Excuse me, have you seen my free time?

November 13th, 2010


What happened to all my time?
And when the hell do these Vascos sleep?
I was out until 7:00 am last night.
Not drinking too much because:
A) Last weekend I was terribly ill.
B) I danced too heavily in a very smoky club, and made myself terribly ill, but clear of mind.
I think I'd rather be ill from drink than Dehydration and Second Hand Smoke.
But the recovery period is shorter.

Of Cheeses.
I have been eating so many delicious freaking cheeses I think my head might explode.
Or, worse, I may become french.

Todos Eran Mi Hijos.
This play, a translated version of 'All My Sons' by Senior Miller.
For those of you who don't know this is my second favorite play of his, only surpassed by After the Fall. The Crucible, was actually written by someone else. Because I love Miller, and I don't want to see is flaws. (No I will not Link that piece of garbage, you're better off if you don't know what it is.)
I stand by this opinion even if they threaten to burn me at the stake.
Enough bad jokes.
The Theatre Thoughts:
This Theater is Baroque.
('Kishpike, uhm' you might be thinking 'You just spelled theatre with an er... that's not very theatre-nerdy of you.' But you see, Theater means Building, or place where Theatre takes place. Follow?)
Baroque is ridiculous.
Its gorgeous, and gawdy.
You could spend hours staring at the random beautiful elements that all come together to make a hodge-podge of imagery to the point where your senses are overwhelmed and you don't know what the original art was meant to be. I don't like Baroque much.
First night (Yes I went twice.)
I was sat with, most literally, a decorative column in my lap.
This column was sprouting between my legs as if it were a bad phallic joke.
There was not one inch between my seat and it.
When the ushers closed the doors (and thus couldn't see me) I changed seats.
Remember how I was complaining about Spanish Audiences?
It gets worse.
There were three girls of fewer years behind me talking.
Talking.
Not whispering.
Not muttering.
Talking.
During the WHOLE show.
And laughing at the wrong points... okay, that's a healthy reaction, laughing when uncomfortable, or whatever, it's a true reaction, but it's goddamn immature. I can't recall the exact moment, or why they thought it was funny, but it was jarring to my experience. And made me angrier.
I shot a few glares at them, directly at them, as they were in the seats behind me, but nothing.
I couldn't help but notice that the people around me didn't seem to care, or notice. At all.
Leaving me with the responsibility to say something.
I can't inspire fear like a stage manager, and was struggling to cobble together a spanish sentence to the significance of 'Get the fuck out of this theatre.' With proper conjugations and accents as not to create more of scene than was already happening.
I over thought the situation, and left it alone.
-1 Awesome point for this weasel.

The second night I went, I was in the 4th Balcony, (Gross, That shouldn't exist) on the highest seat. The 4th story Balcony is double High. The Stage was on the second floor.
I WAS ON THE GODDAMNED 6TH FLOOR.
I wasn't pleased.
I couldn't see DSR.
At all.
I missed a good 1/3 of the play.
Pissed I was.

Part of the reason this theatre is so big, or as a result of it's bigness, is that these plays run 2-3 times.
Total.
Not a week, not a month.
Total.
Makes me want to puke.
How much work goes into that sort of rehearsal process? What kind of quality can be achieved?
I don't know, but I hate it.

So the show itself.
Good enough to get me to go again, that's pretty damn good.
I hate re-watching things, unless I was somehow involved with it.
The Lead Actor was PHENOMINAL. Joe played on my heart strings like I was a Kishpike-Fiddle, and him the very Johny of Georgia fame.
It wasn't until the second night that I realized he was Nagg from Endgame, who I had loved as well.
Such a sympathetic and nuanced approach to Joe, it was beautiful.
Everything he did seemed natural and inspired by the moment, he also was listening.
The buffoon character was floundering between physical acting and trying to be natural. It wasn't pretty. But he's a small part.
Chris and Ann, did well enough but lost energy on the second night.
And Kate was... well in love with herself.
What do I mean by that, I know what I mean, but it's not the same as loving oneself, which every healthy artist should do. Its more akin to being... aware of oneself and expecting the audience to love the wonderful performance one is giving them.
It's... gross, kind of. I can't really express it I don't think, but you've seen it.
Nick Bottom is a Parody of that sort of acting, I'm fairly certain.
(Anyone else think Shakespeare might of known some guy who pussy-footed around EVERY conversation, and it drove him mad. Mad to the point where its a common theme in all his plays?)

The Scene design passed, a corner of a house, backyard, small broken tree.
The Light design was... as the Sound design, a bit heavy handed.
Well The Sound design was way to heavy handed, marred the wood.
It started out nice appropriately sound 'Making Whoopie' that played on speakers like it was a period radio and bled into a live harmonica on stage.
It ended with melodramatic music over Chris's sobbings.
First night the Sobbings were enough.
Second night Chris had lost energy, and the music didn't help.
I hate heavy handed sound design, it's manipulative and obvious.

Anyhow I didn't come to Spain to post blogs.
I'm off to find more adventure.


Agur.

1 comment:

  1. I tried to post to your previous blog, however, damn internet is making it nigh' impossible.

    I miss you, friend-sauce.

    I keep thinking about the future. Where will I be? What will be learning?

    I wish you were here to tell me what to do.

    But since you are not - this blog is very helpful to keep me informed of all these adventures that you're off having.

    Please be safe and continue to write about Spain.

    ReplyDelete