Season 5 is underway, and already we’ve produced our most complex show to date. An Adaptation of Julius Caesar raises the Molotov bar in so many ways, from the quality performances by the ensemble to the beautiful effects. And there’s blood. Lots of blood. Or, as Tim Treanor put it, “And there’s plenty of gushing blood. Trust me on this.”

But you’ve either seen the show, or purchased tickets to the show already. (You have bought tickets already, yes?) So let’s talk about what else Molotov has in store for you.

We went a little dark towards the end of last year, restructuring and planning out a season! Well, technically five seasons, but let’s stick with 2012.

Coming up next, we’ve got a blast from the past. For the 2012 Capital Fringe Festival, Molotov is remounting its first ever production, For Boston. The show won “Best Comedy-Pick of the Fringe” back in 2007. Presented alongside it will be a short piece called Jiffy Squid, written by James Comtois, Co-Artistic Director of Nosedive Productions, the fine folks who brought us up to New York City in January for our Fat Men in Skirts remount. We’ll be back at Flashpoint for this one, and it runs July 12-29. These are six show weeks, kids. It’s like we’re a professional company, or something!

Finally, in the fall, we’ll be back in The Shop for the world premiere of The Project written by Molotov’s Artistic Director, Kevin Finkelstein, and directed by Heather-Liz Copps. We don’t want to give away too much about this show yet. For now, we’ll simply say that it’ll push the bar even higher. The Project runs September 27-October 20.

Of course, those are just the shows we’ll be doing. In addition, we’re planning another Disturbatory and a special “one night only” performance of all things weird in DC. We’ve reseeded our Board of Directors, increased our company size and, oh yes, we have t-shirts on the way!

It’s a good time to be a fan of Molotov. Thanks for sticking around with us: now, get your ass out to see An Adaptation of Julius Caesar, or no more pudding for you.

Hi!

It sure is nice to see you again.  I’m glad my sticky bloody beard didn’t freak you out too much last time.  Ladies say they love it, but you know some of them can be kind of freaky.

Are you guys excited for Valentine’s Day? I know I am!  I found a great card to give to my special lady this year:

Too much?

After hours of awesome Gnome-boning that is sure to follow the delivery of this card, I plan to snuggle up close to my ladyfriend and watch this super romantic classic from 1977:  Obayashi’s House.

If you like what Molotov does, you are *guaranteed* to love this movie.

Based on the nightmares of the director’s 11 year old daughter, this crazy-ass movie centers around an innocent Japanese schoolgirl named Gorgeous bringing a group of her friends to stay with her at her Auntie’s house for summer vacation.

Everything feels squeaky clean like a Saturday morning cartoon, until one by one, Gorgeous’s friends start mysteriously disappearing…

Described as “too absurd to be genuinely terrifying, yet too nightmarish to be merely comic,” this movie is ripe with moments that make you blink and ask yourself, “Did I really just see that?”

A girl named Melody gets chewed up by a piano.  A seemingly innocent portrait of a cat starts spewing a non-stop stream of blood. A girl named Sweet gets raped by giant pillows and her dismembered body parts end up bleeding out of a grandfather clock.  And these aren’t even spoilers!

What’s freakiest about House is its ability to play out scenes of extreme horror right after moments of childish sweetness and humor.  It’s a great example of the “Hot and Cold Shower Effect” that Molotov loves: using humor to give the horror that much more of a bite.  It’s a lot more jarring to get terrified while you’re still laughing at a joke from a few seconds earlier, and House has more of those moments than you can shake a severed finger at.

Heads up everybody! (Har har har harrrr)

In closing, may you get lots of humps this Valentine’s Day that don’t lead to STD’s.  That’s what this holiday is really all about.

Much love,

G.G.G.G.

It’s because we hadn’t updated our blog in fucking forever.

That’s why they appointed me!  A zombie garden gnome they stole from a toothless gypsy’s front porch.  I don’t have anything to do during the day except sit around in cow manure, and I’m just freakishly charming enough to make this kind of shit work.

Consider this your introduction.  I like long walks on the beach, creepily standing in the same spot for long stretches of time, and drinking the blood out of whatever comes along.  The other day it was a great dane.  You’d think those are big and scary but they’ve got jugular veins just like the rest of us.

I like to keep my diet regime as fresh as my fashion choices.  Red pointy hats are coming back in a big way, and I like to have blood on my facial scruff to match.  And, I like profanity to the point where it sounds like I might have Tourrettes.

