Here comes the sun...
I know, I missed a week again. But this time, my excuse is that I was on a train up to Stratford to do a research project. I couldn't update from a train. No, honestly, I couldn't. It was sad.
Stratford, though, was not sad. We caught a showing of The Tempest while we were there, and it was just gorgeously, gorgeously done. Antony Sher as Prospero was fairly magnificent, and John Kani as Caliban was very affecting, although I have mixed feelings about the face he presents in interviews. (I haven't read any interviews with Sir Antony, but he was perfectly charming when I met him.) And Ariel and Ferdinand were very attractive and took their shirts off a lot, so that was nice too.
The interpretation was post-colonial and almost purely African, and it was bright and beautiful and interesting. Everyone we talked with beforehand said things like "It's certainly a very interesting production," so I was prepared for rather the worst, but actually, I thought the whole thing worked beautifully. In practical terms, it was very creative: there was a monstrous puppet Sycorax, and the disappearing banquet was the best I'd ever seen it; plus the way Prospero summoned Ariel was clearly authentic. And on an interpretive level, both Prospero and Caliban became so much more interesting. Prospero, especially, I think, since we got to see his much darker side, and so many character flaws that most productions just ignore.
So that was moo-velous, and my research went just fine, and it has been so spring-like since I got back! I swear, when the sun shines on England, any part of England, you just feel in your heart that God is smiling on you. It is even supposed to get up to 60°F this week, which is crazy-excellent. I only need like, a t-shirt and one jacket when I go out. I know, know for a fact, that in a matter of days the sky will dump ice on my head, because that is the way spring is in this part of the world. But dammit, I will enjoy this while I can.
A final bit of news - last night I watched the movie Penelope, with Christina Ricci and James McAvoy, and I have decided that it is the cutest movie in the world, and life-affirming to boot. Sometime soon I am going to buy it for myself, and meantime I must encourage all of you to watch it. So sweet, so nice, like a combination of Shrek 2 and Pushing Daisies. Next time you're in a bad mood, scamper off and rent it; you won't regret it.
Showing posts with label Theater Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theater Review. Show all posts
16.2.09
Good Old Wooden O
Obviously, I missed my update day yesterday. My excuse is that I'm staying in London and getting on the net in 15 minute increments at 50p each.
Plus, my Globe stuff is very exciting to me, but may be less so to others. I'm having a total blast -- they take us up on the stage to say lines and move around; we're doing text work on Hamlet and Julius Caesar; we have movement, and voice, and stage combat with big swords - it's fun.
It's also stressful, of course, and not a lot of private time in a hostel and very expensive food and stressful things like that. Exhausting. That's the word.
In other news, not unreleated, I caught the musical stage version of Sunset Boulevard last Saturday. I regret to inform the general public that whatever Andrew Lloyd Webber may or may not once have had (that is up for debate), he has now lost it. Which is sad, because I enjoy several, though not all of his musicals. But whatever it was, it's gone now; the music (and lyrics) were by far the worst element of this particular musical. Story - good; concept - interesting; acting - fantastic; songs - toilet. Sad but true.
I've been buying loads of books, but instead of writing about them, I have to sign off.
Plus, my Globe stuff is very exciting to me, but may be less so to others. I'm having a total blast -- they take us up on the stage to say lines and move around; we're doing text work on Hamlet and Julius Caesar; we have movement, and voice, and stage combat with big swords - it's fun.
It's also stressful, of course, and not a lot of private time in a hostel and very expensive food and stressful things like that. Exhausting. That's the word.
In other news, not unreleated, I caught the musical stage version of Sunset Boulevard last Saturday. I regret to inform the general public that whatever Andrew Lloyd Webber may or may not once have had (that is up for debate), he has now lost it. Which is sad, because I enjoy several, though not all of his musicals. But whatever it was, it's gone now; the music (and lyrics) were by far the worst element of this particular musical. Story - good; concept - interesting; acting - fantastic; songs - toilet. Sad but true.
I've been buying loads of books, but instead of writing about them, I have to sign off.
