The Lewis Trilogy
Saw The Lewis Trilogy at Griffin Theatre today. Of course it was good. Context alone makes it worthwhile.
I’d intended to see it on Saturday, to avoid the final attentions it might receive, but circumstances (ie, laziness, and a pretense of saving money) rendered that not an option as the entire run sold out while I was dithering. The page open in my internet browser, and a random refresh a couple of days later, and I scored Sunday tickets. (I wonder if I bypassed a waiting list that they were spruiking…)
This, the final performance of the three plays. This, the final performance of the Griffin Theatre as it currently stands. To be demolished come 9am tomorrow. (Not likely true, but dramatic.) Renovated. Spruced. A lift being added. Rehearsal space in the ground below. 36 extra seats. A popcorn machine in the foyer.
Back in 2026.
The day was filmed, as per the request of Posterity, so if I ever become something worth trawling through archives for – serial killer would be the easiest option, playwright a distant thirty-seventh – look for the aloof individual focused on a book in the corner, or on the footpath. Also look for me in a cloud of purple confetti as we feted the final moments at the conclusion of it all.
A man asked me if I was from the Phoenix Theatre (never heard of it), was surprised I wasn’t, and told me I had a very familiar face before darting back into the crowd, right before the last play. Clearly my doppelganger is out there being more successful than I am.
The program, slightly cheaper than the STC programs currently, was better. What a change from the gold coin donation they used to be! Clearly the one time I designed a program of theirs, at their request, many years ago (after one of my State of the Program addresses) has flowed on. Definitely it. Clear cause and effect. Ignore the ten year gap.
At the end of the second play of the trilogy, Cosi, Lewis is called upon to turn out all the lights in the old theatre the asylum is using. Reminded me of the end of The Habit of Art. Caught myself not bursting into tears then and there. That old Pixar poignancy of moving on in a melancholic key, yes?
The playwright was in attendance, as presumably were a hundred other important people, going by what the foyer talk was like. You couldn’t swing a cat for the amount of productions people were saying they were working on.
COVID, then work, had stopped me being able to get to Griffin Theatre except for on the occasional weekend, for the past while, so this was the first time I’d been in many years. (I loathe weekend train trackwork.) I forgot the gem it was. The inspiration it provides. I’ve no idea if it is the London equivalent, but I’m booked in to see Giant at the Royal Court come September.
I’ve been writing something, dear reader. Hush hush and all that. I shall continue with renewed vigour tomorrow.
Playing Beatie Bow
Playing Beatie Bow at the Wharf 1 Theatre (STC) tonight. My how it has changed since I last was there. Confidently striding with masculine energy past a haggle of women to the male toilets, only to find out that the 5 doors in the corridor were all gender neutral, and sheepishly making my way to the back of the queue with a friendly feminine swat (“now you can queue like we always do”). I was one of three men in the space of two minutes caught but this changing of the guard. Not that I mind, abhorring urinals as I do. The actual male toilets towards the end of the wharf were renovated and largened, which makes me wonder where all the space was before? Always a cramped little thing, in years past.
The theatre itself an entirely new layout. The walls of the long pier walk different.
Programs not improved, though not worsened. (The ACO programs, on the other hand – the last two (I saw one last year in November or something that had no program – have improved. I am reasonably impressed with them, actually, especially considering them free. Though last night there were two card-tap donations of five or ten dollars set up in front of them.)
Play was enjoyable enough. Emotional sniffles through a mask are an interesting conundrum, however.
What a nostalgum it was. The first non-Stoppard in what, 5 years? Who knows.
Beethoven and Bridgetower
Saw Beethoven and Bridgetower with the ACO tonight at the City Recital Hall. The second concert this year, but at an attempted 100% capacity. There was an excitement on the train ride in, to be part of a crowd again for the first time in over a year – a true crowd, a full crowd – and while the entire hall was not filled, I was ensconced by enough elbows on armrests to miss, after about two minutes, having a free seat next to me from a lonely plus one. One of these days I won’t fold into my seat, too meek to dare make a mark on humanity.
As for the concert? Reasonably good music with some interruptions from some read texts from Belvoir, if that gives you an idea of my opinion. But I see a play tomorrow, an actual play! A self-made drought enforced by a pandemic, no less, but there we are.
