#the roar of the greasepaint the smell of the crowd

[thebooshthatdare]

julian as sir and noel as cocky send post

[bouquinteim]

[tfbsafeageappropriatedance]

Can’t we appreciate THE BIG FACT that this was danced in 100% character shoes?

As a classic jazz dance and dance history buff, this rendition to Michael Buble’s cover of “Feeling Good” from The Roar of the Greasepaint - the Smell of the Crowd is PERFECTION!

And I don’t have to mention that to my brain, many dance competition renditions remind me of those FOLLOWING GIFs:

[todaysleap]

Today is September 9 and today's leap is:

The Play's the Thing (S4, E11) September 9, 1969

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

A Wonderful Day Like Today :: Cyril Ritchard

+

This song popped into my head this morning for no particular reason. Haven't heard it for years. Yet I remember all the lyrics. I looked at all the songs on the soundtrack and remember all the words to all the songs. When did I learn all these songs? I don't remember why I would do that.

The magic 8 ball of memory.

[tweedlebean]

As someone who never saw the first Joker and gets excited at literally any musical theater reference I fuckin loved the Joker sequel

[orellazalonia]

Love Letters in the Smoke

Summary: During his rehabilitation, Bucky writes anonymous letters to process his thoughts. One night, he drops one at your circus campfire by mistake. You write back as a pen-pal romance begins. (Bucky Barnes x aerialist!reader)

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: I wanted to write something circus themed and thought this was a cute story. I hope the indents for the letters doesn’t look weird. Regardless, Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The circus smelled of smoke, greasepaint, and a hint of nostalgia. The kind of place that looked like it had time-traveled from another century. Its canvas tents patched with care, and string lights casting soft golden halos in the dusk. You called it home.

Every night, after the crowd dispersed and the last child had been tugged away from the caramel stands, you’d sit by the communal fire pit with a notebook and your own thoughts. The crackle of flames soothed your nerves after a long evening performing. Tonight was no different until you found the letter.

Folded neatly in half, it was tucked beneath a rock near the fire. No name. No address. Just worn, thick paper, like it had been clutched tightly before being left behind. The handwriting was rigid, practiced, like someone who didn’t write often.

"I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe to make sense of the noise. I’m not used to silence. When I have it, the ghosts scream louder. I think I was someone good once, but I don’t know if that matters anymore. So I keep walking, city to city, place to place, hoping I can outrun myself."

Your fingers tightened around the paper, heart stirring with something strange. You didn’t know the writer, but you knew the feeling. So you wrote back.

Your first response was clumsy. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. But you scribbled on the back of a circus flyer:

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if the reflection is mine or someone else’s memory. If you were good once, maybe that piece is still inside you. If it hurts, it means it mattered.”

You left your letter the same way by the fire, under the same rock. You didn’t expect anything to come of it. But the next night, there was another one waiting.

"Didn’t expect a reply. It’s strange. Your words feel like a calm I haven’t earned. But thank you. I needed them more than I thought."

The letters became a ritual.

While the rest of the troupe celebrated, drank, or collapsed into their trailers, you and your ghost wrote to each other. You told him about your performances, your nerves before every show, how the roar of the crowd always seemed distant. He told you about dreams he didn’t understand, faces he couldn't name but could never forget.

"Sometimes I see their eyes. Just eyes. Hundreds of them. People I’ve hurt. People I lost. I wish I could believe I was still worth saving."

Your response was always gentle, honest.

“Pain doesn’t cancel out worth. I don’t know what you’ve done. But if you’re trying now, if you’re writing to a stranger in the dark just to stay afloat… then yes. You’re worth it."

He never signed his letters. You didn’t, either. But a bond was forming. Raw and quiet. The kind of intimacy that only comes when truth is stripped bare, and nothing is expected in return.

A week later, a new stranger joined the circus.

He didn’t give much away, just said his name was James, and he was helping fix up the rigging for the aerial performers. He was tall with broad shoulders. Dark hair pulled into a low bun. Quiet, watchful, like a man used to danger. You noticed the glove on his hands, the way he flinched when touched, and the haunted glint in his eyes.

He didn’t say much, but when he watched you during your act, a graceful ribbon aerialist twisting in midair, there was something almost reverent in his gaze.

