top signs you’re in a french musical
You love verbs. Not just verbs, but verbs in the infinitive. ‘‘To love,” ‘‘to change,” “to live,” “to be X.” You can’t get enough of them. You can think only through their objective -er/-re prism. How else can you possibly convey your intense feelings to love/live/change for the one you love? Anything else just won’t do.
When you’re in deep anguish or conflict, sometimes song isn’t enough. You must express it through dance - not by dancing yourself, of course, lol, that’s ridiculous, but through other dancers who can better convey the magnitude of the problem. Whether it’s males in underwear breakdancing your desire for two women, or Death in white molesting you as you struggle with premonitions of your tragic fate, or another woman also molesting you because your girlfriend broke up with you, it’s all the same. It’s as if your emotions are so strong they possess everyone around you, causing them to spasm in half-modern, half-balletic dance. You’re glad. Your feelings are too important to be handled by you alone.
You and your lover desperately wish to kiss. But alas, your social circumstances and bulky 2000-era boom mics won’t let you. Damn them. Damn them all.
You’re a rebel against society. Sometimes privileged, sometimes marginalized, but either way, down with the Man. At best, you join revolutions, rebel against your asshole family, or participate in protests by undocumented immigrants who breakdance their plight to sexually frustrated priests. At worst, you join a terrorist group and attack your oppressive futuristic dystopian society in the hopes you’ll end up on a popular TV show. That works too.
You will almost certain die either for love or for being a rebel (see above). If you’re in a forbidden love relationship or rebelling against something, contact the nearest doctor immediately. You have 2 ½ hours to live.
You and Love Interest 2 sing a duet about your love for the protagonist. At least one of you knows he is a douchebag who doesn’t deserve your love. If he isn’t, then you and Love Interest 2 may just like the competition. It happens.
You suffer from unrequited love for another, but he or she is in love with the protagonist and/or one of the main characters. Depending on your personality type, you’ll either give your life for them or try to kill your rival.
If you’re one-half of a star-crossed lover pair, you and your lover have a 99.9999% chance of dying. Guaranteed. Outliers should not be counted. Beware of falling in love. Ever.
Occasionally there is a token attempt to accurately represent the time period your story is set. But don’t be fooled. You’re a modern person with needs and problems beyond your historical/fictional counterpart’s own. And, by God, those needs and problems must be solved through a radio-friendly pop-rock score.
You are extraordinarily beautiful, with a soft, expressive voice that can nevertheless hit high F#s with ease. Pretty much everyone around you is like this. You have accepted this. Ugly people who can’t sing have no place in your universe.
Glitter. That’s a dead giveaway.
Other productions of your musical imitate you. You sneer at them all. The Hungarians change everything. You sneer at them too. Only you can be the best.
Dramatic coherence? Character and plot consistency? An original story? Actual dialogue? Those are of concern only for weaker mortals, especially one they call Broadway. You, who touch the Cirque-du-Solei-like heights of pop-rock greatness, are beyond such measly concerns. All you’re concerned with is: Is it catchy? And by God, it is.
Everyone is miserable and dies. You are miserable and die as well. This is somehow all part of being French.
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