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July 22, 2005

:: still ok... ::

Sorry, everyone, for not posting yesterday... I am still OK, and getting the hell out of here for the weekend - booked a trip to Paris last night at 10. I leave straight after work. I'll post again when I'm back... in the meantime, thanks so much for your calls and emails and for those whom I haven't contacted yet, please don't worry. We're trying not to, over here.

Oh yeah, and I still refuse to be blown up. Categorically.

July 15, 2005

:: further adventures in torture theatre ::

The proverb goes, "If you haven't anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

Alice Roosevelt Longworth, however, said, "If you haven't got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me."

OK, Alice. Here we go.

I've seen a lot of good theatre in my life, and a fair bit of terrible theatre as well. Some of this wasn't all that surprising - mothers and partners will drag one to see Starlight Express or Sunset Boulevard or (heaven help me) Blood Brothers, and sometimes you just can't say no. But, see, that's stuff that you know is going to be awful - you can prepare. Down a gin & tonic or three, steel yourself for the worst and hope for some good production design. It may be awful, but it's fairly guileless (not to say mindless), and hell, some people really seem to like it. There's something truly horrifying, though, about seeing a great play with a lot of potential done so badly it makes you shake. People, let me tell you: the production of The Philadelphia Story currently on at the Old Vic is exactly that kind of awful. It may be the worst production of a good thing that I've ever, ever seen. Ever.

How do I begin to explain the atrocities we witnessed? I've directed The Philadelphia Story, in whole or in part, four times and can tell you unequivocally that it's both charming and funny. Really, really funny. So effortlessly well written and funny, in fact, it's a great way for young actors to learn comic timing. It's easy: just listen to the other guy, say your line, and people will laugh. It can't fail.

Except it did.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit that I did laugh a few times, but with very few exceptions, I was laughing at a line I knew and loved and not the delivery. Which probably had a lot to do with the fact that the delivery was uniformly wooden. Wooden and monotone. Wooden and monotone with really appallingly bad American accents. Wooden and monotone and - are you getting the picture yet? Good.

It does bear mentioning that the set was lovely - a traditional approach with a fine eye for detail and much attention paid to appropriate props and expert faux finishing. It's a shame, really, that only the front three feet of it were used. A fellow victim audience member remarked that he'd begun to suspect the actors were all just being dragged back and forth on a track like those duck-shaped cutouts you throw softballs at in the carnival stall. Which, judging by their emotive prowess, seems entirely possible.

It wasn't until about two minutes before the second interval that I realised what it was that was so dreadful about the acting: nobody on the stage was listening to anybody else on the stage. They could have been in different theatres for all the interaction and banter I saw - everyone was perpetually just waiting to say their next line. As an actor, I'm all for running lines on one's own, but that's normally the sort of thing that's best confined to, oh, say the dressing room. It certainly shouldn't be brought onto the stage, unless one is going for a more postmodern effect. Maybe that's it - maybe they got confused and thought they were doing Waiting for Godot or No Exit and not an elegant little 1930s romantic farce.

I am told that when Kevin Spacey was a member of the cast, the production was enjoyable, if not exactly spectacular. I believe the Guardian referred to it as "decent enough". But it seems to me that any production which suffers so grievously from the exchange of a single cast member is seriously flawed to begin with, and really I had expected much more from Mr. Spacey as a director in the way of things like... direction. You know, blocking. And tone. And pace. And... oh, never mind.

We escaped, most of us, at the second interval. I can only imagine how the third part went. By the time my drink arrived at the pub across the road I was visibly shaking, so I imagine if I'd attempted to stay I would have had a grand mal seizure if not a stroke.

So, dear readers, I urge you to learn from my misfortune: do not, under any circumstances, see this show. I leave you with a fine description of the experience, courtesy of the Third Geneva Convention (Chapter 3, Section 1):

"Collective punishment for individual acts, corporal punishment, imprisonment in premises without daylight and, in general, any form of torture or cruelty, are forbidden."

'Nuff said. Rent this instead.

July 8, 2005

:: resilience ::

it's The Morning After, and we all seem to be feeling, predictably, a lot better. yesterday pretty much hit me like a truck - i felt like i was walking around in sort of a venn-diagram-style intersection of the present and 4 years back, and was accordingly all confused and emotional and generally glad to not be in the office where i would have had to at least pretend to cope.

but i seem to have slept that off, and am fully back to the present (my fingers started typing 'back to the future' there all on their own - do you think that's cause for concern?), and have decided to leave the tv off and the tunes on this morning as i work from home. those who are watching tell me the news keeps talking about the resilience of the london people. about which another friend of mine said, yesterday:

"who would you *not* say that about?

"the icelanders are a rigid, not very resilient people. this terror attack will destroy their society. put a fork in them.

"there's much talk in the news today about what will happen to all the icelanders, now that their society has been destroyed. many plan to join a more resilient nation, like the british. or, really, anyone but iceland."

[it should be noted that neither of us have anything against iceland or the icelandic people, and that both of us are really rather fond of reykjavik and think icelandic is a lovely, if fiendishly difficult, language.]

this morning, though, the resilience of the british people was once again brought home to me, through the following IM conversation:

me: mmmmm......caffelicious.

si: it may have a bomb in it. be caffareful

me: don't worry, i'm following the instructions of my friend phin in chicago who says that no amount of me being blown up will be tolerated.

si: not even a limb or two?

me: he says no. demanding.

si: goodness

me: i know.

si: what about if your reflection got blown up?

me: he still might be pissed. pissed off as in angry

si: I know. am able to translate your quaint colonial tongue

me: see, i'm such a walkover i just do whatever they say.
can't even get blown up if i want to
[sigh]

si: I think we should organise a pan BBC 'no blowing up' day
'No blowing up at the BBC'
and picket the tube

me: lol

si: "hell no, we won't blow'
up
I refuse to be blown up.

me: a good attitude.

si: let them just try and make me blown up
I'll sit down on the street and refuse to be blown up.

me: oh yeah? i'll LIE DOWN in the street and refuse to be blown up.
i was saying to a friend yesterday that you know, i go through liverpool street every morning, and sometimes i take the hammersmith + city line, and the bus that was blown up was a #30 from hackney

si: I'm going to start a leaflet campaign

me: i was thinking it could just as easily have been one of my more psychotic exes.

si: hmm Where was [name of most recent insane ex] yesterday morning?
Was he blowing anyone up?
I refuse to blown up by [name] also.

[...]

si: I refuse to [be] blown up.
blown out - can't really do much about. blown down - well that's just bad weather. Blown around - I should be decisive. This is all ok. Blown up - no.

me: i see your point
very solid.

si: well you've gotta stand up for what you stand for I think.

me: or lie down for it, whichever.

si: you can't take it sitting down when it comes to what you stand for.

me: i have a perverse desire to post large portions of this conversation on my blog

si: I think you should. It's an important message for the world.

so there you have it. hell no, we won't blow. up.

July 7, 2005

:: i am ok ::

for those of you who've been trying to get through, i'm ok. i arrived at the tube station about 30 seconds after they closed down the central line, and because the buses were so crowded i decided to walk for a while. then a friend called me from the centre of town and said that things seemed to be getting worse not better and i should just go home. so i did.

once again, i'm feeling very fortunate. all of my friends and coworkers are fine (still waiting to hear back from one, but i'm optimistic), and i'm home and safe.

but man, it still really really blows.

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