Grand Piano in 150 Words or Less

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You'll never hear me knocking something this heartily dePalmian by way of Bava-lite - all lurid angles swooping through velvet drapes, tripping out over classical ballast as the notes, sharp as shooters, strum themselves silly. Silly being operative - such operatic gumbo. I do wish the air didn't leak out of Grand Piano quite so abruptly in the last act as we get given our hows to whatfores, but Elijah & Co grab onto its coattails as sense rushes outta the room and ride it for what it's worth. Bottom line, it's fun, dumb and pretty - a dunderheaded concerto of hoity-toity-ish symphonic hogwash, tickling the ivories of our eyeballs til the curtains just collapse in a big ol' bleeding heap and leaving us to wander towards the exits, programs balled in our hands from sweat, some frustration, and a not halfhearted dose of the giggles.

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