Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Private Lives (Not Again)

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Yesterday I suddenly realised that I had my season ticket to Private Lives booked for today – I had changed it and forgot to write the changed date in my diary.  And then, after the stress and relaxation of confirming what the date was yesterday, I decided I just couldn’t be bothered seeing it again today.

On characters being in a state of flux: thinking back to my experience of The Seagull – how much more interesting Konstatin seems in the last act, when he comes on stage having mellowed with success, though still carrying the embers of his youth.  (Not that his character doesn’t change between the other acts…  Hyperactive in the first, love-pained in the second, depressed in the third.  Numb then spiked into suicide in the fourth.  Something like that.  I say all this only from my hazy memory of it all.  Gosh I wish I could see Benedict Andrews’ production of it again.)

Walked outside in the dark tonight, looked up in the sky, and saw England in a cloud with the moon behind.  Rather poignant as I’d just been reading Shakespeare.

46 lines on the play today.  Not sure I particularly liked any of them, but, you know, they’ll stay at least until I’ve finished the entirety.

One really shouldn’t read Shakespeare when writing a play.  Sigh.


Written by epistemysics

October 30, 2012 at 1:26 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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