The scenery and costumes were lush and era appropriate, some of the actors were truly wonderful in their roles, and the cast of the Agatha Christie novel was more or less successfully truncated to the tastes of modern audiences. The doctor and the Countess were combined in to one person (what a feminist), all the couples travelled alone, and the cook and baby nurse were smashed into a ridiculous Christian (how awful) missionary who wanted to help the sick and starving in Africa. And while it did nothing to pare down the cast, a great American tragedienne was transformed into a musical comedienne with a bad voice. All the elements of a modern American comedy were there in full force, and it was only the bones of the Christie novel that were on stage. Yes, Dame Agatha added elements of comic relief in her novels, but they were never comedies.
And why would Murder on the Orient Express not be a comedy? Well, first and foremost because it was developed around horrible crimes: kidnapping and child murder. In this production, you even see the kidnapping and fear of the young girl as she is hauled away into the night (of course that should lead to hijinks, right?) Next up the grieving parents both die tragically, the father by his own hand and the mother in childbirth. The household's maid also kills herself, a miserable foreign woman, alone in America who is subject to suspicion that she might be involved. In the book, the survivors act out of anger, grief, and heart wrenching sorrow. In their despair, they seek justice.
The "canon" of English literature provides many opportunities for comedy. However brilliantly executed, this was not a good idea. Murder, kidnapping and suicide are never a laughing matter. But the production did prove one thing, a cleverly conceived lie can be believed. One who was unfamiliar with the Christie novel might actually believe that she made light of human agonies, when Christie and her detectives never did that.
If you want comedies, Princetonians, they abound. Hamlet and Murder on the Orient Express are not comedies, no matter how much you yourselves, want to break Western Society. You got a glitzy, well acted production, ridiculing the grieving families, successful businessmen (Bouc can be considered successful) and a Christian missionary (inspired to be one out of an enduring sense of guilt that she was unable to save the child in her care). It "worked", but should it have done so?
Was it meant to be funny at all? Under different direction, Bouc could have been tamped down, our musical comedienne could have been played as a sad woman who turned to alcohol (she drank like a fish) to comfort herself, and the guilt-ridden baby nurse could have been NOT played for cheap laughs. If you must have a comedy, please rid yourself of the kidnapping scene. It hurt.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
A Farewell to being locked in at McCarter
Cancelled our automatic renewal at the McCarter today. The subscription office acted stunned and asserted that my opinion on the season was wrong, and that the shitty production of Hamlet was superb. I told her that people walked out, and that Mr. Maximalist and I were far from alone, and I reminded her that there were plenty of empty seats to start with. Eventually she conceded that I had a right to my opinion (how fucking noble and gracious of her.)
Anyway, I do not go to the theater to have my culture insulted, or to be bombarded with political viewpoints. The recent productions of Shakespeare have been dreadful (I do not think Marc Anthony's death was hilarious and Hamlet's soliloquys deserve more than a speed reading)and the other plays have largely been manipulative.
I long for the days when they did beautiful productions of French comedies or Greek tragedies, or even thoughtful Shakespeare.
If you go to the theater on a constant basis, perhaps these offerings would be like a burst of spice or an appealing palate cleanser. We don't. So we will be carefully picking and choosing on what we spend our precious free time. A subscription to McCarter is just frustrating and annoying at this time.
Anyway, I do not go to the theater to have my culture insulted, or to be bombarded with political viewpoints. The recent productions of Shakespeare have been dreadful (I do not think Marc Anthony's death was hilarious and Hamlet's soliloquys deserve more than a speed reading)and the other plays have largely been manipulative.
I long for the days when they did beautiful productions of French comedies or Greek tragedies, or even thoughtful Shakespeare.
If you go to the theater on a constant basis, perhaps these offerings would be like a burst of spice or an appealing palate cleanser. We don't. So we will be carefully picking and choosing on what we spend our precious free time. A subscription to McCarter is just frustrating and annoying at this time.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
Hamlet for hams at McCarter
"Come on, Max", said my husband, "It's Hamlet, you can't ruin Hamlet."
Well, today, Mr. Maximalist was proven wrong, by McCarter's production of Hamlet. They played it as a comedy. No, not as a tragedy with Shakespearean comic relief, but as a full blown comedy.
In the first act, the comedy was based on the minimalist set, and the interaction with the audience sitting on stage, but by the second act, the Prince of Denmark, who I was halfway enjoying (the only performance I enjoyed), vacillated wildly, from a crafty young man (not so young, actually, but not as painful as the paunchy middle aged Laertes)to a Jim Carrey-esque clown portraying a mean full blown manic episode, to an insufferably shallow delivery of Hamlet's best known soliloquy. Listening to this version, you would never know that the young prince was considering suicide. It just wasn't funny.
