"Good" Friday, Cirque's Totem and eternal damnation

Though technically the Catholic Church considers me an abomination, that doesn’t stop them from hiring my gay ass to sing for their Holy Week masses.  Hypocritical much?  Whatever, I’m crying all the way to the bank. 

It’s not that I’m angry or even hold a grudge.  I just find it odd that I’m considered fit to lead Catholic prayer, yet unfit to enter Catholic heaven.  Or perhaps years of Catholic indoctrination have left me with a subconscious fear of eternal damnation and hellfire due to my profane lifestyle.  Or not.  No matter, a paycheck is a paycheck so bring it, Jesus.  Mama needs to pay the rent. 

Good Friday’s gig was at Immaculate Conception Church in the boogie-down Bronx.  Trish and I cantor there periodically throughout the year and have known the music director for ages, so the gig was a no-brainer.  But today we had the extra pressure of mom and dad critiquing our performances from the congregation.  

Lest you get the wrong idea, mom and dad hadn’t traveled from their Virginia home to bask in their children’s luminous vocals.  Nope.  Mom wanted to come up a few days early to ensure she had enough time to visit the salon in our Astoria neighborhood for a cheap mani-pedi, haircut and eyebrow threading.  Our performance was just a coincidental detour on her road to budget beauty.

Oh well, at least we got a couple of free meals out of the deal. 

Since Good Friday is the most solemn night of Holy Week, after church we decided to spend a quiet evening under the Grand Chapiteau in Citi Field with 2,600 of our closest heathen friends at Cirque du Soleil’s show, Totem.  By the way, that’s pronounced to-TEM according to the pre-show announcement.  Pretentious much?

Ever since losing two-and-a-half hours of my life at that Zarkana mess a few years ago at Radio City, Trish and I have been waiting for the tent shows to return to New York.  At Radio City, we were seated so far from the stage and performers that it felt as we were watching a youtube clip on my laptop.  Though it might have been better to watch off my laptop.  We'd at least avoid the continuous stream of annoying latecomers traipsing across my sightlines.

Totem

Grand Chapiteau @ Citi Field

Fri, March 29, 8pm

Totem still doesn’t match the unabashed whimsy and seriously mind-blowing physical feats on display in our favorite Cirque show, Ovo.  But the intimacy of the three-quarter thrust somehow makes up for the less “showy” acrobatic acts.  At least in the tent, you feel a connection to the performers dangling above your heads.  Not to mention a much better view of all those glistening abs and biceps.

Like most Cirque shows, the dramatic through line is tenuous at best - allusions to evolutionary theory confusingly interspersed with cartoon versions of native Americans (Apparently they love to rollerskate as well as drum.  Who knew?) and a scrawny, creepy Italian dude (don't ask).  But really, who goes to a Cirque show for the story, right?

The best performance of the evening, though, came from Sal and his straight-out-of-the-Sopranos goomba family seated in front of us (perhaps some relation to the creepy dude in the show?).  Clearly Sal was off his meds as he literally grabbed guests away from the usher, leading them to the wrong seats; all the while inappropriately slinging his arm around the waist of any attractive lady in the group and speaking with his face much too closely to theirs for a first meeting.  We (the goombas and everyone sitting around them) all laughed and shook our heads in amusement as if we were watching a cute little puppy retrieve a chewed up tennis ball over and over again.

I can’t wait until I’m also old enough to act inappropriately without repercussion and be labeled “a cute old man” rather than “sex offender.”

More Easter weekend fun...