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Post by Steve on Jun 30, 2016 11:39:51 GMT
Gove wrecked Boris' chances by not backing him. What a feckless mob they are!
That leaked email to Gove from his wife, machiavellian Daily Fail writer Sarah Vine was spot on: "Crucially, the membership will not have the necessary reassurance to back Boris, neither will Dacre/Murdoch, who instinctively dislike Boris but trust your ability enough to support a Boris Gove ticket."
So the rabble-rousing immigrant-hater, Dacre, who insists women should only ever wear dresses, and Murdoch, who said he wanted out of the EU because they won't listen to him, whereas he can tell the UK Government what to do, get their way.
I hope they all implode.
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Post by Steve on Jun 28, 2016 19:45:01 GMT
REM, always, for all occasions:
Shiny Happy People Funtime Summertime I Believe Stand Belong Hope All the Right Friends What If We Give It Away?
Jesus Christ Revolution So Fast, So Numb Radio Free Europe Maps and Legends Final Straw It Happened Today Bad Day
Aftermath Nightswimming Low Losing My Religion World Leader Pretend I Wanted to Be Wrong Departure Crazy Blue Bittersweet Me The Apologist Diminished Leave Everybody Hurts
The Outsiders Second Guessing Walk It Back Let Me In Perfect Circle
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Brexit
Jun 28, 2016 19:18:47 GMT
Post by Steve on Jun 28, 2016 19:18:47 GMT
After writing one of the Sun's key campaigning columns last week in favour of Brexit, "10 reasons why we must vote Brexit," today Kelvin McKenzie says he regrets voting Brexit.
What an absolute disgrace that man is!
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2016 16:32:56 GMT
At the moment we are in the situation where people have voted on what they don't want. As there was no coherence or plan from the leave side, and I suppose naturally as they were a pressure group not a party, then there will need to be a confirmation vote for whatever is actually negotiated. I don't want or expect this referendum to be rerun as the result was because of the nature of it being as above. What I would like is the chance to vote on what we are eventually offered. Because again, if we are not, there will be years of people saying they were not given the choice and that has to be avoided in order to create some sort of definite settlement. So, a couple of years (maybe more if people really don't know what comes next) and a referendum on the proposals is necessary. The other option on the ballot would necessarily be re-entrance to the EU as it exists at that time (which is likely to have been reformed in a number of ways by then). The more I think of it, the more I think that a vote to accept or reject any proposals is necessary. I wish that would happen! The vote was about us telling each other stories (some of which were porkies) about alternate futures, without anyone having a clue what the future would really be like. If the future outside the EU is actually one of nimbleness, dynamism, re-integration with Europe, by and large, though not with all it's regulations, and greater engagement with the rest of the world, I could vote for that deal; But if the future outside the EU is isolation, trade barriers, irrelevance, nostalgia, tribalism, anger on the streets, poverty, then I wouldn't vote for that deal. Once Boris Johnson's government is installed (please let it be him) and at work, and presents us with a deal, at least we'd have a few facts and less bull to guide us, rather than the awful lies, damned lies and statistics that we have had to put up with. Nothing has annoyed me more than Michael Gove's "I think people in this country have had enough of experts," and the lemming-like lunacy of that! On another note, one thing that cheered me up was hearing something that we do brilliantly in this Country, which is topical irreverent comedy. The post-Brexit "Dead Ringers" half hour was a real relief to listen to, and laugh at, after all the recent stress. It includes a goodbye song from David Cameron, and some hilarious Boris Bumbling lol: www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b07glx81
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2016 10:13:45 GMT
Saw this Sunday matinee, and it's a remarkable transformation of Shakespeare's "King Lear" into a ritual of renewal. Some spoilers follow. . . I usually have one problem or another with "King Lear." Some aspect of his transformation that I can't quite buy. Even Ian McKellen couldn't sell Lear to me, one moment unbelievably petty, the next incredibly wise. Jonathan Pryce came closest, his overly manipulative fingers peeled away from control of those around him, slowly, painfully, one by one. This Lear is not about Lear's change, but the world's change. The individualism of Lear is irrelevant. His disrespect for the land, his attempt to own it, to allocate it, to give it away and control it, in this Aboriginal Lear, means that the land will take revenge on him, and everyone on it, renewing itself. Tom E Lewis' Lear fiercely dances and sings his way through this Lear. His is not the dour Lear we typically see, but a dynamic Lear who sings and dances. But he has forgotten the meaning of his singing and dancing. It is only when he throws the red dirt of the earth up and over himself, that he reconnects to the rituals that the singing and dancing were meant for, the bond between man and the earth beneath him. This spiritual connection to the earth we come from is what gives this Lear it's power. Edmund disavows it, Edgar embraces it, and Kamahi Djordon King's wise Fool has always known it. He knows what stories are. He tells us that Lear is Britain's "dreamtime," and for one hour and thirty minutes it will be Australia's "dreamtime," and as musical instruments play, and singers wail and crow, the whole narrative dissolves into a hurricane of renewal, by which the Earth reasserts it's dominance over man, and the Earth's red dust floats through the air at the Barbican, and resettles. The effect is not dissimilar to a documentary like Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance, and indeed, there is a cinema screen broadcasting images of nature and the Earth behind, but here that balance reasserts itself, the Lear narrative and storytelling generally revealing themselves to be components in our own ritual of renewal. Shakespeare's words have almost wholly been rewritten, into Kriol and Australian English, and that too feels part of the process of renewal that this production is about. Although I felt the loss of some of Shakespeare's language, although I missed the nuances of Lear's individuality, the sense of all aspects of this story swirling in concert to refresh and renew the audience was so palpable that I won't see "King Lear" in quite the same way again. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 26, 2016 20:32:29 GMT
If the vote had gone the other way it would have been like "end of story". Democracy cannot be applied a la carte. Either the majority wins or you have an elite which decides when to take democratic decisions into account, at which point you are no longer living in a democarcy. Of course the majority wins, and must get what it wants, but the majority in one year may not want what the majority now wants, and should be allowed to change it's mind. If I decide to walk under a bus today, may I not change my mind just before stepping into the road? That is why it is important that Boris Johnson become the next PM. Anything else would be seen as an attempt by the remainers to subvert the democratic will of the people. This Brexit is going to stink, economically (as recession hits, and there is less money for the have-nots in society, who voted for this debacle), militarily (as we no longer will have a veto to prevent a European army emerging to subvert Nato) and I want every bit of that stink to rub off on Boris Johnson. What needs to happen is for Brexiteers to become the establishment. The unfortunate truth is that the disadvantaged and side-lined will always take revenge on the establishment in any vote, and the conflating of that fact with the Brexiteers' pushing of a false superior nostalgic and prejudiced view of foreigners and Europe made people vote for the false hope of a new dawn. Let us not forget that it was Boris Johnson who described himself as having a "weird sense of power" when he used to file those bogus and biased anti-European reports, as the Daily Telegraph's man in Brussels, and get the country frothing about bendy bananas and the like. If Boris is PM, and becomes the establishment, it will be easier to destabilise the whole Brexit project before the two years is up, because he will get bad news after bad news after bad news, and the whole stinking thing might come tumbling down, as Brexit voters are consumed by buyer's remorse. I know I'm "stupid" for looking for a way out, but that is why I signed that petition, so that some future "saviour" can point to it as just one other tool in their weapon cupboard when Johnson and his failed stinking project are ripe for being picked off. What must not happen is for Theresa May to become PM. She is a remainer, and that is not what the country has voted for. Then Johnson can put the stink on her, and inherit the earth afterwards. No way!
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Brexit
Jun 26, 2016 11:39:54 GMT
Post by Steve on Jun 26, 2016 11:39:54 GMT
I know it will almost certainly fail. But I'd rather the band played on as our ship of state sinks, so I just signed the petition to trigger another referendum. The idea is that people who voted for Brexit will have had their eyes opened to all the lies by the time there is a second referendum, so may change their mind. 3 million have signed so far: petition.parliament.uk/petitions/131215
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Post by Steve on Jun 25, 2016 23:45:28 GMT
The most moving thing I saw today was not a play, but two guys holding hands with signs saying "muslim and proud to be gay." There are so many cranks in the world who might take offense to that that I was bowled over how brave they are, and I teared up right away.
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Post by Steve on Jun 25, 2016 23:40:55 GMT
I had an emergency visit with the dentist on Tuesday, and he was eager to canvas my vote for Brexit. At least, I gathered that when, drill in hand, he said those famous words: "If we weren't in the EU, would we join now?" I was scared, cos I didn't want a man with anesthetic and a drill to know I was in political disagreement with him. So I obfuscated, and said "It'll be a close vote, down to the wire I think." He then proceeded to tell me about his suction machine, which he raged had once had a squirt gun attached, making it a dual use device. Suck out the yuck, spray in the antiseptic water, rinse and spit. But he said, the EU had banned the device, cos they said the bacteria from the sucking could go down the spray nozzle, and he fumed, the bacteria would then chase it's way down the device and back into the water supply, and my mouth would poison the whole of the London water supply. This made eminent sense to me, but the dentist was so angry about it that I said instead: "So what the EU is saying is that a bacteria from my mouth will charge into your nozzle, and like Tom Cruise from "Mission Impossible," accept it's mission to infect the whole country!?" "Yes, that's exactly it!" he exclaimed, infuriated. I started humming the Mission Impossible theme to rile him up some more, and thankfully, he got the joke and laughed. We both shook our heads at all the "EU craziness," after which I visited the polls on Thursday to vote for Remain, vigilant about our water supply. Anyway, this incident confirms Theatremonkey's point that not all Brexit voters were Little Englanders terrified of the foreign "other." Some just want double-nozzle suck-and-squirt guns.