If the point was Hamlet was a reckless manic, it could have been made without slap-stick. Mania can be destructive, and human destruction is never funny.
The anachronisms " tape recorder, flashlights, massive stage lights, and careless 21st century dress were merely annoying, because it was a silly farce anyway. I was too irritated by the disembowelment of Shakespeare to care.
Was "hating on" Shakespeare the point of this? Was there a point at all?
As Mr. Maximalist and I left the theater (after the second act), the other departing patrons expressed that they too had "given up". We also wondered if it was the performance and NOT Superbowl Sunday that kept people away.
For all those who stuck it out until the end, I thank you. It was much easier to drive home quickly.
Finis
Well, today, Mr. Maximalist was proven wrong, by McCarter's production of Hamlet. They played it as a comedy. No, not as a tragedy with Shakespearean comic relief, but as a full blown comedy.
In the first act, the comedy was based on the minimalist set, and the interaction with the audience sitting on stage, but by the second act, the Prince of Denmark, who I was halfway enjoying (the only performance I enjoyed), vacillated wildly, from a crafty young man (not so young, actually, but not as painful as the paunchy middle aged Laertes)to a Jim Carrey-esque clown portraying a mean full blown manic episode, to an insufferably shallow delivery of Hamlet's best known soliloquy. Listening to this version, you would never know that the young prince was considering suicide. It just wasn't funny.
If the point was Hamlet was a reckless manic, it could have been made without slap-stick. Mania can be destructive, and human destruction is never funny.
The anachronisms " tape recorder, flashlights, massive stage lights, and careless 21st century dress were merely annoying, because it was a silly farce anyway. I was too irritated by the disembowelment of Shakespeare to care.
Was "hating on" Shakespeare the point of this? Was there a point at all?
As Mr. Maximalist and I left the theater (after the second act), the other departing patrons expressed that they too had "given up". We also wondered if it was the performance and NOT Superbowl Sunday that kept people away.
For all those who stuck it out until the end, I thank you. It was much easier to drive home quickly.
Finis
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Great news for dog care!
GREAT news for dogs!
About two years ago, I sunk a fortune into canine dentistry for my rescue dog, Rusty, whose teeth were badly covered with tartar. The anesthesia was rough and he was out of it for days.
Fast forward: vet said that he needed another cleaning. Try as I might, and try I did, Rusty resisted the brush.
I tried a sonicare.
He looked apprehensive, but let me do it. Maybe the crazy old pom likes the noise or the vibration. Anyway, Rusty does this growlessly.
And the tartar is GONE, not diminished, but gone. It is cracked away and he looks great. I was amazed what a week with sonicare can do, as this was a last ditch effort prior to plunking down another $1000.00.
So, for those beset by dental bills for your dog, those who never want to do it again, and those who have a new pet and don't want problem, get a cheap sonicare and go.
I make no guarantee that your dog will love this, but oddly mine does!
About two years ago, I sunk a fortune into canine dentistry for my rescue dog, Rusty, whose teeth were badly covered with tartar. The anesthesia was rough and he was out of it for days.
Fast forward: vet said that he needed another cleaning. Try as I might, and try I did, Rusty resisted the brush.
I tried a sonicare.
He looked apprehensive, but let me do it. Maybe the crazy old pom likes the noise or the vibration. Anyway, Rusty does this growlessly.
And the tartar is GONE, not diminished, but gone. It is cracked away and he looks great. I was amazed what a week with sonicare can do, as this was a last ditch effort prior to plunking down another $1000.00.
So, for those beset by dental bills for your dog, those who never want to do it again, and those who have a new pet and don't want problem, get a cheap sonicare and go.
I make no guarantee that your dog will love this, but oddly mine does!
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Bathing in Moonlight at the McCarter: spoilers ahead
I enjoyed Anna in the Tropics and was hoping that Bathing in Moonlight would be a similarly well crafted and enjoyable play. I was pleased with the acting, but disappointed in the workmanship of the play itself.
As this is McCarter in an election year, I fully expected the "no walls" diatribe masquerading as a sermon by a dedicated priest, the central character in the play. What would an Emily Mann production be without a call to socialist arms?
