Come back. (yeah, I know, this makes absolutely no sense)

My darlings, you see how I have to trick my brain back into thinking? Voila! The smell of “Farbreeze” I sprayed around the dirty dishes in my sink did the job.

So, where were we? Oh, that’s right, Sony realized that the film stank, ha ha! I knew that “Farbreeze” had something to do with it. The producers of The Interview were just about to lose a lot of money and… as we know, this cannot happen, because, you know, who wants to go bankrupt and start paying all these taxes as all of us do? Not Sony, no. So Sony needed a plan, a good ol’ promotional trick to trick every one (well maybe not every one) into thinking that the film is so great that even North Korea, all three people with computers there, saw it even before the boss of Sony did. Yes, I am being a complete ignorant duck saying that there are only three computers in North Korea. There might be five or maybe even six of them. Forgive my ignorance North Korea. What can I say, brain, it is still thinking that what it got was the real thing when I sprayed myself with the above mentioned “Farbreeze.”

My darlings, here comes the most exciting part in this hacky-backy story. Sony needed to have a meeting and have somebody like me who just recently watched an oldie but goody film The Producers in their camp. And Eureka! They did it. They found that somebody who brought to the table a book “How to Make Money While Making a Flop? – Producing Films for Dummies.”

Phh, to convince the media that Sony was hacked was a piece of cake. Remember this guy?

http://www.marketwatch.com/story/high-school-student-scores-72-million-playing-stock-market-2014-12-14

Alright, that’s easy. It becomes even easier when you have all these millions you set aside for the promotion of the film. So the little guy who came up with this brilliant idea to take a few pages (well maybe not so few) from The Producers and make the trick happen… and the “promotion”, brilliant as brilliant as the brains of writers who wrote the original script of The Producers, began. Sony needs to give you a cut Mr. Brooks.

So what happened next? Oh the media ate the news about North Korea’s hacking into Sony’s system. It ate it and asked for more or rather started baking “the news” themselves about a country almost nobody have visited. And what do we know; The Interview became the most talked film around the town. Listen, even I, who lives without a TV, heard about it, so machine was working and it was working oh so well. Of course there were needed some “sacrifices” made, but when you know that quite a few people are going to download the film for free anyways, you say f*ck it, let them have it. Let’s show how “generous” we are. Even after these terrible warnings the film came out to theaters and, what do you know, the threats suddenly stopped coming in. They magically disappeared till, of course, the next time another film needs some push.

Oh my darlings, I wish I knew what that next time is going to be. My brain is still high on “Farbreeze.” It could be that we will start talking about somebody’s ass again, but that’s already old news, right?

I am sure I left quite a few details here, but be my darlings, rent The Producers and have fun with it. Comedy is a powerful tool. It makes you laugh. Uh-oh, Hot Dog!

“Deathwatch”-ing “Short Eyes”

Alright my dear darlings, I believe my port is kicking in, because I feel like I need to finish this entry somehow. Of course nobody is going to die if I don’t finish this write up, but if I don’t finish it, the world will miss on Plastikoff’s smarts. I need to move my fingers faster on those clicking buttons that make words. Let’s talk about my value at another time when I am less important to myself, alright? I can’t handle myself at the moment that’s why I decided to give you another “Temperamental “T” Battle.” Umhum thaz right Plastikoff is going to talk theater again after blabbering so much about politics and things of that nature in the previous blog entry.

Politics is theater and theater is politics or whatever, as my good friend Joe Truman would say. Eat rhubarbs if your life is too sweet, if not, there is always Donkey Donuts around the corner somewhere, and no, I haven’t misspelled that. If I eat one more donut, I will definitely turn donkey on you for sure, but about them… oh that’s right I began writing about something else… and now I am craving donuts. Ugh, this damn blog.

Okay darlings, if you were able to follow me to this point, congratulations, because now I am going to demonstrate you how I make myself to like a play which, if not for this blog, one could dismiss as not interesting enough.

Today’s battle is between two writers who spent some time behind the bars. They both loved stealing and toyed with drugs. Well who haven’t, I would ask you? If you read this entry of mine, you know what I am talking about. But this writty-shmitry is not about how to steal or how to “become” a homosexual. What it is about, I don’t know yet myself.

Most of you probably don’t even know how this whole “homo” thing works, unless you have been in jail, as my dear Jean and Miguel were. When you are trapped behind some steel, or whatever they’re called, bars, your real you comes out in all colors of the rainbow and that’s, my dears, is the time when you “become” gay. Ha, do you really believe that (smiley face)?

Okay I should cut this whole gay-shmay talk right now and go to the point. Why is that suddenly I decided to talk about these two authors and these two particular plays?

Well, first of all, they both were/are great writers and, what is even more exciting, they were/are both street smart, which could only mean they didn’t go to any fancy-shmancy university. They got their education from those flees which they collected in those unmarked, full of junkies houses. I truly am impressed by how both of them kept on writing. Even though they both were “criminals,” … f*ck I forgot what I was going to say here, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Let me dissect “Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch” for you instead.

