Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Mrs Warren’s Profession

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Saw Mrs Warren’s Profession tonight at the STC.  Rather wonderful, it was – what a glorious difference a bit of solid writing makes, yes?  Must read more Shaw at some point.

There was a couple next to me (or rather, a boy and girl), who were discussing what they wanted from life, and the girl was saying that she didn’t want to be a director, she wanted to be a critic.  My first thought was wondering why anyone would set their ultimate goal as wanting to be a critic, but to each his own…  (I’ve always thought of being a critic as a stepping stone to other things; or if not a stepping stone, then at least a way I can enable myself to see as much culture as possible in these formative (rather prolonged formative, probably) years of mine.  I don’t want to be a critic and only a critic for the rest of my life.)

(Reading one of the Murakami short stories yesterday (or whenever) – I can’t remember which one – I was interested in the choice one of the characters had to make…  It was the one about a waitress who gets asked by the manager of a restaurant to make one wish, and warned that she can never back out on the wish.  And it’s never revealed what the wish was, and it’s ambiguous or not as to whether it made her happy or not (she didn’t wish for the obvious riches or success or whatever), and I was thinking that the mere act of wishing for one thing at the start of your life, and getting it straight away, is bound to lead to disappointment later on, probably.  I want to be a successful playwright, but once I am, I’ll be in much the same position emotionally as I am now, I’m guessing.  Humans always accustom themselves.)

Anyway, she was going on about how hard it was for a critic to get into the industry, and she was thinking (at least I think she said) about starting a blog or something…  The point being that I almost leant over and offered her a job (non-paid, like myself).  But I didn’t want to let it be known that I was eavesdropping.  Not that I really was, but you know how it can be hard to ignore conversations sometimes.  It would’ve been like right out of a movie, that moment, I’m guessing.  Unless I’d misheard the conversation and she was more advanced already than the position I could have offered her.  (She was at the opening night, after all.)

Oh, good grief – I had three glasses of wine (two white, one red), and now I just want to flop into bed.  If this post has correct grammar then it’ll be a miracle.

Interesting fact for the day: the toilet cubicles at the STC – at the Wharf theatre – have mirrors as the back wall.  Urinating pre-show and during the interval, I was able to observe myself in the process.  I cannot honestly remember the last time I’ve done that.  Possibly – very possibly – I’ve never observed myself urinating from that viewpoint before.

I just thought you all should know that.


Written by epistemysics

February 19, 2013 at 1:57 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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