My Beautiful Wolf Killer

Lestat

Well, I wondered to myself, "It was written by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, how bad could it be?"

Ummmmmm.

Bad. Bad beyond words. Not "so bad it's good" (think "Showgirls"), but BAAAAAAD. Walk-out-after-20-minutes bad. Now, usually, we are ready to call things we don't like "bad." Generally, what we really mean is, "I don't like it."

J's friend, who gave us the tickets had advised, "smoke a joint before you go." Never was advice more appropriate.

I couldn't help it. Usually I am able to maintain decorum in public situations like this. When something is this bad, usually I can maintain a merely horrified silence. But this time, oh my lord.

Stifling our guffaws with our hands over our mouths, we bolted for the door at about the same time as Lestat's "conversion" to vampire, when the other character whispered, complete with silent-movie vamping and eye-rolling, the line that you see as the title of this post.

"My beautiful wolf killer."

In the back of my mind, I then heard Meatloaf say, "On a hot summer night, would you give your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"

"yesss."

We burst onto Broadway where our rude laughter was lost in the general bedlam of Times Square on a Friday night.