I went to the theatre at the weekend with Mary 2 and Mum.
The play we saw was a version of Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, which duly inspired the Lerner and Lowe musical My Fair Lady. Incidentally, I was almost moved to tears by the music of their recently discovered musical The Day Before Spring. It proved, so viscerally, when that found score was played, that art is nothing without artists. That art without an audience is less than half of itself.
Somewhere in there, is a clarion call to bravery…. Except I would be hideous on book tours. No sense of direction. Where’s my publicist? I’ve forgotten which country we’re in!
Whenever I’m at the theatre I often think: Are we in the darkness with strangers, or are we there to witness the darkness in strangers? And I begin inexorably to interpolate, invited into the dream: unlike Film which always seems to appeal to me to want to absorb it.
This was a show in modern dress, retaining the original script and with inset video pieces. It was amusing and well executed, the set was interesting, the characters and situations relate-able (the cloyingly choreography of the parlour scenes reminiscent of the sacred Asian Social Dance of the Teacups while the “young people” are sized up for each other) but mainly it was just a nice rest from life.
My Mum actually fell asleep, gave one loud snore and I had to give her a sharp nudge awake. There’s always one. As a young Jane Austen might have put it – one will always revert to youthful disdain when assessing the conduct of one’s parents.
“Sorry Pola, did I fall asleep?”
“Yes you did.”
“It’s just so warm and dark in here. I didn’t drop off for long did I?”
“You snored loudly.”
“Oop!” She chuckled quietly.
You know you’re a grown up when their antics become lovably hilarious and not hideously embarrassing. I mean, it’s just disrespectful to the actors’ hard work – they were all non professional but very adept. The guy who played Col. Pickering had a very gentle gravitas and… call me somewhat masochistic (because he was very cruel) but I’d happily date Higgins.
I know full well that the phonetics thing had a fair share of the weight in that decision than the fact that he looked hot. Damnit Pola, you know you’d regret it in the end. Professors and actors… always professors and actors!
Never was the epithet ‘good show’ more aptly used. Hurrah! Although I weirdly got a sense of deja-vu at least 2-3 times which made me feel very odd. Bipolar neural glitch? I just don’t know.
~ Pola ~