15.1.09
Metatheatricality
My professors toss that word around all the time. I'm pretty sure it means something, but your guess is about as good as mine about what that something might be. Maybe it's the section of the library above where they put the Theatricality books. (Ignore that joke if you don't know Aristotle trivia. What am I talking about? No one knows Aristotle trivia. I am so sleepy, you guys.)
I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.
Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.
Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.
We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.
It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.
I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.
So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.
I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.
Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.
A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.
The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.
Dude, could I make this up?
Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.
Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.
I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.
Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.
Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.
We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.
It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.
I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.
So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.
I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.
Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.
A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.
The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.
Dude, could I make this up?
Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.
Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.
4.1.09
That's Entertainment...
"It might be a fight like you seen on the screen / a swain getting slain for the love of a queen / some great Shakespearean scene / where a ghost and a prince meet, and everyone ends in mincemeat..."
Dude, you guys, I saw Hamlet last week! The RSC Hamlet. With Patrick Stewart. I KNOW!
Seriously, it was incredibly exciting. I was in the very back row, so my view wasn't spectacular or anything, but it didn't matter. Either they had the best mic-ing system I've ever heard, or the acoustics were fantastic, because I could hear everything brilliantly. Both the design and the acting were top-notch, and while I wish I could have seen Tennant's Hamlet, his understudy did just fine and has nothing to be ashamed of. The best actors by far, however, were Stewart as Claudius and Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius. (Both of them were also very nice and gave me autographs, and Davies especially was a total sweetheart about the whole thing. I'm going to buy his book now.)
The design also just blew me away. The stage and back wall were reflective, which was used to great effect, making the lights bounce and managing to look both like a symbol of wealth and like something is terribly wrong. Which, you know, fits the play well. The costumes were gorgeous, and the sets hovered just on the edge of being too high budget to make an impact, but didn't cross over it. In fact the whole production was like that; if things had been just a little more done, it would have been too overdone to be interesting, but everything stayed just the right side of the line. I can honestly say it was the first time I've read or seen Hamlet and actually enjoyed it, except for perhaps season one of Slings & Arrows. The only piece that I didn't like was Ophelia, whose sanity was unimpressive and whose madness even more so. But I've never liked her, and anyway you can't have everything.
In other news, they have just cast the new Doctor Who, and I am pleased to announce that he is both young and gorgeous. Listen, I'm going to have a mad crush on whoever plays the Doctor, because I totally love the Doctor in all his forms except Colin Baker. So it's nice when they throw me a bone by casting someone who is not far from my own age and empirically good looking... it makes my obsession easier to explain to my friends.
Finally, to round this out: everyone should go to the library and get a copy of Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader, because it rocks. It'll take you maybe an hour to read and it will improve your outlook on life dramatically. This PSA brought to you free of charge.
Dude, you guys, I saw Hamlet last week! The RSC Hamlet. With Patrick Stewart. I KNOW!
Seriously, it was incredibly exciting. I was in the very back row, so my view wasn't spectacular or anything, but it didn't matter. Either they had the best mic-ing system I've ever heard, or the acoustics were fantastic, because I could hear everything brilliantly. Both the design and the acting were top-notch, and while I wish I could have seen Tennant's Hamlet, his understudy did just fine and has nothing to be ashamed of. The best actors by far, however, were Stewart as Claudius and Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius. (Both of them were also very nice and gave me autographs, and Davies especially was a total sweetheart about the whole thing. I'm going to buy his book now.)
The design also just blew me away. The stage and back wall were reflective, which was used to great effect, making the lights bounce and managing to look both like a symbol of wealth and like something is terribly wrong. Which, you know, fits the play well. The costumes were gorgeous, and the sets hovered just on the edge of being too high budget to make an impact, but didn't cross over it. In fact the whole production was like that; if things had been just a little more done, it would have been too overdone to be interesting, but everything stayed just the right side of the line. I can honestly say it was the first time I've read or seen Hamlet and actually enjoyed it, except for perhaps season one of Slings & Arrows. The only piece that I didn't like was Ophelia, whose sanity was unimpressive and whose madness even more so. But I've never liked her, and anyway you can't have everything.
