Sweeney Todd

All posts tagged Sweeney Todd

My Pens: A Writer’s Confession

Published June 7, 2012 by Kristin

Brahms’ Lullaby plays, fading into—

Bert: Good evening and welcome to this hour of “Mother Goose Children’s Theatre,” bringing you safe theatre for your bedtime stories.

Not Goldilocks’ favorite animal

Which is like taking Goldilocks on a hunting trip in the woods. I’m your host, Bertolt Brahms.

Today, Sweeney Todd announced his retirement. No longer a barber, he has decided to write his autobiography entitled, “Sweeney Todd: the Poet Writer of Yeats Street.”

Tonight, our broadcast will only include the prologue to this book, which you can pick up at your nearest bookstore. Each book includes an autographed fountain pen.

Such sweet selection!

And now, the prologue–“My Pens.”

These are my pens.

I’ll them now christen.

They will be mine

With my name scratched in white.

My pen.

My faithful pen.

Speak to me pen.

Whisper… I’ll listen.

I know I’ll write

In the dead of the night

Till you ache, like me

My pen…

Sleek and shiny

Well I’ve come home

To bring you paper.

Home,

And we’re together.

And we’ll do wonders

Won’t we?

You there, my pen.

You there, my pen,

Come let me hold you.

Now, with a sigh,

All the ink starts to warm.

My pen!

My clever pen…

Drip raven…onyx

Rest now, my pens.

Soon I will use you.

Soon you’ll bleed inkspots

All over the page

Till it’s done,

My manic pens…

Till now your ink

Was merely blackened.

Pens…

You shall drip onyx,

You’ll soon drip raven…onyx.

Completed arm!

AT LAST MY ARM IN COMPLETE AGAIN!

Pie with Augusto Rickman

Published December 10, 2011 by Kristin

Brahms’ Lullaby plays, fading into—

Bert: Good evening and welcome to this hour of “Mother Goose Children’s Theatre,” bringing you safe theatre for your bedtime stories. Which is like taking your Cabbage Patch doll to see the Chucky movies. I’m your host, Bertolt Brahms.

First, a recap of this week. Last Thursday was Thanksgiving Day, and I trust everyone spent the day in arrogant defiance of PETA, eating turkey to your heart’s content. Either way, the turkeys’ hearts are content. One of the greatest Thanksgiving traditions is to eat lots of pie.

English: A slice of homemade Thanksgiving pump...

Safe pie. Not like Mrs. Lovett's or Mrs. Tweedy's.

Pumpkin Pie, Apple Pie, Blackberry Pie…and if you’re from Pennsylvania—Shoofly Pie. I sat down with my colleague, Augusto Rickman, and we shared pumpkin pie while discussing what to write for the next “Mother Goose.” Our conversation went something like this:

Augusto: Well, Bertolt Brahms, what are we going to write? Something snide, I hope.

Bert: This is “Mother Goose,” Augusto Rickman, not Harry Potter.

Augusto: Snap.

Bert: I’m thinking something lighter. You know—like Hogan’s Heroes.

Augusto: Could be appealing. But the masses tend to like the dark side of things. Like Sweeney Todd.

Bert: Ah, but we must think of the children listening to this show. No. No—adventure is more appropriate. Perhaps The Great Escape?

Augusto: That’d be cooler than Hogan’s Heroes, at least.

Bert: Or a combination of all three. Hogan’s Heroes, Sweeney Todd, The Great Escape.

Augusto: Already been done. Called Chicken Run.

Bert: (back to listening audience) After that, the idea seemed about appealing as the Pumpkin Pie in our hands. We eventually hacked out a script.

Bert: BBC announced a new miniseries to rival the still-popular American series, “The Sopranos.” Here’s the synopsis by creator Eugene Chase.

Little Miss Martin

Sat on a carton.

Drinking her English Tea.

Along came a gangster

Who didn’t stop to thanks her

But said, “a, b, c, d, e, f, g!”

