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22 December 2023
WHERE OUR MADCAP MAN OF THE HOUR GOES POSTAL AND GETS FRANK WITH KNUCKLEHEADS IN HIGH PLACES.
This month Frank wrote to all the weirdos that like MUSICALS. Yes. This means you, Debbie.
Dear Chicagoans,
Congratulations on your recent victories in Musical or Comedy at the Golden Globes-- Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Actress. What a feat! With your success with the Foreign Press, surely Oscar cannot be far behind. Considering that the musical had been declared a dead medium somewhere around the mid-Seventies, your success is all the more brilliant. One thing I have been unable to figure out that has troubled me: who exactly went to see your movie?
I mean, really, only gay men and weepy high school theater chicks appreciate this kind of thing, right? Personally I've never been able to get what the appeal of musicals is. The first musical I really remember seeing was West Side Story. Ah, the forbidden romance between members of bloodthirsty, rival street gangs-- rival street gangs who sing and dance and pirouette like a bunch of limp-wristed dandies while street fighting. Who the fuck buys this stuff? When's the last time anyone saw a Crip or Blood sing a song of tender, unrequited love while bludgeoning an old lady to death for her pension check?
On that topic, what's the deal with the subject matter in popular musicals? Look at the winners of late, for God's sweet grace! Almost all of them involve murderers or sluts with the "heart of gold": Phantom of the Opera, Jekyll & Hyde, your movie, whatever. For example, Moulin Rouge was about a guy who falls in love with a whore. A whore! I don't know about you, but the last time I fell for a woman who got paid for sex, I certainly didn't feel like dancing. What I did feel like doing was scratching when the lice I contracted began eating my burning, diseased crotch. You can bet your sweet bippy no singing was involved with that one.
As you can see, I clearly need answers here. In the meantime, I will continue to force-gag myself with my index finger as I ponder the inexplicable unreality that is, “the musical.”
Sincerely,
Frank Putzerelli
DO YOU KNOW A PERSON OR COMPANY THAT YOU THINK FRANK SHOULD WRITE TO? IF SO, EMAIL HIM AT FRANK@TLCHICKEN.COM
This month Frank wrote to all the weirdos that like MUSICALS. Yes. This means you, Debbie.
Dear Chicagoans,
Congratulations on your recent victories in Musical or Comedy at the Golden Globes-- Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Actress. What a feat! With your success with the Foreign Press, surely Oscar cannot be far behind. Considering that the musical had been declared a dead medium somewhere around the mid-Seventies, your success is all the more brilliant. One thing I have been unable to figure out that has troubled me: who exactly went to see your movie?
I mean, really, only gay men and weepy high school theater chicks appreciate this kind of thing, right? Personally I've never been able to get what the appeal of musicals is. The first musical I really remember seeing was West Side Story. Ah, the forbidden romance between members of bloodthirsty, rival street gangs-- rival street gangs who sing and dance and pirouette like a bunch of limp-wristed dandies while street fighting. Who the fuck buys this stuff? When's the last time anyone saw a Crip or Blood sing a song of tender, unrequited love while bludgeoning an old lady to death for her pension check?
On that topic, what's the deal with the subject matter in popular musicals? Look at the winners of late, for God's sweet grace! Almost all of them involve murderers or sluts with the "heart of gold": Phantom of the Opera, Jekyll & Hyde, your movie, whatever. For example, Moulin Rouge was about a guy who falls in love with a whore. A whore! I don't know about you, but the last time I fell for a woman who got paid for sex, I certainly didn't feel like dancing. What I did feel like doing was scratching when the lice I contracted began eating my burning, diseased crotch. You can bet your sweet bippy no singing was involved with that one.
As you can see, I clearly need answers here. In the meantime, I will continue to force-gag myself with my index finger as I ponder the inexplicable unreality that is, “the musical.”
Sincerely,
Frank Putzerelli
DO YOU KNOW A PERSON OR COMPANY THAT YOU THINK FRANK SHOULD WRITE TO? IF SO, EMAIL HIM AT FRANK@TLCHICKEN.COM
artid
1112
Old Image
5_6_putz.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 06 (feb 2003)
section
stories