Saturday, December 5, 2009

Flop Sweater

Glenn Beck’s live show, The Christmas Sweater, is not doing very well.

Beck sold only 17 tickets in Boston, another 17 in New York, and just 30 in Washington, DC. Raw Story reports that, while sales were better in more conservative areas, even Seattle — which is near Beck’s hometown — couldn’t muster a strong crowd:”While it performed better in the south and in rural, more conservative areas, his ability to draw viewers in major US markets was a bust.

“The theater’s almost empty,” a representative at Regal Cinemas in Manhattan told Raw Story moments before it began.

The viewing in Lynnwood, WA — the closest one to Beck’s Mount Vernon hometown — sold out several hours before the show began. Ten miles south, 70 out of 415 seats had been snagged in Seattle, a better turnout than other cities.”

Via Space Cowboy at Shakesville, here’s a review of the show itself:

The Christmas Sweater may seem to be the same kind of run-of-the-mill holiday tale of redemption and hope that we see every year about this time. But considering that the climax involves right-wing talk-show host Glenn Beck, in the guise of a 12 year old version of himself, crying on the stage floor in the fetal position while a large black woman sings hymns to him, I think it might leave viewers with a few more questions than the usual family fare. […]

The bulk of the evening consists solely of Glenn Beck acting out every role in his hokey story, with only his limited repertoire of accents and pantomime filling out the ‘cast’. Sure, there are a few TV’s behind him on stage, but they only show, at the most, ten or twelve still photos the entire time. And they couldn’t even get that right. Despite only needing a few sound effects, I counted several missed cues, and near the end, Beck talks to the wrong camera for a solid minute. I’m at a loss as to how someone so media-savvy could put out something so aggressively half-ass.

It’s not clear from the review if the title refers to an article of clothing or the actor himself, but it sounds like something I saw at the Cafe La Mama in Greenwich Village in 1967…on amateur night.