I Don’t Want to Watch the Beyoncé Halftime Show With My Family
Musings From a Beyoncé Stan Whose Family Needs to Meet the Muthafuckin’ Moment
After the heavily anticipated "Glicked" movie premiere weekend, where Wicked and Gladiator II debuted simultaneously, I headed to Orlando to see my mom, stepdad, and stepbrother. I had tried unsuccessfully to get tickets in NYC. I could only find front-row seats, so I decided to hold off until the mania died down a bit. Despite being a pop-culture enthusiast, somehow, after all these years, I still haven't read the Wicked book or seen it on Broadway. My only real exposure to the story has been watching countless drag queens perform "Defying Gravity" as their closing number.
When I arrived in Orlando, my stepdad asked if anyone was interested in a family outing to see the movie. After days of swiping past everyone's Wicked content on social media, I was eager to see the film with my own eyes. The only available seats were in the front row, but at this point, I didn't care. I just wanted in.
The next day at the theater, I grabbed my popcorn and Cherry Coke and planted myself at the foot of the movie screen. It had been a while since I'd seen a movie this close, but as soon as it began, I was locked in. Now, I'm not a showtunes type of girl. I've gone to piano nights at bars where people belt out their favorite Broadway hits, and all I can do is think about how soon I can leave. I've only ever gone to support friends. That said, I do enjoy watching a good musical. Not even a third of the way into the movie, I wanted to stand up when Elphaba finished singing "The Wizard and I." I thought to myself, I know that wasn't supposed to be her big number, but that was a big number! She ate that! I didn't feel that energy in the theater, though. It was weird, but I chalked it up to being in Florida.
By the end of the movie, after over two hours of build-up, Cynthia jets off on her broomstick like she's chasing the Golden Snitch in Harry Potter. She’s just telling everyone what a bad bitch she is while belting her heart out, all while wearing out a cape that multiplied in size with every vocal run that she hit. I wanted to jump clean out of my seat, like YES, BITCH! Fuck the wizard! Fuck that student body full of no-brained followers! Fuck yo sister! And fuck Galinda for not getting on that muthafuckin’ broom with you, hoe!
Elphaba had big Aries energy. Even from that front row, I got my entire life. But yet again, I didn't feel the same energy from the theater, and when I asked the fam what they thought, I received a tepid, "It was good."
I was confused. Did they not just see the same movie that I just saw? I tried some follow-up questions to see if I had missed something, still… the same reaction. At that moment, I felt a shiver. Just like Elphaba, I felt like…
Something has changed within me…
Something is not the same…
I cannot join my family for this Christmas football game!
With Beyoncé set to perform at the halftime show of Netflix's NFL Christmas Game, this Wicked experience has taught me a valuable lesson: I need to watch it with people who can match my energy.
It's not my mom I'm worried about. My mother is a fan; one would even say a big fan. She even went to see the Renaissance Tour in Vegas without me, which I am still unpacking in therapy. Not only that, but do you all remember around 2009 when Beyoncé released a Thanksgiving special every year? One year my sister brought her ol' punk ass boyfriend over. We had a tense dinner, where he expressed that he believes lesbians are just women who haven't had good dick. I had to read him for that. Afterward, we transitioned to the living room to watch the Beyoncé special, where he proclaimed that he doesn't get the hype around her because she can't sing or dance. Enough was enough! We almost came to fisticuffs that night, and my mom literally had to kick him out of the house. My mom sided with Beyoncé's God-given talent over my sister's piss-poor choice of a partner.
So, my biggest worry for the football game has really been wrapped up in that age-old question that Black folks can’t help but ask before they go somewhere. “Who all gon’ be there?”
Because of this, I've come up with some rules of engagement:
This is a closed set where one person controls the guest list, and even though I don't pay the mortgage here, it's me. Again, like Elphaba said, It's meeeeeeee!!! We can schedule a phone interview, but if they can't answer simple on-the-spot questions like, "When is Beyonce's birthday?" then they can exit to the left, to the left.
There will be no slander of any kind regarding the woman Billboard just named the Greatest Pop Star of the 21st Century.
I don't want to hear any mention of Diddy, Jay-Z, T.D. Jakes, freak-offs, or baby oil. Bc I know what you messy bitches are trying to do. There will be no connections of my queen to scandal. Go play with someone else's time.
For the duration of the halftime show, we are all hood country stans. I'm talkin' Apple Bottom Jeans and boots with the spurs. Yeehaw muthafucka!
If anyone sheds a tear during II Most Wanted (me), mind ya business.
May your holiday season be filled with perfect company for all your viewing pleasures! Merry Christmas!