The Plays, They Arrived
The plays, the plays I ordered, yes those wonderful pieces of literature that will fill my mind with mesmerising glories, they arrived today, arrived on my doorstep and were waiting for me in a very large cardboard box, all 38 books, all 163 plays, all 138 dollars worth. 85 cents a play, it turns out to be, counting the multiple plays within books.
Wrote nothing on either review today. Tomorrow I must make some headway, lest I lose the threads of each.
I think I’m going to try using the word ‘selfsame’ more often (that is, more than never).
Opera in the Domain tomorrow. VIP tent, no less. Don’t I feel special.
The Trojan Women
Finished reading The Trojan Women today. By Seneca. Reading Astyanax saying the only line of his in the play, “No! Mother”, caused an upswell of emotion in me that I had to consciously check. To think, that something that old can still be emotionally relevant, is a rather hopeful and comforting thought. Comforting because it shows that human nature hasn’t changed; hopeful because it means that human nature most likely won’t change in the future.
Had a desire today to buy One Thousand and One Nights or Arabian Nights or whatever it’s called. Shakespeare got some stories out of the Decameron, right? Or something like that. One wonders if the same could be said for Scheherezade (or however you spell her name).
1 and a half pages on the Thyestes review today. Meant to finish off the scene but got caught up in the tennis. 0 pages on the Gross und Klein review.
Also, my 98 year old grandfather seems to be on the way out. (We received a call from the nursing home saying that he was ‘slowing down’.) Went to visit him today, not to say my goodbyes (I’d done that a long time ago), but just to visit. Part of me thinks it was to give him comfort (though he was asleep for the entire time). Another part wonders whether I did it because I wanted to be sure that I had actually said my goodbyes, even though I knew I was. And a third, and probably strongest, part suggests that I did it as an observer of the event, the dwindling moments of life, the last ekes of sand. When he goes it will be the last of that generation in my family. Which means my parents are next in line. That’s an interesting thought.
From what I can remember, he seemed – even with his dementia – happy that I was going to all these concerts and operas and whatnots that I am now. One wonders about the progression of the generations of my family, with him in quite a bit of poverty at one point, and the family never particularly well off, and then my parents climbing up to middle-upper middle class wealth, and now myself, swanning about being literary. I take my father with my to some of the concerts (as a backup when I can’t find a friend to come with me), and he said recently that he’s been, in the past 18 months, the most cultured he’s ever been.
Leaving my grandfather’s room, a reverent gloom still clinging to us, I turned to my mother and said (as we had been discussing it before we left home), “I think I’ll go and get petrol”. ”Okay,” she said, “I’ll see you at home.” And suddenly the mood had been lifted, with this introduction of the everyday necessity into the conversation. If I ever write a scene in a play where, at the end of a tragedy, say, the character dies, and the family is surrounding them, and, after a suitable pause, someone breaks the silence and life begins to go on again, then it will be because of that moment in the nursing home, methinks.
Anyway, The Trojan Women was better than Phaedra, I think. On to Oedipus.
Phaedra
Read Seneca’s Phaedra today. Methinks Ted whatshisname’s (the husband of Sylvia Plath) translation of Racine’s version of it was pretty close to the original. Hughes, that was it. Ted Hughes. That was the first NTLive play, you know, Phedre, with Helen Mirren and Dominic Cooper (Dominic Cooper who I saw in The History Boys before I was really into theatre).
Rather enjoyed the play. ’Twas better than Thyestes by a long shot, methinks. And The Trojan Women, which I’m halfway through now, is looking like it’ll be even better, and there’s the advantage of my not knowing what is going to happen as well, which is always a nice thing to have. Why on earth I didn’t read these plays sooner… Follies of my more youthful youth. But I’m reading them now.
Saw Foley tonight at the Opera House. It was quite good, as lectures go. Not what I expected, though.
4 pages on the Thyestes review today. 0 pages on the Gross und Klein.
