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Free alcohol blocks the entrance of the Stables Theatre. Chattering drunks move, mill and mull like horses ready to stud and make expensively cheap glue. Women, men, all the same. Plastic cups in hand, they watch each other's eyes turn pink and flush their systems with copious amounts of ghostless spirits.
People collecting tickets best watch out for the women with overbearing breasts and men with cock-forth crotches; eager to rise concern, slow in allowing passage to the box office. Anything that comes between them, the liquor and the floor are bound for stares of contempt.
Xylophone frenzy warns those stuck in the box office queue that the show will be on within a few minutes. High note beats back against a low note and the one-upping seems to hold on to a little pea of crazy. Effeminate-man walks along asking for pre-paids to hand out tickets to and spills a lie about the good seats still on offer for the unfortunates saddled with being last in line. Their seats are directly opposite on the other side of the mezzanine, looking down into a pit of round tables filled with drinks and grey-haired people. Turtle-woman at one of the tables below sets the scene for the night with a freakishly disproportionate head against a large body. Estimated age for the night is a generous 54.
Directly opposite the ukulele-shaped stage, a man tries on and wears a French-styled accent for the night. "Presenting for you, The Burlesque Hour…"
Rest of the review of The Burlesque Hour - The Studio, Sydney Opera House - 02/11/04
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