He started lingering by the fire after hours, sitting a few feet away. You’d nod. He’d nod back. Neither of you spoke much. But his presence was… comforting.

The letters continued.

"There’s a performer here. I don’t know her name yet. She climbs like she wants to touch the stars. When she’s up there, it’s like she’s weightless. Untouchable. I think she feels more at home in the air than on the ground. I envy that."

You read that one twice, your stomach fluttering. Could it be?

You looked at James differently after that. You caught him watching you once, a rare smile twitching at his mouth before he quickly looked away. He never asked personal questions, but he always listened when you spoke. Even the small things. What you had for dinner. What color ribbon you liked the best.

And still, each night, the letters came.

Until the day it stopped.

You came to the fire, letter in hand, heart pounding. You had written it that afternoon, deciding finally to sign it with your real name.

But there was no letter waiting. Not that night. Not the next.

And James was gone.

You asked around only to find out that he had packed up quietly, said goodbye to no one, and left like a ghost.

-

Weeks passed. The circus moved on, as it always did.

You still checked the firepit sometimes. Just in case. A hope inside your heart that would be chipped away each time you found no letter.

Then, one night, as the stars blanketed the sky and your arms ached from rehearsal, you found it. A single letter. Folded tight.

Your name was on the front.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. I was afraid. You knew me before you knew who I was. And that scared me more than anything. I’ve done things, things I can’t ask forgiveness for. But when I read your words, I believed for a moment that maybe I wasn’t just a weapon. That maybe I could be more. You called me worth saving. No one ever said that to the Winter Soldier. But you said it to James."

Your hands trembled as you read the last part.

"I want to see you again. If you'll let me. There’s a train station just outside the next town. I’ll be waiting. – Bucky"

You folded the letter to your chest and smiled through your tears.

Finally, a name.

And maybe, just maybe, a beginning.

The next town was a blur of winding back roads and wind-chilled mornings. The circus was set up at the edge of a sun-dried field, the ground cracked from lack of rain. But you barely noticed any of it. Your mind was somewhere else, back at the firepit, at the letter pressed to your chest, at the name that made everything real.

Bucky.

It suited him somehow. Solid and sincere. A little old-fashioned like the man himself.

You folded the letter so carefully that it felt like folding a prayer. You didn’t show it to anyone. Some part of you was still terrified it might vanish if you spoke it aloud. But you couldn’t ignore it.

He said he’d be at the train station. So you went.

You left after rehearsal dressed in simple clothes, your hair braided back, and palms sweating in your coat pockets. The station was small and mostly empty. Just one old bench, a vending machine that wheezed when it tried to light up, and a single streetlamp buzzing like a nervous heart.

He was there.

Bucky stood near the tracks, hands in his pockets, back tense like he wasn’t sure he should stay. A battered duffel sat by his boots. His eyes were distant, tracking the horizon. Like he was still prepared to run.

You almost called out to him, but he turned first. When your eyes met, it hit you like a second heartbeat.

You'd read this man’s pain. Held his words in your hands like they were fragile glass. You had whispered encouragement to him under stars he couldn’t see. And now he was here. Real. Vulnerable. Waiting.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” He said, voice rough with nerves.

“I wasn’t sure you would wait,” You answered, stepping closer.

He let out a low quiet laugh, more exhale than sound. “I almost didn’t.”

“I’m glad you did.”

There was a long pause, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full. Thick with every letter, every word, every emotion neither of you had dared speak aloud.

“I’m sorry for disappearing,” Bucky began as his gaze dropped. “I… panicked. Thought it was safer if I left before I messed it up. But the truth is… I missed you.”

Your throat tightened. “You didn’t mess anything up. I… I missed you too. Every night I checked that fire.”

He stepped closer, the soft scrape of gravel under his boots. “I didn’t know how to do this. I still don’t.”

“Me neither,” You whispered. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

His gloved hand lifted, like he wanted to reach for you but was waiting for permission. So you met him halfway, pressing your hand gently to his chest. Through his shirt, you could feel the heavy rhythm of his heart, strong and steady, like it had finally found a beat worth chasing.

“I wasn’t falling for a stranger,” You said softly. “I was falling for the man in the letters. For the one who writes like he’s fighting for every word. That was you. It was always you.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned his forehead against yours.

