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Tag Archives: cat on a hot tin roof

Undoubtedly, when BUNA clambers into the company Yugo and heads for the local cinema in the ‘hood, we expect, nay, we demand to have a fully interactive audience. Call-and-response is not lost on us. Horror movie? Shouts of “run, bitch” better ring from the rafters like a rousing chorus of “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” on Juneteenth.

But when we pay upwards of £30 for tickets to see, not one, not two, but THREE of Black America’s best and brightest trod the boards, directed by another of Black America’s luminaries in London’s typically lilywhite West End BLACK FOLKS NEED TO LEARN TO SHUT THE HELL UP.

Does my ticket say, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof…Location: Teron and Teshawn’s Living Room?” No, it says “You are in a public space, so stop talking because you are not cute, unwrap your loud-ass candy at the intermission, and turn your phone off.” Nothing like a little T.I. ringtone interlude to break the mood.

It was some straight-up, country-ass Bumbleton Green behavior from black folks. Granted, black communities are rarely served well by the West End Productions, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have some inkling of how to act like we got some kinda hometraining.

And when you have James Earl Jones, Phylicia Rashad, and Sanaa Lathan directed by Debbie Allen, you want absolute, pin-drop silence. That’s what BUNA gets for being cheap and sitting in the nosebleed seats.

Relocation to the view obstructed seats might not have allowed us to catch every swish of Miss Lathan’s hips nor Mrs Rashad’s expressive demeanor, but Mr JEJ’s voice absolutely filled the space, so all was eventually good and we will return for another viewing…in the most expensive seats possible.