The Book of Mormon
Last night I went to a West End theatre for the first time and saw The Book of Mormon, a musical which I probably wouldn’t have had much interest in if it weren’t for having had so many glowing recommendations from my friends over the years. I went in knowing really very little about the show, except for a vague awareness that the only real life Mormons I’d spoken to weren’t fans of it, and I think having very little expectations was definitely the best way to do it. It’s a work of unrelenting satire, which I suppose is what you’d expect from the creators of South Park, which takes shots at not only Mormonism and wider Christianity, but white saviorism in general. It was outrageous, offensive and wonderfully funny, seemingly taking advantage of mocking Mormons as low-hanging fruit most other mainstream culture overlooks. The theatrical aspects were delightful, with stunning costumes (of which there was a wide variety, given the cast included such characters as Jesus, Satan, Hitler and Yoda), catchy songs sung wonderfully (Spooky Mormon Hell Dream was my favourite) and gravity defying dancing - I wish my hips could move like that.
Perhaps not for the faint of heart but another slice of London life that I adored, and would heartily recommend to anyone.