You know, I don’t know if it’s because Greek/Roman plays have been adapted so many times or not, but after reading them I’m left with this feeling that I should adapt them. Perhaps it’s because they are so simple compared to modern plays. Hmm.
A History of Everything
Saw A History of Everything tonight. Between ‘meh’ and good. At one point during the play, in the entire-history-of-the-universe-being-narrated-backwards scheme they had going – sometime around 1600 – Cameron Goodall stands up and says “to be or not to be”.
It’d be nice to leave something like that behind. Not that you could ever know before death whether you’d achieved it or not.
1 page on the Thyestes review today. 1 sentence on the Gross und Klein review.
Hugo
I’m sitting here, watching the tennis, watching Lleyton Hewitt about to lose, and I’m thinking to myself, thinking “why am I so tired”, and then I look at the clock and see that’s it’s 1am. Huh.
Saw Hugo tonight. Spotted a cameo by an actor playing James Joyce. He was sitting next to Dali but I didn’t get a good look at him (I speculated that it might have been Proust, even though I knew they only met once, and that the meeting was exactly a success.) Great movie. Not what I expected, though – I was thinking it was going to be some sort of action-adventure, not a half-biography of an old filmmaker. They kind of didn’t mention that in the ads.
Cancelled a play I bought yesterday – The Jew of Malta by Christopher Marlowe. I also happened to buy The Complete Plays by Christopher Marlowe, so it was somewhat redundant to buy the play a second time – that’s what you get for buying in haste, it is.
0 pages on the Gross und Klein and 0 pages on the Thyestes review. Oh shut up.
An Order of Plays
Bought a few plays today, I did. As follows, they are:
Phaedra and Other Plays by Racine
Six Plays by Contemporaries of Shakespeare
Whose Life is it Anyway? by Brian Clark
Rhinoceros/The Chairs/The Lesson by Eugene Ionesco
Three Plays by John Webster
Five Stuart Tragedies
Restoration and Eighteenth Century Comedy
Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas
King Oedipus, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone by Sophocles
Long Day’s Journey Into Night by Eugene O’Neill
Theophrastus, Plays and Fragments by Menander
Absurd Person Singular by Alan Ayckbourn
Nine Plays by Eugene O’Neill
The Plays of Oliver Goldsmith together with the Vicar of Wakefield by Oliver Goldsmith
Equus by Peter Shaffer
The Rope and Other Plays by Plautus
Three Comedies: Volpone, The Alchemist, Bartholomew by Ben Jonson
Three Jacobean Tragedies: The Revenger’s Tragedy, The White Devil, The Changeling
Exiles by James Joyce
Bernard Shaw Six Plays: The Doctor’s Dilemma, Pygmalion, Major Barbara, Heartbreak House, Captain Brassbound’s Conversion, Man of Destiny by Bernard Shaw
The Oresteian Trilogy: Agamemnon, The Choephori, The Eumenides by Aeschylus
Mother Courage and Her Children by Bertolt Brecht
The Bald Prima Donna by Eugene Ionesco
Stages of Classical to Contemporary Drama - Masterpieces of Theater
Plays: Ivanov, The Seagull, Uncle Vanya, Three Sisters, The Cherry Orchard, The Bear, The Proposal, A Jubilee by Chekhov
Four Australian Plays: The Front Room Boys, Who?, White With Wire, Chicago Chicago by Alexander Buzo, Jack Hibberd, Jack Hibberd, and John Romeril
The Comedies of William Congreve by William Congreve
Prometheus Bound/The Suppliants/Seven Against Thebes/The Persians by Aeschylus
Look Back in Anger by John Osborne
The Jew of Malta by Christopher Marlowe
The Iceman Cometh by Eugene O’Neill
The Complete Plays by Christopher Marlowe
Three Plays: Six Characters in Search of an Author, Henry IV, Right You Are by Luigi Pirandello
Alcestis and Other Plays by Euripides
Plays Pleasant by Bernard Shaw
The Pot of Gold and Other Plays by Plautus
Electra and Other Plays by Sophocles
A View from the Bridge, All My Sons by Arthur Miller
And just how much, ladies and gentlemen, do you think this bounty – yes bounty – will cost you? Five hundred dollars? No! Four hundred? If you’re thinking that then you can leave right now because I am offended, ladies and gentlemen, offended that you’d think I’d give you such a bad offer as that. Three hundred? No, no, definitely not. Not even two hundred, ladies and gentlemen. What I can do for you now, for just those of you who have stayed behind right here, is sell this set to you for no more than $142.50. Now how’s that for a bargain! 38 books no less.