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Post by Steve on Jun 25, 2016 23:20:29 GMT
Parsley, Parsley, there's no one like Parsley, He's at so very many plays, yet spotted only sparsely. You may see him in the first half, if you see him anywhere — But in the play's second half, Parsley's not there! Love love my song Thank you Xxxx Haha. To exonerate myself from plagiarism charges, credit goes to T S Eliot (ie Cats). I swapped you for Macavity: The Mystery Cat.
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Post by Steve on Jun 25, 2016 23:00:05 GMT
I think STEVE was there this evening? In the front row stalls?! Parsley, Parsley, there's no one like Parsley, He's at so very many plays, yet spotted only sparsely. You may see him in the first half, if you see him anywhere — But in the play's second half, Parsley's not there! I regretted buying the ticket the moment the line flubs started happening, and wished I went next week instead, but when I trialed the £10 Barclays tickets two weeks ago, and got offered front facing stalls, I couldn't resist. Incidentally, I believe Ken Stott flubbed his lines playing the same part at the Almeida press night years ago. Apparently Brian Friel was none too happy, as his words are everything to him, so Stephen Dillane had better get some practice in. I think it's a mesmerising play, but line flubs throw you right out of it, and the hypnotic intensity of those poetic words is lost. Anyway, it's too early in previews to moan, so what I will highlight is that Ron Cook is giving one of his best performances in this. He's absolutely wonderful, blunt, forceful and hilariously funny! This is a play of 4 monologues. At present, the first and fourth, by Dillane, need work. The second, by Gina McKee is dreamy, sad and mesmeric. But that third monologue by Cook is the absolute bees knees. Obviously, this play can't work as it should if all 4 monologues are not tip top because the Rashomon-like structure requires complete concentration on all 4, combining the action of each in your mind to build up a full picture of the events that each of the monologues describe. So for now, at this early preview, the only thing I'm genuinely over the moon about is Ron Cook. I will consider going again later in the run, depending on the word of others, as tonight, this just didn't cohere for me. In fact, the audience didn't even realise when the play had finished at fade out, and noone started clapping until the lights came back on, and all the actors returned to take their bows. Needless to say, the actors did not come back out a second time.
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Post by Steve on Jun 24, 2016 10:29:15 GMT
At least artists will be inspired by this.
Artists are always inspired in tough times.
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Post by Steve on Jun 24, 2016 10:21:52 GMT
I can't let Europe go. I can't. There must be some way to bring Europe back. Oh, I can't think about this now! I'll go crazy if I do! I'll think about it tomorrow. But I must think about it. I must think about it. . . I'll think of some way to get Europe back. After all... tomorrow is another day!
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Post by Steve on Jun 23, 2016 10:08:30 GMT
You spoilt every other detail of Wild. No, I haven't. I haven't revealed who Andrew's questioners are, who they each are working for, what their agendas are, or whether they are working together. I haven't revealed what they do to him. I have simply said that from the set-up (alone, in a Russian hotel room, with no life left), it doesn't matter to me what they do. He starts out with nothing to lose, so if they do nothing to him, it is boring; and if they do terrible things, it is undramatic torture porn. I am saying "Who cares?" either way. I have revealed one thing that Bartlett is trying to say, but Bartlett is saying a million things, and it's hardly news that google and facebook spy on us. If you want to know much much more, read Billington's review. And HG, if you really want to know nothing at all about plays, a message board about plays might not be the smartest place to hang out. That said, I do hope you keep torturing us all, as it's certainly more dramatic than the play lol.
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Post by Steve on Jun 23, 2016 8:05:02 GMT
Please Can you Do a detailed spoiler for me On the ending and set etc. I am not seeing until next week and am impatient! As a people pleaser, I want to do as you ask. But no, in this case, that would be wrong. Not only would other people be tempted to click on that spoiler, and ruin the surprise for themselves, but I want you to have the surprise. No spoiler can have the impact of seeing the the ending for yourself, but it will certainly ruin it for you. And I don't want to give you an excuse not to go, either, as this show is bound to crop up every time someone starts a "Best coups de theatre" thread, and as a connoisseur of theatre, you need to have seen it for yourself. If by the end of the run, you say you still haven't seen it, I promise I will spoil it for you then.
