POST: 'When Yellow Were The Stars On Earth' - Bravo, Chic combat boots, bravo, heroism.
What's it about?
The play is set during World War II, the reign of the horrible Nazi take-over. It deals with the relationship between conflicted uninformed Germans, psychopathic SS officers, a dazzling double agent and a faithful wife who finds ultimate comfort in the precision of a handgun. Read that, then reimagine it as a hyperactive can of kick-ass and you have yourself When Yellow Were the Stars on Earth.
What'd I experience?
Awesomeness, Emotion, Adrenaline.
The whole play felt like Thanksgiving Dinner, filled with everything I loved, so much that I became a weeping emotional wreck - just like that fat horrible feeling you get after eating weeks worth of calories in an hour sitting.
Me and my brother arrived, sat and gave each other this nervous look as we questioned what the play would hold. Then, the accents me gave a familiar 40's vibe. And one argument in, a few fist throws later and one man getting choked up I decided that, yeah, this is gonna be awesome. Because what else warms you up to a play about war other than violence? #worldwarbrawls
Action aside, the play had an unexpected emotional depth that made my experience quite the bumpy road. Remember the play is action-packed but it was also mingled with deep subject matter: genocide. In this one scene (which made my brother tear up), a German Nazi describes the atrocities of war and the killing of children. Once that sad music played, the theatre became a Soundcloud of sniffles and chokes from my brother and I (and others). My brother described it as heartbreaking. I tried to suppress the pain. Maybe it was human denial, wanting to turn the blind eye. Or maybe deep down I felt guilty that there was nothing I could have done to save the innocents.
As the play went on I felt a void in my heart, I wanted the girls to wreak havoc on the men who were the ones spewing anger and hostility. It all felt like a classic WWII male-dominated movie... that is until hell released the Woman's Scorn onto the rest of the stage.
The adrenaline rush which followed, as the women moved from helplessness to action hero badassery, was a thrilling feeling. GOSH and those BOOTS! I mean, damn, like I know the ladies became gun wielding superwoman, but did they really need to do so THAT fashionably. By the forces of all war movies, I don't think combat boots have ever looked more chic than when woman taking up arms decided it was time to fight back.
But I got too attached and loved my characters too much because the play began to take turns that made me all to jittery. I did not want to see those heroes fighting the SS risk their lives and as it turned out... the play ultimately led to me weeping. Weeping, crying, snotty mess.
As the play ended, I felt forcefully disconnected from that world I was so attached to. All I wanted to do was organize a proper funeral service for some of those characters before leaving. Like holy moly, I never thought I'd feel a death quite like that. It was astonishing and frankly borderline traumatic, the actors were already taking their bows and my brother literally just laughed at me as I alotted an extra ten seconds to dry heaving and tears.
I really am contemplating going back, I really am contemplating weeping again.
Bravo, Chic combat boots. Bravo, heroism.