In other news, they have just cast the new Doctor Who, and I am pleased to announce that he is both young and gorgeous. Listen, I'm going to have a mad crush on whoever plays the Doctor, because I totally love the Doctor in all his forms except Colin Baker. So it's nice when they throw me a bone by casting someone who is not far from my own age and empirically good looking... it makes my obsession easier to explain to my friends.
Finally, to round this out: everyone should go to the library and get a copy of Alan Bennett's The Uncommon Reader, because it rocks. It'll take you maybe an hour to read and it will improve your outlook on life dramatically. This PSA brought to you free of charge.
13.12.07
Questions... Questions That Need Answering
These are my questions today:
1. Who is going to crack me up today? The Christmas season is annoying in certain ways (obviously) but there seem to be higher percentages of customers who ... how can I say this? Who could easily be satirized in a Jane Austen novel, how about that. Like the older couple in last Monday, who appeared so confused that I stopped "shelving" (read: reading) and asked if they needed help. I got them sorted out, and heard the woman tell her husband triumphantly, "You see, Frank? All we had to do was ask!"
2. What does The Guy I Have My Eye On think about me? I know, I know, so shallow. But I haven't gone remotely ga-ga over a boy in almost a year and a half, so I am due. And this guy is cute and sweet and polite, and I can't tell if he has his eye on me back, or if he's just a nice guy. And there is no one I can ask.
3. When is the guy whose room I took going to move off the couch? He's a nice guy, and I totally understand the legarthy that seizes one at the prospect of moving out, especially packing up one's stuff and moving to another country, but they put the ad in, I only answered it, and it has been a full month since I moved in. Again, I have no objections to him personally, but the house really isn't big enough for four, and he spends forever in the bathroom.
4. Where are all these ants coming from? Look, my friends, the buffet table is CLOSED. I thought I made that perfectly clear when I took all the dirty dishes out of my room and then squirted you all with Windex.
5. How am I going to find time to go to the city and get my nose ring adjusted? Which it needs, sometime before Christmas. In broader terms, how is it that I have loads of time to spend goofing off checking my email and such, and none at all to do the research I am supposed to be doing? How can I make time for dates with old college chums (not date-dates, see above. Just hang-out dates) but not to sit down at the library and do some good old-fashioned research? How does my internal time management even work?
6. Why don't I like any modern playwrights except Stoppard? I saw a play last night, by an award-winning playwright, and it seriously just sounded like Lionel's efforts from season two of Slings & Arrows. I mean, don't get me wrong, the staging was excellent and the story reasonably compelling, but the dialogue just... did nothing for me. Why is that? It's not just this guy, it's pretty much any play that's been written in the last twenty or thirty years, except musicals, Stoppard, and the short plays my friend Tangy used to write when we were teenagers.
1. Who is going to crack me up today? The Christmas season is annoying in certain ways (obviously) but there seem to be higher percentages of customers who ... how can I say this? Who could easily be satirized in a Jane Austen novel, how about that. Like the older couple in last Monday, who appeared so confused that I stopped "shelving" (read: reading) and asked if they needed help. I got them sorted out, and heard the woman tell her husband triumphantly, "You see, Frank? All we had to do was ask!"
2. What does The Guy I Have My Eye On think about me? I know, I know, so shallow. But I haven't gone remotely ga-ga over a boy in almost a year and a half, so I am due. And this guy is cute and sweet and polite, and I can't tell if he has his eye on me back, or if he's just a nice guy. And there is no one I can ask.
3. When is the guy whose room I took going to move off the couch? He's a nice guy, and I totally understand the legarthy that seizes one at the prospect of moving out, especially packing up one's stuff and moving to another country, but they put the ad in, I only answered it, and it has been a full month since I moved in. Again, I have no objections to him personally, but the house really isn't big enough for four, and he spends forever in the bathroom.
4. Where are all these ants coming from? Look, my friends, the buffet table is CLOSED. I thought I made that perfectly clear when I took all the dirty dishes out of my room and then squirted you all with Windex.
