Krendalin's Xanga

Friday, January 09, 2009

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 22:17:36 GMT

I have moved.

Rounding up

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 10:44:19 GMT

As December has whooshed by and is drawing to a close, here's a round-up of books I've read and plays I've seen this year. (I would do music and films too, except that I don't think I have much to say there, unfortunately).

Books

I am ashamed of the small number of books I finished this year (and the number I didn't finish). Here are some that I really liked:

Alice Munro - Runaway (masterful short stories that were my introduction to Munro - must read more of her soon).

Scarlett Thomas - The End of Mr. Y (a great discovery. One of my new favourite authors, along with Nicola Barker. Thomas's Popco is calling out to me to be read soon).

Claire Tomalin - Jane Austen: a life (wrote about it here and here)

Sarah Bower - The Needle in the Blood (highly enjoyable. Brilliant review here).

Heather O'Neill - Lullabies for Little Criminals (read because it was on the Orange Prize shortlist and I'd read good things on litblogs about it. Stark, unflinching, insightful, unforgettable).

Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita (I'm sure everyone has already read this, but I'm glad I got round to it: I loved its playful, twisted humour and energy).

Toni Morrison - Beloved (another that everyone seemed to have already read. I wasn't convinced by it at first; but by the end I was assured of Morrison's genius).

Helen Garner - The Spare Room (moving snapshot of a woman and her dying friend. Really admired its brevity and maturity, although I did find myself wishing there was more to it).

Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle (yet another that I'd wanted to read for years. Loved it. Was surprised to read that Smith wrote it when in her 50s and living in Hollywood - a world away from Cassandra Mortmain and her crumbling castle).

Colm Toibin - The Master (subtle, richly detailed novel/biography about the life of Henry James)

Sarah Hall - The Carhullan Army (short, gripping and often poetic in its descriptions. Set in a women-only refuge in near-future dystopic Britain).

Kate Atkinson - When Will There Be Good News? (the third of Atkinson's crime novels. I was glad that her inimitable prose style was still very much present. Wit, black humour, warmth and a smattering of contemporary and literary references made brutal incidents easier to stomach).

My reading pile for 2009 is stacked high. I got some great books for Christmas, including Nicola Barker's Clear and my first Virago Modern Classics 30th anniversary edition (squee!).

Theatre and comedy

Saw quite a few plays this year, including:

Kneehigh's Rapunzel (at Queen Elizabeth Hall in London and then Circomedia in Bristol) and Brief Encounter (at the Cinema on the Haymarket)

Susan Glaspell - Chains of Dew (at the Orange Tree, Richmond)

Patrick Hamilton/Fidelis Morgan - Hangover Square (at the Finborough)

Chekhov's Ivanov (at Wyndham's Theatre)

Strindberg's Creditors (at Donmar Warehouse).

If I had to pick a favourite, it'd probably be Creditors. I got a theatre token for Christmas, and have been wondering what to spend it on. I'd quite like to see Spring Awakening, Edward Gant's Amazing Feats of Loneliness and A Doll's House in 2009.

This year was also quite comedy-heavy - I saw Sean Lock, the Boosh (twice), Dylan Moran and Eddie Izzard (the latter two were my favourite of the four). I also received Dylan Moran live, Black Books and Flight of the Conchords on DVD for Christmas. Yum.

Creditors

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 20:11:17 GMT

I've been lucky enough to see quite a lot of theatre in a short space of time recently. Creditors on Saturday with Maxine was the last play I'll be seeing for a while (at the moment anyway), and it was very much the icing on the cake. I had quite high expectations, and they were fulfilled.

Creditors was written by Strindberg in 1888, and was, in part, influenced by Ibsen's play Rosmersholm, specifically his exploration of the potentially destructive power of suggestion (at least, this is according to my undergraduate dissertation, which I wrote on representations of women in the work of Ibsen and Strindberg, through a comparison of six of their plays. I read over it briefly again on Sunday. My main verdict was that I hoped the version I have saved on this laptop was not my final version, as it would definitely have benefited from a good edit). As four years had passed since I wrote about it, I went in to see it with only a hazy remembrance of the details (although they did gradually come back to me as I was watching the play).

