Last weekend, we caught Equus in London. The Equus of Harry Potter fame. I felt mildly apprehensive about dragging myself along to the theatre like a groupie to catch a 17 year old boy taking his kit off. But perhaps we have to make these sacrifices for our art. And actually, I'm very glad I did.
I've had a vague eye on the director, Thea Sharrock, for a little while as she seems to be doing very well for herself. And I've never seen Richard Griffiths in action. And my beloved Ross was keen to see it. But primarily, I was lured by the play. I read it a few months back in my quest for possible festival scripts. Dear Nick lent it to me and I should have loved to do it but it does rather rely on having a super 17 year old. And nobody quite sprang to mind. And it is obviously a bit long for a 2 hour time slot. But it's certainly on my wish list if a suitable 17 year old ever crosses my path.
The programme notes suggest that Peter Shaffer was worried about how well it would translate to the modern day as it hasn't been done professionally for 30 years. Though of course there have been various admirable (amateur) productions in the interim, including a rather fine one featuring a sleepy horse and the director of the moment. (You can find it in 1978 if the link doesn't work.) I would say that he has little to worry about in this respect with reports of errant teenagers and middle-aged men having lost their way abounding.
The set was very simple. Ross rather generously suggested it was reminiscent of some of my black block sets. Though I expect those black blocks weren't leftovers from former shows dusted off and resurrected from an aging fire hazard store in an overgrown corridor somewhere in Edinburgh. They did some rather smart work with stable doors which unfolded to reveal the horses now and again. The lighting was quite stunning. And the acting was just marvellous. They were all very good. As you'd hope, I suppose. But Alan's parents were charming portrayals of confused little people. Jill was suitably sweet. Daniel Radcliffe was suitably troubled. And Richard Griffiths was incredibly impressive.
I love the themes of the play. What is there left to believe in? Obviously appeals to my small streak of nihilism. And it's such a beautifully put together, well-educated, informed and interesting script (that could easily be butchered by a bunch of well-meaning amateurs) that it's almost tempting to go see it again. Probably just as well I don't live in London.
I've had a vague eye on the director, Thea Sharrock, for a little while as she seems to be doing very well for herself. And I've never seen Richard Griffiths in action. And my beloved Ross was keen to see it. But primarily, I was lured by the play. I read it a few months back in my quest for possible festival scripts. Dear Nick lent it to me and I should have loved to do it but it does rather rely on having a super 17 year old. And nobody quite sprang to mind. And it is obviously a bit long for a 2 hour time slot. But it's certainly on my wish list if a suitable 17 year old ever crosses my path.
The programme notes suggest that Peter Shaffer was worried about how well it would translate to the modern day as it hasn't been done professionally for 30 years. Though of course there have been various admirable (amateur) productions in the interim, including a rather fine one featuring a sleepy horse and the director of the moment. (You can find it in 1978 if the link doesn't work.) I would say that he has little to worry about in this respect with reports of errant teenagers and middle-aged men having lost their way abounding.
The set was very simple. Ross rather generously suggested it was reminiscent of some of my black block sets. Though I expect those black blocks weren't leftovers from former shows dusted off and resurrected from an aging fire hazard store in an overgrown corridor somewhere in Edinburgh. They did some rather smart work with stable doors which unfolded to reveal the horses now and again. The lighting was quite stunning. And the acting was just marvellous. They were all very good. As you'd hope, I suppose. But Alan's parents were charming portrayals of confused little people. Jill was suitably sweet. Daniel Radcliffe was suitably troubled. And Richard Griffiths was incredibly impressive.
I love the themes of the play. What is there left to believe in? Obviously appeals to my small streak of nihilism. And it's such a beautifully put together, well-educated, informed and interesting script (that could easily be butchered by a bunch of well-meaning amateurs) that it's almost tempting to go see it again. Probably just as well I don't live in London.
posted by Claire at 6:02 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home