another try at the theatre
I think I've written about my current inability to enjoy attending theatre. It dates from about 2003, when I saw a terrorism themed play by Stephen Sewell at the Festival Centre and hasn't improved much since then, though I did enjoy a performance I saw at the Fringe about Dads.
On Saturday night I joined 3 friends to see RUBY BRUISE at the Waterside Workers Theatre at Port Adelaide. To some extent I enjoyed it more, as a "complete" theatrical performance than SASKIA FALLS-it was well designed, the 4 actors were good, they effectively performed all their theatrical "tricks". But the play itself was kind of pointless, left us all with a so what feeling.
It was interesting to read, on the same day, an interview with a performance artist in REVIEW, who was asked to explain the difference between performance art and theatre. Theatre is fake, she said, completely artificial, whilst performance art is Real! Whilst I sometimes cringe at performance art, the determination to push my buttons or manipulate me, I did agree with her. When I see theatre, and the actors cry or get angry, I know that they are good at pretending, they are good at faking it, they are good at manipulating me "in character", and there seems to be a certain tedium that I start to feel, that they should even want to attempt this. I probably enjoyed the acting more in Ruby Bruise than for the Belvoir production, in fact halfway through the production I felt relieved that I enjoyed them "acting". Enjoyed them singing and moving and dancing and being angry and sad and silly and disturbed and doing their piece, as it were.
But it still hasn't quite brought back a love of theatre yet, or a satisfaction with all aspects (text, acting, direction, staging). It must be hard to get it all right.
Otherwise the evening was a good night, I was stunned to find that J and P, who I'd not seen for over 2.5 years, are now proud parents of a gorgeous one year old daughter. This surprise is due to their ages (mid to late 40s), but they are excellent people to be bringing up children. They have a lot of neighbours with young children, a creative community around them, and are great at making play dens and kid friendly furniture and creating an environment that adults and children can mix in. Their daughter has an excellent friendly temperament, and they are in a financial position to both work part time from home, making the whole feeding routine easier. They also, despite having a large circle of involvement in green issues and sustainability, have eschewed any ideologies about parenting, opting to go for the most practical option When I said I didn't really like being lobbied to do things a certain way, espeically as I haven't even delivered this baby, P agreed that it was wise to wait and experience the "issue" before adopting any approach. J said they started off parenting using disposable nappies and just wanting to cope with the early challenge of keeping her safe and alive. Hear hear! So I was then, in a relaxed manner, able to have a look at the equipment she was using and ask questions about anything that interested me (bedding, mainly) and she reassured me about the education that will be provided by the midwifery group practice.
So feeling much better now, still have to wait for Lu fang to make an arrival (please, not early) and go through the unpredictability of how the birth will be, but otherwise very excited. Last night I read, in one sitting, Maggie O'Farell's THE HAND THAT FIRST HELD MINE. This is a book I don't think you could write without having been responsible for a newborn, and it combines the stories of an artist in the present day, who has just become a mother after a life threatening caesarean, and a bohemian journalist in the 60s who becomes a single mother, bucking convention. Naturally it caused me to well up with sentimentality for my unborn child, by the time I finished reading it about midnight, but by morning I reconsidered how much I really liked the novel.
Maggie O'Farrell is an excellent writer, but I had the same objection to a central narrative premise that I had for Barbara Trapido's latest book. Much of the climax that she builds on is dependent on characters being victims of bitter mother-daughter villains, and I couldn't quite believe that these nasty characters would be given so much power to damage by their victims, it seemed at odds with their otherwise robust personalities. Otherwise it was well written, had some brief but appealing minor characters passing through, the same attention to succinctly capturing visual details (colours of the outfits Lexie wears, the Lyme Regis Cobb, the house of Fitzgerald, the Colony Room and the offices of Elsewhere, the back garden of Ted & Elina's place). Am glad to think that this literary effort is a Womens Weekly recommended read!
On Saturday night I joined 3 friends to see RUBY BRUISE at the Waterside Workers Theatre at Port Adelaide. To some extent I enjoyed it more, as a "complete" theatrical performance than SASKIA FALLS-it was well designed, the 4 actors were good, they effectively performed all their theatrical "tricks". But the play itself was kind of pointless, left us all with a so what feeling.
It was interesting to read, on the same day, an interview with a performance artist in REVIEW, who was asked to explain the difference between performance art and theatre. Theatre is fake, she said, completely artificial, whilst performance art is Real! Whilst I sometimes cringe at performance art, the determination to push my buttons or manipulate me, I did agree with her. When I see theatre, and the actors cry or get angry, I know that they are good at pretending, they are good at faking it, they are good at manipulating me "in character", and there seems to be a certain tedium that I start to feel, that they should even want to attempt this. I probably enjoyed the acting more in Ruby Bruise than for the Belvoir production, in fact halfway through the production I felt relieved that I enjoyed them "acting". Enjoyed them singing and moving and dancing and being angry and sad and silly and disturbed and doing their piece, as it were.
But it still hasn't quite brought back a love of theatre yet, or a satisfaction with all aspects (text, acting, direction, staging). It must be hard to get it all right.
Otherwise the evening was a good night, I was stunned to find that J and P, who I'd not seen for over 2.5 years, are now proud parents of a gorgeous one year old daughter. This surprise is due to their ages (mid to late 40s), but they are excellent people to be bringing up children. They have a lot of neighbours with young children, a creative community around them, and are great at making play dens and kid friendly furniture and creating an environment that adults and children can mix in. Their daughter has an excellent friendly temperament, and they are in a financial position to both work part time from home, making the whole feeding routine easier. They also, despite having a large circle of involvement in green issues and sustainability, have eschewed any ideologies about parenting, opting to go for the most practical option When I said I didn't really like being lobbied to do things a certain way, espeically as I haven't even delivered this baby, P agreed that it was wise to wait and experience the "issue" before adopting any approach. J said they started off parenting using disposable nappies and just wanting to cope with the early challenge of keeping her safe and alive. Hear hear! So I was then, in a relaxed manner, able to have a look at the equipment she was using and ask questions about anything that interested me (bedding, mainly) and she reassured me about the education that will be provided by the midwifery group practice.
So feeling much better now, still have to wait for Lu fang to make an arrival (please, not early) and go through the unpredictability of how the birth will be, but otherwise very excited. Last night I read, in one sitting, Maggie O'Farell's THE HAND THAT FIRST HELD MINE. This is a book I don't think you could write without having been responsible for a newborn, and it combines the stories of an artist in the present day, who has just become a mother after a life threatening caesarean, and a bohemian journalist in the 60s who becomes a single mother, bucking convention. Naturally it caused me to well up with sentimentality for my unborn child, by the time I finished reading it about midnight, but by morning I reconsidered how much I really liked the novel.
Maggie O'Farrell is an excellent writer, but I had the same objection to a central narrative premise that I had for Barbara Trapido's latest book. Much of the climax that she builds on is dependent on characters being victims of bitter mother-daughter villains, and I couldn't quite believe that these nasty characters would be given so much power to damage by their victims, it seemed at odds with their otherwise robust personalities. Otherwise it was well written, had some brief but appealing minor characters passing through, the same attention to succinctly capturing visual details (colours of the outfits Lexie wears, the Lyme Regis Cobb, the house of Fitzgerald, the Colony Room and the offices of Elsewhere, the back garden of Ted & Elina's place). Am glad to think that this literary effort is a Womens Weekly recommended read!
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