The Glass Menagerie. Tennessee Williams. My neighbour impressively told me she's seen Cabaret at least fifty times. I couldn't tell you how often I've seen The Glass Menagerie. I've seen ropey productions. I've seen marvellous productions. They pretty much all make me cry. And I don't really know why. Or maybe I do. Maybe I can refer you to two posts ago here and say it's a beautiful show because it's about the memories / dreams we're all in love with that often don't actually exist.

I have Ross to thank for The Yard. He lured me to this down at heel theatre in East London two autumn's ago to see The Flea which was all sorts of fun. Super staging. Pitch perfect direction. Cracking venue. Earnest, efficient, full of beautiful people. The sort of place, like the Traverse used to be and Summerhall in the Fringe is, where you feel more attractive on account of the proximity to the beautiful ones.

They're about to knock the building down and start again which makes me sad and happy in equal measure. And their last show - I oafishly asked the man sat next to me who turned out to be not just director of this show but director / creator / mastermind of the entire space, why he chose this play as his last. "Well", he said, "it's a play about memory" - before the knocking down begins is The Glass Menagerie.

Very curious, I booked my ticket a wee while ago. The wonderful reviews started rolling in. And there I found myself, therefore, sitting in trepidation amidst the audience as they trod the sometimes loose floorboards to their seats. 

There's a thing about watching a play about memory as all your memories about previous productions jostle for attention, collide with each other and then get shoved out by the iceberg majesty of this one. 

Actors excellent. Maybe I wouldn't do it exactly the same in some small regards for all that is worth but the character presentation was consistent and credible and seamlessly executed. Lambdog1066's costumes are eclectic and fussy and not fussy and stunning. The set is maybe an installation rather than a set and clever and sweet and full of yearning and the wardrobe made me chortle with mischief and admiration.

But the direction. The direction made me determined to try harder which is the greatest gift a show can give you, right? Why waste the Gentleman Caller in the first act? Jay Miller did not. Why not make the absent phone engineer father loom much larger over all proceedings? So he did here. Why not make like maybe Laura had actual fun with her Gentleman Caller rather than just being listened to with patience and care? Mr Miller did. He made me see things in this play that I love that I haven't seen before. He made it very funny. He cast with such care. And he honoured this story with a soundtrack that will haunt my head for days and a package of stuff - try harder. Let's say a package of memories. That will stay with me for a long time. 

Mr Miller, if you're reading this and would be willing to take some sort of mentee-person on during your year of not having a theatre, I sat next to you last night and was a silly gobstruck fangirl. And I'm going home on Sunday but that's just up the road.

The Yard. Hackney Wick. London Town. About to be knocked down and rebuilt. Now nudging up against the Traverse (for nostalgia, longevity, fond memory reasons) as my favourite theatre. Though I guess as it's about to be knocked down, the Trav can continue to reign supreme in my tiny world. 

Poor blog! It's now been so long that I can't even remember my preferred typeface here. But Siobhan was observing that this is very neglected so it's been in my mind. 

Since the last post, I part-directed a (poorly reviewed) Christmas show. December 2024. baba. I loved it in all sorts of ways. Like a child, I read the reviews once, very fast, on publication, just as I darted out the house to go to Friday's show. Could barely look at the cast when I got there. Soul searched again about why on earth I bother. And then carried on carrying on with it all, possibly like a silly. 

Critical success to one side, it made more money than any of EGTG's other shows in 2024 so the bank account looks healthier, even if my 'reputation', such as it is, does not. 

Hello.

I've been having a lovely old time. Of course not winning any of these prizes mentioned previously but continuing not to renounce theatre in retaliation, you'll be relieved to know. 

I've done a very small amount of reviewing so far, this year. Stand out shows from Manipulate, which I did manage to encounter a little of (poor sentence), were Tess by the wonderful Ockham's Razor and this extraordinary show which was largely composed of tiny hoovers. 

I've just seen the Lyceum's lovely Girls of Slender Means and toiled over the review, soon to be published, no doubt. I was somewhat underwhelmed by James V. And Hamilton, in touring form, continues to be a spectacular feat though inevitably somewhat scaled back from the West End festivity of technical complexity. 

However, I was lucky enough to see x2 shows in London recently which were both - astonishing is a strong word - but possibly actually astonishing. I need to consider my words here so will report back - you'll wait with baited breath - in due course. 

Poor blog!

I've done a Fringe show since I last posted. I've written one new script. I've entered loads more competitions. Of course I've got nowhere with any of them. I've written five scenes of another new script. A whole new year has come. 

And I saw this and another couple of fine things in Manipulate. Lots on for the remaining week or so, so do check it out. 

Poor blog. 

I was guiltily thinking about you this evening.

It's the Fringe.

I saw Finnish visual theatre and a 15 minute show served up as a phone call yesterday, amidst a dog-like hangover courtesy of The List party. Then a wild old thing called Food. 

Today, The Grand Old Opera House Hotel at the Trav which was great fun. Havana Street Party, Bristo Square, also great fun. And then a French theatrical take on Dogville, Dusk, updated, relevance-d and given a happier ending. Though it's all relative.

Tech tomorrow for crackers and as I'm such a lacklustre advocate, more info here. First Fringe show in five years - imagine!

I love Edinburgh in August. 

frisson has been and gone. 

The online version ran two weeks ago. The real life version ran last week, impeded by a bout of sickness amongst the cast which led to a spike in my heart rate and the cancellation of the first real life night to avoid potential infection of either cast or audience in its wake.

I feared we'd surrendered our right to any reviewers with the cancellation so was touched and extremely gratified that those booked in for Tuesday were able to reschedule. It's been a busy few weeks in Edinburgh theatre land so this was not something to take for granted.

The real life audiences were compact in number but enthusiastic in their reception which was obviously lovely.

But the moment I must keep in my heart for all time came to pass like this. 

An email from the wonderful Hannah who's been managing the show's PR. "Stop press. Joyce McMillan wants a ticket for Thursday night's show."

Someone called Joyce M had watched the online show but we had no sense of whether it was The Joyce or some other Joyce.

Thursday's show and there she was and I was darting around on the door taking tickets etc. It was hard not to fawn. 

I felt that she chortled her way through the show but this could have been wishful thinking. 

Post-show, I thrust a list of the people involved into her hand. She said (I think. My memory is hazy as this was all just much too much): "so what is your role in this?"

I said I was the writer.

She said, "ah, so you're cmfwood."

"Claire", I said swiftly,  confronted starkly by my pretension. "I always wanted to be AJPTaylor, hence the cmf. Silly really."

And she said:

"More like e e cummings, no? With all the lower case."

Like an idiot, like she was comparing me to the wild beauty of his words, I dipped my head. "I'll take that", graciously.

"I enjoyed it very much," she said. "Thank you."

THANKING ME!

And then she was away and the ground could have swallowed me up then and there and I would've been happy.

Last post. 5 Dec. Happy new year, readers! If there are any of you left. 

This time, I've been busy doing this. 

And I saw an extremely clever but for me, emotionally unengaging show tonight as part of Manipulate. Hark at me damning someone else's Saturday nights toiling away on ticketing systems and updating websites. 

Last post. August 28. That's a very poor show. 

In my defence, I've written two plays and applied for more things that I didn't win/get in the meantime. And seen a few bits and pieces. So I've not been idle but that's hardly the point. 

I'll try harder.