Where is the Scarecrow's Brain?

The Great Plotnik will admit that although he was on hand for the World Premiere of "War Music" the night before last at A.C.T., he waited for The Witt's review in this morning's Fish Wrap before he posted his own review. Plottie is starting to wonder about himself -- is anything overly intellectual bound to bore him to tears? Does he secretly long for another "Annie?" Perhaps The Witt would see through to the inner essence of the Trojan War, because by the middle of Act Two, that person sleeping in Plot's now half-empty row looked a lot like him.

Nope. The little man remains in his chair asleep and it could have been worse. You can read the San Francisco Theater Blog Review of "War Music" here, but you'd better bring a scorecard and sneak in some nectar.

It's fantastic to have major World Premieres in Saint Plotniko and The Great Plotnik is always excited to attend them. Premieres are just what they say -- first shots. They're not always terrific and great companies usually figure out how to resolve a show's problems. A.C.T. won't be able to do it this round, but "War Music" may have a sunnier future somewhere down the line. They could sure use a live orchestra, though. A hit song wouldn't hurt.

More important than that, we're looking at the world's ten trillionth dramatization of Homer's "Iliad." So it's not exactly new -- Homer was writing in the 8th Century BC, for Zeus's Sake, and described events that took place half a millennium earlier.

Which is to say, not long after the Jews escaped from Egypt. The Greeks invading Troy to recapture Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, is a 'way better story. And you can eat a pork-and-shrimp sandwich while you watch.

But we've read the books, we've seen the movies, we know how The Trojan War comes out. So we need characters who are larger than life. Rene Augesen is fabulous but Helen should be Liv Tyler. Agamemnon should be Mike Tyson. If Achilles is going to be that gay, let him wear a diva's red velvet jockstrap. As far as Paris goes, do something or stay in France.

It might still be Plotnik, though. He feels like Dorothy's scarecrow. Where is his brain these days?