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The Force of Eddie Izzard

This past weekend I got to see Eddie Izzard again. As soon as the pre-sale was available in January I bought tickets. Five months of anticipation. Five months of reliving the Kansas City show and Dressed to Kill. Cake or Death?

After a food truck fest and some wonderful South Water Kitchen cocktail concoctions, we got to the theater. It was the first time I'd been inside the Chicago Theater. In comparison to the others in the area, it was laid back. In addition to packaged snacks they had freshly-popped popcorn. They also didn't have a toilet-Nazi pushing the line through in the Ladies Room. Someone was there yes, but not giving you marching orders. They also didn't seem to mind if you snapped a picture or two of the architecture. No calls that you're breaking the law.

We walked through the main theater doors into a very sophisticated scene. Classical music was playing, British Royal melodies were in the air, and celestial songs were blasting. An operatic piece set the mood: Figaro! Figaro!

The stage was hypnotic and very James Bond. In the center of a giant blue and white spiral was a silhouette of a man with an umbrella. Blue lights flashed all around and into the audience. 

The houselights went down and a laser light show began. It was all very dramatic. He appeared, and he was there. The show was hilarious. He spoke of religion, history, politics, and chickens. He went on and on and back again. He spoke of language and the ability to explain anything with a simple, "Et, voilĂ ." He spoke of the Romans, the facist plumbers, giving the British the option "join us or death." They chose Switzerland. It was a little nod to cake or death. 

Julius Caesar wanted to be a salad. Since chicken Caesar salads are so popular, trusted military advisory Mark Antony must have been a chicken (with mechanical legs).

He wondered how worshiping the gods through cake and song turned into human sacrifice. "It's all about timing." He spoke of creation and chosen people. Why is it that spiders have eight legs when much fewer would do? He told story of Jeff the god of sandwiches, a god of trousers, a god of helicopters, and a god of complicated spelling. Darth Vader battled God for the last chicken carbonara. They were broken up with a clink and a pfft.  

He explained to this American audience how Indians and Welsh accents are one in the same. He wondered if a pot-smoking Indian would sound Welsh, and if a Welshman on cocaine would sound Indian.

He said goodnight. People left. He walked off of the stage. We applauded like mad. It was a practice stage exit, he came back and explained he wasn't done and went on. 

Do they speak English in heaven? Probably not, but they do downstairs in hell. Et, voilĂ . 

After another 20 or so minutes, it truly was over. We stood and applauded, mind reeling with new information with a wildly humorous spin. I wonder how many Wikipedia pages were impacted by this unique take on historical events. Pontius Pilate was an actual pilot who flew a bald eagle through a toupee factory.


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