Unsolicited Opinions: Translations

—The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words home,Christ,ale,master, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language. Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young man.

Strange to think that this was written somewhere in the region of a hundred years since Translations is set. Watching the twilight of an ancient language knowing full well its future was fascinating and sad, though I could not forget the irony of this play's being performed in the conquering English.

I'm not really in a mood to review tonight's performance, it was a great production of a great play. I only wish I had had this piece of work in my repertoire when trying to explain the differences between Irish and English people, and these people to demonstrate it for me! So many people would have been spared my mildly inebriated gesticulations and vaulting speech.

The cast grapple well with the tough Donegal accent, and perform the doubly impressive feat of declaming Lating and Greek like those whose first language is Irish. This should be praised, as I can't imagine how I'd go about that. They also capture for me the hard-edged eloquence and verbal deftness I recognise in my memories of my grandfather, who learned Irish as a foreign language but retained its capacity for imagery.

The drama of every day life is there too, the fights and songs and cheers and dancing withing which the English are alien and totally separate. I thought we were wondering into 'allo 'allo' territory at one point but mercifully the production steered clear of any awkardness with regard to the common use of English. The love story between Moira and George was truthful and touching, bringing to life the power of language in love.

The set I thought slightly too much, it seemed to have enough books to fill the schools of county Donegal for one hedge school with less than ten students. I would have liked more on the lighting and sound front, particularly at the end.

These are quibbles really. I left the theatre relishing the walk to the bus as I was brimming with thoughts and ideas. The lights reflected in the river were brighter than I'd seen before, and the smell of the water filled my head as I drew it in. This is how I feel after a really good piece of theatre, it's why I go again and again, show after show, because in all the poor and mediocre nights there is that one that stimulates the mind and makes me want to make things happen.

That's quite enough from me for one night. Here's a nice picture to end with.

Unsolicited Opinions: The Crucible

Three hours and twenty minutes. Phew. I'd forgotten just how much of this play there is. And thursday night's full, totally uncut version brought it all screaming back to me in my plush Victorian chair.

But enough moaning, this is a great production, all the cast keeping up Bristol Old Vic's high standard. The stark, wooden set of rafters, planks, crates and one very imposing cross really brought home the Spartan existence of early American farmers. Proctor's house in particular made an impression on me, its beams jagged and refusing to meet, implying the damage John and Abigail's affair has done to his home.

I'm not going to get into too many details as to the individual performances as I know a cast member and I'm not sure I'm up to a huge list of character names and a snappy little line to match.
This was a strong ensemble performance by what felt like two casts. The 'us' and 'them' feeling runs through the play, so that you're left with the feeling that those accused are charged, not with witchcraft, but with the full stigma of poverty and lack of education. Mutual distrust backs up every accusation, and it is clear that the law is only for the educated.

This play is always linked to the McCarthy trials and I did see some parallels (a brilliant little Roy Cohn moment here and there which made me smile) but what really struck me was the battle of the actors onstage. Politics were a sideline in this production; what really mattered was the delicious, poisonous cocktail of sexuality, religion and sin. Sin hangs in the air like the smell of a locker room, insidious, pungent, infecting the air and those who breathe it. The lead characters are driven almost insane by it, and the beginning of act two implies that Abigail has given way almost completely to madness, drunk with power and bloodlust. The sin of adultery drives her and shackles him, though it did not hold back the performance, as the actor prowled and brooded and sulked across the stage like a man who knows perfectly well he is the centre of the universe.
The men come off far better than the women in this play. It's plain to see that Proctor is one of those superior human beings who draws attention and respect to him whether or not he deserves it. They are the people who become figure heads and symbols at the front of the purer but less charismatic heroes of history.
The jealousy and hatred between the women however, particularly between Elizabeth and Abigail is apparently to blame for all the bloodshed and trials, which I found rather hard to swallow. The revealing of the affair reveals Proctor as a good, misguided man and Abigail as a common whore, which I personally don't buy, and maybe had there been a little more detail and a little less shouting and what I call 'Jesus acting' (arms thrust out at shoulder height, palms facing out, head back, Adam's apple exposed, striding in a big circle, you all know who you are) and we might have seen more of the reasons why Abigail goes mad, why Elizabeth would rather the father of her children die good than live a liar, why they gain so much energy from tearing each other apart over him, body and soul. While it's clear that Proctor is different, Abigail's story isn't dealt with in enough depth, so that you forget the childhood trauma and the disturbed mind and see only the bitch who'll get what she wants whatever may stand in her way, however entertaining that side of her may be.

However I'm happy to blame the director and not the cast for this, as what they did they did well, I just know I would have had the same cast do something rather different. Should I ever become artistic director of a famous drama school I'll try it out and prove myself totally wrong I imagine

Thumbs up to the cast in this case and 'could do better' for the direction methinks. But go anyway- they're on till the 26th and at the price of an Imax ticket you'll see real people doing exciting things for a Wagnerian length of time. And do get a pint afterwards, you might as well when the show ends after the last bus has left.