And in that moment, there were no ghosts. No stages. No performances. Just the hush of the night air, the scent of iron and oil and smoke, and two people who had found each other in the most unexpected of ways.

“I want to try,” He murmured. “With you. If you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “Only if you write to me sometimes, even if we’re just a tent away.”

He chuckled, and it was the most alive you’d ever heard him. “Deal.”

[ringmaster-midori]

Here I am again in the middle of battle. I've been hit so hard so many times that a stiff breeze would knock me out. We're fightin' these―what in the Nine Hells are they?―iron golem things that look like drow bodyguards.

(Image from https://app.demiplane.com/nexus/pathfinder2e/creatures/drow-bodyguard-golem)

Spells won't affect them. Even our weapons seem to be doin' less damage than they should. We figured out that they're weak to acid, but we can't do much with that. They've been coming at us with iron swords an', oh my gods, they have breath weapons! They breathe poison at us!

So, yeah, this battle is takin' a lot longer than it should. Zookdar's gotten knocked out an' revived a couple o' times.

Ugh! It really wears you down!

This whole Darklands experience is wearin' me down! Everythin's dark outside except for that green glow. An' I suspect all that radiation's doin' somethin' bad to us! We can't tell if it's day or night. We just have to rely on what's goin' on around us. An' there's miles of empty desert all around us in every direction. No snacks. No Windy's. NO TAVERNS!

I'm with my adventurin' party. My comrades. My carnie folk. But still, it's so lonely! I miss the circus! The roar of the crowd! The smell of the greasepaint! The performances! The cheers! The adoration of everyone!

I―I kinda feel like I'm goin' to crack under the pressure.

But we're so close! I think we're most of the way through this pyramid, this Xul-Khundur (which definitely has a lot to do with xulgaths, by the way). We should be facin' down whatever big, bad, evil guy is waitin' for us at the end soon. Then we can grab the aeon orb an' claim its powers an' get the hells out of this gods-forsaken underground desert!

[musicalhell]

What's a song (or songs) you think would work really well in a jukebox musical? I always thought Michael Buble's "Feeling Good" would make a fun, vampy villain song, but I don't think its been used anywhere.

Fun fact: "Feeling Good" IS from a musical! It originally comes from the 1964 show The Roar of the Greasepaint--The Smell of the Crowd. It's been covered multiple times, but the Nina Simone version is definitely the most iconic:

To answer your question, I think a lot of Muse's stuff has great dramatic potential. "Ghosts (How Can I Move On)" is a great example:

[zorilleerrant]

Hi, just saw the word prompt thing? I don't know if you're still doing them or taking them, but if you are, would you mind something with either 25: Hair or 27: Sick with Bruce and/or Jason? Thank you so much! Love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

(absolutely still taking them! see this is the problem with reblogging everything in a row instead of in a queue because that post is like three hours old or something)

"I'm not sick," Jason says, once the coughing fit is over, trying to shove himself away from Bruce without stumbling over. If he falls while Bruce is watching, Bruce will know he's lying, and then he's done for. The thought only occurs to him when he's already leaning against Bruce's shoulder.

"I know you're not, Champ," Bruce says, and it's ridiculous hearing that tone of voice when he's full on Batman mode, the cowl on with smudges of greasepaint all across his eyelids, wrapping the cape around him like when he was small. It doesn't work. The cape back then was soft, quilted one patch at a time by Alfred's careful hand, and warm enough to keep at least the chill of Gotham's winds howling over rooftops at bay. Now it's the thinnest nanofiber metamaterial Jason's ever seen, soft as silk but not half as warm.

It's a nice night. He's only cold because he has the flu, but Jason always wears a mask, so why is that his fucking problem? Nothing's supposed to be able to get through the filters. Not even whatever has Bruce so wary, using dad voice even through his gas mask. "I'm fine. There's just a problem with the filters." Is there a problem with the filters? He was coughing earlier, and something smelled deep maroon and ominous. The people shuffling around the building - no one left inside, but not so far removed yet - are coughing, too. Speaking in strange voices, like they don't know what they're saying themselves. Their faces screw up when they try to talk.

