I was in London last weekend for a hen night (lovely slim young Clare Lovell who is marrying the apparently sexy and good in bed Oliver Brown - his modest words from the 'his and hers' quiz - in a couple of weeks).
The point anyway is that I managed to catch a rather marvellous production of Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie. I don't know if I agree with Michael Billington's take on the play. Laura was slightly too freakish for my liking. And Amanda was suitably overpowering to my mind. But then I saw it two months after Mr Billington so perhaps they'd been tinkering.
And it's probably fair to say that they could have done it any old way. The set was charming, the lighting envy-inducing for someone with a non-existent lighting budget. And the story always makes me cry. I tried to discretely swipe my tears away as they streaked down my cheeks in the slightly sweaty darkness of the stalls, only to find that my companion had slept through the heart-rending climax of the piece. My synopsis didn't have quite the same effect on her when retold.
Totally spolit theatrically recently, we went to see aalst at the Brunton a couple of weeks back. It tells the tale of a Belgian couple who murdered their children. Now there's a beautifully scripted play. It was brilliantly acted and was somehow gloriously bleakly funny. And needless to say, incredibly chilling. Hurry to see it at the Traverse, all my silent readers. You'll either love it or you'll realise what a strange twisted psyche I really have.
The point anyway is that I managed to catch a rather marvellous production of Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie. I don't know if I agree with Michael Billington's take on the play. Laura was slightly too freakish for my liking. And Amanda was suitably overpowering to my mind. But then I saw it two months after Mr Billington so perhaps they'd been tinkering.
And it's probably fair to say that they could have done it any old way. The set was charming, the lighting envy-inducing for someone with a non-existent lighting budget. And the story always makes me cry. I tried to discretely swipe my tears away as they streaked down my cheeks in the slightly sweaty darkness of the stalls, only to find that my companion had slept through the heart-rending climax of the piece. My synopsis didn't have quite the same effect on her when retold.
Totally spolit theatrically recently, we went to see aalst at the Brunton a couple of weeks back. It tells the tale of a Belgian couple who murdered their children. Now there's a beautifully scripted play. It was brilliantly acted and was somehow gloriously bleakly funny. And needless to say, incredibly chilling. Hurry to see it at the Traverse, all my silent readers. You'll either love it or you'll realise what a strange twisted psyche I really have.
posted by Claire at 8:08 pm
1 Comments:
Stumbled across your blog while looking for opinions on "Aalst". I've been surprised by how positive the response seems to have been (with a few exceptions). I thought the acting was immense but found the play somewhat disappointing - still unsure if it's me or if there's a bit of Emporer's New Clothes going on (hence the googling)
PS - like the sound of "Tiny Dynamite" so will hopefully fit it in we plan our Festival trips.
View From The Stalls
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