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Post by Steve on Jun 22, 2016 23:29:40 GMT
Bartlett has great topical ideas once again, but this time he has no dramatic vehicle to express them, save, that is, for his wonderful coup de theatre at the end. In fact, the coup de theatre tells the story in and of itself, so this could be reduced to one of those punchy 10 minute plays that Caryl Churchill is specialising in these days, without too much loss. The reason this play is singularly undramatic is that the Edward Snowden character, Andrew (played sympathetically by Jack Farthing) starts off at an all time low: he has betrayed the US Government, and he's holed up in a hotel room in Russia, isolated and alone, unable to speak the language and at the mercy of his handlers. So when we meet his handlers, played by a stubbornly insincere black leather jacket and mini-skirt wearing Caoilfhionn Dunne, and a severe and sincere suit-wearing John Mackay, they already have him at their mercy. No matter how much they needle him, we are never under any illusion that he has any power to resist whatever happens. All three actors are excellent, in my view, but they are all trapped by dramatic inertia. Like Bull, this is a threehander, in which two savvy people poke and prod at a less savvy person, but in that play, the latter chap had everything to lose, which is why it was so gripping, whereas in this play, Farthing's Andrew has already lost everything that matters. Bartlett typically has loads to say about the surveillance society we are living in, as we happily tell Google and Facebook, and hence the Security Services, everything about ourselves willingly, which, suggests Bartlett, makes Andrew's (aka Edward Snowden's) revelations redundant. But it's all "tell," and no "show," for the most part, because of the essentially undramatic set-up. All the "show" comes at the end, with that coup de theatre, and it's SO good that the production is close to unmissable! 3 and a half stars (one of those stars is purely for the coup de theatre, it's concept and it's execution).
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Post by Steve on Jun 22, 2016 23:05:18 GMT
I saw one of the last performances of this. I liked the music, but the lead character was pimping out underage girls to rich men, and the whiny book indicated we were supposed to feel sorry for him. Fail!
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2016 16:55:33 GMT
OK Steve, I've booked for this today based upon your message. If it's rubbish I'll be hunting you down like a dateless Taylor Swift. I'm terrified. When Taylor Swift had a fiancee, she still had time to corner La Hiddleston (that's me trying to be young like you, and failing) at a ball, so dateless, I can't even imagine. . ! Hope you enjoy the play, and that you took Baemax's seating advice (above), but that if you didn't, you try to focus on the play and not whatever seventh level of hell seat you are sitting/standing in. Until I know the result, I'm in hiding.
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Post by Steve on Jun 19, 2016 23:24:10 GMT
Saw this Saturday matinee, and adored this show! It's pure unadulterated love! I haven't seen that many Kneehigh shows, 3 previous ones I think, "Brief Encounter," "Umbrellas of Cherbourg" and the revival of "The Red Shoes." I liked all those shows, but this one is better, by far, for me. In "Brief Encounter," there was a mock certification that stated it was "certified suitable for incurable romantics," or something cutesy like that, and if I have any qualms about recommending this show, it is that if you are completely burned out on romance, bear in mind that that certification applies to this show in spades. It the story of Marc Chagall and Bella Rosenfeld, of the romance between a painter and a writer, who became husband and wife, lived through the Russian revolution, and who escaped the pogroms and Nazis that decimated the lives of almost everyone in their idyllic shtetl in Vitebsk in the Russian Empire, where they came from. But this show is unique, to my experience of shows that touch on such horrific subject matter, in it's focus and reflection of the optimistic and loving worldview of it's characters. Chagall was known for painting himself and his love flying in the air over Vitebsk, of paintings in which he and his wife would simply lift off from the ground and float through the air in their kitchen on a cushion of love. Chagall resembles his contemporary Charlie Chaplin, Rosenfeld resembles Louise Brooks, but their love for each other and everything around them is more fantastical and romantic than anything their doppelgangers ever commited to celluloid. The use of buoyant Yiddish-inflected music, singing and dancing, is so judicious that I feel these are the most loving and loveable characters I have ever seen on stage. Marc Antolin and Audrey Brisson are divine as the Chagalls. Emma Rice includes in their story just enough of the horrors these two lived through to nail two points: (1) Life can be terrible, but (2) it is love that makes it so special and worthwhile. Absolutely terrific, but bear in mind that "certification." 5 stars NB: If you can't see this show, there's a beautiful 4 minute youtube video that gives a flavour of the love the Chagalls had for one another:
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Karagula
Jun 18, 2016 14:45:35 GMT
via mobile
Post by Steve on Jun 18, 2016 14:45:35 GMT
It's got a terrible review by the Telegraph in which they ask, is this the worst play of 2016. And Aleks Sierz ends his theartsdesk review by saying it may well be his theatre event of the year. A Marmite show! It's less a marmite show, more of a homework show. No doubt Sierz received a press pack with a playtext, programme, pr notes and whatnot, then diligently did his homework to discover what the heck was going on. Parsley, Joel, Steve2 and myself hadn't a blind clue. Some critic or other said that there were 50 characters played by 9 people. Only way the critic could know that is doing her homework. If that's the case, each actor played 5 or 6 characters. We poor viewers who hadn't been set homework couldn't tell what was going on. Poor Joel and Steve2 begged me to explain what I could, and I tried my best, but my best wasn't good enough. Ridley is a genius, but this work is not audience friendly. To fully understand the show, you need to do homework, a LOT of it. It's a homework show. I respect Cavendish for refusing to do the homework, and approaching the show like us hoi polloi. The reviewers who did their homework are like experts, and their reviews are unlikely to reflect the experience of most people.
