Yes, I was aware it was very well-received in SF! Hence my excitement when it was announced that it would come to NY.
Yeah I don’t know exactly what they cut, only that a lot was cut, and that the show I saw was so… bare… it just seemed very stripped down. Sets and things were not so glamorous, the singing seemed kind of limited in a way… I think there is a recording of the SF show somewhere on youtube, I should watch it for comparison.
Fortunately garama must have seen it, bc he did some fanart that was directly inspired by the musical:
ooc; Some of the songs from both the San Francisco version and the New York one are on Youtube.
Embrace It is the best thing to happen to this fandom on stage. Seriously. It is exactly 100% Louis and Lestat’s relationship.
Right Before My Eyes – Hugh Panaro – This was added for the NY version and it’s Stat pining for Nicki and trying to decide whether to give him the blood/reveal himself and it’s amazing. Also this version is very sweet and Hugh is awesome. (There is some talking before, but this is at a charity event.)
Lestat here. This question comes from Vicki Golightly: “I have never read the books but I have heard so much about them and yes I do have a question, how were you created and do you have a soul?” — Vicki, if you mean how was I created as a vampire, the process was simple. I was kidnapped by an older vampire named Magnus, taken by force to his tower outside of Paris, and there made a vampire through an exchange of blood. Magnus drained me to the point of death and had I not drunk his powerful blood after that, I would have died. Well, I drank it. And I became a vampire like him. This is how it is done with our species; the human is drained and then infused with the maker’s blood. And yes, I most certainly do have a soul — as surely as any human being has a soul. I define soul as that invisible and conscious part of myself which may or may not survive biological death. And I am certain I have one; I am certain that all human beings have souls. And very likely some non-human beings have souls as well. But this soul question is a matter of faith. I can tell you for certain that I have a conscience, and it is a very human conscience, though I do not always listen to it by any means. —- Vicki, thanks again for your question. —- I’ll be back later today with more answers.
Leave "Nightmare" in my askbox
dont-send-memes-here:
And I’ll generator a nightmare my character has with yours in it. Numbers range between 1- 16.
Read More
4. Your character is trapped somewhere and mine can’t save them, try as they may.
Nicolas knew only that he was running.
Around him were the streets of Paris, but it was not Paris, it was the Auvergne as well—twisted little roads and back alleyways: sometimes the walls of the buildings were tall, sometimes they were the smaller buildings of the village where he had grown up. He run through puddles and mud, alternating between straw-strewn hard-packed earth and the cobblestones of their adopted city.
He stopped. Before him was the castle of the Marquis—or was it the Palais du Louvre?—the aging stones offering no solace to the anxiety that pumped through his body, the fear that shook his fingertips.
He yelled something unintelligible that was carried away in the wind. His hands closed into fists, beating at the ancient wooden doors that barred his way.
Then the screaming began.
He could hear the cries and knew immediately (in the way one always does in dreams) that they were Lestat’s. The panic rose in his chest as he beat the door harder, kicking against it with his boots and crying out to be allowed entrance. The screams grew in volume, sometimes tapering out into a groan, sometimes cutting out completely, as though they’d been shut up with the crack of a fist meeting a jaw.
He was crying now—the door would not budge, and no one was heeding his cries to open it, open it please! He leaned his cheek against the wood, sobbing, his fists beating ineffectually against that barrier. If he could only get in, if he could get past those terrible creatures that were the de Lioncourt sons, if he could burst into that dungeon room, that oubliette of sorrow where he knew they took him to beat him—then he might be able to help him, to cover Lestat’s body with his own, to take the whippings and beatings for him.
But he could not he could not he could not and he would never be able to save Lestat from the biggest monster, that terrible, dark, hulking force that lived within those walls and took him at will that tortured him and petted him and warped his mind until all Lestat had was a fractured memory and a broken soul.
When Nicolas awoke in his bed in San Francisco, he was weeping, the blood tears streaming down his face.
I-want-my-IWTV 