Absence makes the heart and all that

Well the summer raced by with a blaring distraction that took me away from the internet world and into the strange new world of bumps and babies and things (never again to be mentioned). It was, however, a rather good excuse for not blogging for so long. But, oh! What this blog has missed. It has been a glorious summer of Shakespeare. I saw two productions that I won't soon forget and may have lodged themselves into my consciousness as *definitive* versions.

Cause Célèbre (or the things we do to each other)

Of all the juicy theatre I wanted to see, I did manage one: Cause Célèbre. It was a puzzling piece of theatre, much debated and deconstructed on the train home. Similar to Flare Path, I had to ask myself whether Rattigan was just labouring an obvious point or whether the real probing question was something quite different.

Too much theatre, too little time

There is so much out there I would like to see at the moment, but I need to keep up the editing on #bookwithasillyname (as yet untitled), which is terribly time-consuming. I would love to see the JM Barrie adaptation Mary Rose at the Brockley Jack (I wanted to see Project Snowflake there, too, but missed that one). I love the Brockley Jack: great food, great space, interesting productions. I may yet take the time to see I am a Camera at the Rosemary Branch (in Islington, for us South Londoners who don’t know it :-p). I read Goodbye to Berlin a few years ago (soon after saying goodbye to Berlin myself). More Isherwood background might get me off my behind (and computer) and into the theatre. Thrill Me - the Leopold and Loeb story would be awesome if it didn’t freak me out a little. And Cause Celebre is closing soon, too, and it’s too good an opportunity for comparison with Flare Path.

I haven’t been to Theatre503 for a while, but there haven’t been any productions that jumped out at me. I had a chuckle at their most recent production: SOLD. Why am I not surprised that an Australian playwright is writing about real estate? Oh, I know it’s about the characters and dark undercurrents, but there must be people in Australia who aren’t obsessed with real estate (sorry to be harsh on my own peeps).

Plus there’s a Tom Stoppard and then Ralph Fiennes in the Tempest at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. The Trevor Nunn season seems to be drawing me in very effectively...

Nineteenth-Century Emo

I have had such a marvellous week of treats at the National Theatre. Not only was there an excellent excuse to put my slowly settling ideas about Frankenstein back into the blog (there is still so much to say!), but I enjoyed a quiet evening with Polly, my netbook, in the foyer cafe before the Q&A last night, pausing only to people watch during the interval of Hamlet, playing at the Lyttleton. But last Friday was the greatest treat: Keats, Shelley and Byron.

That's theatre, man

Just back from the late night Frankenstein Q&A session in aid of Dramatic Need. It was just as superficial as expected, but amusing. For the people interested in the production, there were some interesting points made, but it rather frustratingly proved my point about the unquestioning lack of thought put into the discussion of science, which is at the heart of the book. Only the most trite aspects of science versus religion were discussed in any depth, once again completely neglecting the horror of the novel.

Flare Path by Terence Rattigan

Currently playing at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, the Rattigan revival Flare Path is an enjoyable piece of mainstream theatre. This was my first Rattigan play and, given my previously stated affinity for Tennessee Williams, I was curious to see the work of his British counterpart (in age at least). The differences were striking, although of course not solely attributable to geography.

Not Alone II

A self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps, but for the last ten years I have experienced a series of Tennessee Williams-related coincidences. No, I don’t believe it’s the playwright himself sending messages from the grave, or even echoes of his lobotomised sister’s brain remnants diffused somehow in my karma. I don’t much like the idea of karma in general - but that should be a standalone post. But there have been a series of small coincidences that, when considered in isolation, are only proof of the striking ability his words have to cut straight to my heart and overwhelm my spirit with poignancy, wistfulness and a (perhaps inappropriate) light of hope.

Not alone

It seems I'm not the only one inspired to respond to Frankenstein. It's quite stunning being part of a temporary national obsession.

I found this article from the BBC website. I've rarely read such interesting comments on a BBC article from the public before. Who suspected the art of and ability to deconstruct a piece of literature was alive and well in the British public?

I wish I'd written numbers three and nine, simply for the sake of my own intellectual vanity. There are a couple of slightly mad ones in here as well.

A (Post) Modern Prometheus

The new theatrical interpretation of Frankenstein by Nick Dear is most fascinating for the statements it doesn't make, rather than any attempts to make a statement, but Danny Boyle's excellent production is a stunning experience for the soul and the two actors deserve the wide praise they are receiving. Former colleagues on an adaptation of, quite appropriately, The Last Days of Don Juan, Nick Dear and Danny Boyle embarked on this project with a clear appreciation for Mary Shelley's novel and its fascination for a modern audience. The production is particularly novel because the two lead actors switch roles every night, creating two very different productions. Although I agree with the general opinion of reviewers that it is difficult to choose which casting is better, I will conclude this review with my own impression.