If you have forgotten how the “Temperamental “T” Battles” go, read this entry. I find that entry pretty good, especially when I am drunk.

“Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch” are not produced very often because they deal with very particular situations in very particular places. My work here is to convince you and show you how you, my dear readers, could enjoy a work that doesn’t necessary move you at all.

God, the stuck “t” on my keyboard is driving me crazy.

Now, why would you choose to see a play about convicts? On top of it, why would you want to see a play about murderers, homosexuals, blacks, Latinos, drug addicts and pedophiles, why?

To tell you the truth, I don’t know why, but this is exactly why I decided to write this entry. I want to convince you that beauty is all around you, in all kinds of shapes and forms. Yes, you can read this last sentence sarcastically, if you wish.

No, I am not a fan of pedophilia, no. Oh god, I just imagine all these parents go crazy imagining somebody taking advantage of their children. Even I got sobered up from that thought alone, and no, there is no smiley face at the end of this sentence, no.

But, I should mention to you, that I knew somebody who was wrongfully accused of being sexually involved with a minor. He was an unbelievably talented and free spirited artist. Think Basquiat and Rimbaud in one person. Yes, on top of his free spirit and talent, he also, it happened so, was a homosexual. His story ended in a suicide. He was not able handle the accusations. He was twenty one years old, the boy was sixteen at that time. Yes, that’s true, he was a homosexual, which automatically mean in some countries that you are sick. What also is true, that that person confided in me a night before he ended his life, telling me about the people who made these accusations. He could not understand how anyone could think that he was taking advantage of a young man he was teaching at the time. He really adored his pupil as an artist. They had a very special bond.

Piñero in his play “Short Eyes” is dealing with a somewhat similar situation. There is a man who is jailed and, as later we find out, falsely accused of molesting some young girls. The play painfully reminded me of my friend. The only difference with my friend and Piñero’s character Short Eyes was that my friend was not jailed but living in a society which understood anything homosexual a crime. In my friend’s case society was the jail where being a homosexual meant being a pedophile.

Piñero is raw, Genet is poetic. To compare their writings is like comparing apples to chili peppers, so I am not going to do the comparison. Instead I want to tell you why I decided to spend my time talking about “Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch.

Let’s go to “Deathwatch” now. First of all I should mention that I love Genet, period. “Deathwatch” is not as popular as his “The Maids” is. But “Deathwatch” is worth looking into.

“Deathwatch” takes place in a single jail cell where there are three criminals “residing.” One of them Green Eyes (interesting how the word “eyes” has a huge meaning in jail slang) is waiting for a death sentence. The death happens in the play, but not to the person who is convicted.

I don’t want to go into plot details here. In “Deathwatch” there is almost no plot. What attracted me in the play were inspirations and ideas I got from it.

While I was reading and later watching a film, an adaptation of the play, I found myself thinking about Genet’s genius construction of human psyche using three different characters. I got myself involved with questions like, what and who do these characters represent? To me the jail cell represented a human psyche where there were three conflicting thoughts (three characters). Knowing that Genet was quite often in jail and dealt with situations where he was sexually attracted to other men, it made sense to me that he would write whatever was happening in his mind on paper.

In “Deathwatch” Genet, in a way, is all these three characters: gorgeous looking Green Eyes, secretly in love Lefranc and openly in love with Green Eyes Maurice. They all have their own secrets and they all could represent a jailed human psyche. So, in short, by entering the jail cell we are entering Genet’s mind.

Summing up both plays:

“Deathwatch” gave me perspective of how a play or a performance could be built using characters as representations of different parts of human psyche.

“Short Eyes” hit close to home because somebody I knew ended their life because of a similar accusation.

Legally Allowed to Kill a Kitty

Liza Minelli’s Nipples, Anatoly Kashpirovsky and what you most likely not seeing while watching a cat video.

Oh yeah, my darlings, today Plastikoff is going to be quite political, quite politically [in]correct, I should correct.

I started writing about Liza’s nipples at the Oscars and… while dissecting the size of the above mentioned nipa-pips a video fell into my view. I realized that there is something I want to tell you about the video I watched. I decided to cut the bitch and go for it.

Now how do you go from Liza Minnelli’s nipples at the Oscars, to Anatoly Kashpirovsky’s hypnotic seances in Soviet Union, to Afghan/Iraq war, how?

Of course Plastikoff could show you how clever he is by using something clever in his writings, you know like, telling you how you could drink orange juice and eat an orange at the same time? And nipples. Nipples are always good to talk about. They heal the masses. But Plastikoff is saying no to Liza’s nipples. He is better than that. He is just going to tell you stories, true stories, I should add.

