Joseph O. Patton: The Night they drove the Alabama Shakespeare Festival down

  Throughout a quarter of a century, I’ve experienced innumerable fond moments attending productions at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. And the glimmer never fades. When the lights start to dim on the Festival Stage or the Octagon, I’m always filled with an unbridled sense of excitement typically only felt on Christmas morning… or during the Iron Bowl. From the higher-brow flourishes of a Shakespearian work to a more down to earth offering such as, “Always… Patsy Cline,” I’ve never walked out of those Zeus-sized doors with any hint of disappointment in tow. Until “Menopause The Musical” came along….

  When ASF “staged” the production I was mortified to witness it, even more so because I was foolish enough to pay for it. Not because I’m some insufferable theatre snob but because the so-called play is simply awful. Want a synopsis? Hold on to your box seats! A group of women sing pilfered pop songs in which the lyrics have been bastardized and supplanted with sophomoric references to menopause symptoms. It’s like Beavis and Butthead for women experiencing hot flashes. And after the 37th reference to night sweats and cranky hormones, the awkward attempts at humor fade just a wee bit. Onto my description of the plot itself: There isn’t one. Each song is shallowly strung together by bits of vapid dialogue. Curtain.