PARODY? PASTICHE? OR PERHAPS JUST PLAIN PASTIES . . .

I woke up Saturday morning not feeling so great. No, it wasn't the booze, though the lime-pink lemonade-rum punch did leave me feeling a little icky, more from the sugar I think than anything.

No, this was a Perky Boob Hangover. Too many perky boobs seen in rapid succession on an empty stomach, (theirs, not mine), is never a good idea.


We'd gone to Spielpalast Cabaret, and I have to say it was not what I'd expected.
In some ways it exceeded my hopes: a juggling act approaching genius more than clownishness, an operatic song and ballet worthy of the Met, and some satirical numbers that were original, funny, and thought-provoking.

Unfortunately, these moments were interspersed between long and not always well-edited numbers seemed designed solely to highlight the lovely assets of the women of the cabaret. Now, a certain amount of tits and ass is to be expected here, and indeed welcomed. I'm no prude - I appreciate the beauty of a woman's body. In fact, I appreciate the beauty of all different sorts of bodies, and would have welcomed a much wider range than was presented.

As perfectly-toned asses were wiggled in the audiences faces, high-heel sculpted legs were paraded around without benefit of heads or indeed torsos, and most all speaking roles were performed by men, I found myself wondering, where is the parody here? Where is the satire? Exploitation by any other name still smells as foul.

In one particularly tired repartee of sexist folly, a skit in which a sexy female robot is presented to a couple, much to the wife's chagrin and the husbands just plain grin, a skit which started out quite funny I might add, in the end dissolved into a girl-fight and then, of course, girl-love.



I'm tired of the cliche of girl on girl for the amusement of men. I'm tired of women being used as amusement, period.

Looking around at the faces of women nearby, I gathered I wasn't alone.

From what I hear this tending towards misogyny is a new trend; Spielpalast used to offer a larger variety of body types and even skin-tones. They used to provide more satire and political humor, less titty-waggling and unabashed wriggling.

It's interesting that they've slid into the mold of societal expectations that they're supposedly rebelling against, isn't it? Is it a conscious choice; are they trying to be more traditional and less innovative? Or is it the subconscious pressures of society working small scale?

In any case, I hope they are noticing it. I hope they noticed the faces of the women in the audience, when they pulled their chairs around and stared, in a Dada-ist move, at the audience that they then mocked, both openly and maybe not so. I hope they noticed the women's faces then, in the yellow glow of light bouncing off the stage, confused and somewhat hurt at the parody of their bodies, their minds, their role in society.

I hope that they looked then, and not just when the house lights went up later, and we women in the audience gathered up our purses and our two dollar matches and did our best to, as society tells us, put on a happy face.