It may be time I faced facts about my . . . preferences. The other night I saw the Lookingglass’s revival of The Arabian Nights. When they got to the story about the epic fart, I surprised myself by laughing my ass off. Before that I’d seen Theater Oobleck’s Strauss at Midnight, which revels in sophomoric provocations like depicting a famous U. of C. philosopher as a dog. In hell. Delightful. Now there’s 500 Clown’s 500 Clown and the Elephant Deal: insane slapstick, reckless forays into the audience, and Molly Brennan as Madame Barker, the salty, corseted mistress of ceremonies, whose signature tune, “My Love Is Coming to Your Town to Kick Your Ass,” would be a hit at the piano bar in a biker dive. Loved it. Evidently I’m not quite the aesthete I thought I was.
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Not that I couldn’t go on fooling myself. Like the other two shows, 500 Clown and the Elephant Deal is an incredibly smart piece of work. Let’s just say that gross jokes and knock-down shtick are part of its sophisticated theatrical vocabulary.
Hand guns—the kind with fingers for barrels—are brandished. Shank squares off against his former pal Bruce; the ensuing fight has to be one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever laughed at. A common circus bit—where one performer is held upside down by his partner and they go head-over-heels with each other—becomes a vision of apocalypse in microcosm when Shank and Bruce do it, at once mutually dependent and warring.
