i've always wanted to witness an art riot. not so much like the rioting against the jyllands-posten cartoons, where things are blown up and people get head wounds, but any of the more sedate classical music riots would do: benvenuto cellini, salomé, parade, ballet mécanique, chansons madécasses, the rites of spring. events where people rushed the stage, fists clamped over their offended ears and attacked the performers with handbags and produce. alas rioting is a rarity in modern life, so i had yet to fulfill my dream. until yesterday.
croftie and i went to see the devil wears prada. we went to the theater we've come to love for it's matinee prices and more mature clientele. due to screwy orgazination and the unforseen incredible popularity of this film among the old folks crowd (are they whiling away retirement reading gawker and cursing anna wintour?) there was some line around the block business.
this quickly devolved into a volatile situation when the outside ticket booth was opened and the front-of-the-liners were flanked by the caboose. there was much banging on the manager's door and whining of "this just isn't fair." one older woman berrated her even older female friend (who was rocking an adorable black suit, red purse, black cane combo that made us wish she was our friend) for not getting a ticket earlier. we wanted to hug the immactulately dressed berrated one and ask where she shops.
croftie and i had a backup plan so we were nonplussed. we got tickets and went to the theater, where we were greeted by a haughty, red-faced woman who muttered, "good luck finding seats!" luck must have been with us because we did indeed find seats. we watched previews. the sound flickered off and the film ran silent for a moment and we giggled as the complaining commenced. the film returned and it was a grand little chick flick nothing like the book and that was that.
this is honestly the closest i've ever come to an art riot. and i think it does qualify. it was not so much a riot brought on by art, but a riotous atmosphere created by a dire, frightful need to see art, namely meryl streep and a parade of couture. croftie and i were perfectly willing to settle for the lake house, but nothing but the devil would do for these people. they were going to see the devil or there would be hell to pay. and on a sunday too. for shame.