The Overture

Alexander Frasse

The first time I heard Tchaikovsky’s “1812: Overture” was as a six-foot f**king rat. July fourth of ’96, good old Pyotr blaring from the public speakers as the merry-go-round operator sits stage left smoking a joint and two teenagers are apprehended for throwing sodas at the go-karters. This is where the magic lives, begin the cacophony. Right about the time Prince Charming is pinching the ass of some lucky 14-year-old, I’m staring through my cellophane eyes into a camera, watching my reflection hold the shoulders of a blank-faced little girl. Start with the overture, can you hear the strings?

“Smile!” says the fat man with the camera standing center-stage. The trophy wife beside him rolls her eyes.

“Stop shaking it Vernan, you’ll ruin the picture,” she says.

“Shut up Meredith! I know what I’m doing.”

This is where dreams come true; cue the brass.

“Don’t you talk to me like that,” says the wife. The husband swears under his breath as he tweaks the plastic ears on his head. He adjusts the camera lens, zooms and focuses. Ease into the diminuendo.
“Smile, honey” says the man. I watch the reflection of tears start to huddle around her eyes. “Honey, I said smile!” Listen closely. “Smile dammit!” There’s the marcato.

“Vernan!” yells the wife. My thick white, wool-knit hands start to move with the trembling chest of a very sad little girl. I hold her closer. The scene slowly escalates and people stop by to watch the show. It’s your average sitcom without the laugh track; here comes the crescendo. A crowd is drawn in as the echo of “f**ks,” “bitches” and “cunts” rings across the park. This is where friends share the magic. Stage right, two security guards enter.

A swift morendo and a woman with a bruised eye and a sobbing child at hand are escorted out of the park. An officer exits back stage with a reluctant chauvinist and the crowd soon disperses, as everyone goes back to their own lives. The merry-go-round operator lights another spliff while Prince Charming scampers after some lucky teenager and two punks are trying to sneak back into the park. I sit center-stage with the biggest f**king smile on my plastic face. Welcome to the happiest place on earth; Al niente.