Saw I’m Your Man at Belvoir again today. Not as good as the first time, as I suspected (only the great plays don’t fade on a second viewing). Benedict Andrews was in attendance, along with Matthew Whittet. Can’t wait for Andrews’ production of The Marriage of Figaro next month.
Going in on the train, and having seen Thyestes twice, I took it upon myself to read Seneca’s script (I managed to find it last night, hidden away behind some other books). Took me almost exactly the whole train ride. Also the first proper ancient play that I’ve read in its entirety. It was…interesting. Very fast. Very…what’s the word – basic?
But it is interesting that today I read my first play in quite some time, and today when I get home from the theatre I get an email from a cheap second hand book shop online store thing that tells me all the plays are 50% off. I went through all 683 they had on the site and picked some that I thought I might like. I doubt I would have even bothered if I hadn’t just read Thyestes. The only problem now is, where do I put all the damn books?
I almost, when I came home from Thyestes yesterday, bought myself a ticket to ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore at the Sydney Theatre for its final performance in Sydney at 8pm, but decided I didn’t want to pay ninety dollars for the privilege. So it seems I bought myself some books instead.
Yesterday, I mentioned there was a play in the Atlas myth. I meant a monologue, basically, when Atlas is holding up the heavens. Not the story before that.
2 pages on the Thyestes review today (I started it). 0 pages on the Gross und Klein review.
Thyestes (Again), Atlas
Saw Thyestes again today – still as good as the first time. I was sitting the other side this time, and much closer to the stage, such that I noticed the blood covering Thyestes groin post-rape of Pelopia, as well as the blood smeared on Aerope’s head in the banquet scene. Still no idea how they managed to get the piano on stage. I assume they rolled it on from the walls. The production photos from the Melbourne run show seams in the wall from where a segment must’ve been opened, but I couldn’t see any, no matter how hard I looked. Or perhaps I did. I couldn’t be sure.
Sitting near the end of the row (one seat away), and four people walked up the stairs and made like they wanted to get past me. In a moment of chivalry I stood up and moved out of the row (usually I just twist my legs around). The man in front promptly stepped into a gap between the chair of the row below and the stairs and fell forward onto the seats. The woman behind him had thanked me for moving, to which I replied, after it was established that the man was okay, “lucky I moved”, to which she laughed.
Just felt you all might like to know about that. Yeah.
I later learned that it was apparently an audio-described performance, the one I attended. First for Belvoir ever. Didn’t even notice. Kudos, I say, kudos.
Also, the sign that was outside of Door 2 on Thursday night, that described the performance as having “course” language, has been changed to “coarse” language. Mmhmm.
As such, with having seen Thyestes twice (so far – I may see it a third time if I go to the Sunday Forum for the play – why waste a trip for an hour long forum when you can see the play again after), I’ve been reading up on Greek myths and plays. Must get around to reading Greek plays at some point. Don’t think I’ve ever made it through a whole one yet. Was having a chuckle at The Frogs tonight while watching the tennis.
Anyway, reading up on Greek myths I was, and stumbled upon Atlas (though I already knew about him) I did. Interesting concept, yes. There’s a play in that. Sounds like something Beckett would have written if he had been crossed with Stoppard. He had a meeting with Hercules (or Heracles) as well at one point. There’s a play in that too.
