BIG day

I should know better. I'm trying to save a picture and it's taking too much time and I'm not getting it. A picture is worth a thousand words, so it's said, but in this case, and this morning (almost 7 a.m.) I don't have that much time because another BIG day is coming up and I have to report on yesterday.  WOW.

My father used to say there are three parts to every day when you are travelling i.e. away from your usual habitat and normal routine: one, two and three, or, morning, afternoon and evening.  Ideally, you should use two parts in order to pace yourself and conserve energy.  Well, I guess I stored up extra parts after a do-nothing day like the day before.  I hope it lasts through until the upcoming day that will involve another three parts.  Well again, what’s the good of a TRIP if you can’t overdo?  Case in point: yesterday.

We began in The Lady Violet Room at the National Liberal Club, cheek by jowl with the Royal Horseguards Hotel (home base), closer than that: push through a door off the lobby and find yourself in a marble hall with a huge curving marble staircase leading up to, among others, the Lady Violet Room (I don’t know who she was; I’ll try to find out). where coffee and interesting cookies awaited, and two wonderful speakers from the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, there to discuss the Bard in this, his 400th Anniversary Year. 

Professor Stanley Wells is a Life Trustee of the Trust and former Chairman, plus Emeritus Professor of Shakespeare Studies at the University of Birmingham and Honorary Emeritus Governor of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and General Editor of The Complete Oxford Shakespeare, and the author of several books to do with you know who.  He edited the latest one, published in November in honour of this anniversary year, titled The Shakespeare Circle, a collection of essays about Shakespeare’s contemporaries. It looks like a keeper.  Check out: theshakespearecircle.com.

Rev. Dr. Paul Edmondson is Head of Research and Knowledge for The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust and is also a multi-published author and editor of books to do (much ado) with Shakespeare. Both men are besottedly in love with Shakespeare and the love and the knowledge oozes out of their pores like fragrance from the myrtle (Gibran). 

So it was a love-in, a very rich, informed, dazzling love-in, with special emphasis on As You Like It, on our playlist for the evening, and on the Scottish Play (Mac-you-know), on our Stratford’s program for this season (2016), to be directed by the A.D. (Artistic Director) Antonini Cimolino, who was our host and discussion leader this morning.  Quelle richesse!

Scarcely time to grab a bite (I had a cuppa soup in my room with a purloined slice of bread and cheese from the breakfast table – “coldly furnished forth”) before we boarded the bus to take us to the afternoon performance of Hangmen by Martin McDonagh, the Irish playwright (British born and bred) who sprang a full-blown playwright in his 20s with a series of stunning (world hit) plays. After a stage silence of some 12 years, during which he wrote for film and TV (?), he has come up with another stunner, deemed one of the top ten plays of 2015. 

Talk about gallows humour, Hangmen is exactly that; it’s a black black funny play about a retired hangman, hung (pardon the expression) out to dry by the abolition of hanging in 1965, running a bar and enjoying a kind of fame among his customers.  When I first read about it, I thought of John Millington Synge, one of my favourite playwrights, and of his play, The Playboy of the Western World, (1907), one of my favourite plays, cited in the program notes with its similar message: “state violence is only made possible by the tolerance of an entire population”.

Does that make you think of Ursula LeGuin and her unsettling story about the child in the basement? I’ll deal with that another time. I still have a play to go before yesterday was over.

I had a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers before we went off to the evening performance of As You Like It at the National Theatre, in the Olivier playhouse, such a marvelous complex.  I must say, it’s wonderful to be taken to the theatre - no hassle with driving or finding one’s way or parking – one of the great perks of a theatre tour like this.  As someone who can’t find her way out of a paper bag, I really appreciate it.

SOW, I tried that as an exercise on a class of very young children I was talking to (in a Playwrights in the Schools program, a service of the Playwrights’ Guild of Canada).  I found very large brown paper grocery bags (not easy to find but necessary; you wouldn’t give anyone a plastic bag to pull on) and invited them to put them on and then find/fight their way out.  What a revelation of character!  There are as many ways to find a way out of a paper bag as there are individuals to attempt it. You should try it. But I digress.

Polly Findlay, the director of the production we saw last night, has an awesome list of credits, so I knew we were in the hands of someone who knew what she was doing.  The Forest of Arden becomes a forest of hanging chairs and desks. as the characters escape the confines of the office and regulations and authority.  I can’t go into details about the performances because I have to have some breakfast before I get on the bus again to begin today’s revelations. 

I just want to say a word about the cleaning staff; they deserve a round of applause and probably overtime pay for the work involved in cleaning up the stage after this play, and not only the stage.  I saved some of the coloured paper that fell on the audience to show you.  I sprinkled it on my desk and took a picture with my Pad, but then my technological illiteracy hindered me from passing it on.  I’ll still try but porridge awaits.

Anon, anon.

 

 

free day

I didn’t realize how spoiled I was by the musicals at the Stratford, Festival in Ontario until last night. I went to a West End production of Guys and Dolls (1950; music and lyrics by Frank Loesser; book by Abe Burrows), at the Savoy Theatre, transferred from Chichester where it was a smash hit.  Compared to Stratford’s achievements with its two musicals every summer, it was an amiable high school production.

I mention its provenance in Chichester because the set had been designed for that thrust stage (inspired by Stratford’s stage created by the British stage designer Tanya Moisiewitsch), a thrust, not a proscenium, stage, as you no doubt know. So the G&D set was squeezed in and pushed downstage a little uncomfortably. However, the sewer setting of the crucial crap game worked its magic for the Crapshooters’ Dance.

It’s not that the show wasn’t good, or professional or entertaining.   And it’s not that I don’t like it.  Guys and Dollsranks as one of my all-time favourite musicals of the 20th century; I know all the lyrics by heart. (I restrained myself from singing along.)  It’s just that the Stratford Festival, always considered a designers’ theatre (as well as an actors’),  is so rich and lavish and generous that other shows shrink beside it.  It was a good thing it was Rabbie Burns Day and most of our Group congregated after the show in the name of the Bard, at least, I did, for the Bard, I mean.  I had my wee dram of Glenfiddich so the evening was not flat.

Today is – flat - but I don’t mind.  Today is a Free Day set in the midst of this feast of theatre and art.  I have friends and observers who marvel at my ability to continue to travel and do things. (“At her age! Isn’t it remarkable!”)  Let me tell you, my free days are not adventures, they are respites.  In a way, they are forced but I don’t mind.  After all, I admit, I am old and I do get tired. Also I don’t have a lot of money so I can’t spend it on extra excursions, or dinners:  I am alone and I don’t want to eat alone in a beautiful (expensive) restaurant. I have a terrible sense of direction and I am capable of getting totally lost in Toronto so why push my luck in London?  As for London’s Eye, Europe’s largest Ferris Wheel, you couldn’t pay me to ride it, not with my terror of heights.

So you see, my Free Day is very free. Today I have worked hard at another staggering British cryptic crossword; I had a nap; I have read my programs and newspapers and my email (one of the great perks of computers, that you take your baggage along with you) with an offer of some reading gigs down the road; I had a cuppa soup made from a package activated with water boiled in my hotel room’s kettle, along with some bread and cheese I brought up from my breakfast-included; I washed a little lingerie (hardly lingerie, just a couple of cotton pants, NOT thong, but a cut above bloomers – I told you I’m old). 

Now I am going to go for a walk, not too far, or I’ll get lost.  You’ll be the first to know if you don’t hear from me.

Anon, anon.