Where and when Plastikoff was growing up there was this “Diadia (Uncle) Hypnotizer” coming on TV, I believe every Tuesday around eight o’clock in the evening. Plastikoff was still a teenager then and couldn’t quite understand why his family was watching this man talk on TV. It was not a funny talk show, no, and it was not a president talking either, but that “Diadia” was somebody who could make you happy. Yes, literally, happy just by talking to you from your TV screen. People around the Soviet Union watched religiously the guy on their TV sets while going into some kind of faints or trances similar to these.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwXma6uaQvA

Well, you should be aware that at that time churches and preachers were a no-no anywhere in Soviet Union. These were the Soviet Times. Something still needed to be invented for the people to believe in. “Diadia Kashpirovsky” gave the crowds the needed opium – the happiness which was running out as fast as that water from that sea that disappeared in Kazakhstan. To become happy, you, of course, had to watch “Diadia Kashpirovsky” on TV religiously.

This whole thing was ridiculous and ended, I believe, very scandalously, because, people were falling out of their chairs, sofas and whatever things they were sitting on. There were some traumas, but not the ones you get by falling from a chair, no. As you probably guessed, money had to do something with these falls. A crook will always be a crook. How could we recognize somebody like that “Diadia?” That is another question? Well you are in good hands, my darlings. You have Plastikoff himself. He saw this video, so he knows what he is talking about (smiley face).

Should I include a few links at the end of this entry for you to send me money now? Or should I learn how to speak as the above mentioned hypno-teaser?

Okay, my darlings, since you have checked if I had inserted those above mentioned links at the end of my entry and found that there are none of them there, shall we start watching some other videos now and talk about them? I think we should.

How my mind was able to get away from Liza Minnelli’s boobs I was writing about, I have no idea, but it did. Here is a video which inspired today’s entry. I am pretty sure you are going to need some tissues, because I needed them. No, I truly did.

Ohio 8-year old turns $20 into priceless gift

Alright my darlings, I don’t need to tell you what you saw in the video, or do I?

Well okay, for those who didn’t watch the video yet, you saw a soldier who got $20 dollars from a kid who lost his father in Iraq war when he was still a baby. The kid’s action and note inspired the soldier. The note truly touched the soldier and, as he said, this experience will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Stories like that are gold mines for media moguls who want to manipulate you and get your money. Yes, that’s right, even that little kitty you see on TV or your computer screen has something to do with the money. And this is how.

Ugh, I can feel some interesting energy coming my way, but before I dissect this particular video, let me tell you another, also a true, story.

I dated somebody who went to war in Afghanistan in the late 80’s. Yes, that’s right, I still cannot understand how, after the Soviet Union’s fiasco in Afghanistan, Americans, a decade later, went there too. I am pretty sure there are American soldiers who could tell similar stories to the one I am just about to tell you.

Well it is not a secret that to survive an Afghan war you need to drug yourself somehow. No wonder Afghanistan has the biggest poppy fields in the world. They need to provide all that opium to all those poor soldiers who come to fight them on their land.

Alright so, the army base, where my dear friend was fighting, was close to a little Afghani town. That was the town where our dear soldiers went to get their drugs and things of that nature. The town people knew all the soldiers as well as Soviet soldiers knew the town people. They all were living happily just with one little detail attached to their relationship, some of them were occupying somebody else’s land and were trying to put their rules on existing ones. Well, who pays attention to these little details anyway? Whoever holds the gun is the boss with the rules, isn’t that true?

It happened so that the soldiers ran out of whatever they were smoking, so it was time for somebody to go to the town and get the needed sugar for their dreams. My love interest volunteered to go to the town and get the dope, even though it was not his turn to do so. Nobody wanted to schlep the distance, so volunteering was happily accepted…

Well let me cut the story to the chase. My lover came back and found all of his friends decapitated? He was the only one who survived this massacre. Who did the decapitations, anybody’s guess. Thankfully he had all that dope on him.

Now you would say, oh those bad bad Arabs or whatever you call the people who kill your soldiers, sons and daughters, nowadays in Middle East. Well, yeah if you are a soldier you kill people and you are ready to be killed, isn’t it so?

But let me go back to the video which really made me cry my eyes out, it truly did. The innocence and the story of the child were heartbreaking. The only thing this kid knew was that his father was a soldier who fought in a war and was killed, so now when he sees a soldier he is reminded about his father who is no longer with him.

Would you like to play a little game now?

Let’s say that Afghanistan is the United States of America and America is now Afghanistan. Would you react the same way watching the same video if, instead of an American child, there would be an Afghani kid giving the money to Afghani soldier? You probably need some time to get this picture into your head. Should I put some kitty video for you while you do that?

I don’t believe you would react the same way you did while watching the described video. Right now you only know what media wants you to know. Can you see a human being killing another human being while you watch the video?

Oh, it is hard to write this and be “funny” at the same time, but I shall continue.

Every human being is a human being and every killing is a killing. When somebody talks about a war I hear somebody talk about a legalized killing. This video above becomes even harder for me to watch because that soldier is legally allowed to kill and I just hope he hasn’t had that “chance” to do so.