"Jaylad? Are you with me?" Bruce says, pulling Jason's full weight against his chest, as if they're not in front of a crowd right now, cameras pointed at them from all sides. Jason barely refrains from shoving him away, feeling like a little kid trying not to get hugged at school again, and aware that most of the reason he's not pushing is that he doesn't have the energy, and he needs something to balance his weight on anyhow. "How much of that stuff did you breathe in? Here, list off your siblings, will you? I don't know who's behind this new toxin, but we'll find them."

"No one's behind it," Jason says, completely ignoring Bruce's instruction, and fuck him for trying to give it, anyway, Jason is fine. "Look around at the fucking building, B, it was a science fair. It was an accident. No one was behind - okay, actually, that's a lie, Black Mask is behind it, but it's not exactly like you can throw him off a roof over it, so." Jason can throw him off a roof. Maybe. Once he gets a good night's sleep, at least. Oh, fuck, sleep sounds good, right about now. If only Bruce would hurry up and get him to the Batmobile. Of course, if he says that, Batman's going to worry. Like an asshole.

"Black Mask?" Bruce says, in horror, finally moving them in the direction of the car, finally moving Jason out of the way of paramedics that he's absolutely certain would demand to take his temperature and then the jig would be up. "What the hell does he have to do with any of it? How long has he been running this plot?" Oh, sure, once you bring Roman up, Bruce is all invested again. Couldn't have just listened when Jason said the sprinkler systems needed to be double checked. 'Oh we just checked them last week' last week before the last villain siphoned toxins through them again, yeah. Some detective.

"Well, it's not about to help to fight crime at him, B, I assure you, all of his horrifying chemicals are perfectly legal," Jason says, climbing into the chair and reclining it so he can lie down and never get up again. He almost can't hear himself over the roar of the Batmobile's engine. "Some idiot posts a video about how you can hack the blush, soak it in alcohol and precipitate out the metallic component. You know the new bronze and silver ones? Yeah. Well, if you're not careful, you know. I was checking to see if it's made of Nth metal. Some precocious teens beat me to it, I guess."

"That can't possibly be legal," Bruce says, taking a curve a little bit slower than Jason would've expected him to, even on the drive home, even while they're having a totally civil conversation and Jason hasn't yet resorted to trying to bite him. "There are all sorts of regulations on strange metals. We voted on a referendum last week! And you're telling me he's doing this through his company? To, what, entice kids to accidentally cobble together bombs?"

"He doesn't fucking care about the kids, Bruce. I don't even know if he knows - like the advertising isn't even aiming at them, it's aiming at, fuck, celebrities and influencers and shit, he probably doesn't even know it can do this or he'd be selling the shit to Wall," Jason says, tiredly, words that would be mumbled through his hands if his helmet weren't beaming them straight to Bruce's earpiece. "He just found a way to pawn off his trash to the rest of his company, and told them to come up with profits. And they did! Like you always say, crime doesn't fucking pay, eh?"

"Okay. I very much do not want Amanda Waller to get her hands on this. You really think that's his long term plan?" Jason shuts his eyes, not that Bruce can tell under the mask. Because, like, did he fucking say that? Bruce never listens when Jason tries to explain in completely straightforward English - or any other fucking thing - what is going on in Gotham. He missed the limited edition pretzels, too. Asshole. A warm gust of wind blows across his face and Jason realizes that, at some point while he wasn't responding, Bruce pulled his helmet off. Undoing all the latches silently and everything. He's saying something soothing.

Jason ignores him. Wiggles his mouth a little; it's always easier talking when you don't have to aim directly at the mic. He's used to it enough it's reflexive by this point, but it still makes his jaw sore. "Yo, you know the mayor's get kickbacks, even the new one - I mean, I didn't ask him personally, so his kickback may be, like, his own head - there's no such thing as a regulation with no loopholes in Gotham." And then the kids try to mix it up and test out cool new properties, two projects get too close to each other, someone's baking soda volcano sets of a chain reaction or whatever happened in there. The sprinklers took a beat too long to set themselves in motion, Jason knows that part for sure.

