Twelfth Night at the Globe

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TwelfthNight

Twelfth Night has not been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It’s not one I’ve read or studied. I saw a flattish production at the Colorado Shakespeare Festival (a shame, after the CSF created a very magical Dream that must rank among the most memorable productions of anything I’ve ever seen – in that open-air theatre, those fairy costumes were electric). And then I was disappointed by the much-lauded  Donmar production at Wyndham’s Theatre in 2008; Derek Jacobi as Malvolio (sorry) dominated the show in a way that somehow left little room for the magic.

But I finally got to enjoy this play’s genius last night in the sublime (and sold-out) production of Twelfth Night at the Globe. (We were very very lucky last week to suddenly spot tickets coming free on the Globe’s website; thanks go to a very persistent fangirl niece.)

What struck me here was that this was a production by and for a whole cast (and they were clearly having great fun), and that successful balance within an ensemble lies at the heart of most (all?) comedy. One or two of the performers here could, for external reasons, have stolen the show, but they did not. And still those performers shone, maybe even more brightly than if the production had been focused upon them.

It’s an Original Features all-male version. Apparently there have been grumbles about such productions taking away parts from women. But please! 1. That’s beside the point. And 2. there’s room to do all-female productions too?!

Last night, quite emphatically, the play’s sexual confusion (and something of its play’s original intent?) was brought to the fore through, e.g., the drag of Johnny Flynn, with his reedy little ladyvoice, playing Viola playing Cesario, falling for the Duke and then snapping Olivia out of her self-absorption and resisting her charms. And such charm! Mark Rylance as Olivia has exquisite timing (the ring, the shoe, having greatness thrust upon her on a picnic blanket) and an awesome range of facial mannerisms, even under a black veil (yes, I was that dude with the binoculars …). He inhabits, contains, extends that character, and the gender-bending and campiness are core to that singular magic. Through Olivia’s sexual reawakening, the play’s treatment of self-love – also of course evident in the characters of Malvolio and Orsino – becomes a commentary on privilege and the need for play.

I note here that I’m using the word play twice in that last sentence, which leads me to dwell on the fact that playing is what happens in a theatre. This certainly was a very playful production.

Rylance’s performance will surely go down as one of the great ones. And yes, his Olivia is the central character, but s/he’s a generous one at that, feeding and feeding off the other players. Other exceptional performances in this stellar cast come from Paul Chahidi as Maria (very Hattie Jacques) and Roger Lloyd Pack as Andrew Aguecheek (very physical).

And then Stephen Fry brings real pathos to the part of Malvolio (Jacobi got the pomp, but not the pathos), which helped me experience the play’s darker tinge. Doesn’t all the best comedy have a dark side? And what a treat to see Mr Fry on stage.

And while we are there, let’s note the Colorado Shakespeare Festival’s recent outreach programme Shakespeare and Anti-Bullying: Twelfth Night. That letter = cyberbullying. And seen by over 11,000 kids in Colorado.

But back to the Globe. The dancing was, as always, such revellish fun. And given that my own robin returned to the garden yesterday, the rendition of Jolly Robyn – which I’d not paid attention to before – was special. (He – or she?! – flies towards me when I’m deadheading and repotting, rather than away. Hence my robin.)

If you’re not from London, and visiting, a trip to the Globe is perhaps the one thing you really must do. Or maybe even make this the whole purpose of a visit. The Globe works on so many levels: entertaining, instructive, and a real experience of something uniquely London. Take in its exhibition (I must make an excursion myself sometime). But most of all, see a play. Everyone within this wooden O – audience, players, those ever vigilant volunteers – knows and feels they are taking part in something special.

And now Twelfth Night becomes one of my favourite plays. That’s magic too.

Eel Pie Island

by Andrew | 1 Comment

I really love Twickenham. It’s a great mix of so many things, part of London yet too very much its own self, wrapped around a bend in the Thames.

One of its most magical spots is Eel Pie Island, a boho boatyard and hippietopia of sorts on an eyot (small island) in the river. No cars, just a footbridge, and a history going back to Henry VIII, who apparently stopped here for an eel pie on his way upriver to Hampton Court after seeing his mistress in Kew.