Following the rise in popularity of fairy tales made into movies, such as Red Riding Hood, Beastly, and Snow White and the Huntsman, Hollywood has decided to release a new version of Peter Pan with a twist:

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater

Had a Wendy, couldn’t keep her.

Holy? Rough? It was neater

To keep the Deadly, Immediate theater.

Special surprise guests today for our Mystery History Moment. Listen carefully, kids, and when you’ve figured out the time period, give us a call to win that prize.

Simple Simon met a Pieman,

On a London Street.

Says Simple Simon to the Pieman,

“Let me taste a treat.”

Says the Pieman to Simple Simon,

“These pies are made of meat.”

Says Simple Simon to the Pieman,

“Smells funny in the heat.”

Simple Simon stayed that day

He had no sense of timin’

And what became of Simple Simon

The Pieman would not say.

Bert: Spotlight on Shakespeare this week.

List of titles of works based on Shakespearean...

Image via Wikipedia

Johnson and Johnson and the Gerber Baby bring you today’s episode, The Comedy of Errors—adapted by myself –for your listening pleasure.

Duke: Ya money or ya life, Aegeon!

Aegeon: But Duke, it was a dark and stormy night, years ago. My wife was worried. My kids were crying. I had to sing them to sleep.

Duke: What’d ya sing them?

Aegeon: “Oh your Daddy’s rich,

And your Mamma’s good-lookin.

So, hush little babies, don’ you cry.”

Duke: Did ya think it would work?

Aegeon: Woulda been a miracle. Alas and alack, no. Ship wrecked. Family split.

Duke: Well, ya got 24 hours to find them or the money. Just 24 though. Hey, we should film this—take Kiefer Sutherland along.

Aegeon: Ok.

Bert: As Aegeon was pleading for his life, his four sons arrived in the very same town. Well, two were his sons. But before you think less of his wife, let me explain that the other two were adopted. All of them were born on the same day, see. And if quadruplets isn’t a terror, I don’t know what is. But back to today. All four sons arrive in the same town. The tricky part is that two of them have one name, and the other two have another name. What were the parents smoking? Cigarettes in class, no doubt. One Dromio is servant to one Antipholus. The same with the second set. But poor Adriana. She’s the wife of Antipholus. The one from Ephesus. But she thinks it’s the one from Syracuse. But Syracuse was playing against Pittsburg, needing a win to be eligible to play in a bowl game. The coach says he will continue to oppress the players to go for the Boal.

Adriana: Antipholus!

Bert: You see? All Adriana does is scream at Antipholus. And Dromio. And Dromio. And Antipholus. Whatever. I mean, if Antipholusisusisus’ wife and the kids’ mom and pop can’t keep them straight, how in Shakespeare’s name am I supposed to keep them straight? Pardon my Latin. The confusion continues:

Antipholus: I beat you up.

Dromio: No, I beat you up.

Antipholus: No, I beat him up.

Dromio: No, he beat me up.

Bert: …until a woman wearing a beekeeper’s hat suddenly sees Aegeon and realizes he’s her long-lost husband. The boys, of course, are their sons.

Aegeon: Antipholus!

Wife: Antipholus!

Aegeon: Antipholus!

Wife: Antipholus!

Aegeon: Dromio!

Wife: Dromio!

Aegeon: Dromio!

Wife: Dromio!

Aegeon: Did we get them all?

Duke: Hey, let’s all celebrate! Tell ya what, don’t worry none ‘bout that “money or ya life” deal.

Bert: At the reunion celebration, white elephant gifts were exchanged. Aegeon and the Beekeeper Hat Lady received Lip Smackers chap stick, and all four sons received chains—either jewelry or irons—hard to say which. The end.

Last for tonight, a lullaby. Sweet Dreams!

Hush-a-bye, babies, in theatres,

When you start crying, actors get worse.

They’re so unfocused, that when there’s noise,

They start using language, and lose their poise.