"Jay, kiddo, you sound like you swallowed an entire sheep worth of steel wool," Bruce says, in that grudging way where he's trying to show emotion the way Leslie taught him to, but he sucks at it, because Alfie's British and never made proper expressions when he was a kid. Only the thing is he's turned the car to whisper mode and Jason can barely feel the rumble of the engines now, and Bruce's hand is stroking through his hair, and he could probably fall asleep, moving car or no. "Let's get you some of Alfred's soup."

"Yeah," Jason says, even though Bruce is right for once in his life, and Jason's voice does sound a thousand times more like sandpaper now that his voice modulator is gone. "Alfred is the one that misses me, sure thing old man." Actually, who Jason really needs to talk to is Lucius. Maybe over the phone, so as not to get him sick. Because if one thing will piss Roman off it's a fucking hostile takeover. Plus then they can hoard the metal to, whatever, build a Batspaceship or who knows what, like that part matters.

Bruce's hand stills, fingertips still cool against Jason's skull, and they just breathe like that for a few moments, in sync and slow, their heart rates slowing to rest, just the way he used to after a panic attack, even though Jason's pretty sure neither of them are panicking, unless Bruce cares a lot more than he assumed about a flu he's pretty sure he's mostly over anyway. Bruce squeezes his neck a little too hard, and hesitates before he opens the door. "Alfred does miss you."

[the-faramir]

Extinction Curse Session 2022/11/02

After months of preparation, the Circus of Wayward Wonders was finally ready for its first public performance! The performers and support staff gathered backstage as showtime rapidly approached. The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of the crowd had everyone's stomach knotted up with anticipation.

"The Circus of Wayward Wonders performs in an enormous tent capable of holding hundreds of people—and that’s a good thing, as it seems the entire population of Abberton has turned out for the show. Many of the town’s most prominent citizens, including the mayor, are among the throng jostling for seats, peering at the three rings that fill the center of the tent, and waiting excitedly for the show to begin.

"As the lights go down and the audience settles onto their seats, the circus’s performers take their places backstage, awaiting their cues. Suddenly, several of the performers closest to the curtain that separates the three rings from the rest of the tent leave their assignments, gathering in a small crowd to exchange frightened whispers and hushed gasps."

Axel, of Axel's Amazing Aviary (a new and untested act, which the ringmaster had not scheduled for tonight's performance for reasons untold), ran backstage in a state of panic, his eyes wide with shock, stray feathers stuck to his costume fluttering off in his wake.

"Everyone, listen to me! This is no joke," Axel exclaimed. "It's Myron. He's…he's been murdered!"

A hush of stunned silence fell over the performers, broken by Axel continuing, "Come with me. Quickly!" The group followed Axel and surrounded the center ring.

"Amid the group, his body contorted as if caught forever in the throes of terrible pain, is the corpse of ringmaster Myron “Thunder” Stendhal. Everyone in the circus knew Myron for his amazing, powerful voice that could bring instant silence to the largest crowd, and he knew everything there is to know about putting on a successful performance. Now he’s dead, but the crowd is still out there, and they’re expecting a show."

Midori exclaimed, "Papa Thunder! No! How did this happen?" She fell to her knees next to Myron and burst into tears.

Zarlian Kyosophus, co-founder of the circus, whom the performers all called "The Professor," covered Myron's body with a silk cape. He brought the group back to the reality of the night with a stage whisper: "Yes, Myron has been murdered! Nothing can change that now. But the big top is full to the brim with an audience and we need to perform! Well, what are you all standing around for?" he asks, his weak voice barely audible in the hushed silence. "Have you seen that crowd? There’s a show to put on, and we have to find a way to do it. So finish your makeup, get into your costumes, and send in the clowns if you have to!"

Augustus asked, "Will you take over as ringmaster, Professor? Start off the show for us?"

"Alas, no," Zarlian repliled. "My voice isn't what it used to be, and it never used to be as good as Myron's. Somebody else will have to take over."

Midori wiped her face with her hand as she stood up, pushing back her tears, and solemnly stated: "The show must go on!" She took off her straw hat and donned Myron's top hat with teary reverence. "I know his introduction by heart. I'll get us started. The rest of you, follow my song just like in rehearsal."

Some of the stage crew picked up Myron to take him to his trailer to rest while the circus performed. The performers quickly took their places with Midori in the center ring, preparing to magically project her voice into the crowd. The lights went down and the riggers drew the curtains. The spotlight lit Midori in the darkness and she began.