So now, what are you trying to say here, you’d ask me? Are you trying to deface American soldiers? Ha, did you really ask this question?

This is what I see in most army recruit and similar videos.

There is somebody rich who needs to become richer. The rich sees the opportunity to become richer in some foreign country. The country is not stable enough, so they need us to believe that the people there need our help. The rich need to recruit soldiers who would unknowingly fight for what they want. Knowing how people react at sad stories they just need to release a video like this and most of the job is done. Everybody sees a kid who lost his father. We need other soldiers to fight for that kid. So somebody gets killed and no questions are asked. The war is “the protection” from the foreign… somebody is still getting richer.

Plastikoff is too upset to continue with this right now… Discuss…

How “A Streetcar Named Desire” Took “Blue Jasmine” to the Oscars

I know, I know my darlings, you might get quite bored with me constantly talking about Tennessee Williams and Cate Blanchett, I know, but you know what they say, keep repeating that one thing and you will become a master at it. And darlings, who wouldn’t want to write plays like Tennessee and act like Cate, who? So here comes my next rant which involves another colleague of mine, my dear Woody Allen.

I have had quite a few woodies in my life and there might be some Allens involved with them, but this entry is not about them, even though I wish it would be, because that might have given me a happy ending, but I digress, no really, I do digress not having a happy ending for this entry.

During my breakfast break suddenly I… Well this has happened not so “suddenly” but the use of word “suddenly” reminded me about some writer I read recently who suggested that good writers should remove “suddenly” from all of their writings. His suggestion sounded quite strange because, first of all, who said that I want to be a good writer (this one I believe is a lie) and second of all, just imagine Tennessee Williams, yes, Tennessee Williams himself, removing “suddenly” from the name of his play “Suddenly Last Summer.” It would leave us only with “Last Summer” which would be just sad, because “suddenly” gives that needed kick in the balls and defines the pain which happened that last summer. This entry is not about “Suddenly” and not about “Last Summer” but it has something to do with removing some things and loosing the others because of that change.

While eating my breakfast I was arranging another “Temperamental “T” Battle.” Somewhere in between devouring a leaky egg yolk and a large piece of salt crystal I realized that I have way too much to say about Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine” alone. Before I ate that egg I thought that I would compare two films, a great classic “A Streetcar Named Desire” and a new Oscar nominee “Blue Jasmine,” but, after finishing that poor egg I realized that that battle was won way before it even started. Who can compete with Tennessee Williams’ written characters, who? He is one of the best when it comes to it. When somebody wants to rewrite a gorgeous play written by him, it better be good, because whoever attempts to do so unsuccessfully might get a taste of Plastikoff’s testicles on their face. Your big movie name won’t help to avoid this from happening. You should be already aware that Plastikoff knows more than you do, so you must listen to him, otherwise you might get that uneaten egg yolk thrown at you and later smeared on your face by his, above mentioned, testicles. This time Woody Allen is under my radar or, should I say, under my hanging bangers. It is going to be hard (pun intended) to be Woody.

I love you Woody, I truly do. And how could I not love a director and writer who gave me one of my favorite comedy films “Bullets Over Broadway,” how? This will be tough for me to write, because you, my dear Woody, showed me with your “Bullets…” that you know and love theater very much.

The Oscars are literally a few hours away. This year’s nominations are quite forgettable. I don’t think any of the films which are nominated this year will be remembered after thirty years, but since I, ze Plastikoff himself, am living today, I thought I would give another piece of my mind (god, I am so generous, giving my brains and stuff away to ze people) and write another review of a film that has something to do with the Awards. If you haven’t read my take on “her,” you can read it here. This time I am going to go for “Blue Jasmine.”

It’s not a secret anymore that the film industry is going down the drain. There is almost nothing exciting coming out in the past few years and it’s getting worse. When movie theaters are concentrating more on the sale of popcorn and soda, you know you are popped.

This blentry (no, this is not a misspelled word, no, if you know a little Russian you know what “blet” means) is a character and play study where I discuss good versus bad adaptations of very known plays. I am going to concentrate my brain cells that are still left in my head on “A Streetcar Named Desire” and what happened to it when Woody Allen rewrote it into “Blue Jasmine.”

First of all one must be blind not to see that “Blue Jasmine” is “A Streetcar Named Desire.” It is and it is all the things it should not be.

I was quite shocked and taken aback by the fact that there was no mentioning of Tennessee Williams in any way in the credits of “Blue Jasmine.” What I saw was that this script was “originally” written by Woody Allen.

Oy Woody, Woody, yes, of course you gave your own twist to my bellowed play, but to be so blunt and not even say that your script was at least somehow inspired by “…Desire” was a sneaky way to go. You are definitely not winning any points from me on that. Thinking that putting Blanche (Jasmine in your film) in today’s environment would distract me from recognizing the play is a huge miscalculation.

First of all putting a play or adapting a play for today’s environment is nothing new, you know that, Woody. Almost every play has gotten that treatment in theater. Directors take old plays and adapt them constantly. Theater directors (usually) acknowledge original writers leaving their names in credits even though there might be nothing “original” left in their productions.