There.  Now we are fucking friends.

Anywho, we wanted to thank you all for being SO AMAZING when we packed up and took a trip to New York.  Even if you didn’t get to head up to NYC, the outpouring of love and support you showed us was amazing.  Stronger than blood gushing out of a big dog’s neck.  And special thanks to Nosedive Productions, for making us feel right at home, and for thinking plays about incest, rape, and baby eating can be hilarious.

We love our fans, and can’t wait for you to see what we are cooking up next (we’ll give you a hint… Et tu, Molotov?)  We’re sure you’re going to love it.

Anyway, I’ve got to get back to creeping out the kids that live across the street.  Peace out for now.

Best Wishes,

G.G.G.G.

So we got this email from a less than satisfied customer after one of the performances of our most recent show, The Horrors of Online Dating. By the way, this was the only written complaint that we received for the entirely sold out run. I am posting it with my own editorial comments (found in parenthesis) for your amusement. I have only deleted text concerning identifiers to protect the idiotic and innocent. Everything else here was written by an actual person who lives somewhere nearby…maybe in your own neighborhood! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

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Let me preface this email by saying that I’m not typically the type to complain about petty little things and especially to write a “formal” complaint in an email like this about something. I tend to be the sort of person who tries to not sweat the small stuff and easily let things go (The first thought I have about a random person when a novella-sized email from him lands in my inbox.).  HOWEVER…I can’t shake this complaint and feel it needs to be voiced….so here I am at after 4am in the morning, still pretty pissed off…and I just need to get this off my chest. (Fasten your seatbelts my dear droogies.)

I attended tonight’s 8pm production of “The Horrors or (sic) Online Dating”.  (He has a tough time with two letter words.) Upon receiving my ticket I was also handed a plastic “cover”, a gargabe (I guess his spell check was tuckered out at 4AM too.) bag material with a hole in it to slip over your head.  Somewhat hesitant, I asked, “What exactly is this for?” (Simpleton, what do you think it’s for? It has a hole for your head and it’s covered in dried blood, and EVERY other person in the theater is wearing one. Oh, and then there is the sign before you enter saying you might get hit with flying fluids. OH! Then there’s that mention about the ponchos and flying blood in every piece of press that was out there! We’re not exactly known for being subtle.)  The reply I was given was, “There are liquids involved in the show and you can use it to keep dry so you don’t get anything on you.” (Doesn’t sound concise enough to be an exact quote that myself or Kevin would say, but it gets the idea across that you may be hit with stuff.)  I proceeded to my seat which was in the very back row, closest to the door, probably one of the “safest” seats in the house (Had he been skilled in the art of deductive reasoning, the blood splatters on the back wall of the theater would have hinted otherwise.) and after a couple minutes of thinking about the fact that I was wearing brand new white shorts and was potentially going to get liquid squirted at me, I went back to the ticket guys and asked, “So just to clarify, what sort of liquids are involved here.  I just want to make sure my clothes aren’t going to get stained or anything.” (We are a HORROR company. TAKE ONE GUESS WHAT KIND OF FLUID IT’S GONNA BE!)  The assuring reply I received as a response to that direct question was, “Oh don’t worry, it’s clear…like water.  It won’t stain.” (I guarantee that was not the reply. It’s fake blood, which is fluid like water, but not clear. I know, I’ve worked with a lot of it. That being said, it’s very expensive fake blood that is washable, which is why we use it.)

If I would have been told the truth at that point that, “It is a red liquid that is supposed to represent (We’re too shallow to “represent” things in our shows. It IS blood .) blood in the show and it may stain” I would have left right there. (Apparently, context clues aren’t this guy’s strength.)  I would have foregone the $12.50 I paid for the ticket and I would have just left as I happened to be wearing new shorts that I was planning to wear to Rehoboth Beach this weekend (Anything for Rehoboth Beach.).  And I was going to see a 10pm production and then go out for drinks afterwards.

The response I was given was a straight out lie (This man has a selective memory. An attractive quality after a regrettable night on the shores of the Rehobs, maybe. For a written complaint, not so much.).  It was a red liquid (I say Holmes, it’s blood!) of some sort (Ben Nye “Zesty Mint” Brand Stage Blood), not a clear liquid, and the truth of the matter is that it does stain and did stain my shorts.
(PSSSSSSSST, POSSIBLE FORESHADDOWING!)

