Do Creepy Clown lives matter? That’s what I heard this morning on a radio talk show having fun with the issue.
This latest media storm is becoming fodder for late night TV comedians. It’s also no laughing matter for our struggling big tops, unless some really smart circus can spoof its own jesters into a new kind of merry mayhem. Ringling, you’ve tried outer space. What say, a trip to the asylum for retired clowns on parole? Bring on the Scariest Show on Earth!
Creepy clown sightings are spreading like a visiting virus Another gift of social media, the demented darlings are rattling news wires, stalking schoolyards, scaring kids half to death. But what a nice diversion from that political circus going on all around us. Maybe Lady Hillary or Lord Donald will show up at the next debate in gory greasepaint, or is that what they are already wearing? (shhh! Think Hillary's laugh, kids ...)
Pity the well-intended circus clown: If this creepy movement isn’t reason enough for all circuses to ban traditional jester makeup in favor of the harmless red nose, (okay, to be extra safe, a pink one) I don’t know what is. More and more adults are outing their own fear of funny faces. No longer something to hide from. Simon Cowell on America’s Got Talent, for one. Just another nail in the coffin of our sadly beleaguered big tops.
P.T. Barnum once said that "clowns are the pegs on which the circus is hung." Well, these days, they may be hanging it — literally
To be based upon Dean N. Jensen’s 2013 book Queen of the Air, and I can’t wait. Yes, I might have said that before another film, Water for Elephants, came out, but I’d not yet read the wretchedly brutal book from which the latter was faithfully adapted.
Can Queen of the Air achieve what all other circus flicks have failed to do: Mine cinematic gold from genuine big top history? Film Makers and documentarians have long shunned compelling subject matter staring them in the face: I’m thinking the towering figure of reckless circus king John Ringling, who lived a colorful and ultimately tragic life, and I’ve thought of Leitzel and Codona, and of course of the catastrophic Hartford fire, not to mention its genesis in a fractious war among Ringling heirs for control of the circus.
What do we usually get from Hollywood? Of late, Water. I mean, tell me, please, was there ever a circus as thoroughly sadistic as that one? As improbably untrue to any semblance of tent show history, then, before or now?
Another Cirque du Fizzle? The company’s ill-reviewed New York stage show, Paramour, closed down quietly for a few days in late Auguest to reivse script in reponse to public feedback, some fans wanting “more acrobatics earlier in the show during the exposition,” others hungering for more meat on the bones of an empty-headed plot. Post revamping, the altered Paramour is enduring ticket sales still ranging from pretty good to ominously stagnant, hovering too often in the 65% range. I still think they have a chance.
Will the eggheads on the lot ever learn? When I came across a New York Times review of two new stage shows, headlined “Identify Crisis: Theatre Productions That Refuse to be Theater,” I thought of how well it applies to circuses refusing to be circuses.
Chase a creepy clown into a panic. Pray for a great circus flick from the great Warner Bros. And buy a vinyl record on me!