Miracle Max

I went to see Billy Crystal's 700 Sundays the other night. One of the benefits of being sister to Tory - One of her bestest friends is some kind of manager for Ticketek, so is offered free tickets for stuff - preview shows &etc. In fact, thanks to the lovely Nat I got to go to the Edinburgh Tattoo last year and nearly wet myself in geeky anticipation. I do love me some bagpipe action. And men in kilts. mmmm.

Anyway...


I love tickets!


Tory and I had dinner at Encasa on Pitt St - much indulgence in tapas and sangria. So good, and such perfect start to a fun evening.

I've always been a fan of Mr Crystal - I know, I know, it's not the most exciting admission, but I think he's kinda sweet. But then again, I do like Meg Ryan too, so maybe there's just no help for me! But Miracle Max? I mean really - what's not to love about the man?

He bounced on stage, talking at a gazillion miles an hour, doing impressions and tap dancing (but only with one leg), with home movies from the 50s playing on the set behind him. Just one guy and he had the entire audience in his hands for the whole evening. It was laugh-out loud hilarious, and shed-a-tear sad. The basic story was that his father died when he was 15, having worked 2 or 3 jobs his entire life, leaving only Sundays for his boys (Billy being the youngest of 3) So, Billy worked out one day that he had spent a total of 700 Sundays with his father, and based this incredibly personal show on those 700 days...

My stomach and cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling for 3 hours straight. And I can think of no better recommendation... Go! See it! You won't regret it. Unless you don't like Long Island Jewish accents or men who can talk the hind leg off a donkey... then I think it would be 3 hours of pure hell.