The Fat Lady's waiting, offstage.
Macabre spectacle. Morbidly fascinating. A spider caught in its own web, struggling to escape the death it spun. Filmed by David Lynch, to the accompaniment of a Shakepearean audience.
Accusations. Finger-pointing.
"I was right."
"No, you weren't."
"Told you once."
"Did not."
"Did too !"
Realists: "This bird is dead!"
Diehard Believers: "No, it's just resting".
Prophets, with and without honour: a gaggle of wannabes in a front-row punch-up. One struggles to opine, upraised finger pointing righteously to Heaven.
A fist smacks him in the side of the head.
"Aaaaw, shuddup!'
Catcalls from the audience. An egg splats against the screen. Someone cries, "Off with her head!"
Voice: "I'll sue you, sir!"
Smack. So much for justice.
A rotten cabbage bounces off the screen, just where the tomato stains are dribbling onto the stage.
At the back, Snoopy: RayBans under a black slouch fedora. Watching the audience, not the movie.
The spider's desperate, final struggles play out in flickering black-and-white, while the audience beneath seethes, in a brawling stew.
Great show. Almost worth the loss.
Jim |
