I have often said in this col­umn that I wish my life was a musi­cal. In fact, it’s even this column’s mot­to. When I was a teenag­er, I want­ed my life to be as in Miss Saigon, so I would know what true love was and then kill myself. Lat­er, I became a Rent-head for a while : the idea of being a starv­ing artist – with fab­u­lous clothes – was very appeal­ing. As I was get­ting old­er, Chica­go became the new ref­er­ence : I was dream­ing of mar­ry­ing Har­ry and mess­ing around with Ike. And when I feel fat, Hair­spray is a good way to cope with the occa­sion­al extra pound(s).

But now my ref­er­ences are chang­ing. Spar­ta­cus, le glad­i­a­teur , the new Big French Musi­cal, is open­ing new doors to me. To be hon­est, word of mouth wasn’t encour­ag­ing and I was afraid that Spar­ta­cus, le glad­i­a­teur would turn into Spar­tacuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… You know, like you don’t even have time to say the whole title, you’re already sleep­ing. How stu­pid of me to be so prej­u­diced because, boy, was I in for a treat !
To start with, I was very lucky to be seat­ed in the first row. For such a big show, I was wor­ried that I would be too close and not be able to get a good view of the fab­u­lous sets that have already been praised every­where. But as soon as the cur­tain fell and half naked slaves crawled on the floor, I knew I would spend a won­der­ful evening. The per­form­ers were so close I could almost touch them, adjust the lit­tle piece of cloth that cov­ered their parts or wipe the promis­ing sweat off their big big big chests. Three words : yum yum yum.

Let’s get things straight. I’m not eas­i­ly impressed by mus­cles. Cal­en­dars of the French Rug­by Team are every­where on my walls and I’m get­ting kind of blasé about the usu­al dis­play of hair­less mus­cle. But when these mus­cles are in motion, when they sing and dance, that’s com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent. And when things start to be a lit­tle rough, well : wow.
My ther­a­pist once said that as I’m get­ting old­er, I might be inter­est­ed in explor­ing new forms of sex­u­al­i­ty. But I couldn’t under­stand what she meant exact­ly. And I’m cer­tain­ly not a les­bian. Spar­ta­cus hit me as a rev­e­la­tion. Men in cages, leather, light bondage, sub­mis­sion : the show woke up the dom­i­na­trix who was sleep­ing inside of me. I was think­ing : that is f***ing great !
Although I was mes­mer­ized by what I was see­ing, some lyrics man­aged to get to my ears. “I want men who hold their head up high when they crawl”, “I had men who obeyed me as if they were dogs”. How lucky ! My boyfriends usu­al­ly bark at me as if they were dogs but they nev­er crawl or obey.

As I was tit­il­lat­ed by the idea of being a dom­i­na­trix (where do I get a leather mask ?), the cast went into some aer­o­bics stuff. At some point, sol­diers prac­tice some sort of Body Com­bat © and when pris­on­ers are released from jail, they break into a dance rou­tine that made me miss my aer­o­bics class. I real­ly need to go back to the gym. I have been too lazy late­ly. Any­way, if I was freed from jail, I’m sure I would prob­a­bly be V‑stepping, L‑stepping, A‑stepping, mam­bo-ing, cha cha-ing and grapevine-ing my way back home. Life can be as excit­ing as a musi­cal, as long as you choose the prop­er gym classes.

Some­how, Spar­ta­cus also man­ages to deliv­er some moments of ten­der­ness and gen­uine joy. When Spar­ta­cus’ girl­friend tells him that she is preg­nant, the whole Roman Empire is there to share this inti­mate moment. If I was preg­nant, I would be hap­py if all my friends were there too (I hate inti­ma­cy) but please, dar­lings, don’t lift me up and swing me back and forth as if you were going to break a door with my head : I’m not sure this is rec­om­mend­ed for a preg­nant woman.

Now, don’t ask me to tell you about the sto­ry : I have no idea of what the whole thing is about but since the title is Spar­ta­cus le glad­i­a­teur, I guess it’s about a glad­i­a­tor named Spar­ta­cus, right ? Any­way, who cares ? When a show is such a feast for the eyes, why would you want your brain to work ? The show ends with a num­ber called “I will come back”. As for me, I def­i­nite­ly will. My friend Anne is get­ting mar­ried next month and Spar­ta­cus will be per­fect for a bach­e­lorette night. And these men are cer­tain­ly man­li­er than the Chip­pen­dales. Until then, I need to shop around. Any rec­om­men­da­tion on where to get a leather gear ? If not, I can always use a white sheet as a toga.