I met friends after the show and when I approached them they both asked me, “What’s all over your shorts?” (I hope it was in unison with hands upon cheeks.)  I replied, “I guess I didn’t read the fine print (Or the sign, or the reviews, or the show description, or listen to the guys at the door, or look at the ponchos that the guys at the door gave you, or the walls of the theater or the other people in the theater.) that whatever clothes I was wearing would be ruined by fake blood in the show I just saw.” (You damn dirty apes!)  I received an “Oh that’s fucked up!” and a “Do you think it’ll come out?” (What did our hero say?)  I replied, “Yes it is fucked up.  And I’m telling myself it will come out so I’m not pissed off just yet.” (Our hero is the picture of poise and restraint.)

I am leaving for Rehoboth Beach in about 7 hours and I am just finally going to bed after attempting to let these shorts soak in cold water, squirting them with (Some sort of soapy, liquidy, laundry-type fluid) Wisk Away stain removing liquid and letting it penetrate the fabric for a while, and then washing them for a full cycle. (I hope I get to the point in my life when things are so stress-free that it will take something as ridiculous as a pair of shorts to keep me up for hours at night. By the way, thanks for the play-by-play of how laundry is done. Madden better watch his back.) The result:  The shorts are ruined.  (That’s funny, because we throw all of our costumes into one laundry load on regular cold cycle. Many of our costumes are lightly colored–white even!–because it shows the blood better. We never had to replace a single costume piece and it came out every night, and we were literally rolling in pools of it onstage.) They are overtly stained with pink splashes all over the front and wearing them would make me look like I was either a man on his period (Which this dude sounds like anyway.) or food stains all over the front of himself.  Not exactly the look I’m going for. (I wonder if he managed to find something… no, ANYTHING else to cover his naughty bits for the trip, or if these shorts were the fatal iceberg to his Rehoboth Titanic? I assure you, this question did not keep me up till 4AM.)

Now again, I’m telling myself, “Get over it.  It’s a pair of shorts. (In the future, listen to those inner thoughts… or learn how to wash a pair of shorts.) This really doesn’t matter in the scheme of life. (See previous editorial comment.) There are bigger fish to fry, etc etc.” (Ibid.)  But you know what…I don’t think I should just cut my losses and move on. (If you had, this wouldn’t be on the Internet now.) The truth of the matter is that nowhere in the advertisement for this show was there any warning that they were going to be squirting fake blood into the audience and that it may stain clothing (Aside from the blood on the poster and all of the other evidence previously mentioned.).  And when I flat out asked the ticket guys about it after being handed a piece of plastic to protect myself, one of the guys was actually in the production and clearly knew very well it wasn’t a clear liquid, (That would be me, a guy who had his white shirt soaked in blood every night, waited a few hours before tossing it in the wash with all the other gore soaked vestments, and found it none the worse for wear the next day.) I was given a flat out lie as a response.  Had a warning been in the production description somewhere, I still would have gone to the show, but I would have worn a grubby dark shirt and an old grubby pair of shorts that I don’t care about getting stained.  I clearly would not have worn a new pair of white shorts. (I wonder if he plans ahead this hard before eating Spaghetti O’s? Why buy a pair of white shorts anyways unless you live in Miami and it’s the 1980’s and you simultaneously have a sweater tied around your neck?)

So yeah, I’m wondering what you would do in this situation if you wore new clothes to a play and they were stained by fake blood that you didn’t know was going to be a part of a production, after you specifically asked about and were told it would be ok because the liquid was clear and would not stain? (I wonder if this horribly written sentence was unintentional, or if he was trying to convey distress through bad sentence structure? Shakespeare was known to do that by using irregular iambic pentameter.)  Am I supposed to politely explain things, at the same time trying not to rant and rave (Too late.) and demand that I get reimbursed $39.99 to cover the cost of the shorts (I’m sure American Eagle will be having an end of season sale real, real soon!)?  I’m sort of leaning towards that option right now. (Good luck.) Do I chalk it up and say, “Oh well.  I just bought those shorts and wore them 3 times and now they are ruined.  So what if they lied to me and as a result, my shorts are ruined.  I’ll just throw away that $39.99 and call it a day.  As long as those crazy kids enjoyed splashing blood all over the audience (We do.), that’s what counts (It does.).”  I can tell you that I’m really not leaning towards that option. (Ever hear of Sisyphus?) Please let me know what you think might be a fair middle ground in this situation.

Thanks for hearing me out and I look forward to a response.