For a potted (and colourful) history, listen to this feature broadcast by NPR back in August: From A British King To Rock ‘N’ Roll: The Slippery History Of Eel Pie Island (that link has the recipe for eel pie, but this link from the producers has more pictures). I never knew Anjelica Huston had a connection to Twickenham.

The golden era of squats and skiffle and art students and trad jazz has passed, but some of the spirit lives on in the studios of the Eel Pie Island Artists. The yard where they are based is mostly closed off to the public, but it opens twice a year for the open studios weekends. Last Christmas I bought my mom a gorgeous glass robin there. And back in June, my friend Antonia and I sipped punch in the pop-up pop & punch bar assembled around heaps of boaty junk (items I don’t know the words for, but they were made of iron and peeling paint, and there was also a very rusty trampoline – I imagine it enjoys part of that colourful history).

And then we snuck through a gap in some bambooish thicketry, and wandered through the watery green of a nature reserve of sorts – tall and slender tree trunks, a high canopy of leaves, and the song of robins and blackbirds and our local squawky parrots. Were we in London?

Here are some other related links:

* Eel Pie Island Hotel & Dancehall – pictures, words, and links

* Eel Pie Dharma – a super haibun/memoir by Chris Faiers

* The Eel Pie Club – the current ‘home of Richmond & Twickenham Rhthym & Blues’, at the Cabbage Patch

* Come Hell Or High Water – Sunday Times feature by Richard Johnson

* Exploring Eel Pie Island – from the Little London Observationist

* Twickerati’s feature on the open studios in 2011

* Suburban Hymn – a walk around Twickenham from Simon Hoggart (from 2001 – not much needs updating; guess the burbs are pretty timeless in their charms, if not hipsterish, though we can brag about Noah and the Whale now)

And here are some snaps of my own, taken at various points during the last year.

 

 

Friday Writing Experiment No. 4: A Date With An Artist

by Andrew | 3 Comments

Today I had the great pleasure of spending the afternoon with my good and special friend the magical, starry writer Bhanu Kapil. We drank tea, ate plum muffins, took a ferry across the Thames with a lanky Alsatian, gossiped, walked in the rain, and read tarot cards as I drank chai and she drank energy tea. (I also cleaned house before her arrival. That special a friend.)

We also did some serious writerly stuff: read poetry; talked about teaching; shared our notebooks; discussed approaches to structure and form; set targets (mine from Bhanu included a list of gratitudes); the general upbeat coaching, coaxing, and bullying you can do with those you know and those who know you (and those who know those you both know). Except it never felt serious. It was playful, fun, rejuvenating.

(Also, we sat at a table numbered 108, which is a magic number. It’s the number of beads in a seat of Hindu prayer beads, it has all sorts of association with the number of 3 – it inspired, e.g., the number of sections in Eat Pray Love: look at all the multiples of 3 that it’s divisible by. Accidental magics.)

But this is supposed to be a Friday Writing Experiment (and I have twenty minutes left of Friday).

This week, put a twist on the warm and wonderful Julia Cameron’s idea of the Artist Date (and see video below). Julia asks us to take ourselves on a ‘once-weekly, festive, solo expedition’ to fire up the imagination and rediscover our sense of play; how about taking such an expedition with a good friend? Maybe they write too, or practise other forms of art, or maybe they’re just inspiring. Call them, or email them, and arrange to take yourselves to some place that’s new to at least one of you: a garden, a new coffeeshop, a neighbourhood a short train journey away. Or maybe this is your chance to try a videocall on Skype for the first time? You could also visit a gallery, or attend a literary event, but make sure you make time for each other too; go somewhere that you can talk and look at each other without needing to be polite to things on sales racks or in exhibition cases. The only other requirements are a notebook and pen.

Then do some/all of the following:

* Document the meeting.

* Read aloud some of your recent work.

* Discuss some of the accomplishments and challenges in your recent writing.

* Gossip. (Gossip is at the heart of all the best stories. Gossip gives voice. Gossip is good.)

