Third time lucky and I still don't like seeing plays
Mr A and I used to go to theatre a lot. We'd go to State Theatre productions or touring productions or Brink Theatre or other coop performances. By going to see plays, we also spent time in great theatre houses: the Promethan on Grote Street, Arts Theatre on Angas Street, different halls at the University of Adelaide, temporary venues around the East End. In fact, half the fun is being in the space, seeing the foyer, the people, the heritage, the facades.
But then there was a gradual downhill slide for us, when we stopped enjoying plays and it became too hard. There were tickets bought for a radical staging of Richard Second. Held in the very old theatre (name forgotten) that is behind Currie Street, I turned up at the stated hour and found it that due to a whim of the director, it was not starting for another hour. Didn't stick around.
We saw an in-progress piece by Brink that was a tribute to Alfred Hitchcock's The Rope, and drew on Adelaide's unfortunate history for serial murders. The incubated piece was still lacking any cohesive story, and we then had to sit around for an hour whilst we were invited to provide audience feedback. All the audience feedback came from the project collaborators sitting at the front of the venue, examining their experiences, and the rest of us stayed silent.
We also went to see Myth and Propaganda in Nazi Germany, a state production of this post September 11 piece. It was quite well written, well acted and is probably part of the genre (if it exists) of "male academic gets manipulated by young smart female" (which in itself isn't a female friendly genre). It was just too predictable. We sat there, waiting for each actor to say their lines, express their well honed emotions and at interval gratefully went to the bar for a drink. I said to A that I had a pretty good idea how it would end (the bad guys win), he agreed and we left. First time ever I've chucked in a show.
I also went and saw a production by the French Legionnaires Company at Fringe 2004 with Duckworth, Illy and their bandaid wearing friend D. (If you meet someone wearing obvious signs of injury, such as an arm cast or crutches, it is quite a shock to meet them again and find out they don't always bear those wounds. Thus was the case when I next saw D: no facial bandaids). The show was sold out, D was late, I was going to use his ticket, he turned up, the producers took pity on me and very generously let me take a seat five minutes into the show. I'm not sure what i missed in those five minutes, but I never managed to connect with the piece. I'd seen a performance by this troupe back in 2000, and loved it, but four years on and I couldn't be bothered suspending belief and letting myself be guided along the acting journey. (It was a Dostovesky piece (pardon spelling), and I could tell it was sad and unhappy and about existential angst caused by frustrated cerebral ambitions and perhaps that's why.
Sitting in a play and not being able to leave, is torture. Around me everyone seemed engrossed. I laughed and laughed when I saw an episode of Peep Show in which the 2 male characters had the same experience. Stuck in a theatre, watching a well meaning artistic stage experience, they each panic about how far far away the intermission is.
I felt somewhat like that when seeing That Face at Belvoir Theatre on Wednesday night. The evening started promisingly. Show's had reviews giving it 9/10, it's sold out, the theatre has a grooviness that comes from being retro modern. The staircase upstairs is lined with posters for each past performance, a great archive, each poster printed on a dominant tint, so that your eye is drawn to a predominantly green poster, or red, or blue. And the production included Susie Porter and Marcus Graham, both attractive and charismatic actors worth seeing in the flesh.
But the last time I'd gone to Belvoir, I remember the Turkish restaurant meal exceeded the performance. It was the same thing: production by a group involved in the excellent "Features of Blown Youth" that I'd seen in 1997, theatre had cool vibe and cool crowd and then the production was boring. Not terrible, just pointless.
It must be me. The play was fine, the writing was fine, the actors were good, the characters started out one way and evolved. I just wanted them to hurry up and say their lines so that the end came and I could go home and sleep. I was on the second row (great great seats) and wondered if my yawning or crossed arms were visible to the cast and tried to rearrange myself more supportively.
The taxi driver afterwards quizzed me about whether I agreed that the audience is too polite and claps regardless of their sentiment, providing false praise. He also said that a recent production of the opera Tosca had been both applauded and booed by it's audience.
In the past I made the mistake of seeing a play that a friend was in, and then realising I had to leave because I couldn't bear to see it all through. The friend was doing the play as part of their involvement in a range of creative endeavours (full points to her, more of us should do it), and whilst she didn't display any great ability, she was no worse than her castmates. The production looked good, great stage set, but it was just poorly executed. I know that the audience can affect the performance: I've seen people deliver a confident performance to a full house and rush through when performing to a half empty room of polite people.
Another production I saw was by second year drama students from Adelaide Tafe. It was about residents of a reality tv show who are held hostage (and watch themselves on television). Another case of reasonable premise, reasonable stage set and nothing took off. The acting was only acceptable, with the best performance coming from the least talented but best looking (and thus confident) performer.
As far as I can recall, these are my negative experiences. I still completely love the idea of seeing plays, going to theatres, supporting coop, new directors, new productions, experiments. I loved being part of BUST, and seeing how Maude Davey worked in the rehearsal process. Some of the better performances I've seen have been created out of this communal and community process, when the performers are a mix of trained/experienced practitioners and complete novices. There is something real there, something raw and emotion is a commodity I'll pay to watch. It's why you watch the AFL Grand Final. After two hours, one team are heroic victors, on an incredible high and the other team are fallen men, lying and crying, unashamedly exposing their misery. I find it fascinating.