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Post by Steve on Jun 18, 2016 13:01:49 GMT
I'm working on it, Parsley. There is too much "generosity" about. Give me a ticket for it and send me to Meanness school, where I can take "Talk to the hand" lessons. I hope I don't start shaking hands or clapping hands, as I'm like that. Anyhoo, Old Parsley used to advocate making your own mind up, and never trusting the critics. New Parsley thinks you're "a Tw*t" if you're out of "the consensus." What happened to Old Parsley? Steve, never get more mean! There’s a real pleasure in knowing that there are people in this world who almost never can give one star, who seem to feel real displeasure at stooping as low as two, and who tend to be able to find that one, teeny morsel of good in the worst shows in town, a needle of goodness in the pooey haystack of the theatre we all too often see. Your levels of analysis are something to be truly envied, but it’s even nicer to have your niceness around! In fact, when did you last give one star?
Also, how did you and Parsley spot each other at the thing? When Parsley enters a theatre, I assume storm clouds gather in a foyer, dogs bark in warning, and those in the cheap seats chant Oh Fortuna, which may be a giveaway. Or I imagine eyes across a crowded room, yin and yang... Anywho, genuinely curious what gave you away.
Ha ha, no storm clouds whatsoever. I made the mistake of thinking Parsley was preceded by storm clouds and Oh Fortuna once, so mistook the most miserable man in the room for him at a previous show. Then, at another show, I mistook at a gentle chap with matinee idol looks and good cheer for Parsley. I'm fact, Parsley has the air of an immensely tall bespectacled "nattily-dressed" (to quote Foxa) academic. I had been chatting to two average sized blokes about what Philip Ridleys they had seen, when a bespectacled chap loomed up in the queue behind them, almost too tall to comfortably fit inside the room. I presumed him to have South Asian ancestors, though his sari-wearing posse were conspicuously absent, but given his confident bearing, an academic swagger that suggested he had six or seven phds, I thought here is Parsley, time to collect my five pounds! So as not to be rude to Joel and Steve 2, who I had been chatting to for 15 minutes, I presumptuously said "here's a man who knows all about Philip Ridley," to invite Parsley into the conversation, and we took it from there. . So "who pays me my five pounds?" is what I want to know!?
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Post by Steve on Jun 18, 2016 12:32:22 GMT
I'll probably post more about this later, but I'd definitely recommend. Parsley, the texts were on sale and the running time is long. It was the first preview so started a bit late, probably about 8 p.m. and we didn't get out until about 10.40. But it is really interesting, frustrating at times, but I loved a lot of the acting - detailed, believable, nuanced. It's a wonderful role for Alec Newman (younger board members will remember him as the headteacher for a couple of series of 'Waterloo Road') and he grabs it with both fists. It was in very good shape for a first preview. Besides Newman I also thought Susan Stanley, Leah Whitaker and Ony Uhiara were all great. A seating tip: don't bother queuing up to get the best seats - it is traverse staging with almost pew-like benches on two sides and they ask that you fill in from the end. I was fine about a quarter of the way down the front row, but there were quite a few complaints from the people further along (whose seats were also, oddly, lower than the rest of the row.) The pew/benches are also hard to get in and out of - a couple of older women with canes took to good-naturedly throwing their legs up onto the seats so people could get by. Hope you enjoy it. Hate the Fox report, love the Foxa report. Hope there is more to come, especially as Hampstead Downstairs doesn't review, so the Foxa Report is extra newsworthy. . . unlike the infuriating Fox Report, which is never anything but fog and propaganda lol.