* Make an offering (we left a petal and a berry on a statue of Ganesh, but you can leave any old rock under a tree, if you wish – just pick both rock and tree purposefully).

* Later on, or there and then if you have time, take two random images/words/sounds from your time together and create a story or poem that unites these items.

* Give each other writing experiments, but only do them there and there if it feels fun; otherwise do them that evening before you go to bed.

* Commit acts of creative divination.

* Look for the tilts in the landscape. Seek out the points of entry and departure. Be alert for the unexpected, and accidental magics.

* Bring/buy each other an inexpensive gift that is in some way meaningful to your meeting and/or each other’s practice.

* Take photographs.

* Bring an umbrella.

At the very least, write something inspired by this meeting, even if it’s just a journal entry, or an email describing the day to another friend. But a story or a poem could be even nicer.

Most of all: be sustained. Creative health relies on such friendships. As my date said in correspondence later:

Gossip recalibrates, talking about writing reminds one of one’s fate. Being with a friend rejuvenates.

 

Basic Tool: Artist Date from Julia Cameron on Vimeo.

Round-up, 5 October 2012: Nigella, Anna, Huck and covers

by Andrew | Leave a comment

Look at these gorgeous book covers designed by 100 artists from 28 countries gathered together in the collective DoeDeMee by Belgian design studio beshart. Even better, buy one of their posters for that bare wall on your landing; five euros from each one goes towards fighting illiteracy.

If there’s anything more fabulous than beholding a truly great book cover, it’s the shock and awe of wondering how a truly atrocious one ever came to be. (But maybe you never sat through the tedious hivemind that can be a cover meeting …) The Caustic Cover Critic is a new find I shall be revisiting regularly. I was particularly thrilled by its caustic coverage of these horrors inflicted upon Henry James by Tutis Digital Publishing. Never heard of em. I am baffled as to what happened here – the images in many instances bear absolutely no relation to the book’s content. They look like some error in translation. Enjoy! (More gems here.)

While we’re romping through awesomeness, also stop to take a look at Flavorpill’s 10 Books To Restore Your Faith In Print. Oo, ah, don’t you wish the Internet did pop-up books?

This Guardian story on Mark Twain’s inspiration for Tom Sawyer took me back to studying Huckleberry Finn for O level. I downloaded an ebook version, because it’s one of those books I ought to be carrying with me at all times, and in doing so realised it’s one of the first times I’ve looked at the book since I’ve entered mondo creative writing, and this time round I really noticed the magic of that voice. Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. Ah! Strange (or not so, I was well taught – thanks, Mrs Blakemore!) how lots of phrases were familiar. This was probably where the term dramatic irony was first explained to me, too, I reckon.

An intriguing take from The Week on Nigella’s new show Nigellissima, in which someone doing her PhD on sadomasochism and romantic love comments on the Nigella-baiting by mostly male critics. It’s a welcome take that goes delightfully too far in making a claim for her work as performance art. Nigella is one of my idols; I admired her for a long time, but then fully converted when, discussing guilty pleasures, she stated that ‘I don’t believe anything pleasurable should feel guilty’. Back off, haters. (Remember, Love not Envy.)

I forgot last week to mention that I’d seen and enjoyed Anna Karenina. It’s a sumptuous production, with some rich touches that I shan’t describe in case you have not seen yourself, or know nothing about its take (you should only read these articles from a Guardian supplement if you have already seen it). Have to admit that Anna has always reminded me of one of those annoying heroines from opera (not sure that’s a spoiler … not sure spoilers apply, do they?!), but Keira is very well cast and does a good job here. I am sure we could quibble about any number of things (some of the commentariat was griping that the actors had Russian accent; what did they want, for them to talk like meerkats?). But I just surrendered to it; sometimes I think it’s simply good to decide you’ll like a film, and I loved the central conceit and execution of this version. Enjoy the trailer below (note: spoiler-ish, though I had seen this without realising that that central conceit was revealed in it – but then I am sometimes really dumb).

But first: on a related topic, you might want to join some of my weekend reading: an old article by David Remnick from the New Yorker on translation, including various whys and wherefores of translating some of the Russian classics.