5. How am I going to find time to go to the city and get my nose ring adjusted? Which it needs, sometime before Christmas. In broader terms, how is it that I have loads of time to spend goofing off checking my email and such, and none at all to do the research I am supposed to be doing? How can I make time for dates with old college chums (not date-dates, see above. Just hang-out dates) but not to sit down at the library and do some good old-fashioned research? How does my internal time management even work?
6. Why don't I like any modern playwrights except Stoppard? I saw a play last night, by an award-winning playwright, and it seriously just sounded like Lionel's efforts from season two of Slings & Arrows. I mean, don't get me wrong, the staging was excellent and the story reasonably compelling, but the dialogue just... did nothing for me. Why is that? It's not just this guy, it's pretty much any play that's been written in the last twenty or thirty years, except musicals, Stoppard, and the short plays my friend Tangy used to write when we were teenagers.
8.5.07
The Globe is my Tiffany's
Except I never eat breakfast there, because the shows are all in the afternoon and evening.
I was only in London for one night, but of course I have obligations for my one evening. I got very lucky, too -- totally sold out, and a long line for returns, but I scored my standing ticket at the very last minute, and that made it even better.
The play was Othello, not my favorite for a variety of reasons, and sadly this performance didn't really change my mind. I always get the feeling that in order to write Othello, Shakespeare took the two main character traits of Aaron, from Titus, and split them into two characters and wrote a play about those two. Othello got the dark skin and the resentment implied therein, and Iago got the evil and cunning and whatnot. And you know, there's nothing wrong with that, work with what you know and all, but the way the show ended up, it's really intensely difficult to do.
Because, right, Othello has to do this complete 180 degree turnaround, and the catch is he really doesn't get very much time to do it in, and he doesn't get very much provocation. So you need to foreshadow fairly, because otherwise it's racist (the idea that a black guy can just change from good to evil at the drop of a hat), not to mention the audience is just lost, but if you foreshadow too much, it's still racist (even the black guys that act the best are really only wearing a thin covering of 'civilization' and they can throw it off at any time). Now you could argue that this just makes it a racist play, and in certain ways that's true -- it doesn't have Merchant of Venice's saving grace of the whole if-you-prick-us speech. But I've been thinking about that, and I don't think you HAVE to play it racist -- as long as you give Othello subtle but concrete emotions behind his actions.
Because the story makes perfect sense if Othello IS very civilized (I hate that word but can't think of a better one in this context) but people have been being racist against him all his life, literally everyone EXCEPT Desdemona. And so he's come to expect it, and he's very on guard against it, and he's very paranoid about it, and all that is feeding him all the time. And then, really, all he would NEED to do is hear something about how Desdemona doesn't really love him or is just like everyone else, and his world really WOULD collapse, and it would lead to him questioning himself, even possibly without realizing it. Does that make sense? As in, he's so used to hearing that he's a barbarian, and he spends his whole life trying to be as much like the people around him as he possibly can, to draw attention away from it, and naturally he's intensely sensitive on this point but of course he can't possibly SHOW that, because then people would flip out more. And he finally meets someone who loves him for himself (that's the whole point, isn't it, she loves him for the stories that he tells her about his life) and he feels like he can relax and let his guard down in front of her, and she really cares about him, and finally he seems to have won something and fit in, etc. And then he lets his guard down enough to trust her, but SINCE he's still really sensitve about the whole thing, it WOULDN'T take much for Iago to play on that sensitivity in the form of jealousy. And Iago would have to play it like jealousy, because Othello is so used to comments about his race -- he withstands them just fine from Desdemona's father at the very start of the play -- but the jealousy would tie in nicely with the fears he already has. And from there, it's not really a very far leap for Othello to be like, you know what, fuck you ALL, and quit acting the 'civilized' person for their benefit, and be so angry and hurt, and in back of all that really questioning his own self worth -- CAN anyone love me, AM I not a good person, IS it because of something I can't change -- and let all that swing him too far the other direction, right into wife-murder-in-her-bed territory.
And I really don't think that's racist, in fact, I think it's kind of anti-racist, showing the ways that racism can drive the most normal people into hideous things -- because racism helps drive Iago, as well.
