Rules on Bodyguard: The Musical. I’m serious.
RULE
NUMBER ONE: Everybody who wishes to see Bodyguard:
The Musical must take The Bodyguard Appreciation Test. Full marks must be
obtained for a pass. Those who pass will be allowed entrance into the theatre as
part of a maximum of two. Discussion amongst these two people will be limited
to hushed whispers of reverential admiration. Groups of people will not be
permitted and must instead apply for Mamma Mia! tickets.*
*Demographics unable to apply for The Bodyguard
Appreciation Test include Straight Men, who apparently have not learnt that the
theatre is not the woods- noisy consumption of sweets with wrappers is
unacceptable- and Foreign Women, who have a tendency to sing along WITH THE
WRONG WORDS. Also unacceptable.
RULE
NUMBER TWO: Watching the performance through the camera of your iPhone means
that you will be escorted out of the theatre to find your fucking sense, you
cultureless oaf. Who wants to see your Earlybird-filtered
blurry stages shots and your shaky footage of All the Man I Need? Did you really pay £75 to sit five rows back
from the stage so that you could put your phone between you and the action? Get
out.
RULE
NUMBER THREE: This is not GCSE drama. The genius of The Bodyguard as a film is
that Whitney Houston’s sister is forever in the background; an almost unremarkable
character. That is why, when it is finally revealed to be her behind the
assassination attempts on The Voice, it is all the more chilling. She feels
unworthy, unappreciated, un-noticed- that’s why she tries to pop off her
sister. THE AUDIENCE BARELY EVEN NOTICES HER UNTIL THAT POINT, and that’s why
we get all damn, bitch got a point: who
is she again?
The
stage production does lots of one-sister-on-one-side-of-the-stage-and-the-other-sister-singing-on-the-other-side-of-the-stage
action, with the (frankly very poor) Kevin Costner substitute in the middle.
It’s like having the writer sat next to us, poking our ribs and saying over and
over again do you get it? Do you get that
they are conflicted? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE PAIN THAT THEY WANT THE SAME MAN?
Leaving
the audience sore and bruised is in direct violation of Good Stage Adaptations.
Give us some intellectual credit. This is, after all, The Bodyguard, not The Cherry
Orchard.
RULE
NUMBER FOUR: Having sex in the box is forbidden. And, should you have sex in
the box, it will be required that you do this quietly. The man in row T
reserves the right to shout up at you to, and I quote, “shut the fuck up you guys in the top box,” without reproach, should
this rule be ignored. Yelling, mid-bonk, that, “NO, IF YOU DON’T FUCKING SHUT
UP I’M GOING TO COME DOWN THERE AND FUCKING TAKE YOU OUT,” is not only
distracting for those of us trying to enjoy the overly-produced, simplified,
and largely sacrilegious production, but also impolite. Have some manners. And
wear a condom.
Incidences
of this kind will be held on record as evidence that straight men should not be
eligible for the Bodyguard Appreciation Test. They are, quite frankly, unworthy.
But also, for the record, bravo Man
In Row T for speaking up and getting the horny couple thrown out. They
definitely failed the test. You can stay.
Also:
yup. This actually happened.
RULE
NUMBER FIVE: No bullying wives. I get it, guys. You came down on a coach trip
from Peterborough and you spent the day making your begrudging other half hold
your handbags and pass comment on which Per
Una skirt they prefer more, the taupe or the puce. By 9.45 p.m. they are
tired, and really just want to get back because Pete mentioned that there are
works on the M1. But goddamnit, you brought them here, so take some
responsibility for them. Exaggerated yawning, finger-tapping, and leg stretching
will not be tolerated, but bless them, they’ve tried their best. The blame
then, lies squarely on your WI club.
RULE
NUMBER SIX: Don’t mess with the music. The whole magic of the film- aside from
that BRILLIANT moment where Whitney says, all breathy and quasi-seductive,
‘A bodyguard must know very little
peace,’ before Kevin ruins a perfectly good silk scarf- is that I Will Always Love You is the final
song. It’s sad, a song “about somebody always leaving somebody.” The Bodyguard
is storytelling gold because there is no resolution except the resolution that
sometimes love isn’t enough to keep people together. Sometimes sister-killers
and one night stands and ten year-old sons and underlying attachment issues are
everything that stands between you and happiness, and ain’t squat to be done
about it.
Therefore,
ending the show on a note made all the more poignant by that epic key change is
TOTALLY UNDONE when the encore is a rousing rendition of Wanna Dance With Somebody where you make everybody actually dance.
There should be no dancing at the end of The Bodyguard. There should only be
sad, single tears, and wistful staring into the distance.
These
are the rules.
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