inner dialogue

Nothing wrong yesterday, if you even noticed that I missed it. I was just tired. The very thought of thinking (you know what I mean) paralyzed me, so I didn’t do any writing. I read but not much. I’m reading Florida, a collection of short stories by Lauren Groff, whose writing I love (and who is up for a National Book Award) but these stories were making me jumpy, frightened, nervous and suspicious. Abandoned children struggling to survive (some don’t), cheating men and women, snakes, bugs, hurricane-like storms are all described vividly and memorably; I wolud finish one story and then leave the book for a while to give me time to recover. Actually, I left off one yesterday without finishing it and quit for the day - have to go back and see what happened to the not-very smart or nice “heroine”.

I’m not very brave. Smart as I think I am, I struggle along - banal, middle-of-the road, merely articulate, seldom original. I digress.

I am going to try to catch my inner dialogue, the constant flicker of thoughts and images that waft through my mind or brain - whatever. (I read that scientists are trying to separate and identify mind, brain and soul.) Anon, anon. It’s 5:29 a.m. Maybe I can sleep a little longer, before the day begins and nap-times start.

here we are again

What day is it? Catching up on Napoli Millionari, but I’m not sure if it’s worth the effort. This old (19450?) play by Eduardo De Filippo (1900-1984) . His play (a new translation by Canadian playwright, John Murrell), without a clear protagonist, set in a forgotten (Act I, 1942; Act II & III, post-war) Italy, with far too many bodies on stage, without a clear story-line but with an unwieldy second act, would not survive a workshop these days. I’d begin by collapsing the second and third acts into one and clarifying the narrative line to two or three salient points, and cutting the number of people coming and going so that the audience can keep track of them. Ah, well, I’m not a play doctor.

I guess Tom McCamus, playing Gennaro, is the protagonist, but that isn’t clear until about two-thirds of the way into the play. He has a good voice, suited to Canadian vernacular speech patterns. He never makes me believe for a moment that he is an Italian husband and father with principles, not easily defined or recognized by the amoral people around him, not above a little dishonest chicanery himself. (He plays dead to avoid paying off a debt.)

There are some nice set pieces, quite entertaining, and the moral lesson of the story is clearly shown. But…

I didn’t enjoy it. You might. Speaking of which, why, why, WHY do people keep getting up and giving standing ovations to a performance or a performer who does not deserve it? Do they think it’s required of them? Theatre etiquette? It’s not polite to block the view of other patrons so that they are forced to stand, against their will, in order to see the cast.

See, I’ not a critic, just a petulant, spoiled theatre-goer. Leave it at that.

Oh, I forgot to say that the play was directed by Antoni Cimolino, who selected it for the season.. I guess every artistic director is permitted a certain amount of self-indulgence.