Today was the annual ritual of going to Actor’s Theatre for Dracula. It was as good as years past production-wise, but I had to admit I wasn’t as thrilled with my seat as I might otherwise have been. It was at the end of the second row of one section, so I was close enough to be swept into the action, but my section had the dubious honour of being able to see too much behind the curtain. Yes, I know that the levitation is done through “stage magic,” but I don’t want to see the hydraulics. I know that the portfolio is closed with a slight of hand trick, but I don’t need to see the string. It breaks the verisimilitude. Somehow the scene changes done with the floor opening up and elevators moving the furniture or actors doesn’t bother me in the least. Go figure. One good thing (to me at least) about my seat is that I got hit with the holy water so liberally asperged by Van Helsing. It brought back odd memories of Catholic Mass. They seemed more careful with the blood this year as well. I’ve never envied the frock tarts having to clean the white gowns used in the production.
Being famished after the show I wound up on a stool at the third place with a very rare burger (not as rare as the one Rob had from Brownings on Friday but close) and a dirty tanqueray martini. It was quite grande. If only I’d been accompanied by…I don’t know…some mage or other it would have been much nicer.
*Bram Stroker’s Dracula, Chapter 8.