–He who will not be named for his sake.

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Needless to say, there was no response from us but this blog post. In the future, a word to the wise (or at least those who need things spelled out word-for-word)…

“Yes, blood might go in the audience.”

“Yes, you should take a poncho. Look at the current, blood-spattered state of the poncho. For shows that don’t need them, we don’t give them. They are a hassle for us. We need to answer these questions about them and none of us are super great with people. For the love of everything that is holy to you, take the poncho… unless you’re really cool.”

“Yes, it washes out, unless you don’t know how to wash your damn clothes.”

“Yes, we care about our audience members and we hope you have a kick-ass time. We hope we see you again. Maybe you’ll even donate vast sums of money to us so we can cover even more people with blood and force them to create new and groundbreaking beach ensembles. Donations are tax deductable. However, if you’re an idiot and send us something like this… ‘SUCK IT WIMP!’”

I met Lucas Maloney in November of 2008, when we were both Assistant Directing a production. He was introduced to me as the Artistic Director of Molotov Theatre Group, a company I was familiar with both in name and because I had previously worked with Alex Zavistovich on some other projects.

What I didn’t know at the time was exactly how fucked up these two individuals are. But I would learn. 11 months after that meeting, you could find me onstage, on all fours on a bed, with my leather pants around my ankles getting whipped with a belt and cut with a razor before having cocaine snorted off of my bare ass.

How the fuck did this happen?

In the 14 months since I met Lucas, I’d solidified my friendship with both him and Alex, graduated from the inaugural Disturbatory, performed in Blood, Sweat & Fears II, became a company member, got cast in the next production and was given the reins to direct the summer show (more on those two later).

“Ecsorbete Ignavi” indeed, bitches.

(I’m assuming most of you know what that means, since the last blog post has been up for seven months. If not, scroll down and educate yourselves).

Working in a Grand Guignol style is like nothing else in DC. Actively finding ways to be true to the story AND freak people the fuck out has a huge appeal to me. In Blood, Sweat & Fears II, there’s a moment where Alex whips out his cock, starts masturbating, and then furiously comes all over the audience. The reactions from audience members were priceless. And folks, I gotta tell you, if you go to see theatre, and the person taking the tickets and giving out the programs offers you a plastic poncho to wear for the show, you bloody well take the plastic poncho.

In a related note, I’d like to personally send a big old “Fuck You” to the critic who thought Alex was urinating on people in the above moment.I’m willing to bet that he was the only person who didn’t recognize cum for what it is. Maybe golden showers are what gets him off, I don’t know.

Getting shot in the chest, peeing in a bottle, shoving electrodes up a woman’s vaj; these are Molotov moments that are designed to make you go “whoa!” But in a recent review, Tim Treanor, of DC Theatre Scene (http://dctheatrescene.com/) had this to say:

“…modern urban Americans are pretty much inured to things that go bump in the night.”

He does have a point. We don’t play to 1890s Paris. We play to 21st Century Washington, DC. Things that worked 120 years ago don’t always work now. The result is that audiences don’t always know what to expect. Whether it’s a BDSM aficionado from Hyattsville or a 70 year old married couple in town on vacation from Arizona, our audiences are diverse. When they walk into a Molotov show, they may or may not know that they are seeing the second oldest Grand Guignol company in America. When they walk out, they certainly have a better understanding of the style. And hopefully they’ve got some blood on them.

Looking ahead, Molotov is diving into 2010 balls first. After adding two new company members (Jenny Donovan and myself), we’ve got a season lined up that’ll blow your fucking minds, wimps. In March, we present “Mondo Andronicus,” an edited version of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus that focuses on the gore and leaves out the crap. Originally written and produced by our friends in California, The Thrillpeddlers, the moniker “Mondo” was attached to the title as an homage to the documentary-style films of the 60s (think Mondo Cane, John Alan Schwartz and the Faces of Death, and Angelo & Alfredo Castiglioni, among others). You’ll also see Skinhead Hamlet, a four page retelling of Hamlet done in a way audiences just won’t expect.

In July, Molotov presents “The Horrors of Online Dating,” a world premiere musical by resident playwright and genius Shawn Paul Northrip. Horrors is Molotov’s first musical and audiences will see just how well the Grand Guignol style of theatre can be utilized in a modern piece. Audiences will meet Judy, a femme fatale of the highest order. If you’re familiar with the writings of Mel Gordon, you know exactly what to expect. If you imagine Alice, from Alice in Wonderland, as a serial killer, you start to get a handle on what this show is about.