I recognized that Stella’s home from “A Streetcar Named Desire” is Jasmine sister’s home in San Francisco in your film, my dear Woody. Jasmine from “Blue Jasmine” is broke as it is the original Blanche from “A Streetcar…” when she comes to live with her sister. My dear Woody, you haven’t even escaped saying that Jasmine has a French background, and oh yeah, you think I would not catch where Jasmine’s name originated from? Blanche in “…Desire” mentions her perfume “Jasmine” which is hated by Stanley Kowalski. Is this where the name Jasmine came from in your film? There are many recognizable details as this in your film, Woody, but let me dissect first how “A Streetcar Named Desire’s” characters became “Blue Jasmine’s” characters.

As you know, my dear darlings, I love the fact that I find certain things hidden in films. If you read this review, you know what I am talking about. So here it goes, characters from “Blue Jasmine” and which characters from “A Streetcar Named Desire” I think “inspired” them:

Jasmine is Blanche DuBois
Ginger is Stella
Chili, Augie and Dr. Flicker are Stanley Kowalski
Dwight is Mitch
Hal, Jasmine’s husband, is the boy who killed himself in “…Desire”

I am going to start from Stanley Kowalski. Stanley was broken into three characters in “Blue Jasmine.” This was a very poor decision from you my dear Woody. And this is why.

You lost all the drama that surrounded Blanche by breaking the events and characteristics of Kowalski. All of these men in “Blue Jasmine” became very plain and didn’t contribute to Jasmine’s mind f*ck as Kowalski did in “…Desire.” What was this mess that represented Stanley in your film, Mr. Allen? You flattened Stanley from ”…Desire” so much that I was just plain sorry for the guys who were playing representations of what was once the greatest character in the history of theater.

Augie, played by Andrew Dice Clay, became Stanley whom Blanche met for the first time after arrival to her sister’s home in “A Streetcar…”
The sexy, full of passion and temperament Stanley from “…Desire” became Chili, played by Bobby Cannavale.
The “raping scene Stanley” became Dr. Flicker played by Michael Stuhlbarg.

The three characters created from one became disjointed and without depth. It was very disappointing to watch that happen.

In “A Streetcar…” Blanche’s character remembers a boy she fell in love with, who later on she realized was gay. In your version, Woody, this boy became Jasmine’s husband, Hal, played by Alec Baldwin, who cheated on her and killed himself in jail because of… well I didn’t quite get why did Jasmine’s husband killed himself in jail.

The boy from “…Desire” killed himself because he was a homosexual. Blanche revealed that secret. Jasmine’s husband, on the other hand, killed himself because Jasmine called the FBI and told them about the shady business her husband had been doing. Jasmine was emotionally distressed after finding out about Hal’s cheating. Hal got jailed because of Jasmine. I am not going to tell you in every detail how that happened but if you know “A Streetcar…,” Jasmine as well as Blanche had something to do with the suicides of their husbands.

While I totally understood Blanche’s boy’s suicide, I was not buying Jasmine’s husband’s suicide at all. The story leading to the event was flat and just too weak to be convincing. The way you wrote Hal’s character, my dear Woody, gave me an opposite impression. I couldn’t believe that a man like Hal was able to kill himself this easily.

I understand that you, my dear, wanted to portray these rich, lying people in your “Blue Jasmine,” but you failed it. You rewrote the sensitive boy’s character from “A Streetcar…” who represented Blanche’s feelings into this manipulative, cheating husband of Jasmine’s. Of course I could find some kind of connection there and say that Jasmine’s husband Hal represented Jasmine’s wish to live richly without doing any work to earn any money. That is true, that could be your idea of why Jasmine had her nervous breakdown. But with the decision of writing Hal the way you did you completely removed Jasmine’s fragility. Later on you went to explore that quality of Jasmine’s in other scenes of your film where she’s meeting Dwight, but it was too late.  You already made a cold Jasmine. You removed from her the greatest value, her fragility which was so beautifully developed by Tennessee Williams in Blanche.

My writing of this review is as messy as your film my darling Woody. See what you have done to me?

Yes, you tried to return to the original Blanche with your Jasmine being dependent on rich men. I was waiting for “I depend on the kindness of strangers” come out of Jasmine’s lips the whole film but it never happened. This beautiful quote turned into some mumbling jumble coming out of Jasmine’s lips at the end of the film which was just plainly very disappointing to me. I wanted to kick you in the balls my dear Woody. You had Cate Blanchett saying those meaningless words at the end of your film which actually hurt Cate’s as an actress’ image. She was put in a situation where she was asked to do a very cliché thing, talk into nothing with her lips slightly shivering and leaking through her eye sockets, what appeared to be some kind of liquid called tears. I found myself concentrating on Cate Blanchett’s face without make up rather than “feeling” what she was going through in that particular scene.

