The Calm before the Storm: Disconcerting, huh?

(4:27 AM. Joshua William Gelb’s Washington Heights Apartment. Overhead shot. Joshua William Gelb discovered tossing and turning in bed)

Last night I had this dream…

(Cross-fade to distorted POV shot.
Cue Phillip Glass score)

I’m in the West Thirties with my Tully collaborator, Stephanie Johnstone. We’re on our way to see Superbad at the AMC Times Square, when suddenly the entirety of New York City is inexplicably blighted by this colossal storm. And I mean colossal like the Colossus of Rhodes. We’re talking hurricanes taking out Midtown, tornado funnels cruising up Eighth Avenue, lightning-bolts striking the Chrysler, locusts descending upon the Summer Stage in Central Park, and the Hudson River, a vast tsunami worthy of Melville. This is, like, the end of days; This is, like, Mel Gibson’s sequel to Apocalypto; This is, like, Sodom & Gomorrah… without the drunken sodomy. And like Cassandra before me, I feel this sudden terror seizing my limbs, an impending doom, a foreshadowing of disaster to come, a vision of Greeks crammed into a large wooden equestrian.

(Joshua William Gelb wakes up
screaming:)

“Trust not the horse, Trojans! Beware the Greeks bearing gifts! -- Unless it’s a Gyro… in which case, I’m hungry.”

(Joshua William Gelb raids the fridge, chooses a jar of pimento stuffed olives. He indulges as he addresses the blog audience)

That’s a real dream, blog readers. No embellishment required.

(He returns the olive jar to the fridge
as he ruminates thusly:)

So what’s one to make of this dream, friends? This dream past the wit of any man to say what dream this was? Certainly, one could consider it a forecast of things to come: A subconscious preview, perhaps, of the next Jerry Bruckheimer movie. Or perchance, the fate of the world as prescribed in the book of St. Al Gore and his apostle Leo DiCaprio. One could also interpret the dream more symbolically: The young collaborators adrift in a life threatening, seemingly disastrous situation. Which begs the ultimate question:

What shit’s about to go down?

I don’t know about you, blog readers, but with Tully rehearsals about to commence and the NYMF opening a mere month away, this untimely dream has got this director/book & additional lyrics writer filled with prophetic dread.

(Resounding Thunder & Crashing
Lighting)

Next Week: Joshua William Gelb checks himself into a mental ward. Michael Height contacts an exciting new director…

Coming Soon to the New York Musical Theatre Festival: Tully: At World’s End, a Jerry Bruckheimer production.