Thespian Glee

It’s embarrassing, it’s deplorable, and it’s the sort of clandestine vice that would have gotten me beaten up at high school. But, through the tolerant and relatively repercussion-free forum of Blog, I am announcing my addiction to Glee.

Glee is basically an extremely cheesy television series set around the musical theatre club at a high school. It’s a bit like the movie Grease, only with less leather; or a bit like The Sound of Music (only with fewer nuns and Nazis). It’s comparable to the OC in terms of teenage angst and bad acting by twenty-something actors pretending to be said teenagers, only with more singing. Lots more singing.

In short, it is tacky, mind-numbing, synapse-frying, musical television gold.

Not many people know this, but up until grade ten, my best subject at school was drama. I even topped the subject that year, although this isn’t really much of an achievement: given that I was at an all-boys school and the drama class clashed with both woodwork and metalwork, it wasn’t a large group of schoolboy thespians.

After a hiatus in the final years of high school, I got back into the musical theatre zone at my college at uni. Again, I have a feeling that my successful auditioning for various Trinity College productions had far more to do with (a) the lack of dramatically-motivated males in the commune and (b) the conflicting practice schedules with rugby and rowing, than any artistic talents on my part. In fact, it is widely acknowledged that I can neither sing nor dance, which in hindsight is probably how I landed the role of ‘Narrator’ in our college production of the musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.

How I found myself in the role of a schizophrenic, lithium-addicted, sexually-perverted piano accordionist in Trinity’s Cosi is far more questionable.

The point is, I absolutely loved those days of being involved in a theatre production. Despite my dearth of any artistic talent, I really felt the camaraderie of being part of a show. The MacGyver-style set designers, the geeky lighting and sound crew, the overtly narcissistic make-up team, the authoritarian and slightly Fascist production staff, the overtly flirtatious dancing troupe and the similarly flirtatious but largely egocentric lead actors – everybody had their role, and helped create our own little mini-series for every show. (Of course, I’m heavily type-casting, but it’s far more fun that way.)

And opening night. Ah, the glory! The fame! The terrifying, sweat-dropping, urge-to-urinating fear that gripped us before the curtain came up, to be met by the adrenaline rush of finally getting to perform those infinitely repetitious lines as if for the first time, in front of a cheering audience of..well, only dozens. But still. I was mesmerised.

Perhaps it’s because I, like everyone else, ache to feel part of a ‘team’, a social group with ambition, who tangibly sees through a goal to its completion. Or perhaps it’s because my best friends at college are amazing thespians and always had the lead roles, drawing me into their musical theatre vortex in the process. Or perhaps it’s because my sister and I were never allowed to watch movies that were any more immoral (read: exciting) than Mary Poppins and Grease (so long as we fast-forwarded through all the naughty bits).

Or, most likely, perhaps it’s because I’m absolute rubbish at rugby and rowing.

Whatever the reason, I remain absolutely enamoured by musical theatre, and I’ve even sought out viewings to shows on Broadway and London’s West End to get my fix. But now I don’t even have to traverse any further than my couch in order to relieve the glory days of bad makeup, too much hairspray and a voice that could make a Julia Gillard speech sound as sweet as sirens’ songs.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, after many failed attempts, Fi and I have finally found a television series that we both enjoy. This, unfortunately, only makes me feel slightly less emasculated. But does increase the quantum of our viewing together, and I can always argue that I’m simply ‘doing my boyfriendly duty’ when I sit down to our nightly Glee episode. Not that I should feel ashamed by such artistic expression in this day and age, of course, even when I do sing along.

And besides, it’s not like I vacuum or anything.

PS Dave’s “Impossible Christmas Quiz” to be released THIS FRIDAY!! Oh boy!!