"Annnnd now," Midori boomed, "I present to you the most astonishing, breathtaking, colorful, dazzling, enthralling, fantastical, gleeful, hilarious, innovative, jubilant, kaleidoscopic, lively, magical, nostalgic, outlandish, phenomenal, quirky, riveting, sensational, thrilling, unbelievable, vivid, whimsical, exxxxtraordinary, youthful, and zany circus in the Inner Sea! Ladies, gentlemen, beings of all ages, we are: The CIRRRRRRRRCUS OF WAYYYYYYYWARD WONNNNNNNDERS!"

The audience cheered and applauded. When the crowd calmed down somewhat, Midori started singing her act as previously planned.

🎵🎵🎵

Come one, come all, to the grandest show in the land, The Circus of Wayward Wonders, isn't it grand? Acrobats flying and jugglers that dance, Magicians with tricks that will put you in a trance.

Step right up, don't be shy, For the Circus of Wayward Wonders is nigh. Marvels await, mysteries untold, In this circus, the stories unfold.

See the beasts from realms far and wide, Hear the tales of heroes who never died. Feats of strength from the strongman so bold, And fortune tellers with futures foretold.

In the ring, under the big top's glow, The performers are ready, let the wonders show! With a drum roll, the excitement will peak, At the Circus of Wayward Wonders, every night of the week.

Step right up, don't be shy, For the Circus of Wayward Wonders is nigh. Marvels await, mysteries untold, In this circus, the stories unfold.

So gather around, let the music swell, The Circus of Wayward Wonders will cast its spell. With a final bow, I bid you goodnight, May your dreams be filled with wonder and delight.

🎵🎵🎵

Midori bowed deeply and exited the center ring, making way for the acts to follow.

********************

Midori thought for a moment as she recalled that night "So, of course, the rest of the performance went off without a hitch. The crowd was happy, and Mayor Abber even came to us afterward to give his compliments. We told him about Myron's murder, of course. He offered his help an' told us about some strange things goin' on around town.

"But we started followin' the first clue: snakes. Ah, right. When the audience got up to leave some o' them saw vipers in the stands! We chased 'em off. The snakes, not the audience. We figured they were the ones that bit Myron. (Once again, the snakes.) O' course, we went to Elizia Pumperknickel first 'cause she's the snake-charmer. Boy, was she upset when we started askin' her questions. She never works with venomous snakes, see. So she wasn't the one responsible, but we still needed to figure out who was.

"Some of us thought it could be Axel, the bird guy. Or Mordaine the diva. But ev'rything pointed to somebody outside the circus. My first thought was Dusklight, jealous of her ex-lover, jealous of us leavin' her circus and startin' a better one!

"We went to Myron's wagon straight away. But it was trapped! Somebody (somebody good with plants, so that was a clue for us) had planted dream pollen pods in there. The spores got to one or two of us, but the rest were all right. So we cleared the wagon out an' found a bravo's brew, an everburnin' torch, a bearskin hat, an' the Great Fortunato's cape for some reason. I picked up the cape an' put it on, 'cause it was startin' to get a bit chilly.

"Next, we checked out Bardolph's wagon. He was the trained bear, originally workin' with his trainer, the Great Fortunato. Poor guy got robbed an' killed in an alley in Escadar, so we all took care of Bardolph in his place. But anyhow, I opened up the door, and Bardolph was in there, all agitated. He smelled that cloak on me an' he was all 'RAAAAAAR' an' I was like 'Bardolph, it's us! Yer friends!' but he didn't care an' attacked us. Had to put the poor ol' bear down. Turns out Fortunato had an owlbear claw hangin' in there, so we took it with us.

"After that, we went to look at the Kanbali family's wagon—that's the Feather-Fall Five, the acrobats—an' what do you think happened? A halfling woman in druid's clothes popped out and bolted the hells outta there! Pretty suspicious! Some o' the other performers said that they had seen someone like her sneakin' around earlier. It all added up: friends with snakes, good with plants. So she musta been the culprit!

"By then, the rest o' the party wanted to pursue the halfling. I let 'em know that I had some important circus business to take care of, but I was sure that they'd be able to handle her by themselves."