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Post by Steve on Jun 18, 2016 12:27:44 GMT
What is lost in mystery and poetry is more than made up for by drama and truthtelling! Fantastic! Yes, that does seem to be the intention but personally I missed the "mystery and poetry" of The Deep Blue Sea which is like a shadow play where you experience characters and are perpetually reminded and fascinated by the indistinct realities behind the screen. It was very well produced and acted but surprisingly shallow because there was no subtext, just text. At the curtain, Paul Keating seemed emotionally drained and affected but I wasn't really and that was despite the excellent production and acting, and because this play just presents an historical incident with none of the sense of momentous reality lying behind which cannot be directly expressed that is The Deep Blue Sea. Reflecting on the evening afterwards, I focused on the incidental characters who remain in shadow in Kenny Morgan and who do still work here in the Rattigan manner. Especially Dafydd Lloyd, the neighbour working at the Admiralty who lives with a woman he says is his sister and seems perhaps too persistently determined to allow Kenny into his life with the open offer to come to his rooms to talk at any time. And also Mrs Simpson and Mr Ritter who, I think, remain as in the Rattigan play (which I haven't seen recently). Yes to all that. I think what must be avoided is to deduce that we know what Rattigan meant by his play, to assume that he couldn't express it because of the times, and to conclude that Kenny Morgan is better for having been written now. In one way, "The Deep Blue Sea" is the opposite of this play. Spoilers follow. . . Rattigan and Lennox are both pragmatic and earthy characters, in tune with their times, while Kenny Morgan, by contrast, is dreamy, romantic and ethereal. But in "The Deep Blue Sea," Hester is the earthy character, while her husband and lover are the ethereal characters, trapped by, respectively, repression (possibly latent homosexuality) and war trauma into being unable to fully express themselves. It is the fully emotional and sexual Hester, who, like Madame Bovary finds herself adrift in a strange mysterious and repressive world.
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Post by Steve on Jun 17, 2016 23:29:11 GMT
Managed to get a ticket at the last minute to see this tonight. Very glad I did. Thanks to TheatreDust for recommending it, and Mallardo for comparing it favourably to "The Deep Blue Sea," which is what pushed me into making the effort! Of course, the first act, for the most part, IS "The Deep Blue Sea," with Hester substituted by Kenny. Incidents and lines are copied wholesale, which would absolutely constitute copyright infringement had the whole project not been written at the behest of the Rattigan estate. The most fascinating thing about that first act is that it is completely different, despite being exactly the same. All the poetry of the Rattigan, all the fathomless mystery of human relations is gone. Now everything makes perfect sense, a handle can be grasped around every character, motivations are understandable in an almost banal way: far from reflecting the depths of the deep blue sea, this is a very predictable and obvious love triangle, a shallow sea indeed. And yet the second act takes this triangle, and aided by terrific turns by Simon Dutton (Rattigan), Pierro Niel-Mee (Lennox, the cruel thoughtless lover) and Paul Keating (towering as the tortured title character), it becomes both a tense thriller regarding what will transpire, as well as a brilliant historical document about the horrors of criminalising homosexuality. What is lost in mystery and poetry is more than made up for by drama and truthtelling! Fantastic! 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 23:22:55 GMT
Did you last until the end? Parsley, yes, just got home now. Nice to meet you. At least I had those other chaps to chat with in the interval lol. It ended at 11pm. Baemax will be over the moon. For those who want to know what this is like, think "Planet of the Apes 2," the one where mutated humans with telepathy worship missiles. What is this play about, you may ask? Well, Mareka (ie America, and if you don't guess it right away, they do American accents to make sure you do) is a land of milkshakes and mind control, where an infantilised fattened populace parrot platitudes and religious dogma, unaware that their masters really rule over them with fear and the gun. Ridley's intention is to create an epic story of resistance to Mareka, which reveals not only the phony origins of religion and the hypocrisy of the nation state, but also the cyclical nature of violence and history. However, his vehicle resembles the science fiction of Dr Who, without the Doctor and his companions for rooting interest. Worse, the doubling of actors, in this production at The Styx, makes it difficult to follow the very few distinctive characters that you might care about. Truthfully, you could watch some old Dr Who Tom Baker episodes, for example, "The Face of Evil," and learn the much the same things as here, but with charismatic entertaining leads to guide you through the story. Ridley can and will write an effective takedown of America, religion, history and humanity one day, I'm sure. This isn't it. 2 stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 20:28:34 GMT
I love Philip Ridley very much, but this attempt to depict the power plays and myth-making that come together to form a corrupt religion, does not feel ready for an audience yet. At least not for this audience member anyway.
On the plus side, I met Parsley. I'm sure he left at the interval (now), and with good reason!
