Tickets to The Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience: $15. A six-pack of Busch Light and a bottle of Jim Beam: $25. The vomit induced by mixing the two: priceless.
As the three dapper Jonas Brothers walked onto their three-dimensional cinematic stage facing a sea of swaying glow sticks that stretched farther than the eye could see, I found myself trapped in an existential dilemma—this was not my place. My seat was supposed to be occupied by some wide-eyed pubescent tween girl, whose parents had reluctantly dropped $60 so their daughter and friends could enjoy just over an hour of boyish charm-rock.
My corporation-hating, anarchist ire immediately took over. The images that stained the big screen represented all that was wrong with our scheming, capitalistic culture: idol worship to a degree that hasn’t been seen since the boy-band heyday of the mid-’90s, the exploitation of mothers and fathers heavy with guilt for being bad parents, and so on. Disney had the gall to charge twice the normal price of an already outrageously expensive movie ticket for an hour’s worth of cheap special effects. This 3-D fodder is a perfect example of an oppressive government’s abuse of its people. It is, for all intents and purposes, totalitarian in its cruelty.
And so I vomited.
Maybe my whiskey-laced stomach could only handle two dimensions of teenage glam-rock. Ten minutes in, the special effects got to me, and I began running, hands cupping my mouth, to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, after a splash of cold water on my face and a glance in the mirror, I was ready to give it another go. It was probably just the effects of bourbon, I told myself, which was giving me a sour perspective on the Experience.
Back in my seat, staring at the out-of-focus screen, I placed the 3-D glasses back on the bridge of my nose, where they put everything back into focus. I was enthralled. The behind-scenes shots, reminiscent of the more respectable rock flick A Hard Day’s Night, made me wonder why the teeming masses of swooning girls were so caught up in the lives and music of these three brothers. Then, the band started playing “Burnin’ Up,” the single off their new hit record. I don’t know what came over me, but a minute later I was nodding my head. Another minute later, I was on my feet clapping my hands and spinning around, pretending I was like lead singer Joseph Jonas and that girls liked me too. Even anarchists have dreams. Even anarchists can be rock stars.