Funny, how you, my dear, were not able to escape shower scenes in your film. The shower scenes in “…Desire” were essential. After every one of them something happened to Blanche. Not so much happened to Jasmine in your film, my dear Woody. In “A Streetcar…” Blanche wanted to wash off something that could not be washed off. What you washed off in “Blue Jasmine,” my dear, was Cate Blanchett’s make up and that was it. Yes, with that you revealed how old Jasmine is, but it added almost nothing to the character. Cate Blanchett went quite disheveled and with the runny make up throughout the whole film. You decided to “add” to Blanche’s from “…Desire” character, an oily skin shine and sweaty armpits. This was strange to see happening knowing that the action takes place in San Francisco where the weather is cool. New Orleans’ weather is thick with sweaty armpits and oily skin. That is more appropriate for Tennessee Williams’ play, but I guess you can sweat in any weather if you drink this much alcohol as Jasmine did in your film.

The difference with Stella, Ginger in “Blue Jasmine,” is less obvious. In “Blue Jasmine” Ginger has two children while in “A Streetcar…” Stella is pregnant with her first one. Ginger’s character in “Blue Jasmine” got Blanche’s sexual freedom. Jasmine’s character became even flatter because having Ginger this sexually active removed another great layer beautifully written by Tennessee Williams for Blanche.

Jasmine’s sister, Ginger, goes around sleeping with men. She divorced her first husband for no apparent reason. There was not even a hint why she did it. Then she almost ditched a better looking and more passionate boyfriend/fiancé after she met a balding man, Al, played by Louis C.K., at a party. Ginger’s new interest was apparently cheating with her on his wife. After a phone call to Al’s house and talking with his wife, Ginger, almost instantly, dropped the passionate love for Al and returned to her hot fiancé Chili as if nothing has happened. Ginger switched back to the hotty in literally a second after she learned about Al’s wife. Ugh.

And what was that mess of a scene with Jasmine and Dr. Flicker when he was sexually abusing her in the office? I went, what the duck just happened? This came from nowhere and was so painful to watch that I lost it. This scene was so fake that I think I believed more in drag queen’s fake boobs than Dr. Flicker’s arousal towards Jasmine in that scene.

I am going to end my rant with another quite strange detail about “Blue Jasmine.” The young salesman who came by Stella’s house in “A Streetcar…” and met Blanche there became Jasmine’s son. Weird decision I’d say. With that you, my dear Woody, stripped away from Jasmine her sexual gravitation to younger men which was so crucial in Tennessee Williams’ play. With that you not only said that Jasmine is not sexually attractive, because she has a son, but you also didn’t even suggest that Jasmine could like any of her sister’s lovers.

And here comes the ending punch. The way the character of Mitch from “A Streetcar…” was written in “Blue Jasmine” was so outlandish that you, my dear Woody, didn’t know yourself what to do with him. Dwight, played by Peter Sarsgaard, appears from nowhere like a rich prince on a white horse. He almost instantly proposed to Jasmine, then he dropped her as a plastic bottle in the middle of nowhere after learning that Jasmine was divorced and had a child. It was quite convenient, I should say, to be dropped next to a place where Jasmine’s estranged son was working. Okay, I think I got it, this scene was needed because it was vital for Cate to get a little of California’s sun on her pale skin while walking those few frames, I got it.

The decision for Jasmine and Dwight to get married and break up came so forced and fast in “Blue Jasmine” that one could miss it. Turn your attention for a few moments from the screen and you won’t even know that the proposal even happened.

The dialog between characters were flat and choppy. I was constantly hearing Woody Allen’s voice which was weird because Jasmine is hardly Woody (pun intended). It was painful to listen.

After writing all of this long ass wordy diarrhea I came to a realization that you, my dear Woody, most likely decided to play a game with us. You took “A Streetcar Named Desire” written by Tennessee Williams and decided to rewrite it creating opposite characters to those written by Tennessee Williams. Hmmm, I think you didn’t have enough Port to do that my dear Woody. But I guess it worked out somehow for you, because you got quite a few nominations for the film.

“Period of Adjustment” vs. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”

Play reading is challenging for some people. It happens so that I enjoy reading them. Of course it has something to do with me being a theater director, actor, playwright and what not. That’s right, Plastikoff is a very important theater artist, so you always should listen to what, he, ze Plasikoff himself, has to say to you about one or another play. Yes, of course, he has something to say about cats and Port drinking too, but today’s entry is not about that, unless you find a connection between Tennessee Williams and his cats.

If you are in theater arts, you most likely heard questions like, “so what play would you recommend?” Or “what’s in theaters right now?” Most of the people who ask these questions want to take a short cut. I don’t know if I should blame them for that and throw some paint into their faces? Maybe I should just break some vases instead? I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be Plastikoff if I would not find some fun in those questions and my play reading.