Wrote nothing today. Disgusted with myself. Was fun to watch virtually a whole row of women on the other side of the stage in Thyestes bring their hands to their mouths when the curtains rolled up and everyone saw the feast set up (that is, everyone realises that we’re going to see Thyestes eating the food). Saw a woman as well (what, a woman, at a theatre? Good lord!), at least 70, laughing at the jokes in the strapon scene. I wonder if she goes home and bakes cakes for children afterwards.
Plodding with the Plotting
Plotted out my review of Thyestes today. (It only took half an hour – I didn’t have much time for writing today. Plus it’s just a framework so I’m not floundering around and having to think ahead much when I get down to writing it.)
Watched The Artist tonight. French silent film (made in 2011) but with English signage. Rather good. Rather touching, actually.
No theatre tonight. Ahhhhh. (That is a relaxing “ahh”, a sort of happy sigh.) Even though I’ve enjoyed every show I’ve seen this month – quite the rarity for me – there’s still a feeling that having a “weekend” would be nice, rather than eight days in a row of theatre. 5 days on, 2 days off, yes? How interesting that work and leisure can have the same principles… (Though it is work, too, this seeing theatre.) Seeing Thyestes tomorrow again. Season ticket this time.
0 pages on the G&K review. 0 pages on the Thyestes review. 0 reviews written. 2 to go.
Thyestes
Well, I’m going to have to write a review of that at some point, aren’t I? Maybe I should write it concurrently with my review of Gross Und Klein, while I’m writing short reviews for everything I see as well. Dickens wrote The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist at the same time, right?
2 and a half pages on the review today. One review written. Two reviews to go (including a short one for Thyestes).
I’m Your Man, or so said The Leopard
Saw I’m Your Man at Belvoir tonight. Rather good. Rather perfect, in fact, for that type of theatre. Not sure if I’d give it five stars or not… Usually if you have any doubts then you don’t give it five stars… Hmm… Guess I’ll have to make a decision at some point.
Finished reading, after however long it took me (at least a month, probably more than two), The Leopard. Rather great book, that is. Definitely a classic, though probably only a one-hit wonder (well, it was). Wasn’t the author a prince himself? I have a theory about one hit wonders – indeed, there’s a draft blog post in the WordPress software that I haven’t written a word of, but it was entitled something along the lines of “Genius, Form, and One-Hit Wonders”. The theory goes that one-hit wonders come from the happy coincidence of a form with content, the writer only being able to pull off one form or one content in particular (and thus everything else they write that doesn’t include them will be lacking). The genius can change the form or the content and still have a mastery over them, and thus produces a worthwhile oeuvre. The bad writers have no worthwhile content or form, and so they don’t get any lasting value.
Something like that, anyway. It’s been a while since I had the initial theoretical thoughts, and I’ve all but forgotten what I was going to write now.
Jeff Fenech was at the play tonight. Took a bow at the end; did a little speech. (Was that the correct use of a semicolon? I feel, after reading The Leopard, that I know how to use a semicolon much more effectively now.) Said “love youse all”. I know of him, though I know nothing about him apart from the fact that he was a boxer.
Went to ze cheap bookstore, bought myself some cheap books. Smut by Alan Bennett, which has one of the most irresistible first lines I’ve read in quite some time (“I gather you’re my wife,” said the main in the waiting room. ”I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. Might one know your name?”), and London Journal 1762-1763 by James Boswell. Curiously, as I picked up the Boswell, I was thinking, “do I want to read the diaries? It only spans two years – is it an extract? After reading that biography of him by Claire Tomalin, I planned to read all the six or seven volumes that have been published – the full work… Do I really want to read these extracts? Or rather, pay for them?”
Then I realised that I was thinking of Samuel Pepys, and promptly remembered who Boswell was. (Duh.) Hence I bought the book. 20% off sale too. At an already ridiculously cheap bookshop. Life is good.
1/2 page on the review today. 2 reviews written. 2 to go.
