It was a weekend packed with some things cultural and some things less so.
On Friday, I went to see Michael Jackson: This Is It. Decide for yourselves which category this falls into.
I thought it was a brilliant film. I feel slightly defensive saying this. But I suppose I expected it to be quite terrible. I like MJ as well as the next man but would hardly describe myself as an enormous fan. Though I did sit up beyond my bedtime on his night / day of death. But personal opinion aside, I think it must be acknowledged that he had some talent. I mean, Some Talent with respectful CAPS rather than just a morsel or shred of it.
Anyway, given that they presumably weren’t expecting to have to make anything like a full length film with 8 days to go before his tour actually started, they made a sterling job of cobbling something so impressive together. The dancers are particularly adorably respectful. Given my choice of ‘hobby’, the backstage stuff is interesting. And you’re left in sorry awe (at least, I was) of the man’s talent. He could dance. Should I say, He Could Dance.
Saturday night was the final night of Wit. Hats off to them all for a fine show. And we should have simultaneously raised a sturdy amount of money for a couple of local cancer charities. Art and honour. You could do worse.
On Sunday, I blindly went along to see a film of Russell’s choosing. There aren’t many people that I would do this with. That I would trust enough to choose something that I would like I mean. But he chose well.
It was something called Cold Souls featuring Paul Giamatti and told the curiously charming tale of an actor whose angst was hampering him from playing a real Uncle Vanya. I’m sure it was this also that stood between Bill Phillips and Vanya however many years ago. That, and his antique balalika.
So Paul set off to get his soul put into storage. I look forward to the day when this service is more widely available than the NYC Yellow Pages. I’m sure it won’t be far away. Not that it really helped his acting.
Tuesday saw me switch camera sides for the first time in almost one and a half years and audition. For my friend Mr Neill’s one act play. (No pressure, friend.) I experienced a tiny thrill before pushing open the faithful rehearsal rooms’ front door of being neither director nor President. Footloose and fancy free days.
On Friday, I went to see Michael Jackson: This Is It. Decide for yourselves which category this falls into.
I thought it was a brilliant film. I feel slightly defensive saying this. But I suppose I expected it to be quite terrible. I like MJ as well as the next man but would hardly describe myself as an enormous fan. Though I did sit up beyond my bedtime on his night / day of death. But personal opinion aside, I think it must be acknowledged that he had some talent. I mean, Some Talent with respectful CAPS rather than just a morsel or shred of it.
Anyway, given that they presumably weren’t expecting to have to make anything like a full length film with 8 days to go before his tour actually started, they made a sterling job of cobbling something so impressive together. The dancers are particularly adorably respectful. Given my choice of ‘hobby’, the backstage stuff is interesting. And you’re left in sorry awe (at least, I was) of the man’s talent. He could dance. Should I say, He Could Dance.
Saturday night was the final night of Wit. Hats off to them all for a fine show. And we should have simultaneously raised a sturdy amount of money for a couple of local cancer charities. Art and honour. You could do worse.
On Sunday, I blindly went along to see a film of Russell’s choosing. There aren’t many people that I would do this with. That I would trust enough to choose something that I would like I mean. But he chose well.
It was something called Cold Souls featuring Paul Giamatti and told the curiously charming tale of an actor whose angst was hampering him from playing a real Uncle Vanya. I’m sure it was this also that stood between Bill Phillips and Vanya however many years ago. That, and his antique balalika.
So Paul set off to get his soul put into storage. I look forward to the day when this service is more widely available than the NYC Yellow Pages. I’m sure it won’t be far away. Not that it really helped his acting.
Tuesday saw me switch camera sides for the first time in almost one and a half years and audition. For my friend Mr Neill’s one act play. (No pressure, friend.) I experienced a tiny thrill before pushing open the faithful rehearsal rooms’ front door of being neither director nor President. Footloose and fancy free days.
posted by Claire at 10:01 am
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