This evening we went to the Brown County Playhouse to see "Cole Porter," essentially a dramatic performance of his music, interrupted with comedic biographic recitations. I feel so midwestern now. It is so Hoosier to go to the local playhouse on a hot, summer evening, drive home afterward through the fireflies. And what could be more appropriate than a performance about an Indiana native (even if it left out the part about him being gay)? The women in it were much more interesting than the men, but that could just be my bias.
On the way home we got into a discussion about the veracity of the narrative. Catherine was bothered by the lack of attention paid to the Depression and WWII, and I was kind of put off by the way the subject of New York and Manhattan was represented. I mean, okay, so this was the Manhattan that Porter experienced, but it sure as hell wasn't the only Manhattan that existed. How much drinking, dining, dancing, social climbing, theatre attending, etc. do you think the immigrant classes did?
Also, it's amazing how something as simple as a Cole Porter song can become a rousing cheer of patriotism, wrapped in a post-9/11 flag.
Final conclusion: Catherine and I have spent too much time in academia.