But then there was a gradual downhill slide for us, when we stopped enjoying plays and it became too hard. There were tickets bought for a radical staging of Richard Second. Held in the very old theatre (name forgotten) that is behind Currie Street, I turned up at the stated hour and found it that due to a whim of the director, it was not starting for another hour. Didn't stick around.
We saw an in-progress piece by Brink that was a tribute to Alfred Hitchcock's The Rope, and drew on Adelaide's unfortunate history for serial murders. The incubated piece was still lacking any cohesive story, and we then had to sit around for an hour whilst we were invited to provide audience feedback. All the audience feedback came from the project collaborators sitting at the front of the venue, examining their experiences, and the rest of us stayed silent.
We also went to see Myth and Propaganda in Nazi Germany, a state production of this post September 11 piece. It was quite well written, well acted and is probably part of the genre (if it exists) of "male academic gets manipulated by young smart female" (which in itself isn't a female friendly genre). It was just too predictable. We sat there, waiting for each actor to say their lines, express their well honed emotions and at interval gratefully went to the bar for a drink. I said to A that I had a pretty good idea how it would end (the bad guys win), he agreed and we left. First time ever I've chucked in a show.
I also went and saw a production by the French Legionnaires Company at Fringe 2004 with Duckworth, Illy and their bandaid wearing friend D. (If you meet someone wearing obvious signs of injury, such as an arm cast or crutches, it is quite a shock to meet them again and find out they don't always bear those wounds. Thus was the case when I next saw D: no facial bandaids). The show was sold out, D was late, I was going to use his ticket, he turned up, the producers took pity on me and very generously let me take a seat five minutes into the show. I'm not sure what i missed in those five minutes, but I never managed to connect with the piece. I'd seen a performance by this troupe back in 2000, and loved it, but four years on and I couldn't be bothered suspending belief and letting myself be guided along the acting journey. (It was a Dostovesky piece (pardon spelling), and I could tell it was sad and unhappy and about existential angst caused by frustrated cerebral ambitions and perhaps that's why.
Sitting in a play and not being able to leave, is torture. Around me everyone seemed engrossed. I laughed and laughed when I saw an episode of Peep Show in which the 2 male characters had the same experience. Stuck in a theatre, watching a well meaning artistic stage experience, they each panic about how far far away the intermission is.
I felt somewhat like that when seeing That Face at Belvoir Theatre on Wednesday night. The evening started promisingly. Show's had reviews giving it 9/10, it's sold out, the theatre has a grooviness that comes from being retro modern. The staircase upstairs is lined with posters for each past performance, a great archive, each poster printed on a dominant tint, so that your eye is drawn to a predominantly green poster, or red, or blue. And the production included Susie Porter and Marcus Graham, both attractive and charismatic actors worth seeing in the flesh.
But the last time I'd gone to Belvoir, I remember the Turkish restaurant meal exceeded the performance. It was the same thing: production by a group involved in the excellent "Features of Blown Youth" that I'd seen in 1997, theatre had cool vibe and cool crowd and then the production was boring. Not terrible, just pointless.
It must be me. The play was fine, the writing was fine, the actors were good, the characters started out one way and evolved. I just wanted them to hurry up and say their lines so that the end came and I could go home and sleep. I was on the second row (great great seats) and wondered if my yawning or crossed arms were visible to the cast and tried to rearrange myself more supportively.
The taxi driver afterwards quizzed me about whether I agreed that the audience is too polite and claps regardless of their sentiment, providing false praise. He also said that a recent production of the opera Tosca had been both applauded and booed by it's audience.
In the past I made the mistake of seeing a play that a friend was in, and then realising I had to leave because I couldn't bear to see it all through. The friend was doing the play as part of their involvement in a range of creative endeavours (full points to her, more of us should do it), and whilst she didn't display any great ability, she was no worse than her castmates. The production looked good, great stage set, but it was just poorly executed. I know that the audience can affect the performance: I've seen people deliver a confident performance to a full house and rush through when performing to a half empty room of polite people.
Another production I saw was by second year drama students from Adelaide Tafe. It was about residents of a reality tv show who are held hostage (and watch themselves on television). Another case of reasonable premise, reasonable stage set and nothing took off. The acting was only acceptable, with the best performance coming from the least talented but best looking (and thus confident) performer.
As far as I can recall, these are my negative experiences. I still completely love the idea of seeing plays, going to theatres, supporting coop, new directors, new productions, experiments. I loved being part of BUST, and seeing how Maude Davey worked in the rehearsal process. Some of the better performances I've seen have been created out of this communal and community process, when the performers are a mix of trained/experienced practitioners and complete novices. There is something real there, something raw and emotion is a commodity I'll pay to watch. It's why you watch the AFL Grand Final. After two hours, one team are heroic victors, on an incredible high and the other team are fallen men, lying and crying, unashamedly exposing their misery. I find it fascinating.
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