Finally, in October, Molotov will put up “Blood, Sweat and Fears III.”This night of theatre has become a Washington tradition, and arrives just in time for Halloween.

Time to get excited, kids. Every year, Molotov pushes the envelope a little further, and 2010 will be no exception. And it you’re not down with that, I’ve got three words for you.

“Suck it, wimps.”

I have a confession to make. I am a zit popper. I admit it. I love to pop zits. The big ones, the little tiny ones, I even try to pop the ones that don’t have a head yet. When I’m in line at the grocery store behind someone with a big cream-filled pustule on the back of his neck, I can barely restrain myself from reaching out and squeezing it. I know that it’s bad for your skin. I know that it can cause scarring. I know that I should just apply some zit cream and wait for it to go away. I’ve heard all the urban legends about popping a zit on your nose and exploding your brain. And I don’t care.Because I love the feeling that comes with that moment of success, the satisfaction of having destroyed that little fucker. Ahh, sweet victory! And I especially love the pain. That sharp, focused moment of pain when the skin finally breaks and the puss comes squirting out.Without that pain, how could we ever truly appreciate the feeling of relief that follows?

It occurs to me that there is something of the art of Grand Guignol in the cycle of zit popping. In Grand Guignol (as in porno flicks, incidentally), we know that the big moment of horror (or sex, in a porno) is coming right from the start.

First, the zit appears. An infected pore begins to swell, a small mound pressing against the underside of your skin. You know immediately that you will destroy this thing, it’s only a question of when. As the intruder grows larger and stakes its claim with an angry red blotch, you carefully watch for the telltale signs that it is ready for popping. The wait is agonizing, and the longer you have to wait for it to come to a head, the more you want to destroy the thing. When the moment finally arrives, the whitehead just breaking the surface of the skin, you revel in it. The bigger the pop, the more disgusting the spray of puss and blood, the more satisfying the experience. You are both actor and audience in the Grand Guignol saga of the zit. And you love it.

Sometimes, when I don’t have any zits to pop and dreaming about attacking the zit on my Blockbuster cashier’s nose isn’t enough, I like to visit a little site called, popthatzit.com. I highly recommend it for that vicarious thrill of the pop that just you just can’t get from anything else.Mmm, I’m starting to feel the urge just thinking about it…

I read a lot of newspapers. Over the past couple of months I’ve noticed a developing trend. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions…

Fresno County authorities have arrested a man they say broke into the home of two farm workers, rubbed one with spices and whacked the other with a sausage before fleeing.

Fresno County sheriff’s Lt. Ian Burrimond says the suspect, 22-year-old Antonio Vasquez of Fresno, was found hiding in a nearby field wearing only a T-shirt, boxer shorts and socks.

The victims told deputies they awoke Saturday morning to the stranger applying spices to one of them and striking the other with an 8-inch sausage.

Burrimond said money allegedly stolen in the burglary was recovered. The sausage was tossed away by the fleeing suspect and eaten by a dog.

Man accused of battery by sandwich
Copyright 2008 by United Press International
This news arrived on: 11/19/2008

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. (UPI) — Police in Port St. Lucie, Fla., say a man was arrested after allegedly striking his girlfriend with a sandwich while she was driving.

The police report of the incident alleges the 19-year-old victim picked up Emmanuelle Rodriguez, 19, from his mother’s home Friday and began driving to their new apartment in Fort Pierce, Fla., while their 7-month-old son slept in the back seat of the vehicle, TCPalm.com reported Tuesday.

The report said the victim claims Rodriguez became angry during the ride and “started to hit her in the arm and striking her in the face with a sandwich, knocking her glasses off her face.”

Rodriguez admitted arguing with his girlfriend and was quoted in the report as telling officers that he “didn’t want to hit her so he threw a sandwich at her, striking her in the face (and) knocking her glasses off.”

Police said Rodriguez was charged with domestic battery and child abuse. He was released from the St. Lucie County jail Saturday after posting $7,500 bail.

Man wielding plastic candy cane subdues attacker
Friday, November 28, 2008
(11-28) 14:13 PST Sacramento, CA (AP) –

A man using a candy cane lawn ornament fended off a knife-wielding neighbor who had been attacking holiday guests at a Sacramentohome.

Police spokesman Sgt. Norm Leong says the man used the two-foot-tall plastic ornament to subdue the attacker until officers arrived.