I'm not sure, when I studied it, whether I appreciated just how brilliantly structured this play is. I'm also not sure, having not compared translations, if it was brilliantly structured from the outset, or whether David Grieg's translation, and Alan Rickman's direction, improved it. Whatever the case, it was a thrill to watch. The opening dialogue in which Adolf (magnificently played by Tom Burke), a vulnerable artist waiting in a hotel room (a beautiful, clean white set) for his wife Tekla to return, pours his heart out to a stranger, Gustav (Owen Teale, also a great performance), was totally compelling. Gustav, unbeknownst to Adolf, was newly established novelist Tekla (Anna Chancellor)'s ex-husband. He transformed from a welcome confidant into a manipulative menace, clearly out to damage Tekla, the woman who abandoned him, and her new, young husband. By the end of the scene, he exerted complete control over Adolf, convincing him, amongst other things, that he had epilepsy, that Tekla did not love him, and that he should not sleep with her for a year. Creditors is known as a tragicomedy, and the tone was most certainly in keeping with this; despite the maliciousness of Gustav's intent, the audience often laughed at his bordering on melodramatic comments; not to mention the ridiculousness of some clearly misogynistic lines.

The first scene was not only riveting in itself, but the image of Tekla presented throughout as a manipulative, fickle, sensual and dangerous woman made me desperate for her to appear on stage. When she did in the next scene with Adolf, it was not disappointing. She was definitely sensual; but the line between affection for Adolf and controlling him as if he were a child seemed blurred, rather than presenting her as clearly dominating. Adolf struggled throughout the scene to establish control over her in the way that Gustav had advised him to; but his efforts became gradually more futile: whilst he appeared to be crumbling mentally and physically from apparent frustration and anxiety over their marriage, Tekla seemed simply confused by his behaviour and just wanted him to be normal again. This seemed to absolve her from the comments that the men had made about her somewhat; although Adolf perceived an intellectual difference between them (at one point he commented exasperatedly that she can only play one note, whereas he is aware of nuances and undertones).

In the third, and final part of the play, Adolf left to 'get some air', and Gustav entered the room 'by chance'. After behaving in a convincingly humble and compassionate way, he almost managed to seduce Tekla. He assured her, when she worried aloud, that she was not hearing movements outside the door ("it's just a dog locked in a room"). But after a slight flaw in something he said, she caught onto the fact that he had seen Adolf previously, and it became clear that he was the reason Adolf had behaved in such a strange and tormented way. Gustav transformed, once again, this time very powerfully, into a man overflowing with the venom of years of internalised rage and agony. Tekla then opened the door to find Adolf outside, having heard the whole scene, shivering, ruined, and apparently on the point of death. She took him in her arms, knelt on the floor, and cradled his head, as Gustav said, "she really does love him. Poor woman!" Some reviewers have commented that the ending is melodramatic; but for me it was a moment of genuine tenderness, all the more potent for the absence of it until then. From the point of Gustav's second transformation, actually, I felt I'd been kicked in the gut: the play had built so steadily and perfectly to this emotional climax. Had there been no one else around me, I probably would've bawled like a baby. The most astonishing thing is that all this was packed into ninety minutes.

I wish I'd been able to see this production when I studied it. I also wish I'd seen Rosmersholm at the Almeida back in May: I think it might similarly have clarified and brought to life the play text for me in a way that even the closest studying can't quite achieve.

Love's Labour's Lost

Fri, 07 Nov 2008 10:16:18 GMT

Dear The three people who were sitting in front of us at the theatre last night,

Thank you so much for behaving as if you were the only people there. Perhaps you thought you were at home, watching TV. I liked the way that you constantly talked to each other, rested each others' heads on each others' shoulders, leant forward and played with your hair by teasing out strands and winding them around your fingers, put in eye drops, and seemed determined not to watch the play in front of you, but instead looked around at the audience and the ceiling, pointing out interesting bits to each other. My friend and I were most upset when you didn't return for the second half.

Whilst I very much enjoyed your antics, I don't think I can say the same for the play itself. Although I admired individual performances and scenes, I do not feel I properly engaged with the play as a whole. I have to say that I think I lean more towards agreeing with these reviews than this one. However, if I had not had the pleasure of being distracted by your ridiculous behaviour through the entire first half, I may have had a different opinion.

Yours sincerely,

A grateful theatregoer.

Basking in the glow of theatre

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 15:43:54 GMT

I used to work hard and think hard, and never tire; now, I neither do anything nor think anything, and I am weary, body and soul.
- Ivanov

***

After a few months of theatre drought (and drought of most other exciting cultural events), I'm pretty spoiled in that area at the moment. Last weekend I saw Tom Stoppard's translation of Ivanov, part of the Donmar in the West End series, which was hugely enjoyable, mostly for its crackling pace and wit. At times it became farcical, but in an excellently handled way.

This isn't to say that there was none of the inevitable Chekhovian sense of futility and despair that tends to preoccupy his characters (and which, I have to say, is one of the reasons why I have a soft spot for Chekhov) - in fact, comedy and tragedy seemed to be balanced very well. However, like London Theatregoer I did find myself, at times, wondering exactly why Ivanov was the way he was. He told us, but I found it hard to accept just from telling and not showing (although, because I was enjoying the play so much, I did manage to push this to the back of my mind).

