In an unsurprising twist of fate, I am once again right up against the deadline for this edition of the newspaper due to my lack of time management skills and a mechanical snafu that erased me from the Bay Tribune database. Not to worry; I’m making up for it by combining my assigned two articles into one monstrosity of a franken-column (although, as any AP Lit student will tell you, Frankenstein was the name of the scientist). To that effect, I present to you: a special edition of Jubilant Fruit, featuring my professional review of the play “Peter Pan and Wendy”.

“Peter Pan and Wendy” is, of course, the thrilling tale of junior Matt Hyland in women’s pants and senior Christina Randazzo in a believable British accent, following their adventures in Neverland with Cooper Lamb, Kaia Atzberger, Stiggs, and a motley crew of pirates/boyish rogues/birds/dogs/crocodiles/well-meaning parents. The ensemble, which presented the play on Thursday and Saturday night, put on the best school play since “Hospital” last spring at the middle school-maybe even since “Saving Disney” the spring of my eighth-grade year, a work of definite literary merit with the always-memorable quote, “What was that strange noise?” But I digress. “Peter Pan and Wendy” had that quality which is so often lacking from even the most expensive Broadway shows: humor. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I couldn’t stop laughing multiple times during the show. The deadpan, airy style of the script highlighted the performers’ style perfectly, blending the innocence of childhood with the sophisticated observations of an author observing society, tongue in cheek and pen in hand. I give this play 5 large rich chocolate cakes out of 5 large rich chocolate cakes.

With the review complete, we return to our regularly scheduled Fruit programming. Things are going well for me on this last day of the quarter, although it’s a little jarring to me that we’re already at the midway point of the first semester. I’m starting to remember why everyone always says they hate marching band halfway through October-my fingers went completely numb inside my gloves during our 90-minute practice last night, and it was only 50 degrees. Please, Wolf Pack, take mercy on the poor Rocket Marching Band and give up a few points.

Regardless, we’ve reached the conclusion of our franken-column. Congratulations to everyone who worked on the play this fall, both in front of the curtain and behind the scenes (and Nathan Jennings, who is technically somewhere on the side). Happy 2nd quarter, and remember:

“If you got a dog, feed it every day. But if you don’t, don’t.”
—Bobby Shmurda

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