Thursday, December 13, 2012

Tonight, I travelled and arrived in hope.

Matilda. The RSC. I've been trying to get tickets during London visits for two years now. Back in October, I got myself organised and got lucky.

For all Richard Eyre's cynicism, he also offers the following:

"(Theatre) can be inert and dispiriting, and clubby, self-regarding, tacky and embarrassing. You can sometimes be ashamed of being in the audience on those occasions, let alone in the same profession as the people on stage, let alone part of the human race. But when it's good? Oh well, then it makes its own argument."

Matilda was just so.

We lucked out and got the littlest of the 4 Matildas doing their six month stint. She was magic. As were the rest of the kids. As was the grown cast. As was the set (oh my life I gasped when I walked into the auditorium), the lights, the sound design, the music, the band, the direction, the cute boy in his socks on the sound desk. Everything.

I cried approx four times.

Pitch perfect.


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