Epistemysics

Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Waiting for Godot

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Did I mention that I applied for NIDA?  My interview’s on the 25th at 2pm.  I suspect I shall be nowhere near as nervous for it as I was the first time around.  One can only hope the result is different.  At worst, it’ll be a $68 therapy session.

Saw Waiting for Godot tonight at the STC and am thoroughly drunk/tipsy, after only two white wines and a beer.  (I am at home, obviously, typing this, and it is between one hour and two hours since I left the Sydney Theatre, and still I feel pleasantly and slightly distanced from the world.  Whether that means I am slightly tipsy, whether that means I am ridiculously drunk, I do not know.  But it is pleasant.  How little existential despair I feel, for instance.  There are benefits to alcohol abuse, no doubt.)

I’m not sure why I didn’t mention NIDA until now.  I applied on Saturday night (or Sunday morning).  Those who look back to that post will have very little doubt as to why.  I received my interview date on Thursday.  (It was in doubt, as I applied after the deadline, so there was no guarantee of a spot.)

I thought the play most excellent, by the way.  On par with the Ian McKellen/Roger Rees production that I saw at the Opera House.  (That was the first proper Waiting for Godot that I saw, and the first good Waiting for Godot that I saw, so it will most likely remain the best Waiting for Godot that I’ve seen.  Such is how theatre and memory works, most often.  Though the second act of tonight was probably better.  But I really can’t remember all that much about the Opera House one.)

Good lord, it’s 1am and I still feel like I could flyyyyyy!  Clearly I’m a cheap date. (My mistake was drinking before I ate.)

But do you know who was there tonight, dear reader?  That person who I thought (or hoped) I’d forget in one week after I saw them at Vere (Faith).  I almost ran into them in the foyer beforehand, and was stepping past them before I realised (they were wearing different clothes – a striking shade of blue, I think – and so I didn’t notice them at first), then I noticed that they were in the front row on the left (I was in G row on the right, where the important people sit, obviously (because I’m very important, mmhmm, mmhmm)) during the play.  And the interval.  Where I glanced up and saw them looking at me, then glanced back again, and they were still looking at me, and so my head nearly snapped off its neck in order to break eye contact and look down…  (Smooth, Adam, smooth.  Any smoother and I’d be needing a chiropractor.)  Problem the first was that I never saw them afterwards, though problem the second was that I’d brought my father along, which, as you can imagine, would put a dampener on any possible conversational forays beyond small talk.  (I cannot imagine, for instance, exchanging details/phone numbers in front of a parent!)  We went into the Richard Wherett Studio for the afterparty (there was a sign saying “food and bar”, so we followed).  Most of the crowd was outside, I’m guessing.

What did one have?  Some sort of concoction of beef, greek yoghurt, quinoa (according to father it was quinoa – or so the guy serving it said to him), sultanas/currants, basil (I think that was the large flat leaf herb), and water chestnuts.  Eventually someone else came in with some arrancini in parmesan, which you could dip in a pesto (I had two of them).  We ventured out towards the end of our stay, and got two mini hamburgers.  I had two white wines and a beer.  Probably didn’t need the second white wine, but this’ll probably be my last proper opening night until January, so I’m tiding myself over until then.  Ha.

Wearing my peacoat tonight, and saw quite a few other actors looking fashionable in their own peacoats.  That was nice.  Heart warming, it was.  I saw Dylan Young, too, in a peacoat, and had an urge to introduce myself and ask him how he did his card trick in Face to Face.  But I didn’t.  (Dylan Young being an actor that I admire, especially as he was in Benedict Andrews’ version of The Seagull, which is one of the productions I shall mention on my NIDA application as “memorable”.)  (You know, if I had to pick two, right now on the spot, I think it would be Travesties and The Seagull.  I wonder if that accords with what I’ve said at other times…)

No speeches tonight, either.  I stayed for an hour.  Andrew Upton directed the play, too, instead of the Czech director I was so looking forward to.  (This is how good a critic I am – I didn’t even know about this until I read the program.)  So one imagines that Upton was probably there?  Who knows.  I didn’t see him.

Gosh I’m rambling tonight.

42/whatever.

They’re probably an actor or some creative in training, you know.  The cheap seats are where the free tickets for NIDA/ACA/whatever are usually given.  I think.  Which makes me feel much better, knowing that we have interests in common, and I still didn’t talk to them.  Yeah.  Much better.  And suddenly I find myself thankful that I didn’t really have the opportunity to talk to them tonight, so I don’t have to feel as bad about not talking to them.  Oh, what twisted logic is this, yes?

And I have to decide, too, what my three best pieces of work are for NIDA.  Nothing like being asked to make a value judgement of yourself.  (Although in saying that, I have my three pieces picked out, I think.)

Said “hello” to quite a few people tonight.  Made slightly awkward hand gestures with a friend from across the room on my way out.  That’s what is really hard to write into a play, isn’t it?  Non-verbal awkwardness.  Non-verbal anything, really.  It’s the lack of spoken words that make it hard.

(Yet another incredible insight from the mind of a drunkard.)

And now I shall hug a pillow until I fall asleep.

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Written by epistemysics

November 16, 2013 at 2:56 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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