Last week, former boxing champ Mike Tyson revealed plans for a startling career shift. He now wants to sing and dance in musicals.
This made headlines during his recent visit to Hong Kong. Tyson told the press: "I want to dance and sing. I want to do some dancing and singing musicals."
It's a bit of a turnaround, all right. It appears Tyson - who's previously struggled with drug and alcohol problems and was jailed for rape - has wearied of engaging in anti-social activities.
"I was always the bad guy that wanted to be a good guy, but I didn't know how to be a good guy. I was always so concentrating on being bad," Tyson reportedly said.
This formerly bad but now good guy obviously wants to give back to society. And musical theatre is a great start. So much better to kick out the jams Broadway-style to Some Enchanted Evening than, well, bite off parts of people's ears.
I assume Tyson is an excellent singer and dancer. The foreseeable impediments are Iron Mike's debilitating lisp, which might prove troublesome if he's enlisted for a Mary Poppins revival (there are so many sibilant sounds in Supercalifragilisticexpialidocius). Also, his choice of roles might be limited by that enormous face tattoo.
The thing that really strikes me, though, is the dilemma facing journalists assigned to review Tyson in A Chorus Line or Fiddler on the Roof. Who would dare give him a bad review? This is, after all, the boxer who knocked out Michael Spinks in 90 seconds. They call him "the Baddest Man on the Planet." He was the most feared figure in professional boxing.
The critic, frowning at his computer screen, might write: "As motherless Billy in Billy Elliot the Musical, Mike Tyson does exhibit a rough physical grace. Unfortunately, at age 46, Tyson is much too old for the role. Plus he cannot dance or sing - and what's up with the enormous tattoo on his face?"
Said critic would then sit back and ponder his words. He might reflect on Tyson's 1999 bout with Francois Botha, in which Tyson, in a deft strategic manoeuvre, tried to snap his opponent's arms.
Our reviewer might then alter his review to read: "As Billy Elliot, Mike Tyson exhibits a boxerly physical grace. He is a superb singer and dancer. And that enormous tattoo on his face works as a symbol of the oppression faced by English coal miners during the infamous 1984-85 strike, which is the musical's setting."
After several pulls from his hip flask, the critic might add: "For the love of God, Mike, please don't bite off my ear."
This is the plight facing New York reviewers should Tyson be enlisted as a "name" attraction for a Broadway musical.
As a long-time theatre writer, I've never experienced anything quite like this. However, I have reported on numerous productions staged by William Head on Stage. This is the inmate theatre company at William Head prison in Metchosin. They seem like a terrific bunch of guys; however, the worthy troupe has hosted its share of felons, including those convicted of murder.
It was while reviewing at William Head that my definition of theatre reviewing shifted somewhat. Before WHOS, every theatre troupe got more or less the same treatment (although, like most newspapers, the Times Colonist does go easier on amateur companies).
One evening in 1994, I attended a spectacularly physical production of Peter Weiss's Marat/Sade at William Head. After being ushered in through barbed-wire gates, the audience was treated to several hours of burly, tattooed inmates gesticulating and howling (the play is set in a 19th-century lunatic asylum).
I mopped my brow weakly, thinking: "You know, in this particular case, my review should be more about encouraging the actors rather than doling out any sort of negative criticism. Hey, it's all about rehabilitation, right?"
And that's my advice to those assigned to critique Mike Tyson in Man of La Mancha. Go easy, fellas. Or you take the risk of putting Iron Mike in a bitey, punchy mood.