He says the 49-year-old suspect became intoxicated, went over to a neighbor’s home on Thanksgiving and began waving a kitchen knife at people gathered on the lawn.

He cut several peoples’ clothing before one of them decided to fight back.

Police say the man with the knife was arrested on suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon. The guest who took up the candy cane was not arrested because police determined he acted in self-defense.

Man allegedly assaults girlfriend with burger
Thu Dec 4, 11:28 pm ET
Associated Press

VERO BEACH, Fla. – A Vero Beach man faces a domestic violence charge after authorities said he assaulted his girlfriend with a cheeseburger. An Indian River County Sheriff’s Office arrest report said a 22-year-old man and his girlfriend got into an argument as they sat in a car in front of their home.

The report said the man would not let the woman out of the vehicle, so she threw his drink out of the car. In response, the man allegedly grabbed her arm and smashed the cheeseburger into her face. The pair got out of the car, and authorities say the man again took the McDonald’s sandwich and put it on her face.

The man was released on $1,000 bond Wednesday.

I’m just waiting for an armed robbery with a Fig Newton… or if someone really meant business, durian fruit. For those who might not be in the know, durian fruit is an Asian “delicacy” known for its repulsive odor and even worse taste. A quick online search will yield many colorful descriptions. I like to think of it as a nice balance of garbage rotting in the sun, road kill, and forgotten onions in the back of the pantry. This smell is so potent that a frozen fruit ball enclosed in a Tupperware container, shrink wrapped, and in a freezer bag still leaves a detectable scent. As far as texture goes, Durian’s stringy pulp is akin to a hybrid of pumpkin flesh and puss custard. Hungry yet? It is one of those rare foods that not only has a strong aftertaste, but an unavoidable “pretaste.” So, if you need some serious edible arms, a unique way to celebrate a special occasion, or just feel like clearing a room and making yourself sick in the process, look no further than the mighty durian.

This ain’t your mother’s theatre company. Don’t come around here looking for spiritual insight into our place in the cosmic muffin. We don’t buy it, we don’t sell it, and we sure as hell aren’t going to waste anybody’s time pretending we have the answers – or that we care what the answers may be.

Molotov Theatre Group was founded because we were tired of the boring, clichéd “struggle to understand the human condition” that every second or third theatre company on the planet claims as its birthright. Screw that noise. Why bother wrapping a riddle in an enigma in a baloney sandwich?

Why ask why? Shit happens – sometimes for a reason, sometimes for no reason at all. People hurt people. Stuff gets broken. Things fall apart. Do you really want to waste your money on figuring out that crap, when there’s much more gut-busting crap you could be spending your money on? If not, then great, you’ve finally got a place to go: Molotov Theatre Group.

When the founders of Molotov realized we all had the same interest in the nearly forgotten tradition of the Grand Guignol French theatre of horror, we knew we were on to something. This was theatre for the common folks. Horror, disease, degradation – the regular shitstorm of accelerated weirdness that spells out every clock-punching hour of life in the world today.

We are the farthest thing from a critic’s darling. Molotov’s work has been called out in the press as “sophomoric,” “gratuitous” and “disappointing.” We’ve even turned off some people because they say we don’t respect our audiences.

Hell, yes, we’ll play that game. Look up the word “sophomoric.” Hey, don’t even bother, we’ll do it for you: “Conceited and overconfident of knowledge but poorly informed and immature.”

This from the bunch who think they can get insight into the “human condition” from a play. Excuse us while we take a moment to sigh.

Sigh.

Look, if you want to spend your time thinking about stuff that can’t be answered, more power to you. To you, we probably do come across as sophomoric, gratuitous and disappointing, because we don’t expect to have the heavy knots untied and laid out on a silver platter in 90 minutes plus intermission.

We don’t explore the human condition. We hold a mirror up to the sweaty, anxious, paranoid dark side of each of us. We whistle in the graveyard, we laugh on the way to the gallows. We do it because that’s what people do.

The thing in itself is the thing in itself. We make the dark funny or creepy. Because of that, the light is brighter by comparison. So who respects the audience more – the moldy snoot who thinks the tough questions can be answered in a few hundred lines, or the person who shakes you by the shoulders and tells you to OPEN YOUR EYES, TAKE A GOOD LOOK AROUND, AND THINK FOR YOURSELF?

We’re not for everybody. If you think you can handle it, there’s a place here for you.

For all the rest of you wimps:

Suck it.