Originally Published in print December 2021
Art by Meghan Flood
In December 2019, I received two tickets for Heathers: The Musical, which was set to perform a limited run in October 2020. It was one of those lovely presents where you know you have the tickets, but that you’re going to inevitably forget you have them and get a surprise day out a few months down the line. To quote Bo Burnham, “then, the funniest thing happened”’ – a mere three months later, the whole world as we know it tipped into chaos, and getting to witness Dead Girl Walking performed live became the very least of my concerns. After a year and a half of constantly fluctuating restrictions, cancelled events and very little guidance on the recovery of the arts, I had completely forgotten about going. After two rescheduled performances, I finally got to attend my first live show in almost two years – and it was like being welcomed home.
I actually almost missed the rescheduled performance completely; it was only when Instagram stories with pictures of the programme and captions of “how very” followed by the milkshake emoji started popping up in such high volumes that I put two and two together. In a panic, I tore apart my house looking for tickets (because for some reason they were paper tickets and not e-tickets — what year is this?) but eventually, they were secured, a hasty plan was thrown together, and I added “Heathers!!!!” to my planner for the 22nd of October.
Pre-vaccination, being in crowded spaces, indoor or outdoor, was something that left me absolutely riddled with anxiety. During the summer I couldn’t have imagined being back in a restaurant, cinema or theatre in any capacity, so I found it extremely comforting that the policy in the Bord Gáis was to check both vaccine certs and ID. At this point in the pandemic, I couldn’t have cared less about having to wear a mask throughout the performance – I was just so delighted to be there I probably would have sat in the car park had that been a requirement.
As cliche as it sounds, the buzz in the theatre was absolutely palpable. I spotted many people dressed in subtle Heathers costumes, decked out in primary colour blazers and checkered skirts. I got a programme to add to my collection of them from musicals I’ve seen over the years, because you truly can never have too much sentimentality. The theatre was absolutely full to the brim of people; excitable teenagers, groups of friends on a girls night out, parents and kids, and the buzz was enough to make anyone smile. We found our seats and waited almost anxiously for the performance to start, as if any second someone was going to yell “Psych!” and tell us it had been rescheduled again. Eventually the lights dimmed, the curtain went up, and I felt that familiar pull of excitement in my stomach that was, at the same time, alien and all too familiar to me.
The performance itself was absolutely spellbinding. I’ve been listening to the Heathers soundtrack since I was fifteen, and practically every word of it is permanently ingrained into my mind, but that didn’t affect the performance for me in any way. From the second the show opened I was overwhelmed with excitement. I was spotting all the characters as they made their entrances, characters I had known through only their voices for so long, breathing life into their personas the way a cast recording simply can’t do. I fell in love with Veronica Sawyer all over again within five seconds of her first “dear diary” – this awkward, sharp-tongued and goofy teenager served as a reflection of myself at that age, minus the murderous tendencies, and the soft spot I had always harboured for her was alive and well. The three Heathers themselves put their own spin on their characterisation of the iconic trio of bad girls, pulling off the casual cruelty and pettiness so well it was almost charming. When Heather Duke made her transition to “resident mythic bitch” after the untimely demise of Heather Chandler, the quick change that the cast managed to do was possibly the most flawless one I’ve ever seen in my life – it’s been a week and I’m still wondering how exactly they pulled it off.
Everything about being back in the theatre was so lovely. I even enjoyed the generally less pleasant bits, like having to awkwardly shuffle past the people in the seats beside you to get out, having to ungracefully stand up and clutch your bag to let others do the awkward shuffle past you, waiting in long queues for the bathrooms at the interval, and even getting charged the extortionate price of €3 for a single bottle of water. It was one of those things that I didn’t realise I missed so much until I was actually back. The pandemic reduced me to this mindset of expecting the absolute bare minimum when it came to enjoying life, and while it was nice to be able to take pleasure in small, inconsequential things I wouldn’t have before, it was so lovely to experience something so incredibly inessential. I had a cheeky cry in Pearse station afterwards because I was so overwhelmed at how nice it was for the world to feel somewhat normal again – and I’m really glad I got to cash in on my Christmas present from two years ago.