These dialogs, monologues and short descriptions might get you when you read theater plays. You might say: “how the duck should I imagine how big actress’ boobs are when I read a description like this:

“ISABEL appears before the house, small and white-faced with fatigue, eyes dark-circled, manner dazed and uncertain. She wears a cheap navy-blue cloth coat, caries a shiny new patent-leather purse, has on red wool mittens.”

A fun fact about those boobs: apparently Jane Fonda had to wear fake titties while performing in a film version of Tennessee Williams’ play “Period of Adjustment.” I don’t know if that’s true, but her titties looked pretty real to me.

There are many things directors, actors, composers, stage and costume designers have to imagine while reading those, sometimes never ending, dialogs. I am here to enhance their and your imagination, my darlings. Considering all this challenge you might face reading a play, I want to present to you “The Temperamental “T” Battles” between two plays.

I would like to share with you the insights of how I read plays. To make it more interesting for myself and maybe for you, I am going to compare one play with another and see which one is stronger, which themes and characters are developed better and so on and so forth.

To put a play on the stage requires a lot of time and energy, so you want to find that perfect play which includes everything what you are looking for. My “very important notes” might make you read those plays and, who knows, this might become a reason why you have chosen one or another play for your theater. Yes, you can thank me in your play bills later, just don’t forget to send me some Port after you do that (I think that’s a good place to insert a smiley face, no?).

Here are the rules of the battle. I am going to take two in a way similar plays and playwrights and am going to compare them as if they are break dancing on the street or something. Somebody or something has to win. In no way I want to put down one or another play or playwright. They all are one way or another great, but, just it happens so, I might find one play more appealing to me than another. It could be that by points one play might be loosing the battle, but that would not necessary mean that I am less fond of the loosing play and am dismissing the “weaker” one and not considering it for a possible production. This, of course, doesn’t mean that you will find the same attraction to the plays I find exciting. First of all you are not Plastikoff to find dead things exciting and second of all… well there is no second of all, you are just not Plastikoff and that’s that (smiley face).

Here are the categories I am going to rate the plays in the fight:

1. Which play has a more appealing/intriguing name?
2. Are these plays race friendly?
3. Could they be produced in other countries considering where they were originally written and produced?
4. What are the weakest points and parts of the fighting plays?
5. What are the strongest points and parts of the fighting plays?
6. Was there anything that was censored in the plays?
7. Is there anything that should be censored now?
8. What type of plays are they?

a) A Director’s play
b) An Actor’s play (character driven play)
c) Are these plays giving more freedom for visual interpretations for stage designers, choreographers and composers?

And, of course, are there enough of “flying” sentences in the fighting plays to satisfy some similar situations you might find yourself in? You never know when you might need to make some lemonade and borrow some money for the lemons. I am here to do some research for you and help you with that, because we all know that most artist “have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Two points for you if you know where this sentence came from.

I am pretty sure more things will come up later, but for now I am inviting two great American playwrights Tennessee Williams and Edward Albee for the battle of temperamentals. The fight is going to be between “Period of Adjustment” by T. Williams and “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” by E. Albee. Let the fight begin.

First, let me tell you in short what these plays are all about.

“Period of Adjustment” is a play about two couples dealing with their marriages. Two men in the play are long time friends. They know each other from the times when they were soldiers during Korean War. One of them, the older one, Ralph, is on the verge of divorcing his wife Dorothea. He married her for her money. Another one, George, just got married. There is something he is hiding from his wife Isabel and the world. There are plenty of hints to suggest that George has some homosexual tendencies. Well, darlings, it wouldn’t be a Tennessee Williams play if you would not have at least something which suggests “the secret.” George has a “performance anxiety.” This might be a code that he doesn’t really like ladies, but is forced to get married to make the town stop talking. His secret is subtly revealed by his placement of his hands on Ralph’s shoulders, his talk about a possibility of buying a ranch together and overly excitement of meeting Ralph again after some years. Considering that he got married to a stunning beauty, the suspicion about his “tendencies” intensifies.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” is also about two couples who deal with their relationships. There is an older married couple and a young couple. The young couple gets invited by the older couple to their home for more drinking and debauchery. Constant (drunk) fights between the older couple reveal to us a lot about their relationship.

I don’t want to go deeper into plot details of those two plays, because that would add another four hundred words. You can find the plots on the Internet easily, so I am going to skip on that part and concentrate more on the “fight” and juicy details instead, revealing to you which play gets more points from me and which one is more likely to be produced right now.

First of all, the names of the plays:

Definitely, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” is a better title than “Period of Adjustment” which is surprising to me because Tennessee Williams is way better than Edward Albee with names for his plays. Who can compete with names like “A Streetcar Named Desire” or “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?” Nobody. “Period of Adjustment” is not a successful name for this particular play. It could be that because of the name this play is less known than any of Tennessee Williams plays, which is a shame, because I find this play to be a very strong play. I give Albee 5 stars for the name while Williams gets only 2 stars.

Next, are these plays race friendly?

