A nicely synesthetic concept, don’t you think?
We’ve finished reading Sheridan’s The Critic with Il Palcoscenico di Carta, the other day. It’s been a good reading, with several new faces, a lot of enthusiasm and quite a few good laughs.
Also, among the new faces, we’ve had a… rather peculiar character.
Let me begin with the beginning – the very first reading, indeed. We were happily Sheridaning away, when I heard a strange squeaking sound coming from my right… I couldn’t tell what produced it, and was rather busy with the reading anyway. The bookshop people carting books around on something with squeaky wheels, I decided – and wouldn’t have given it a second thought – except it happened again. And again. And again. And not only there was nary a cart in sight – squeaky or otherwise – but the more it happened, the more it sounded like… mewling. Continue reading
This is not the post I had in mind for today – but we’re having a true snowfall for the fist time in… oh, I don’t know: years, I rather believe.
It started last night, just as I drove home – which was, if you ask me, absolutely perfect, as far as sentimental fallacy goes – and it’s been snowing through the whole night, and still snowing cats and dogs. Past beautiful, that’s what it is. Continue reading
I’ve always found the idea rather sad: commissioning a portrait, getting a wonder made by the right painter, having it admired and treasured through the centuries, ending in some world-renown gallery… as a masterpiece of the author – with the sitter unknown, and not terribly important, either.
Well, do you know what the saddest portrait of unknown is to me? Not a painting, but a word-portrait: the Fair Youth of the Sonnets… Continue reading
Once upon a time, I was in church, attending a funeral. I may as well confess beforehand that I’m not much of a church-goer and, when I can’t help going, I have this tendency to wander off in my head…
But this time I’m telling you about was the funeral of a dear friend’s father, and I’d resolved to pay attention – at least a little. Only, I was late, so in the end I found myself standing in the back of a very crowded church, one I’d never entered before, trying hard to listen to the parson. Well, after a while I happened to notice some saint’s statue standing by the altar, all the way across the church. It was not an especially beautiful, or even old statue – but it was peculiar: the saint, whoever he was, wore a flimsy, short-sleeved shirt, and… trunk hose? Continue reading
This has little to do with history, books or theatre – though it is, in its own way, a story. I might stretch it, and say it has to do with communication – but the fact is, it’s a story without and ending (yet) and it baffles me. Now, you see, my mother is in her early seventies, quite smart, and in full possession of all her marbles. Also, she used to love technology and innovation, and grew up in a household of enthusiastic engineers and tinkerers.
Hardly one to be overwhelmed by a new kind of cellphone, right? Continue reading
Is this going to be a little awkward? I don’t know – but let us try. I’ve been discussing the new course at the Globe quite a bit, this past week, and one of the things that turned up more than once is the diversity policy, and…
Confession: I’m never entirely comfortable with the notion of diversity policies. “Which is a little odd,” I’ve been told. “As a woman, you should know how hard it is at times.” And yes, I do know. Not because of my stage experiences, I must say: I’ve been very lucky in that, and in fact, I think I’ve worked with more women than men, both as directors and artistic directors – and not because of any diversity policy. Only once have I been told – and this during an online workshop with an American instructor – that, as a woman playwright, I should write female characters. It was slightly disconcerting, but on the whole my experience in the theatre allows me to consider that as the odd bizarre incident. Continue reading
Last night, a friend asked me what do I think of the Globe’s new policy of letting the audience choose the play they’ll see…
My friend says I perked up, all hare-like – which is a gross exaggeration, but still I won’t deny I was fascinated and perplexed in equal measure: “What? The Globe? Have they announced the new season? Did the new artistic director say that? But how are they going to do that? What does it mean, letting the audience choose? In advance? By voting? And what if the audiences always choose the same play? And what of those who wanted to see something else? What if there’s a tie?” Continue reading