The play centers on the life of a priest in present day Miami. It is important to emphasize that this is a contemporary play, as the finale would be more appropriately set a century earlier. The grand outrage of an entire city at the character who has an affair with a woman his own age, is certainly not representative of 2015. When I was in a Catholic school in 1970, a priest did exactly that (left the priesthood and married his girlfriend) with not a word from the media. The ending was embarrassingly anachronistic.
That aside, the play does little to develop the other characters. Our female lead is particularly vague and poorly focused. Marcella is a thirty something, unemployed single mother. We never learn why she never married the father of Trini, why she loses her job, or why she chooses to be alone until she is propositioned by a handsome priest...one who has been paying her mortgage. We do know that she is presented as a rather devout woman who did not get involved with the Reverend Father until it was crystal clear that her brother was going to be no use in paying the bills. While there was an attraction, her motivation is unclear.
The brother, who also plays the grandmother's memory of her late husband, is also murky. He fails out of medical school, disappears, then blames his mother for his actions and his subsequent depression. We never learn what his "real" life goals were, if he even had any, or if he plans on moving beyond self pity.
As for grandma, whose family lost all when Castro came to power, was she a conniving, driving bitch who wanted to keep up appearances, or was she a mother who wanted her family to succeed in the US? At no point did she present as a woman who "forced" her late husband to work three jobs, or who could make her son go to medical school. Her demise, well and quite movingly telegraphed by the playwright, went virtually unnoticed by her onstage family. Fine if the family was callous and relieved, sloppy if they were not.
Back to the priest. While he came across on some level as a tortured man in love, let's not forget that he kept her as "my secret" as he showed no intention of marrying his mistress until discovered by persons unknown and confronted by the Bishop. Secondly, he paid the mortgage, long a literary lure for an affair, and mentioned his "inheritance" which was also unclear to the audience.
The acting was superb, they made the most of a play in needs of plenty of work. I hope it gets some revisions. In a world where affairs and subterfuge are no longer shocking (and would certainly garner no attention from the local television news unless the participants were celebrities), the author needs to flesh out the motivations of his characters. As the play was under two hours without an intermission, Milo Cruz has the stage time, and certainly the talent, to do this. Also, he needs to lose the faux reporters and the suggestion that the community will destroy the lovers, it hasn't done that in a very long time
As this is McCarter in an election year, I fully expected the "no walls" diatribe masquerading as a sermon by a dedicated priest, the central character in the play. What would an Emily Mann production be without a call to socialist arms?
The play centers on the life of a priest in present day Miami. It is important to emphasize that this is a contemporary play, as the finale would be more appropriately set a century earlier. The grand outrage of an entire city at the character who has an affair with a woman his own age, is certainly not representative of 2015. When I was in a Catholic school in 1970, a priest did exactly that (left the priesthood and married his girlfriend) with not a word from the media. The ending was embarrassingly anachronistic.
That aside, the play does little to develop the other characters. Our female lead is particularly vague and poorly focused. Marcella is a thirty something, unemployed single mother. We never learn why she never married the father of Trini, why she loses her job, or why she chooses to be alone until she is propositioned by a handsome priest...one who has been paying her mortgage. We do know that she is presented as a rather devout woman who did not get involved with the Reverend Father until it was crystal clear that her brother was going to be no use in paying the bills. While there was an attraction, her motivation is unclear.
The brother, who also plays the grandmother's memory of her late husband, is also murky. He fails out of medical school, disappears, then blames his mother for his actions and his subsequent depression. We never learn what his "real" life goals were, if he even had any, or if he plans on moving beyond self pity.
As for grandma, whose family lost all when Castro came to power, was she a conniving, driving bitch who wanted to keep up appearances, or was she a mother who wanted her family to succeed in the US? At no point did she present as a woman who "forced" her late husband to work three jobs, or who could make her son go to medical school. Her demise, well and quite movingly telegraphed by the playwright, went virtually unnoticed by her onstage family. Fine if the family was callous and relieved, sloppy if they were not.
Back to the priest. While he came across on some level as a tortured man in love, let's not forget that he kept her as "my secret" as he showed no intention of marrying his mistress until discovered by persons unknown and confronted by the Bishop. Secondly, he paid the mortgage, long a literary lure for an affair, and mentioned his "inheritance" which was also unclear to the audience.
The acting was superb, they made the most of a play in needs of plenty of work. I hope it gets some revisions. In a world where affairs and subterfuge are no longer shocking (and would certainly garner no attention from the local television news unless the participants were celebrities), the author needs to flesh out the motivations of his characters. As the play was under two hours without an intermission, Milo Cruz has the stage time, and certainly the talent, to do this. Also, he needs to lose the faux reporters and the suggestion that the community will destroy the lovers, it hasn't done that in a very long time
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Donald Hall and his Alligator Bride.