Unsolicited Opinions: Far Away at Bristol Old Vic and Apple

Far Away, written by Caryl Churchill
Dir. Simon Godwin

Bristol Old Vic 24 May- 9 June



It was somehow inevitable that Caryl Churchill would catch up with me eventually. In my head her plays still stand for a lot of ucertain wadings through the theatre maker's canon, often funny, occasionally revelatory but in my case mostly plain difficult. I tend to leave with the feeling I haven't learned any more than she wants me to. Maybe the idea is to go work out the rest yourself, but when that applies to significant plot devices I find it really quite irritating. However she has enough preachers to make me feel a little guilty and, dare I say it, old fashioned for holding this view, so I got my intellectual waders out again for this new play, having been so celebrated on opening in The Royal Court.



I have to admit I was almost converted, and do now wonder if it was a lack of high quality actors that put me off previously, as the three named performers Annette Badland, Cara Horgan and Tristan Sturrock all gave very strong performances. Badland in particular made an impression as the sinisterly kindly aunt Harper. As the writing skips neatly around the clichés of the inquisitive- child-who-knows-too-much being smilingly lied to by the grown-up-dealing-with-dangerous-situation both Badland and the excellent score are wonderfully threatening. And they didn't have to work so hard. A sweet, granny-ish figure in an aga catalogue kitchen is bound to be sinister, Hollywood taught us that decades ago.

So far, so eery, and suddenly the little Joan has grown up and is a hatter (Horgan) in a 1984 warehouse. She and her co worker Todd (Sturrock) make hats for a series of 'parades'. I don't like to spoil big plot moments but the parade scene itself is very unsettling, an example of human life made worthless, nameless, faceless figures humiliated under outlandish hats. Surrounding this scene is a rather sweet love story including a misty eyed discussion of the nature of art which in a way is the most disturbing part of this act and I found myself thinking of the callousness of art and artists, totally unconcerned by the incinerated corpses but wistful about the 'ephemeral' quality of the hats burned with them.

Much as I would have liked to have seen this story further explained, it's time now for the biggest leap yet. It's some years on and the earth has become a distopian Narnia. This is the Churchill I remember, quickfire delivery ruthlessly pinning down the paranoia and stupidity of war: Harper has warped into a volatile, head scarf wearing Babushka figure, Joan and Todd are soldiers in a bloody battle. But it's a fight with nature, and the two sides are composed of any category imaginable on earth. Armies of wasps attack horses in great black swarms, deer gore and trample shoppers in malls, dentists and children under five have sided with the Japanese, or was it the French, no, wait, that cats are with the French, alligators on the other hand, oh god my head hurts, please stop shouting at each other I can tell it's a stressful time but I can't tell any more whether I'm meant to keep up...

So close. I'm sure this is exactly the stuff that gives Churchill fans hot and cold flushes. It's a tremendously slick production, great acting, spine-tingling score and I was so nearly swept along by it all. I wouldn't be so arrogant as to suggest it's the playwright's fault, indeed it's almost certainly me, not her but I still feel on the outside, interested and frustrated. If you love the playwright then this is the play for you. Personally I might giver her next one a miss, but I'm willing to bet that when the time comes the reviews will again be all a-glowing, theatre nerds a-waffling and I'll once again concede I was probably wrong last time and haul out the waders.

Apple

The Apple Cider Co. Ltd
Welsh Back,
Bristol,
Avon BS1 4SB

This having already been to me yesterday (thanks, Laura!) I headed here with my Bristolian Sherpa for a quick pre-theatre drink. The bar is basically a barge on the river with outside seating spilling onto the pavement. I think I may have caught it at one of its ideal moments, along with several other people gathered outside, chatting in clumps, arranged over tables and benches catching the last of the glorious saturday sun. The bar is a slightly trendy celebration of all things cider, with. Chalkbord crammed with guest and house varieties and cider inspired mixes. My friend went for Cider Sangria, I went for a pint of Happy Daze (4.5%) on her recommedation. It was full without being heavy and definitely a good beginner's pint. My friend declared there was a hint of cheese in the flavour but I pretended not to hear. I love cheese but I'm not quite ready for it in my booze.

So a full evening was had by all. Such was the atmosphere we got talking to a teacher about to leave for Buenos Aires on sabbatical and in the course of the conversation her recommended we go to the St Werbughs city farm festial (well I didn't actually catch all that in a crowded open air bar but it's what worked out when I got home) so that's where I'll be headed next week, hopefully with my trusty Sherpa! Think I might try and get somebody there to recommend another place or event and so on, could ve quite a fun way to get talking to people and find new places.

Speak soon!

Alice

St Werburghs Festival