***

This weekend I made a swift trip to Bristol to see Filter's version of Twelfth Night, which is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It was generally an energetic and enjoyable production. I admired their use of multimedia and high-tech gadgets (as I did with Water), and the fact that they played their own live music, which reminded me of Kneehigh at times.

They played up the drinking/partying scenes with Sir Andrew and Sir Toby, even dragging several audience members on stage to join in, and playing Butt Head between themselves and the audience (had no idea what that game was actually called until I Googled 'velcro hat balls'). I hadn't expected such a lot of audience involvement (although I suppose the quite casual and open-plan layout of the Tobacco Factory encourages it), and felt a tad exposed as they didn't turn the lights off above the seating at all. Ferdy Roberts was excellent as Malvolio, embodying firstly his puritanism and, even more so, his, er, pleasure when he believes that Olivia is in love with him (the yellow stockings were joined by yellow hotpants and nothing else). The rest of the cast were fantastic, too. The only problem was that, although I enjoyed the messiness and raucousness of it all to an extent, the story sometimes felt somewhat muddled and unclear; especially at the beginning, and towards the end, as Viola and Sebastian were played by one actor.

I've also just booked tickets to see Love's Labour's Lost this week (which has had rave reviews), and am looking forward to Creditors next weekend (ditto). I'd also like to see Othello, but don't know if I'll manage to fit it in.

***

Finally, I was quite excited when I read that the British Library have released some new CDs of (mostly) dead writers talking (when they were alive, of course).

Boosh at Brixton

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 10:34:34 GMT

I went to see the Mighty Boosh at Brixton Academy last night. I booked tickets back in January, which explains how we managed to get row C seats. I had an inkling of what was coming because I saw a preview show in Hammersmith at the beginning of September (which was hilarious, and promising; but I was not amused by the vast amounts of time we were made to wait around before the show and during the interval).

Last night's show kept a lot of the material from the preview show, but with added music. Lots of added music. I love the Boosh songs (crimping is pure, simple genius), but I did find myself wondering whether the Boosh were heading towards being a band only and phasing out everything else, which would be a travesty.

I thought the show was quite oddly structured: the first half, which seemed short, consisted of introducing each of the strange and wonderful characters, and each of them doing a little piece (e.g. Bob Fossil made the audience stand up and learn the moves to his new dance routine) - but that was it.

The second half started with a play written by Howard about the impending apocalypse. He was usurped by Vince entering as an ultra-sparkly character from the future (Sunflash, speaking in highly odd "mixture of Chinese and Chav" - Chavese) on a shiny futuristic spaceship with fireworks, accompanied by Rich Fulcher dressed in a very tight silver suit with a disturbing appendage strapped around his nether regions.

The encore descended into rock-gig-mayhem. Loads of people ran down to the front, and the Boosh band thrashed out songs from all three TV series' dressed as the nanas from Nanageddon. Noel stage dived into a gaggle of screaming girls and didn't resurface for ages, which was slightly worrying; but with the help of security he managed to get back on stage, looking rather distressed.

I enjoyed the impressively quick and varied costume changes. The budget was obviously bigger for this show than the last, and a lot of it was visually quite stunning. But it felt almost as if it was just a celebration of them, a mishmash of bits they knew people would love, rather than a real show. Something seemed to be lacking. The last show made me laugh so much I thought my face would break; this one didn't. Which is a bit disappointing.

Saying that, there were lots of good bits; e.g., the moon (as always). Another was their reaction to this advert for Sugar Puffs. A giant stuffed Honey Monster appeared on stage, and Vince decapitated him with his new superpowered Jean Claude Jaquettie hairdryer. His head was triumphantly placed on a spike while they denounced his dirty plagiarising ways.

***

In other news, I've been offered a new job. I haven't decided whether to accept it or not, because it's only a one-year contract. The pay is better. Many other things about it are better, actually. I mean, not in a "wow, this is what I've always dreamed of doing" kind of way, because what I dream of doing is 'working' from home and being able to daydream and be lazy as much as I want to. Which is a lot. (Although I think being lazy and dreamy is good, in a way, because eventually I become so repulsed by my indolence that it spurs me into being really productive in manic bursts. Sometimes.) Anyway, seeing as this is not really an option, in the scheme of things this job is better.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Mon, 13 Oct 2008 15:17:40 GMT

Sometimes I've enjoyed getting sidetracked by other words in dictionary when I'd just been meaning to look up one, but not quite as much as this guy. I like his selection of favourite words, especially happify. And unbepissed.