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 8:01:57 GMT
The acting is really excellent and the connections between the actors are first rate There are really distinct personalities Eisenberg is really outstanding and obviously inhabits his character So many little quips and tics In some ways it's a performance to rival Denise Gough and reminded me very much of the startling performance Tom Sturridge gave in Punk Rock Unfortunately there are these actors raring to go places in a plot and development that doesn't take them anywhere at all I am also unsure if it's a comedy or drama and the fact that I felt the need to try and categorise it rather than take it at face value exposes the weakness It's worth seeing for the acting but something significant is missing and I can't quite put my finger on it I also have to say the characters as a whole are quite babyish Who recalls whole stories from the age of 10 when they are in their late 20s Saw this Saturday matinee, and loved it. I agree with everything Parsley says above, so I won't bother to repeat it. What I will add is that: (1) Katie Brayben's understudy, Amani Zardoe, was excellent as Sarah, the obect of Eisenberg's Ben's desire. Brayben was at a wedding; (2) Jesse Eisenberg cries real tears early on, which is the only reason I can stomach the otherwise wholly phony positive ending. The tears were the clue that this egotistical cruel spoiled monster had a deep well of pain, which earned him enough empathy from me that I'm not completely begrudging him his ending, though I'm begruging it a little; (3) Eisenberg's characterisation, an entitled fantasist and liar, with sadomasochistic fantasies, neediness, arrogance, is so excellent that I dearly want to see this character in a play that has more of a plot. In this play, as is, he is like Sesame Street's answer to the question "Which of these kids is not like the others?" but is not really tested beyond that; (4) Kunal Nayar's flatmate is the nicest and most likeable guy ever to grace this earth, leaving me with warm palpitations all over, and he's funny too, since Eisenberg generously gives him better punchlines than he gives himself. I hope I meet someone like this one day. Extremely fun, if thin play, with terrific charactisations and comedy. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 7:28:28 GMT
Saw this Saturday night, and liked it, on account of some striking performances, despite the fact that the play has lost most of it's comedy, and all of it's cutting edge, due to the passage of time. There is simply nothing surprising, or funny, any more, about the fact that women can be smarter and more capable than men. There is certainly something sad about the fact it was once surprising and funny, but that's another thing. Therefore, the only way to make anything of this play is to show how this particular woman is smarter and more capable than this particular man. This puts undue importance on the actors imbuing each character with individuality. Unsurprisingly, during the first act, there were very few laughs, as the characters had not yet been defined, and the situations in the play, which had once been funny, were no longer funny. However, during the second act, the audience began to laugh loud and often, as the director and actors had convinced them that these characters were worth investing in, and the power plays between them were somewhat dramatic. I say somewhat dramatic, because in a sense, there is no drama in this play. Naomi Frederick's Maggie Hobson is as capable of running rings, round Martin's Shaw's Henry Hobson and Bryan Dick's Willie Mossop, as James Bond is capable with a gun, or as Mel Brooks is with a one-liner. There is simply no drama there, it's a foregone conclusion what is going to happen. A foregone conclusion may not be dramatic, but it can definitely be funny, with each manifestation of that foregone conclusion presented as a variety of different and escalating punchlines to the joke on foolish, recalcitrant Henry Hobson's obstinacy, and on wimpy Willie Mossop's shrunken masculinity. Luckily, Martin Shaw gives great northern goat, Bryan Dick gives great retiring wimp, and above all, Naomi Frederick gives a great confident portrayal of a savvy woman who knows her strengths, knows the flaws of these men, and can compassionately manipulate all and sundry. That she can do so without alienating the audience is to her credit, as successfully manipulating other people can come off as arrogant, and she never does. This was a well-acted, and interesting evening of theatre, showing how a tired old play can be infused with a new lease of life. 3 and a half stars NB: If Hobson's Choice means you have only one decent option, that can be as true offstage as on. When leaving a theatre, if you are in the centre of a row, no matter how much of a rush you are in, it is Hobson's Choice that you trudge at a funereal pace, one foot at a time, behind people who are walking slower than snails. Otherwise is the path to misery. Mr. Church, the director of the play, had been making copious notes on the production, still in previews at the Vaudeville, from the centre of his row. When he got up to leave, he had the frenetic hurry of a working man trapped by leisured dawdlers. He clutched at the air with clawed hands in frustration, but try as he might, he could not overtake the funeral march. As he reached the side aisle, he suddenly boldly bolted for a sliver between the exiting snails, tripped over a woman's foot, struggling to regain his footing. "In a hurry, are you?" growled an enormous tall thin man, affronted. An angry exchange continued between Church and the giant for some thirty seconds, which I could not hear, six people behind them in the queue, but finally Church erupted with the exclamation "ARE YOU THREATENING ME!?" The giant loomed over Church deliberately, pressing his face to within an inch of the smaller man, but Church fortunately seized an opportunity, and darted away through an entire empty row of chairs to join the tortoises on the other side of the theatre. If there's one thing worse than a slow queue, it's a slow and scary queue. So next time you leave the theatre in a hurry, just don't. That's Hobson's Choice.
