Monday, April 4, 2005

Market research is preliminary at this point, what some circles might call “nonexistent,” but that doesn’t stop me from talking. I have good reason to believe a musical based on the colorful exploits of Internet advertising would line up Broadway and, come awards night, sweep all the Tonys as well as a Bruno, who’s actually the thug waiting to beat the living shits out of you and steal your trophies.

The title would have to be engaging, that’s a requirement, and I’m thinking along the lines of “Mad About Ads,” “The Scampaign from Hell,” or “My Dear Old Pops.” Even a good title can’t mask a rotten story, though, so we’ll need to address the stageplay. Here’s what I envision.

Quiet stage. No pit orchestra. Garish sequined curtains with nothing behind them. Come showtime, the curtains suddenly fly out toward the audience, shooting neon sequins left and right. People sit with mouths agape until they scream, “MY EYES OH GOD MY EYES PLEASE STOP!” And then the barrage of tackiness pauses. For thirty seconds. The scattering of taste begins anew as the theater empties, but wait! The coat check attendant doles out free samples of Cialis to blinded showgoers.

And this, dear reader, is a reasonable facsimile of success. Picture the acclaim:

“…a…visual…spectacle.” – The New York Times

“This is…the…play.” – The Washington Post

“An outrage…tremendous…” – Variety

“…color…numbers…” – Highlights

“Eyes, schmyes, the soundtrack is required reading for the consummate theater enthusiast.” – People

I also have another draft, assuming you want to produce this masterwork, in which the heroine wakes to a perpetual string of Mondays. Somewhere in the beginning of the play–Act 7 or 9, I can’t remember–she pauses in the middle of her monologue, a variation on the overture plays faintly in the background, and she tosses herself through a window. A window with no panes. This is the happy ending. Maybe I’ll share the sad.