[muppetydyke]

Muppet MainStage September 28th, 2023

“Look at That Face” is a song originally coming from the 1964 musical The Roar of the Greasepaint – The Smell of the Crowd, by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse (who are probably better known for the songs in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory).

The song appears in the Candice Bergen episode (season 1, episode 11). The song is sung by the art teacher (and one-off muppet) Andre (Peter Friedman), who is talking about his model Candice Bergen. There is a group of students including Animal (Frank Oz), Miss Piggy (most likely Richard Hunt), Dr Bunsen Honeydew and Gonzo (both normally performed by Dave Goelz, but neither speak in the song so no idea which isn’t being played by him), two frackles (not known who’s performing them in this song), and Mildred Huxtetter (who apparently was ALSO PERFORMED BY DAVE GOELZ IN THIS EP SO SCREW ME I GUESS) in the class painting Candice all with their own quirks. 

[bouquinteim]

sei ein wolf - grimm! das musical where have you been all my life it isn't enough - the roar of the greasepaint the smell of the crowd (rgsc) blut geleckt - grimm! das musical nothing can stop me now - rgsc burned out - dodie too late to apologize solace who can i turn to reprise - rgsc a wonderful day - rgsc

tagging @conquerthenight @amouseinamaze @happilyhadesbound @babystarsss

Music Tag Game!

Got tagged in this by a bunch of people, latest one was @ragnarockz Thank you luv!

Shuffle your On Repeat Playlist and list the first 10 songs that come up!

Goth - Sidewalks and Skeletons

Cleopatra - The Lumineers

Unwritten - Natasha Bedingfield

Ribs - Lorde

JOYRIDE - Ke$ha

Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand

Maroon - Taylor Swift

Von Dutch - Charli xcx

Light of Love - Florence + the machine

Femininomenon - Chapell Roan

Tagging @fuckyeah-dragrace @thecollectionsof @sweetlikesunflowersandhoney @stayevildarling @isle-of-earle @rialitysworld @ladyqueerfoot <3

[ronintheatrecollabrative]

“Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere” said the Bard of Avon. Poetic, but scientifically inaccurate. However, he lived long before the discovery of binary star systems, and even longer before we got the pleasure of talking with @mikebenreed & @_michael.bundy_ about their roles in Ronin Theatre’s latest production “Made In America”. Making its Arizona premiere on March 21st!

Michael Rodriguez plays Ed JR. whereas Michael Bundy II plays Charlie. We asked them a few questions about their characters and the wider scope of the show.

1. How would you describe your character?

Bundy- “Charlie is a kind person who doesn’t really have the kind of love in his life that he wants, or even needs. He knows he needs to be a good person, but because of his lack of consistent parental figures in his life, doesn’t really know how. He expects the “good things happen to good people” rule to be applicable to him, but doesn’t understand social cues enough for that to be a reality to him, which results in his anger at people around him and his overall anxiety. Despite all this, deep down, he tries to be the best person he can.”

Rodriguez- “Ed Jr. is a manager that means well, but his laser-focused mindset on business clouds his perception of what’s really going on with his employees/friends.“

2. For you and your character what is this show about?

Rodriguez: “The show to me is about the consequences of bullying and mental illness, as well as the seeming indifference society holds towards these topics, creating an echo of complacency. I would like audiences to recognize the harmful effects of bullying, untreated mental health, and complacency in the workplace about these topics.”

Bundy: “The show is about what happens when signs of potential mental illness gets ignored, and passed off as “that’s just who he is”. It’s about how sometimes, the people closest to us can only take so much of what life gives them before they snap in a negative way.”

3. What would you like audiences to take from the show?

Bundy- “What I hope people can take away from this story is that everyone needs a consistent emotional support system, whether through their friends, family, or any other source, and we should all pay more attention to the people who don’t have that, and be there for them.”

4. Any favorite lines from the production?

Rodriguez- “My favorite line in the show is Charlie’s last monologue. It’s the result of everything that’s happened in the show, with a few twists left in store.”

Bundy- “That’s right, I’ve been stuck here building birdhouses for almost seven years...” - “This moment really puts into motion his whole mindset for the rest of the show, as he not only feels trapped in this very small world, but he feels anxious to get out by any means necessary.”