This is going to hit Tennessee Williams into the balls hard, because his play is not race friendly. I understand that the play takes place in the south and that at that time African Americans played servants only, but… I don’t see this play being performed with actors whose skin color is other than white. Also I hardly see this play being successful in other countries like, let’s say, China, Philippines or Nigeria. The play is about white people’s problems in the south of the U.S. of A. and that is quite a shame, because the way characters are written by Mr. Williams is absolutely gorgeous.

On another hand, even though “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” original cast was all white, I can see this play being adapted in other countries and played by actors of different races.

I am giving Tennessee Williams 2 stars and Edward Albee 4 stars for race friendliness.

Now what are the weak points/parts of each of these plays?

“Period of Adjustment” weak points are:

a) The name – Mr. Williams could have found a better name.
b) The overuse of “Period of Adjustment” in dialog between      characters.
c) The use of “colored,” “negro” in the text and African Americans as servants.
d) Too “happy” of an ending considering the undertones explored in the play.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” weak points are:

None.

“POA” strong points are:

a) Strong characters and small cast.
b) Strong and mysterious undertones in the play. There is a very subtle way Williams tells about a possible homosexual attraction between two friends Ralph and George. The subtle arm placement on each other’s shoulders and overly excitement when they see each other for the first time, give me an impression that Ralph and George enjoy each other’s company more than the company of their wives. Mr. Williams uses very strong text to express Ralph’s feelings towards homosexuals. Ralph tells several times how he is not happy about his son being turned into a sissy by his wife. There is a “Brokeback Mountain” moment in the play when Ralph and George are talking about leaving their wives and buying a ranch together somewhere in Texas to grow cattle. Isabel who is married to George feels that there is something wrong with him, because of how he behaved on the first night after the wedding. Latter on Ralph discloses that George didn’t really have sex while in Korea during the Korean War which again suggests that George might be leaning towards homosexual love. A little detail about the car George drives gives us an understanding that his marriage is his coffin.
c) Everything happens during one day, no time lapse.

“WAOVW” strong points are:

a) Strong characters and small cast.
b) Relationship undertones reveal to us in a very peculiar way that the older couple is without children even though they talk a lot about their son. The way the madness between characters progresses during the play is genius.
c) Everything happens during one night, no time lapse either.
d) Also the names of the three acts definitely add to the enjoyment of the play. They are: 1st act “Fun and Games,” 2^nd act “Walpurgisnacht” and 3^rd act “The Exorcism.”

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” definitely wins this battle, but “Period of Adjustment” with a few edits could become one of the strongest Tennessee Williams plays. Because of the themes in “POA” I tend to choose this play for my future production.

Regarding the censorship, both plays had some censorship happen to them when they were first produced. As almost always as it was with Tennessee Williams’ plays which had homosexual undertones, suggested leanings towards love between two men were removed from productions, be it in film or theater.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” had a few cuts too, but it suffered less than “POA.” The replacements were minor. The word “screw” was completely removed from the film. “Hump the hostess” was retained, but had some headaches happen to a few “good” people involved with censorship of profanity and sexual innuendos.

Both plays are character driven, actor plays, which means that they could be directed by actors and playwrights alike. There is not much for a director to do just to make sure that actors are following the script and character development.

On the ending note, even though “Period of Adjustment” lost this round by points, I should say that this play is as great as “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” and should be produced more often, maybe just with a few edits.

And now the juicy “flying” sentences for you.

“Period of Adjustment”

Ralph Baitz: The human heart could never pass the drunk test. Take a human heart out of a human body, put legs on it and tell it to walk a straight line, and it couldn’t. The heart could never pass a drunk test.

Ralph Baitz: Who remembers the last war? They’re too busy on the next one.

“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”

[George takes a corner far too fast, tossing everyone in the car from side to side. Pause]
Martha: Aren’t you going to apologize?
George: Not my fault, the road should’ve been straight.
Martha: No, aren’t you going to apologize for making Honey throw up?
George: I didn’t make her throw up.
Martha: What, you think it was sexy back there? You think he made his own wife sick?
George: Well, you make me sick.
Martha: That’s different.

Martha: I swear, if you existed, I’d divorce you.

George: Martha, in my mind you’re buried in cement right up to the neck. No, up to the nose, it’s much quieter.

George: Martha is 108… years old. She weighs somewhat more than that.

George: Martha, will you show her where we keep the, uh, euphemism?

Nick: Who did the painting?
George: Some Greek with a mustache Martha attacked one night.
Nick: It’s got a…
George: Quiet intensity?
Nick: Well, no, a…
George: Well then, a certain noisy relaxed quality maybe?
Nick: No, what I meant was…
George: How about a quietly noisy relaxed intensity?

George: You can sit around with the gin running out of your mouth; you can humiliate me; you can tear me to pieces all night, that’s perfectly okay, that’s all right.
Martha: You can stand it!
George: I cannot stand it!
Martha: You can stand it, you married me for it!

Nick: May I use the… uh… bar?
George: Oh, yes… yes… by all means. Drink away… you’ll need it as the years go on.