Purgatory Sing-A-Long

Introducing: Purgatory Sing-A-Long

I sat down in the old theatre with its narrow red velvet chairs, tempted to kick my feet up. There’s a large gold rimmed curtain that within a few minutes pulls back, revealing a minimal set. A bed on the left, a window on the right. The rest was black. The actress walks on stage, pauses, I thought she’d forgotten her lines.

She makes the bed, not well, and begins to speak. I don’t really remember what it was all about. Something about the ocean, how she can hear it if she cracks open the window. But she never does. The air is stagnant. I don’t think there’s aircon in this place. I’m uncomfortable and sweating. My elbows keep knocking against the people next to me. She goes on about someone she knows, some fella she’s in love with but we never see. I’m not sure she ever sees him either.

I regret getting a ticket to a one woman show. I realise this will be the next 2-3 hours of my life. I consider leaving at intermission. She’s still talking. The reviews were good but I forgot I don’t care much for the theatre. Because of movies, the theatre had to get weird. Had to prove it could do something movies can’t. I just want a good story. But she’s going on about something, she refuses to look out the window. I think this is one of those 20-something existential things. Too much focus on romance, relationships where if they just bloody talked to each other I wouldn’t be sat in this theatre. No one ever just talks to each other in these things. Their friends all suck. The men they’re in love with suck. They suck. I hate these people. If only they’d just talk to each other. Then I wouldn’t have to be here. I could be at home, focusing on my own lonely self and not talking to people. At least I have the wherewithal to not talk to people about it.

I’m covering half my mouth leaning into my hand. I’m bored. I’m annoyed. Someone a couple seats over in the row ahead is crying. What could she have possibly said to make them cry? “I fucked him after two tequilas, can you believe it?” Is this internalised misogyny? Am I a misogynist because I find this woman annoyingly dull? I know how this ends! You never end up together because that’s subversive. I guess. Or did you just not know how to write a more interesting ending? It never ends with her amongst friends or family, or god forbid, another woman. No, she’s just alone. Rejecting the man means yes, you’re going to be lonely, but isn’t it so feminist that she didn’t end up with a man? Did she find community or a happier life? No, she’s still going to be sad over this guy, it’s still about him, but we’re feminists! I bought a T-shirt that says so! Made by a woman in a sweatshop! I’m not paying attention any more. What did she say?

There is a dull quiet and I feel eyes on me. Am I being watched? Can she hear me? The actress looks my directed, fights a frown, twiddles her thumbs. It is as if something terrible has happened but we cannot see.

Turns out I made some presumptions. This isolation, this black room, is self-inflicted. She proves this when, for a moment, the lights turn up and several figures in black come in with more furniture and the backdrop changes to a beautiful, hand painted landscape. She then stares into the crowd, sprints out the theatre and intermission is announced.

I go into the hallway, the queue for the toilet is too long. The snacks are too expensive and you can’t bring them into the theatre. Check my phone, two hours of my life gone. No text messages. I think of double texting someone to nudge them into responding. But for some reason, out of spite, I think “If they really wanted to talk to me they would.” I don’t know how it’s spiteful but it is. A condemnation of their character. They are a bad friend and I am a good friend.

Someone is in my seat, they tell me they can sit whenever they like. I could leave and not bother. I’m sure the bus wont be too busy. I find another seat until someone tells me its theirs. I move several move times, every time someone comes to claim it back. I end up front row, for fucks sake. I have to look up to see her waltz back onto the black stage. The bright backdrop gone.

“God is an animal! God is an animal!”

I must have missed something in the first act.

“God is a mother but like a lioness will eat her dying young!”

This is getting a bit too esoteric. The people sat on both sides of me are crying. What the hell is happening. I feel like I’m going insane, I hate theatre people. I can hear sobbing all around me.

“God is an animal!” someone in the back yells and then another shouts back, “God is an animal!” Soon enough everyone is shouting it to one another, throwing the phrase around like a beach ball. The actress is smiling as tears pour from her face. I sink down in my seat, hoping not to be brought into this audience participation hellhole.

BANG

The shouting stops and the actress goes on about some fella she’s in love with and how this whole time she’s been waiting for him to call. She has a whole monologue about modern dating, “Everyone does anal now, I can’t even be the fun kinky girl. In the 90s I would’ve been a real freak.” There’s laughter. “I should have been a gay man. I would have made a great gay man.” More laughter. There’s a phone ringing. She freezes, “It’s him!” Runs off stage. We all sit, looking at the empty stage, for what feels like half an hour. No one even clears their throat. I have gone from boredom, to confusion and back to boredom. Enough’s enough. I get down on all fours and slowly crawl down the aisle, towards the fire exit on the far side of the stage. It’s glowing red sign sings salvation. I don’t even care if it sets off an alarm. On my knees I push the metal bar in, with all my might I throw it open and it crashes closed behind me. It’s still silent. I get up and see I’m in another theatre, identical to the last. The actress walks out, she’s giggling, going on about how she knew he’d call. She’s cracking jokes and no ones laughing. “His pickle for my tickle” and someone vomits on their neighbour. I’m wearing an ushers uniform and I go to clean up the sick.

My co-workers and I drag the man by the armpits out into the hall and leave him there. Someone grabs a hose and sprays down the chunks of popcorn down a conveniently placed drain. When did I get a flashlight? I hold it up and shine it into audience members eyes. They don’t say anything so I keep doing it. Once they settle into keeping their eyes shut I move on down the line until every person has their eyes closed. The actress is still going. She just keeps saying “Toxic” over and over. I shine the light in her eyes but she makes no reaction. A true professional.

I’m fired for shining the light at the actress and sit back down. Everyone still has their eyes closed and the actress has moved onto her mother. I can’t tell if her impression of an old woman is supposed to be comedic. Bored again I get up and wander over to the curtain, I look behind it trying to find the crew. There’s just a long series of ropes. I untie one and nothing happens so I randomly pick a rope to unhook until a the black backdrop falls and the beautiful landscape painting is back on stage. Taking a closer look, I can see how much care the artist must have put into it. It’s a shame it’s only shown for a brief moment, in a half-arsed attempt at meta. The actress doesn’t seem to care that I’m on stage looking at the painting. While I’m here I think to open the window and the sound of the ocean comes through. She wasn’t lying.

The lights make it impossible to see the audience and the actress is re-enacting a conversation. Stepping back and forth, in and out of character. I step down and go stand in the back with my ex-workers. The actress says something about love and loss. She begins to sing. She’s singing some child-like song. The black backdrop returns and credits are projected over it. I thought it was an odd choice for theatre to have a credits sequence. Hold me close/Little Pebble/Tighter than a raisin shrivels. She’s still singing and the crowd joins in. Must be a popular school yard tune in this area. Little Pebble/Peddle to the metal/Oink oink/Pigs in a puddle. The credits turn into karaoke, a dot jumping from word to word. Licking fingers/Tearing through your briefers/Oh Ms. Lion/God is a beaver. Dancers emerge from the sidelines, jazz hands abound. If there’s trouble/Little Pebble/Go ask your mother for tenner. Electra pleads for her fathers vengeance. Car horn symphony/we’re all a bunch of phonies/Little Pebble/Little Pebble/God isn’t real/Little Pebble.

I knew all the words. All the ques. I’d been here before-

Thank you for reading,

Enya x