What’s New Pussycat?
Oh creepy Christ, who’s real life and dreadful decision was it to go and see The Exorcist on stage?! Oh yeah, mine. It was in a spur of psychiatric hooliganism that I decided that it was a good idea to bring me and my anxious ass along to see The Exorcist on stage. Why would you do that to yourself Queen V, when you know you are a gigantic furry pussycat? Well, didn’t curiousity kill the cat?
I overheard someone at the interval (a grown up man) say that “it isn’t scary, it’s just completely disturbing, and you feel like a part of it.” And not to steal my review directly from his lips or anything, but he hit the creepy little creep girl on the head. Which probably wouldn’t have been a bad thing.
For me, disturbing is worse than scary. Scary is “meh” and momentary. It’s “oh my days I just jamp clean out of my leggings” but disturbing? Well disturbing is beyond freak fest. Disturbing is lying in bed at night wondering at what point the curtain will absolutely fall on your head and in turn strangle you in a cruel Final Destination-esque twist of fate (because it’s inevitable). Guess who ain’t sleeping tonight or probably till at least 2025.
Although it wasn’t that bad. Once you shake off the David Attenborough-esque sounding demon dropping C-bombs like I drop mozzarella on everything, and the blood-riddled spew infested, crucifix-peddling demon of a child, and the knifes and the blood and the death, it’s really quite pleasant viewing.
The last performance I went to see produced by Bill Kenwright was Saturday Night Fever, where all I wanted to put on was my BA BA BA BA BA boogie shoes. But when I seen The Exorcist, all I wanted to put on was my run like duck shoes. Quack.
The Exorcist on stage was waaaaay better than what I thought it would be. It was also flippin’ weird in like several different ways. But I won’t spoil it for you, go and see it for yourself, if you dare. Book here.