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1,206 posts
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 6:37:41 GMT
one has to wonder at your generosity I'm working on it, Parsley. There is too much "generosity" about. Give me a ticket for it and send me to Meanness school, where I can take "Talk to the hand" lessons. I hope I don't start shaking hands or clapping hands, as I'm like that. Anyhoo, Old Parsley used to advocate making your own mind up, and never trusting the critics. New Parsley thinks you're "a Tw*t" if you're out of "the consensus." What happened to Old Parsley?
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Post by Steve on Jun 13, 2016 6:21:55 GMT
Saw this yesterday, and liked it. It's like a three course meal of Phaedra myths that gives you indigestion, but which nonetheless satiated a hunger. In a way, it's like one of those deals, where you got suckered into eating too much because if you buy the main meal, you get appetisers and desert for free. Some spoilers follow. . . The main meal is Sarah Kane's "Phaedra's Love," which is undoubtedly a sly comedy, in the guise of a terrible tragedy. For me, the dealing with Kane was surefooted, with bass notes indolently beating a time, like a metronome, as adults behave like spoiled teenagers, and teenagers behave like spoiled teenagers, and everyone kills everybody. The chiming notes sound, for the most part, like a monotonous and unvaried version of John Barry's theme from "On Her Majesty's Secret Service," to which Isabelle Huppert's lustful, needy and immature Phaedra makes slow dull love, in words and deeds, to Andrzej Chyra's degenerate Hippolytus. Chyra looks like Tim Minchin at his most degraded and debauched, and Huppert sounds like a dimwitted Kathy Burke comedy character, and I found myself both highly amused, as well as sad about love's limitations, as intended. The starters were a smorgasbord of hor d'oeuvres that made no sense together, but which you were forced to have one of each anyway: First, there was a spiderwoman dancer, Rosalba Torres Guerrero, dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl, but moving like a praying mantis, or sometimes like a shaggy dog trying to shake fleas out of her hair. She had that Japanese horror movie way of inflecting ordinary movements with ticks, suddenly crawling on her hands and knees, more insect than human. I think she was a metaphor for the creepiness of love, beneath an attractive surface, but you could tell me anything and I'd believe you. A mesmerising dancer though; Second, there was some plaintive arab wailing, which seemed to be intended to summon up the dawn of civilisation, and to a degree summoned up the dawn of civilisation, and to another degree, made me feel like I was in a Turkish restaurant. This felt appropriate since the whole experience was analogous to a meal; Third, there was Isabelle Huppert giving us the birth of civilisation through period pains; Fourth, there was Isabelle Huppert giving us the birth of civilisation, as Aphrodite, telling us that all our urbane pleasure-pursuing society came from her "chatte." Before this play, I didn't know the French version of the c-word, so I learned something, and I'm gratified it still begins with "c," so it will be easy to remember, and even if you forget, you can still say "c-word" in France; Fifth, there was Isabelle Huppert as Phaedra, crying out in love pangs inflicted by the depths of hell. How all of the above fit together, I'll never know, but I'm glad I had a nibble of each. It didn't stop at a nibble. The desert, for me, was delicious, a comedy sketch about an arrogant Professor, Elizabeth Costello, derived from a work by J. M. Coetzee, with a topping of some of the best naturalistic acting ever. Huppert plays Costello, a woman who has the audacity of telling us how and what Gods think and feel, with one hundred percent confidence, interviewed by a fawning Mark Shenton type, played once again by Andrzej Chyra. I love skits about academics who claim to know things they can't possibly know, and I love skits about interviewers who really only care about impressing the interviewee, but can't, and are left sweating and beaming in embarrassment. So I found myself laughing out loud at all this. Of course, the sketch takes a twist when it links to Phaedra, and at that point Huppert performs some of the most wonderful acting I've seen all year. Overall, I am suffering severe indigestion, as I can't make head or tail of the work as a whole, but oh the ingerdients. The Spiderwoman, the Sarah Kane, the Arab singing, but most of all, the acting: Isabelle Huppert is a marvel: her comedy acting, her histrionic acting, her naturalistic acting. If she wasn't 63, having performed in a billion movies, dating back as far back as Bertrand Blier's "Les Valseuses" in the seventies, you'd think she'd orchestrated the most magnificent audition piece. She really is superb. In his dual roles as Hippolytus and the Interviewer, I also fell in love with Andrzej Chyra, who can be as effortlessly cruel, as he can be effortfully embarrassing. Overall, this is "art" theatre of a kind you can only enjoy if you have a taste for it. I found I definitely did. 4 stars
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