All is well that ends well. I should have gone to see West Side Story at the Festival Theatre in Edinburgh on Wednesday night. But due to a sorry chain of events, this was not to be. As it turned out, I rather fell on my feet as I ended up there in the corporate hospitality portion last night instead. So I suppose, although I missed the delightful company of my true friends, it could've been worse.
The show anyway. Well I was disappointed. JGH had led to expect greatness was the trouble. He talked enthusiastically about it months back which was what originally led me to seek out tickets. And it was kind of ok. But given that it was billed with great fanfare as a 50th anniversary production, I expected more. Though I daresay this was my fault. 50th anniversary production implies greatness but why really should it be any more great than any younger or older production?
Anyway, it was an odd patchy thing. The orchestra were brilliant. Effervescent, I might go so far as to say. The set was tall and thus impressive but eminently portable. The main man, Tony, was suitably cute and had the most beautiful voice. Momentarily I understood how my mother can rhapsodise so endlessly about a voice. He was stunning. To my ignorant ear anyway. Maria was cute but warbley when she sang the high notes. The girls in general were pretty, witty and cute. The boys were spindley, ragged and effeminate. Entirely lacking in the chutzpah (perfect word, Darrell) that should be displayed by Sharks and Jets. Which led to an oddly unbalanced production.
I still managed to choke out a tear or two at the mournful bit. Though as I'd been scoffing and tutting only minutes before, I tried to be discrete. And the entire experience was made all the more delightful by the charming enthusiasm of the marketing boys and girls at the Festival Theatre who plied us with du vin blanc both before, during and after the show. And Emma was about so I got to catch up with her which I haven't done for a while which was also lovely. So all in all, a lovely night. Just goes to show there's a place for all of us. Somewhere.
The show anyway. Well I was disappointed. JGH had led to expect greatness was the trouble. He talked enthusiastically about it months back which was what originally led me to seek out tickets. And it was kind of ok. But given that it was billed with great fanfare as a 50th anniversary production, I expected more. Though I daresay this was my fault. 50th anniversary production implies greatness but why really should it be any more great than any younger or older production?
Anyway, it was an odd patchy thing. The orchestra were brilliant. Effervescent, I might go so far as to say. The set was tall and thus impressive but eminently portable. The main man, Tony, was suitably cute and had the most beautiful voice. Momentarily I understood how my mother can rhapsodise so endlessly about a voice. He was stunning. To my ignorant ear anyway. Maria was cute but warbley when she sang the high notes. The girls in general were pretty, witty and cute. The boys were spindley, ragged and effeminate. Entirely lacking in the chutzpah (perfect word, Darrell) that should be displayed by Sharks and Jets. Which led to an oddly unbalanced production.
I still managed to choke out a tear or two at the mournful bit. Though as I'd been scoffing and tutting only minutes before, I tried to be discrete. And the entire experience was made all the more delightful by the charming enthusiasm of the marketing boys and girls at the Festival Theatre who plied us with du vin blanc both before, during and after the show. And Emma was about so I got to catch up with her which I haven't done for a while which was also lovely. So all in all, a lovely night. Just goes to show there's a place for all of us. Somewhere.
posted by Claire at 6:03 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home