Out of my four years of attending Queen’s Players productions, I can’t say I’ve ever been sober.

Traditionally, the arts editor of the Journal writes the sober review of the production, which I sort of saw as quickly ripping off a band aid. It had to be done, and thus I would do it — but not without a preparatory schooner at the Mansion to at least provide me with the illusion that this would be a fun evening.

My family has a longstanding history with Queen’s Players. My brother starred, my mom and dad both won first and second respectively in a parental drinking competition and I’ve been in the audience every year I’ve been at Queen’s.

Not denying the fact that these students have clear comical talent, Queen’s Players’ “Call of Judy: Modern Daycare” was like going to a house party, awkwardly bobbing my head and eyeing the wasted ones begrudgingly.

The worst part about attending sober is dealing with the drunken people all around.

Acting gaps between songs were filled with voices in the audience, discussing what club they planned to go to next and filling themselves with alcohol. Clearly, the show was a charitable pre-drink for them.

As a Queen’s student myself, and understanding that the production goes towards charity, I would love to say I enjoyed the show.

But I have a responsibility to be honest to my sober self.

The band, as usual, was the best part. They played flawless covers, like of Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”.

The female roles, for the most part, were painfully forgettable. If you don’t watch Game of Thrones, you would never understand Arya Stark’s jokes.

Wednesday Addams was a random character who had no relevance to the rest of the cast, although her deadpanned face was a personal favourite of mine. The audience, too, loved her rendition of Ellie Goulding’s “Lights”.

One of the best male actors was flamboyant baby Prince George, played by a grown man in a diaper and a tiara, smoking a cigarette. Ron Burgundy, on the other hand, was just a bearded man in a tacky suit, not actually a caricature.

Oliver Twist didn’t quite do it for me, but Mr. Rogers hit the nail on the head in terms of creepy old men.

Yoko Ono, Stifler’s Mom and Pinnochio dominated the entire show. They kept in character, never once faltered and had vocal chords from the gods. Stifler’s Mom and her smoky voice filled the room with a flawless rendition of Christina Aguilera’s “Candyman”.

Possibly the highlight of the show for me was something I would’ve never noticed had I been drunk. It was Mrs. Doubtfire’s solo at the end, singing Seal’s “Kiss From A Rose.” His eyes were lit up as he clutched the microphone in his hands.

Maybe Seal was taking his hold on me, but as I looked around the room and saw parents to my left staring at him in awe, I could tell how much this performance meant to him.

In that moment, Queen’s Players presented itself with a new purpose to me.

— Meaghan Wray

I feel like Queen’s students often judge another’s artistic creation, forgetting the fact that their fellow students created it.

We judge something based on “real world” criteria, failing to realize that the very reason someone is attending university is because they are not ready for the “real world” yet.

Real world or not, Queen’s Players’ “Call of Judy: Modern Daycare” fucking rocked. It was a booze-saturated party obsessed with laughs, cheers and cheesy dance moves.

Maybe it was the pitcher I drank alongside J-Rose at POLS “beers with profs” beforehand, but the dedication and talent of the performers was evident throughout the entirety of the show.

A mix of pop hits and satire-ridden comedic dialogues, Queen’s Players expectedly delivered a performance that I will reminisce upon whenever I am in a similarly inebriated position.

Transitioning between absurdly relevant caricatures and amazing-when-I’m-drunk karaoke, the show was nothing short of a festival of laughs. The self-deprecating parodies ultimately won me over.

Where else can you pay 13 measly dollars to see “the Prince of Wales” discussing the meaning of life at an imaginary urinal alongside Ron Burgundy and Pinocchio?

The range of the performance was most impressive. I was able to laugh along with Amanda Bynes and sing Macklemore with a crowd of dazed supporters.

One such dazed supporter was a lass wearing a plaid shirt and glasses whom I swing-danced with. Call me please; you were cute.

Applause was heard as consistently as it was deserved. Applause sounds a lot like applesauce. Applause, applesauce. See? I’d love to see “applesauce” in Golden Words’ “quotes from the Journal”.

The level of comedic creativity exemplified in this showing is what Queen’s Players is hailed for, and rightfully so.

Pop-culture figures gathered for a meta-satire of giggles and thrills. Characters seamlessly delivered lines and lyrics with precision and tact.

The story features pop-wrecks being guided by less than admiral mentors Big Brother-Big Sister style.

The mentors play off the flaws of their mentees in a parodied account of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Frankly, the story doesn’t matter. I was drunk when I saw it, am drunk while I’m writing this and hopefully you’re drunk while reading this.

I can’t recall that much and that’s good, not because it was a bad time, rather because it means that I must have had a great time.

Just as I’ve dreamed of meeting Stifler’s mom in a musty pool room, I’ll dream of my experience seeing Queen’s Players’ “Call of Judy: Modern Daycare” over and over again.

Watching Queen’s Players in any state of sobriety sounds enjoyable, but for this reviewer, alcohol was able to greatly add to the experience.

I’m going to go pass out now.

— Sam Koebrich