Right, so the performance. I had the same problem with this show that I had with Titus last fall -- namely, they didn't get my interpretation across. Heh. Okay, I'm sort of kidding. What I mean is that in both cases, I felt like the play lacked subtlety. I thought the acting was good, I thought the energy was on target, the cast worked well together, etc., etc., but in both cases everything else was so very good that it threw into sharp relief for me the lack of subtlety when it came to why these people were doing the crazy things they were doing. I thought the 'clicker' scene in Titus -- the turning point scene, I mean, the one where he laughs -- was glossed over and we as the audience didn't get to see why he was laughing, that the elements didn't build, that the play stayed on one level instead of building and crescendoing like a piece of music. Okay, what I know about music fills maybe a teaspoon, but that's the analogy that makes sense to me. And that should come from the characters as written; you're telling a story about people, and it gets so much more powerful when you see exactly why everyone's doing everything, because then you get all creeped out about your own personality, which in my view is kind of the goal of good theater, especially good tragic theater. Which maybe tells you something about me.
And it's hard for me to critique that stuff, because both after Titus and after Othello, my own interpretation became really clear to me, so I think in both cases it's entirely possible that they're doing it on purpose, so that people's ideas about the play become clear to them. Mine only became clear after a lot of thought, but I was influenced enough by the play to take that thought, so maybe this is the best kind of theater there is, much as I might prefer the kind that presents such a clear interpretation and such clear motivations that you feel part of the story, and you question your character afterwards and all that. (And I know that kind of theater is possible, it's just insanely-beyond-all-reason difficult. But that was Romeo and Juliet a few years ago, and Richard II the year before that; I don't know who that guy is but I kind of want to kiss his feet and then stalk him.)
And this is why philosophy majors should not be interested in doing practical theater. Right here, case in point.
All that aside, I still felt this production was too choppy, something about it hadn't quite gelled yet, but it is only the third performance, so possibly that's coming. Iago was excellent; so were Roderigo and Desdemona. Wasn't a fan of the guy playing Othello, but that was entirely because of what I was talking about before. There were some very nice touches, like having him dress in Shakespearean attire until the day he's going to kill Desdemona, and then dressing him in Arabian robes. (See, you see what I mean? And I didn't even think about that until just now, practically, yet it obviously and clearly influenced my own interpretation of the play, and now I'm like, oh, so that's why they did that.)
Also, I made it up to Durham, I'm staying with my university friends, and am having a very good time seeing the sights and talking Johnny.
I was only in London for one night, but of course I have obligations for my one evening. I got very lucky, too -- totally sold out, and a long line for returns, but I scored my standing ticket at the very last minute, and that made it even better.
The play was Othello, not my favorite for a variety of reasons, and sadly this performance didn't really change my mind. I always get the feeling that in order to write Othello, Shakespeare took the two main character traits of Aaron, from Titus, and split them into two characters and wrote a play about those two. Othello got the dark skin and the resentment implied therein, and Iago got the evil and cunning and whatnot. And you know, there's nothing wrong with that, work with what you know and all, but the way the show ended up, it's really intensely difficult to do.
Because, right, Othello has to do this complete 180 degree turnaround, and the catch is he really doesn't get very much time to do it in, and he doesn't get very much provocation. So you need to foreshadow fairly, because otherwise it's racist (the idea that a black guy can just change from good to evil at the drop of a hat), not to mention the audience is just lost, but if you foreshadow too much, it's still racist (even the black guys that act the best are really only wearing a thin covering of 'civilization' and they can throw it off at any time). Now you could argue that this just makes it a racist play, and in certain ways that's true -- it doesn't have Merchant of Venice's saving grace of the whole if-you-prick-us speech. But I've been thinking about that, and I don't think you HAVE to play it racist -- as long as you give Othello subtle but concrete emotions behind his actions.