Not by New Year’s Resolution but something flicking in my head about a month ago, I picked up a book with more gusto than usual and tried to kick the brain back into gear once more. Who would’ve thought that reading would rekindle those juices I used to enjoy swimming in. But so they did. Let us see if anything comes of it.
The books?
Atomic Habits by James Clear
The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying by Marie Kondo (am still untidy but feeling more zen about what I will be feeling when I do tidy)
The Ickabog by J.K. Rowling
How to Avoid a Climate Disaster by Bill Gates
Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer
The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead.
And, most pleasingly so far, and what I started tonight, is Tom Stoppard: A Life by Hermione Lee. Learning many things, with the one especially protruding fact that Stoppard is circumcised while his brother is not. What a sentence to include in the book. And, come to think of it, probably one of the few things I had no desire to know, but there you go.
Walking back to the car from the station, mask on, thinking of England, it never occurred that Stoppard is a smoker in the midst of a pandemic. Lucky to still be alive, perhaps? Older than my parents and I worry for them.
EDIT: Oh, and Origin by Dan Brown, which I bought on the way to Melbourne last last year on my way to friends and PAX. Gives you some idea how much I’ve been reading of late that I finished it now.
The Real Thing
Oh hi, been awhile. Not dead. Saw The Real Thing at the Drama Theatre tonight. Not my favourite Stoppard play but still kept me entertained. Security checks at the Opera House too now, to head into the theatre. And a quote on a poster about how good STC programs are! How times have manipulated the past.
Dungeons and Dragons is a surprisingly big part of the life now, with all the boundless creativity being a Dungeon Master comes with, as well as the social aspect. Rivals the theatre in many ways, strangely enough. Has actually become its own form of theatre in these last few years, filling the stalls, as it were.
About the puppetry of love, the play, I thought. Had two lots of that since last we talked. No need for specifics.
Hmm. That’ll do. See you next time Stoppard is in town, perhaps.
Infinite
Yesterday, apparently, was the 20th anniversary of Infinite Jest. Huzzah! I must read more of Wallace’s work.
Went to the opening of The Golden Age at the STC a week or two ago. Forgot to mention that. Battered zucchini flowers at the after party. Not a fan. (Rest was lovely though.) Possibly my first experience with zucchini flowers. Deflowered, if you will. Hur hur hur.
I have been enraptured with a game called The Witness at the moment. Designed by Jonathon Blow. Puzzle game, exploring an island. Philosophical under-and-over-tones. Glorious. Masterpiece, even. Masterpiece of the form, anyway.
The Speed!
It’s gotten to the point now where I can watch a subtitled anime on one half of my laptop screen, while browsing the internet on the other half, if I so desire. I know that what I’m doing is what a person must be doing if they’re speed reading. Why then, does it not translate to my normal reading? The only way I can effectively browse the internet is to read the entire subtitle in less than half a second.
Just occurred to me today.
Kuroko’s Basketball, if anyone is wondering. (The anime.)
Boxing
Boxing Day. Christmas come and gone. The ticket to Arcadia was transformed into a Christmas present, as was a 2TB external harddrive, the 3DS game Yo-kai Watch, Purity by Jonathan Franzen, and plenty of processed sweet (and some savoury) foods. Life of an only child. And now all the thieves know what to come and get, if they so desire…
I have read very little this year. In fact, throughout all my absence from this blog, I haven’t finished a book. Perhaps all this reflection of mine is more connected to literature than I thought.
Arcadia
Out of it for a bit, what.
Probably have to buy myself a ticket to that in February. Richard Cottrell directing. (He of Travesties directing.) $78 for an under 30 ticket. Used to be $30 when I first started going to the theatre.
Shooting on Air
A shooting has happened in America, live on television. A journalist in a mall, I believe, was interviewing someone, when a gunman, live on air, shot both the journalist and the cameraman, both dying.
I assume there is video of this. I have not watched it. Perhaps I will tomorrow. Probably I will see a somewhat sanitised version on a news report on the TV tomorrow. But I haven’t watched the footage tonight. Not because I have some moral reason for not doing so, but more because I don’t want the negativity, I think. There are enough bad parts of life; let me not add more to them.
I think it is that I can distance myself from the tragedy right now, but that my sense of empathy for the victims would be far more potent a feeling than my curiosity to watch it is now. Plus, it’s close to bed. No need for those types of dreams. (Although having written about it now, no doubt some of it will be part of my dreams.)
Epistemysics 