***

Sarah Palin and Princess Diana are 10th cousins. The thing that interests me most about this is why genealogists happened to trace this link between them. Is there a pool of them sitting around somewhere, waiting to get their teeth into a bit of intensive family-tree-tracing, and selecting random pairs of famous people for this purpose? Perhaps they were merely asked to do it, but I prefer the former explanation.

***

There's an interview with Tori Amos in today's Independent, in which she discusses, amongst other things, the musical and new album she's working on. Yay (although there is a glaring error in the article).

***

I've been reading Philip Hensher's The Northern Clemency for a while. I have been trying to make better use of the public library for new books. I had to take it back to the library at one point when I'd only read half of it (it is over 700 pages long), as it was reserved by someone else. But I have it back now. I missed it while it was gone. I couldn't really bring myself to read anything else (well, except for I Capture the Castle, which I expected to be an endearing and absorbing read, and it is). I'll hopefully write a bit more about the Hensher book when I've finished it.

Oversleeping...and Eddie Izzard

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 18:41:36 GMT

This morning I overslept. I had one of those very vivid jam-packed dreams that are unique to the early morning, when I should already be awake. Part of it involved me riding on a horse/giant dog. He had a thick, soft, silky black coat, and I loved him very much. I miss him now.

On an unrelated note, I almost, almost updated this on Friday, with what I thought was going to be a short post about a few books I've read, and the plays and live comedy I'm going to see in the next few months; but it turned into a mammoth, snaking bullet-pointed list, and I decided not to post it. I'm not sure why, as I put a lot of effort into it. At work. Shortly after spending at least an hour trying to book Eddie Izzard tickets. Which I did! Incidentally, I also booked two tickets for the wrong day (balcony seats [i.e. cheap], 25th November, in London), and if anyone would like to buy them off me that would be marvellous.

Sweating copiously...

Sat, 26 Jul 2008 19:32:13 GMT

It's been hot for the last few days (a high of about 27 degrees today). Whilst I like a bit of sun, I cannot be out in it for longer than few minutes before I start feeling very strange. Worse than that, though, is the humidity, which makes me sweat buckets and have about as much energy and motivation as a teacup (why I suddenly have the motivation to update a half-abandoned blog, I really couldn't tell you). Further reasons for making me despise this heatwave include having to get un-air-conditioned trains and tubes almost every day; people yelling and screaming outside our flat all evening; and the fact that heat makes my face and head throb with pain.

On the up side, I went to the theatre today for the first time in ages (well, since April). Luckily public transport was kind to me and Maxine this time. We saw Hangover Square at the Finborough Theatre. It's a tiny, extremely intimate space. In this heat it was akin to sitting in a large oven. But thankfully the play more than compensated for the copious sweating by being very good. In fact, it was essentially about a man's obsession with a woman he couldn't have, and the atmosphere of desperation and intensity very much suited the oppressive space. Patrick Hamilton, whose novel the play is based on (and which I now really want to read), was a local of Earl's Court and set the play there, giving it an added appeal.

***

On another (although equally sweaty) note, Race for Life was a few weeks ago and I managed to finish it in about 35 minutes. I ran (well, jogged) quite a bit of it, although got a stitch quite frequently and had to walk. Quite annoying. It would be good to keep up the running (although I haven't been since the Race). I need some way of keeping fit, and I think running suits me relatively well (the thought of going to a gym makes me recoil in fear).

A sudden outpouring of book lust

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 10:55:58 GMT

This is a very delayed post, as I came across the the 30th anniversary editions of Virago Modern Classics in Waterstone's a few months ago at least. I couldn't believe my eyes: they were so beautiful and perfect, and I wanted to buy them all. But I bought none, telling myself I could wait. However, they only seem to be available here, and there only appears to be two of the books left. This makes me feel slightly panicky. I want to own them all. Not that I have the space to even display them properly, but the thought of lining them up neatly together on a shelf gives me an unparalleled feeling of happiness. The same applies to Persephone books. Speaking of books lined up neatly on shelves, I get immense pleasure from looking at other people's bookshelves, photos of which can be found, for example, on BookRabbit *tingle*.

I'm reading The Master and Margarita as well as The End of Mr. Y, and the same thing is occurring that often does when I read more than one book at the same time: there are crossovers and parallels between them. For example, I read the word 'foisted' twice in M & M on the same day as I read it in Mr. Y. I don't remember the last time I read that word anywhere.

I think that perhaps I notice the wrong, mostly irrelevant, things about books. This could be why I rarely attempt to write proper reviews.