Because the story makes perfect sense if Othello IS very civilized (I hate that word but can't think of a better one in this context) but people have been being racist against him all his life, literally everyone EXCEPT Desdemona. And so he's come to expect it, and he's very on guard against it, and he's very paranoid about it, and all that is feeding him all the time. And then, really, all he would NEED to do is hear something about how Desdemona doesn't really love him or is just like everyone else, and his world really WOULD collapse, and it would lead to him questioning himself, even possibly without realizing it. Does that make sense? As in, he's so used to hearing that he's a barbarian, and he spends his whole life trying to be as much like the people around him as he possibly can, to draw attention away from it, and naturally he's intensely sensitive on this point but of course he can't possibly SHOW that, because then people would flip out more. And he finally meets someone who loves him for himself (that's the whole point, isn't it, she loves him for the stories that he tells her about his life) and he feels like he can relax and let his guard down in front of her, and she really cares about him, and finally he seems to have won something and fit in, etc. And then he lets his guard down enough to trust her, but SINCE he's still really sensitve about the whole thing, it WOULDN'T take much for Iago to play on that sensitivity in the form of jealousy. And Iago would have to play it like jealousy, because Othello is so used to comments about his race -- he withstands them just fine from Desdemona's father at the very start of the play -- but the jealousy would tie in nicely with the fears he already has. And from there, it's not really a very far leap for Othello to be like, you know what, fuck you ALL, and quit acting the 'civilized' person for their benefit, and be so angry and hurt, and in back of all that really questioning his own self worth -- CAN anyone love me, AM I not a good person, IS it because of something I can't change -- and let all that swing him too far the other direction, right into wife-murder-in-her-bed territory.
And I really don't think that's racist, in fact, I think it's kind of anti-racist, showing the ways that racism can drive the most normal people into hideous things -- because racism helps drive Iago, as well.
Right, so the performance. I had the same problem with this show that I had with Titus last fall -- namely, they didn't get my interpretation across. Heh. Okay, I'm sort of kidding. What I mean is that in both cases, I felt like the play lacked subtlety. I thought the acting was good, I thought the energy was on target, the cast worked well together, etc., etc., but in both cases everything else was so very good that it threw into sharp relief for me the lack of subtlety when it came to why these people were doing the crazy things they were doing. I thought the 'clicker' scene in Titus -- the turning point scene, I mean, the one where he laughs -- was glossed over and we as the audience didn't get to see why he was laughing, that the elements didn't build, that the play stayed on one level instead of building and crescendoing like a piece of music. Okay, what I know about music fills maybe a teaspoon, but that's the analogy that makes sense to me. And that should come from the characters as written; you're telling a story about people, and it gets so much more powerful when you see exactly why everyone's doing everything, because then you get all creeped out about your own personality, which in my view is kind of the goal of good theater, especially good tragic theater. Which maybe tells you something about me.
And it's hard for me to critique that stuff, because both after Titus and after Othello, my own interpretation became really clear to me, so I think in both cases it's entirely possible that they're doing it on purpose, so that people's ideas about the play become clear to them. Mine only became clear after a lot of thought, but I was influenced enough by the play to take that thought, so maybe this is the best kind of theater there is, much as I might prefer the kind that presents such a clear interpretation and such clear motivations that you feel part of the story, and you question your character afterwards and all that. (And I know that kind of theater is possible, it's just insanely-beyond-all-reason difficult. But that was Romeo and Juliet a few years ago, and Richard II the year before that; I don't know who that guy is but I kind of want to kiss his feet and then stalk him.)
And this is why philosophy majors should not be interested in doing practical theater. Right here, case in point.
All that aside, I still felt this production was too choppy, something about it hadn't quite gelled yet, but it is only the third performance, so possibly that's coming. Iago was excellent; so were Roderigo and Desdemona. Wasn't a fan of the guy playing Othello, but that was entirely because of what I was talking about before. There were some very nice touches, like having him dress in Shakespearean attire until the day he's going to kill Desdemona, and then dressing him in Arabian robes. (See, you see what I mean? And I didn't even think about that until just now, practically, yet it obviously and clearly influenced my own interpretation of the play, and now I'm like, oh, so that's why they did that.)
Also, I made it up to Durham, I'm staying with my university friends, and am having a very good time seeing the sights and talking Johnny.
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