Those of you that have me on social media saw that I’ll be interning with Slow Burn Theatre’s production of Little Shop of Horrors this summer. I am beyond thrilled. Little Shop and I go way back, and working with these professionals is the chance of a lifetime.
It does mean that I’m going to be working from 10:30am until 10:45pm, including travel. What a way to live the next month.
But do not fret! I’m still posting, aren’t I?
I pray for your understanding and leniency in the month of May as some posts may be late, short, or otherwise delayed.
But let’s stop talking about me.
Let’s talk about Little Shop of Horrors.
Now this piece is, believe it or not, satire. Gasp. Released in 1982, it was pointed at B-list science fictions films of the fifties and sixties. By setting the piece back then, it allowed Menken to fiddle around with doo-wop music as a backdrop.
Some woman once told me that Little Shop of Horrors is about the death of the era of love, the incoming political turbulence of the Cold War, and the terrifying dawning of a new age of man.
She was full of shit.
Little Shop of Horrors is camp fun, with a short run time, and outrageous characters.
The Samuel French script includes an author’s note:
“Little Shop of Horrors satirizes many things: science fiction, ‘B’ movies, musical comedy itself, and even the Faust legend. There will, therefore, be a temptation to play it for camp and low-comedy. This is a great and potentially fatal mistake. The script keeps its tongue firmly in cheek, so the actors should not. Instead, they should play with simplicity, honesty, and sweetness- even when the events are at their most outlandish. The show’s individual style will evolve naturally from the words themselves and an approach to acting and singing them that is almost child-like in its sincerity and intensity.”
So yeah, I’m not pulling it out of my ass, Ms. ‘death of an era’, the show is silly dribble.
But it’s such entertaining dribble.
For those of you who’ve never been blessed with Steve Martin’s leather crotch, Little Shop of Horrors is a musical about an alien plant that feeds on human blood. Oh yeah, and there’s a love story.
Let’s tear apart this love story.
Enter Seymour Krelborn (whom the nerds on Malcolm in the Middle are named for!), the first character to ever get friend-zoned. He’s an orphan who lives in the basement of a flower shop, not very pretty to look at, and is more clumsy than a blackout drunk. But he’s nice I suppose?
Opposite is Audrey Fulquard (that’s her name…), a bombshell with low IQ and an abusive boyfriend. That’s about it. She is a good worker and shows up on time (except when she’s busy being beaten). Well-rounded character.
Audrey dreams of more, though. Her ideal future involves a suburban house, kids, a toaster, and a husband… ‘Somewhere that’s green’ (a song slayed by, ironically, Ellen Greene). She wants to escape the dank Skid Row and find happiness in a husband.
Seymour wants to get out, primarily, and secondarily, for Audrey to notice him.
It’s a bit hard to see out of black eyes, so give her time, Krelborn.
Now I come to a rough divide. Can you criticize satire for committing a sin of its creator? Sins of the father are difficult, because the line of satire and failure are close.
Audrey is a horrible representation of women. Yet, in the fifties, she would have been commonplace… Even more in a Jerry Lewis movie where she needs rescue from the hero. Seymour is clearly the antithesis of a sci-fi hero… So why does Audrey have to be a carbon copy of what the show is trying to parody?
Now we inevitably have to cross into spoiler territory, and if you’ve seen the movie, you still probably don’t know the original ending.
Seymour kills Orin (well, watches him die) to rescue Audrey and feed his plant. She falls in love with him due to his, well, let’s say he was realistically just a rebound. Then his plant goes crazy and kills her.
Oops.
Let’s look at the scene:
SEYMOUR: Audrey… are you alright?
AUDREY: (exhausted, and clinging to him) Yes. (She collapses to the floor) No.
SEYMOUR: Don’t die, Audrey. I need you. Please, please don’t die.
AUDREY: You know, the plant said the strangest thing just now. It said that Orin and Mr. Mushnik were already inside.
SEYMOUR: It’s true. I did it. I fed them to it.
AUDREY: And that’s what made it so big and strong and you so famous?
SEYMOUR: I’ve done terrible things. But not to you. Never to you.
AUDREY: But. I want you to, Seymour.
SEYMOUR: What?
AUDREY: When I die – which should be very shortly – give me to the plant, so it can live to bring you all the wonderful things you deserve.
So within days of falling for the suddenly successful orphan, she decides to get eaten by a goddamn alien plant to make him more successful.
Having your women characters sacrifice themselves is not a glorious way to die, as we discussed in my Sons of Anarchy post.
But… Is it supposed to be satire? How is it a stab at Flash Gordon, The Day the Earth Stood Still, and Fay Wray?
I don’t know where the line is drawn, but Little Shop loves to toe that line.
Which isn’t to say it’s a badly written show… It’s witty beyond belief, uses a modern Greek chorus of Crystal, Ronette, and Chiffon (the true heroes of the show if you ask me, look at all the difficult singing they do…), and still manages to be a semi-appropriate show.
AUDREY: Am I late? Did I miss it?
CRYSTAL: Sure are.
CHIFFON: Sure did.
AUDREY: Seymour’s first radio broadcast. I wanted to cheer him on. I tried to be on time, but…
CRYSTAL: Don’t tell me.
THREE GIRLS: You got tied up.
AUDREY: No, just… handcuffed… a little.
Semi-appropriate.
I love it despite its flaws.
Grr, damn you Howard Ashman!
I have to get back to work, but if you’re anywhere in Florida, come see Little Shop of Horrors in Boca June 5th-28th. For more details, look up Slow Burn Theatre Company. I’d love to see you there.
Now go read a book.
~T.
LITBITSNSHIT 