When I was a young teenager, I loved poetry. Like most teenage girls of my vintage I adored Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Rod McKuen. Like minded girls were also enjoying Sara Teasdale and Elizabeth Bishop...back in the day, as they say. I can't imagine what we were playing at during our Teasdale phase.
Anyway, my interest in poetry was noted by the teachers at my new high school and I was invited to attend a program that had been previously reserved for juniors and seniors who were taking the Honors courses. Ann Arbor poet and future poet Laureate, Donald Hall, was coming to our school to do a brief reading and take some questions about poetry, academia and writing in general.
In all honesty, this 14 year old girl of 1971 had never heard of the man. I was flattered to be invited and more than a bit intimidated by the situation as juniors and seniors seemed so far above me. Imagine.
For his reading, Professor Hall chose the poem The Alligator Bride, which is even now a bit of a mystery to me, but was dark and undecipherable in 1971. Yet, I applauded with the rest of the group who seemed more sophisticated than ever. How did they understand this poem and what did they get out of it? Had the good sisters of the English department prepared and coached them or were they, like me, too afraid of being called out as a dummy not to applaud and act elated by the reading.
To his credit, the reading was dramatic and Hall's voice stayed with me as did his reptilian lady in white. As a 14 year old, I imagined a real alligator or a vicious, snappish female. Later I saw it as an almost psychotic image, a imagined companion and perhaps an ex-wife. When, my nephew went to University of Florida, gator brides took on an entirely new meaning as I imagined a sharp, chic sorority girl cutting her significant teeth on the heart of the poet. In this incarnation, I even imagined a wedding cake complete with gator bride in a dress, veil and pearls. Who knows.
Lately someone on etsy, explained the poem as a writing about a depressed individual who could see despair in a cat and a bag of spilled groceries and who was contemplating at least a spiritual death.
I still can't imagine 14 year olds with the capacity to figure this out. I still think about Professor Hall and this reading. Funny how some things stay with you always.
Anyway, my interest in poetry was noted by the teachers at my new high school and I was invited to attend a program that had been previously reserved for juniors and seniors who were taking the Honors courses. Ann Arbor poet and future poet Laureate, Donald Hall, was coming to our school to do a brief reading and take some questions about poetry, academia and writing in general.
In all honesty, this 14 year old girl of 1971 had never heard of the man. I was flattered to be invited and more than a bit intimidated by the situation as juniors and seniors seemed so far above me. Imagine.
For his reading, Professor Hall chose the poem The Alligator Bride, which is even now a bit of a mystery to me, but was dark and undecipherable in 1971. Yet, I applauded with the rest of the group who seemed more sophisticated than ever. How did they understand this poem and what did they get out of it? Had the good sisters of the English department prepared and coached them or were they, like me, too afraid of being called out as a dummy not to applaud and act elated by the reading.
To his credit, the reading was dramatic and Hall's voice stayed with me as did his reptilian lady in white. As a 14 year old, I imagined a real alligator or a vicious, snappish female. Later I saw it as an almost psychotic image, a imagined companion and perhaps an ex-wife. When, my nephew went to University of Florida, gator brides took on an entirely new meaning as I imagined a sharp, chic sorority girl cutting her significant teeth on the heart of the poet. In this incarnation, I even imagined a wedding cake complete with gator bride in a dress, veil and pearls. Who knows.
Lately someone on etsy, explained the poem as a writing about a depressed individual who could see despair in a cat and a bag of spilled groceries and who was contemplating at least a spiritual death.
I still can't imagine 14 year olds with the capacity to figure this out. I still think about Professor Hall and this reading. Funny how some things stay with you always.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Super hilarious article in Politico!
So now Obama is their puppet master? Well I guess the press have been puppets, but it has been willful at every turn. Deliberate even, they crave covering up Benghazi and the bad economy. They love painting Romney a criminal as they let Obama lie about anything and everything. Now they have the temerity to cry "manipulation"?
Here's a flash for you Ann Compton, and Tapper and the rest of your ilk. You are choosing this and the nation has suffered for your hero worship and negligence.
Make better choices and try some honesty for a change.
Here's a flash for you Ann Compton, and Tapper and the rest of your ilk. You are choosing this and the nation has suffered for your hero worship and negligence.
Make better choices and try some honesty for a change.
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