Sigh. I am depressed, dear readers, truly depressed. I remember the days when writing this column was fun, exciting, filled with broadsides fired off against that most hated of rivals, Marenbanter. Alas, Mssr. Marenbon has decided that to continue “wouldn’t be presidential”, putting his OUDS duties first and trading in making jokes for being part of one.
Still, chin up, I suppose – still plenty of thespy fish to fillet. And by God, they were certainly plenty of them in Camera for the OUDS fresher’s drinks. I don’t know if they heard the word “camera” and were instinctively drawn to the possibility of committing their faces to film. Whatever the motivation, bullshit was slung, freshers were hit on, and the cast of Foiled Grunt of the Pun must have drunk themselves up quite a bit of Dutch courage.
The reason for this booze-basted confidence soon became apparent, as this last week has seen them striding up and down the mile to their little drum beat in full conquistador outfits, marching off to war with the buskers and looking to steal Incan Gold or audience members (more chance of the first, methinks). Wait, did I say full costume? I meant silly hats. Although, I suppose it’s possible that the conquistadors popped the collars of their Jack Wills shirts.
In other news, next week see Not For the Faint Hearted, a horror comedy written by Ed Baranski (well I’m laughing already), and featuring a who’s who of panicking finalists trying desperately to cram in as many plays as they can before the terror of actual exams sets in. It bills itself as many things: “immersive”, “unpredictable”, “unique”. Not “funny”, though, which is telling, as laughing is a very predictable and non-unique response to humour. Does EVERYTHING have to be an “unmissable theatrical experience”? Really? Can’t something just be funny anymore? (“Unlike this column!” Ha, beat you to it.)
Oh, and don’t take your frustrations out on my editor. Annoyed? E-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org. It’s a real address, do your worst.
Well, that’s it for this week, kiddo, and I just want to point out that “Stay safe and don’t play too hard” were not my words last week. I want you out dancing in traffic and playing harder then Jonnie McAloon’s cock when he sees his name in Thespionage.