I love the news that the onstage seats at Equus are being raised higher in order to protect star Daniel Radcliffe from potential screaming fans when he gets all naked and shit. But if he’s actually hung like a you know, might this change of landscaping not also serve to protect the fans from HIM? After all, we don’t want any eye gouging going on—not at those prices!
And we ARE talking about seven inches, I mean seven minutes, at the end of the show, the ones that will supposedly make the play’s mumbo-jumbo about the bravery of this boy for being so barbaric as to blind horses such a must-see exercise in (very) high culture. It’s clearly a winning ticket. The production seems to be mixing pretentiousness and shock value into one big, burly broth—how often do you get animal abuse, psychotherapy, and teen idol dick all in one show?—and the result sounds like it might appeal equally to Hells Kitchen gays, pubescent girls, literati, and Sarah Palin. Book me a high-up onstage seat, honey—I’ll bring my Harry Potter binocs.
Update: I just got a report from someone who sat onstage, but in the eye-level seats, and here’s what he says: “It was hard to see because there were shadows and he was running around a lot, but it looked short, fat, and uncut. Also: huge balls (you could see them dropping pretty low, even from behind) and great ass.” Sounds like a rave!