Why you should go see the Riverdance show

On Wednesday night Jon and I went on a date.  First time in ages, actually.  Ahem.  Just saying.  Anyway, we went on a date.  It was awesome, actually.  Southern Sun was kind enough to call me up last week offering a double ticket to see Riverdance at Montecasino which is cool because usually I’m the one giving away tickets and invitations, so it was nice to be on the receiving end for a change.

I grew up on my mother’s love of Michael Flatley.  She used to fawn and sigh at the TV whenever he was on, and I know that if she lived anywhere near Jozi there would’ve been a snowball’s chance in hell of me taking anyone but her to the show.  So to say that I was super excited is a mild understatement.

Jon, however, was not.  At first he asked if we could skip it, then he said “it’s not really my thing, but ohhhhkaaaay I’ll come with” and then he was all “Sigh.  Riverdance.  Kill me.”

Well!  Let me tell you, both of us were enchanted.  From the music to the dancing to the setting to the stage presence of dancers to the outfits to the sound system, I was amazed on every level.  I’ve been lucky enough in the last two years to go to quite a few theater productions and let me tell you – including Cats – this show has been my favourite.  I highly recommend you go if you can, and don’t worry if you fall in love with the male prancer too, he’s brilliant.  From whooping and grinning wildly at the audience, he commands your attention and everything in his vicinity fades while he performs.  The girl was okay too, I suppose.

I think the only gripe I have about the entire experience is that half of the show (the second half) is the ending.  Seriously.  For forty five minutes the performers stand on stage waving and bowing at you and smiling at each other and trilling their hands.  Forty. Five. M I N U T E S.  Worse still, is that while they’re doing it, you’re standing there in the audience like a douche ball clapping and grinning and nodding to those standing next to you clapping and grinning and nodding.  Eventually your feet start aching because you’re in heels and the tall guy in front of you starts looking around wondering how soon he can sit down, which is precisely the exact thought going through your mind at the same time.  Except out of sheer will and determination you refuse to give in first.  “I will not be the first douche to sit” I thought.

Five minutes later, the prancers were still clapping shoulders and congratulating each other for a fantastic show, and I found myself saying “yes, yes, you’re dainty and pretty and flap around quite elegantly.  You’re wonderful, magnificent, marvellous, now getoffthefuckingstagealreadymyarmsarekillingme!”

And that’s when it hit me: stage performers are selfish.  We’re every bit of that show as well, us audience members.  If not for us, why would they perform?  Therefore, after the fourth encore of the evening, I felt that the prancers had done quite enough and I needed some appreciation for my amazing skills in clapping like a primate.

And so I took a bow. Because the audience has feelings too.

Also, my arms had since lost theirs by that stage.

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Go see the show, it’s seven kinds of awesome.

PS: Thank you Southern Sun, Jon and I had a great night.

x

6 comments

  1. sleepyjane says:

    My dad also used to LOVE Michael Flatley. I remember being little and being forced to watch him on TV whenever they had him on.

    Sounds like fun though. 🙂 Glad you guys had a good time – apart from the clapping and such.

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