Art Beat by Martin Litic, the art critic

ROSWELL THE MUSICAL

There were two crashes on opening night. After the second act, the audience was strewn with numb lifeless humanoids who now remember why the never wanted to go to community theater again. It might seem odd that the town's only theater reviewer suggests that we level the town's only theater and put up a Starbucks. That is how I felt this morning.

This crash was by local playwright and boardwalk psychic Madam Double-Vision. According to her, the entire account was given to her by the alien's next of kin. Perhaps a few pages got lost in the transporter.
I must point out, Roswell the MUSICAL contains no musical numbers WHATSOEVER. Apparently 3 hours prior to the opening, the composer Alan Williamson had a falling out with the playwright. He took the music with him. You may be familiar with Mr. Williamson and his band "Craterface." A seasonal favorite on the Keyburg Beach bar circuit.

I can only hope that the music would have helped. At least it would help mask the yawns and periodic "What da f***?" comments from the audience. The cast recited their musical lines with a strange kind of Dr. Suess quality. Oh, did I mention that Harry S. Truman appeared to be on crack. No, really, I saw him in the parking lot smoking crack during the intermission.

Director Jody McCann's live in boyfriend Lance Boyle gave a convincing performance. An Army Major whose trying to maintain control in the midst of a surreal chaos. Perhaps it wasn't an act.
The first of only two high points in the entire performance was when a ridiculously tall alien suddenly sprang to life with snarling vampire teeth. As the thought to be dead alien lunged for the Army Major's throat, the audience cheered. Mr. Boyle pummeled the spandex encased actor until he resumed being dead. Local artist BiNGE played zombie vampire alien number two.

*Art•Beat* by Martin Litic, the art critic *" A theatrical cattle mutilation"*		*ROSWELL THE MUSICAL* There were two crashes on opening night. After the second act, the audience was strewn with numb lifeless humanoids who now remember why the never wanted to go to community theater again. It might seem odd that the town's only theater reviewer suggests that we level the town's only theater and put up a Starbucks. That is how I felt this morning. This crash was by local playwright and boardwalk psychic Madam Double-Vision. According to her, the entire account was given to her by the alien's next of kin. Perhaps a few pages got lost in the transporter. I must point out, Roswell the MUSICAL contains no musical numbers WHATSOEVER. Apparently 3 hours prior to the opening, the composer Alan Williamson had a falling out with the playwright. He took the music with him. You may be familiar with Mr. Williamson and his band "Craterface." A seasonal favorite on the Keyburg Beach bar circuit. I can only hope that the music would have helped. At least it would help mask the yawns and periodic "What da f***?" comments from the audience. The cast recited their musical lines with a strange kind of Dr. Suess quality. Oh, did I mention that Harry S. Truman appeared to be on crack. No, really, I saw him in the parking lot smoking crack during the intermission. Director Jody McCann's live in boyfriend Lance Boyle gave a convincing performance. An Army Major whose trying to maintain control in the midst of a surreal chaos. Perhaps it wasn't an act. The first of only two high points in the entire performance was when a ridiculously tall alien suddenly sprang to life with snarling vampire teeth. As the thought to be dead alien lunged for the Army Major's throat, the audience cheered. Mr. Boyle pummeled the spandex encased actor until he resumed being dead. Local artist BiNGE played zombie vampire alien number two.
Director Jody McCann was given this play (of sorts) for her directing debut. Next time give her Oklahoma, I'll save judgment on her talents until then. Zero Mostel couldn't save this theatrical cattle mutilation. Ms. McCann did seem to pay close attention the period detail with the exception of the leading lady's wardrobe. Athena DeCruelle plays an Army nurse at the 1947 Air base infirmary. I was unaware the Army nurses were issued latex fetish dresses and 8 inch red mule pumps. The second cheering point was when Ms. DeCruelle gave one of the dead aliens a lap dance during the autopsy scene. At least there was one standing ovation (Please, no more SPANDEX in local theater.) As for the rest of us, we picked our way thru the debris field promising never to speak of this again.

	*"I wish I had 10 thumbs,* so I could point then all down" Martin Litic


*Art•Beat* by Martin Litic, the art critic 2008 All rights reserved