If all the world’s a stage, then the Parisian metro should be raising ticket prices. Theatre of all forms lurk inside the cavernous walls of the this city’s underground public transportation system.
The absurd, grotesque, comical, romantic, in-the-round, fourth-wall, and musical all manage to co-exist throughout the tunnels, stops, and cars as one hops from location to location. Above ground the city maintains a gorgeous plethora of sites, art, and architecture, but underneath-the actors never stop playing.
Perhaps you need a short cast-bio to really understand what I’m talking about. Let me display tonight’s program for those of you who are new to Paris.
The role of the absurd shall be performed by the woman I once witnessed changing her pantyhose in a metro car, while it was moving, while standing.
The role of the grotesque has a profound number of understudies, but tonight shall be performed by the man who pulled out his penis and rubbed it while staring at me. When I refused to look at his disgusting member, he spat on my shoes. And they were my Chucks, which are my favorite.
The role of the comic shall be performed by the idiot who muttered disgusting profanity to my friend and I before attempting to dive off the metro as the doors were closing. I say attempted because his jacket got stuck in the door and he required our help out of the situation before being let free.
The romantic goes to the homeless couple I once witnessed having sex underneath a piece of cardboard, next to a poster displaying a Louvre exhibit. Seems the two were quite taken by the art housed above them.
The in-the-round theatre exhibit goes out to the groups of little Parisian thugs who like to enter one car at opposite ends and move their way toward the middle, harassing everyone in their way. In particular, the group who once set the ends of my friend’s hair on fire, and then stole her phone.
The fourth-wall acting method shall be performed by the schizophrenic who lurks on line ten. He once sat next to me and shouted about farm animals for ten minutes (there was no one else on the train)-but never acknowledged my presence. I must say, he kept that fourth wall barrier up quite well.
The musical cast shall be performed by a collection of the many accordion players who insist on playing the obnoxious songs they think we adore. These cast members will undoubtedly be shoving their overturned hats in your faces immediately after completing said songs. Never mind that you’ve already paid for a ticket to ride the metro-they have separate licenses allowing them further income. From you. For no reason other than playing an instrument that should have died with the polka.
If you need me, I’ll be up above. Walking my dog. Sorry, just couldn’t bring myself to buy another ticket.