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Don’t fucking laugh.

We were in Vienna, right? – it’s been a few decades, but it’s still all neat streets boxed in with pretty houses and pocked with statuary, friendly locals and flowers boxes.   Yeah – no.   Not my kind of place.   But authentic wiener schnitzel sated Harm’s brother-in-law, the dancing horses shut up her nephew for a while, and Harm herself dragged me away to oo at Klimpt and ahh at Vermeer with her (though Schiele’s propensity for emaciated corpse portraits is more to my taste…)   Even Caroline, Harm’s horrific harridan older sister had to concede that tuition from my imaginary German grandmother made me a useful addition to sight-seeing.

So – no fucking laughing, right?

Harm wants to escape the clutches of her sibling and entourage one night, and suggests the theatre.   Opera, maybe?   Drama?   Hell, no.   She books us tickets for a fucking musical.   And you know what musical is playing in Vienna at the Ronacher right now?

Tanz Der Vampire.

No joke.

So don’t fucking laugh.

Roman Polanski’s Fearless Vampire Killers as a song-and-dance stage spectacular.   With enough revolving sets and dramatic lighting to make an undead head explode, and more stunt doubles and writhing zombie dancers than you could poke a stake at.   The finale? a combination of Rent and Cats – all in black vinyl and velour.   And – get this.   The Count’s signature  tune – that had SIX reprises – was “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

In German.

I fucking kid you not.

So stop fucking laughing.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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4 Comments

  1. Oh please, what kind of 500 year old evil, murdering, undead creature of the night doesn’t like musicals?! Pft…You totally loved it.

  2. Sad. So very, very sad.

  3. Great post, i like it!


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