Why the Royal Court is Evil

Fuck the Royal Court. Specifically the filth that is the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs. This has to be the most obnoxious theatre ever constructed. I despise bad theatre, yes, but worse I despise when theatre has no choice but to be bad.

Jerwood, fuck you.

This SLT has had enough.

I’m in the balcony sitting in seat C4 (ironically the name of the explosive I wouldn’t mind using on this piss-hole of a place) and the action begins. I’m staring down into a fucking BOX, and a third of this fucking BOX I cannot fucking see. Oh, that’s fine. I must have paid less. I should only see in proportion to how I pay. And only hear in such proportion. And only be treated in such proportion. And, oh, I didn't pay the lowest price, but that's okay - my being fucked should be a chance affair, yes Jerwood, you shallow prick? So the actor’s fucking HEAD leaves my line of sight. Oh, that’s fine, Jerwood you snivelling snob, I don’t mind. Hey, while you’re upstage why don’t I just step outside and smoke a joint? I MUST be a poor narrow-minded STUDENT, which is why I couldn’t possibly comprehend the whole of the marvellous spectacle that you are masturbating onto that wonderful square fucking stage, so I would probably rather just drink and smoke and play with my dong anyways. Right, Jerwood? You reckon?

So I’ll go outside for about, say, five minutes? Or hey, better yet, when you’re ready for me again, when you're back in view, why don’t you just ring a FUCKING BELL like I am FUCKING CATTLE to tell me I can now see the FUCKING SHOW again?

Wouldn’t that be dandy?

Fuck you, Jerwood.

You know, worse than you’re fucking sightlines – no, ‘sightlines’, that word gives you too much credit. Worse than your ignorant, contemptuous, despicable, slimy fucking egregious shit-square-mindless-Nike-bag of a fucking design, worse than that is the box itself. To think you think that this is a fucking forum for thoughtful playwriting, to think that you think that this is the model structure for provocative fucking theatre – that is all the worse, Jerwood, you fucking bag of dirt. Let that disgusting stray cat from the tube that’s humping the soup containers in your back alley piss on that bag of dirt.

Fuck you, Jerwood.

Oh, wait, I apologise. I just remembered: yours is the theatre that places the playwright at the centre of the theatrical experience. Shit! Well, if that’s the case why don’t you just remove all of us stupid mindless to-be-educated sewer-dwellers and replace the whole fucking auditorium with a gigantic fucking THRONE surrounded by silk pillows and fancy golden chandaliers and fucking custard-built-sculptures with ice crystals for your glorious fucking playwrights to collapse their fat, lazy, self-centred scarf-wearing self-indulgent fucking pimple-covered asses on, and before you do please let me know so I can come in and make sure that fucking scarf is really fucking tight. Wouldn’t want our fucking playwright voices of the future being cold in the theatre that is dedicated to their joyous upheaval of craft. Wouldn’t want their fucking revolution tainted by some snot-blowing (nasal voice) audience member. Yeah, this is the people’s theatre, man! And the people can watch from cages beneath the pit, hey Jerwood? This is where we get to be spewed on, and it is mighty velvet royal spew it is!

Fuck you, Jerwood.

See, I respect a playwright who wants his show in a fucking box. I do. I hereby remove the word “fucking” which prefaces “box” in that context to show my appreciation, understanding and love. My issue with you, you fucking worthless lunatic, is that you are a gigantic fucking WALL. You’re a BARRIER. You’re IN THE WAY. You are not the fucking VEHICLE, you are the DELIVERABLE. You are not the PROCESS, you are the PRODUCT, and a real plastic two-pence child-labour product at that. See, you don’t just provide the opportunity for certain theatre, you are the template for it. And templates are pretty much a way of saying to the audience whom…I don’t know…allow you to FUCKING EXIST: “Fuck you”.

Yeah, well fuck you too, Jerwood. You’re a real asshole. This is acid I spit on you and it’s going to drip down into your two-dimensional cardboard soul. And it’s going to continue to be dripped until you break that fucking box and have a little fucking respect for the people who make your sad, petty, bourgeois theatre possible. I’m going to continue to pour acid on you until you take that fucking roof off, and let me watch the fucking show like the rest of the mob you’ve herded into your dynastic rathole.

Oh, and to anyone who disagrees with me, to anyone who has a different point of view, to anyone who has benefited from Jerwood – Fuck you too.

Let me know when you're back in view. Til then I'll be outside.

Peace the fuck out.