5. Is there any music genre or song that your character embodies for you?

Bundy- “The Joker” from the 1964 musical “The Roar of the Greasepaint - The Smell of the Crowd”- “written by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley. The song in the musical is a lament about someone who always has a smile on their face, sometimes for others’ amusement, often feels dark torment on the inside, which definitely relates to Charlie.”

Rodriguez- “Alternative from the 2000’s reminds me of the show. Specifically, the songs “Ready, Able” by Grizzly Bear, “Screenager” by Muse, and “Lonely Day” by System of a Down.”

You can see Michael and Michael when “Made in America” opens 3/21/25 at Stage Left’s new!

Tickets: https://www.stageleftaz.com/

[johndyerwrites]

The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd

One thing you can always count on seeing in a Sci-Fi action show is flying objects. Architecture is no exception, and why would it be? The day after anti-gravity is developed, somebody will start building a flying house. I built my first one in The Illusion of Gravity. According to the story’s hero Rivan Saraf, “The only large shapes Iron Arrow could form in those days were cylinders and…

[iamkenlee-blog]

"퍼펙트 데이즈"

얼마 전 '일일시호일'이란 일본 영화 본 김에 올해 화제작 중 하나인 '퍼펙트 데이즈'도 뒤늦게 시청.

주인공이 아침에 일어나 이빨 닦고 면도하고 세수하고, 도쿄 내 공중 화장실을 매-우 열-심-히 청소하고, 늘 가는 장소에서 샌드위치 먹으며 필름 카메라로 나무 사진 찍고, 목욕탕에서 씻고, 저녁에 단골집에서 술 한잔하는 걸 반복해 보여주는 내용. 왠지 '나무를 심은 사람' 이야기와 결이 비슷하다고 느꼈다.

사실은 이런 삶에 공감해서 흉내 내 본 적이 있었는데, 약 3년 정도 따라 하다 정신병 걸려 죽다 살아남. 영화나 책에서 미화한 고독과 달리 실제로 겪어본 고독이 그렇게 무서운 건지 미처 몰랐다. 덕분에 (긴 얘기 생략하고 결론만 말하자면) 서양식 심신이원론은 허구이고, 몸과 마음이 사실은 하나란 걸 깨닫긴 했지만서도.

뭣보다 이 사건이 몸공부에 있어서 일대 전환점이 됐다. 돌이켜보니 반드시 거쳐야 할 힘든 관문이었던 것 같다. 간접 체험(=어디서 주워들었는데)과 직접 체험(=내가 해봐서 아는데)은 '실감'이란 면에서 차원이 다르다.

주인공은 매일매일 잠자고 일어나면서 즐거운 표정을 짓곤 하지만 깊이 감춰 놓은 슬픔을 두 번 보여준다. 한 번은 며칠 함께 지낸 조카와 헤어진 직후, 또 한 번은 영화 마지막 장면에서 운전하는 동안에.

술집 운영하는 여사장께서 "왜 모든 것이 예전 그대로 일 순 없을까?"란 대사를 하시던데, 매일 같은 일상을 반복하는 것 같아도 세상에 변치 않는 건 없음(=제행무상)을 은연중 강조하고 있단 점에선 불교 주제 영화로 볼 여지도 있지 않나.

음악 얘기를 안 할 수가 없겠는데, 1997년 개봉한 영화 '접속' 덕분에 한동안 여기저기에서 루 리드의 '창백한 푸른 눈(=Pale Blue Eyes)'이 흘러나오곤 했듯이 '완벽한 날(=Perfect Day)'을 처음 들어본 사람 중에서 10~20년쯤 흐른 미래에 2023~4년도를 회상하는 노래로 기억할 이도 있을 것 같다.

개인적 취향으론 오티스 레딩과 니나 시몬 목소리가 나왔던 게 제일 좋긴 했다. 위키 백과 찾아보니 시몬 씨가 부른 '좋은 느낌(=Feeling Good)'은 1964년 초연한 '무대 화장의 포효 - 군중의 냄새(=The Roar of the Greasepaint - The Smell of the Crowd)'라는 뮤지컬 수록곡이라고 나온다. 니나 시몬은 1965년 발매한 '내가 너에게 주문을 걸었어(=I Put a Spell on You)' 음반에 수록.