Thursday, October 04, 2012
Hedda Gabler
Following the report of 30th September (on http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/), to Hedda Gabler at the Old Vic yesterday. Half price Wednesday afternoon matinée, reasonably full stalls, bit sparse in the upper regions. Quite a lot, but by no means all, the audience looked retired like ourselves. Some of their accents were quite bog standard, not the sort of thing one would hear at a full price performance at all.
But before the off, to the noodlarium in Lower Marsh, a place we may not have visited since before FIL came to live with us. Still there and busy - our previous visits being in the evening. Same sort of grub, excellent value for money, but something seems to have happened to the mixed seafood noodles. I remember the noodles in question being soft noodles, but the choice yesterday was crispy noodles or soup noodles. Not being that keen on crispy, opted for the soup, which was fine apart from the liquid portion being rather peppery. Rather too peppery by the time one had got to the bottom of the bowl. We will visit next time when it is not so busy and have a proper study of the menu.
I notice in passing that the vegetable market in Lower Marsh seems to have given way to lunch tents (like those in Whitecross Street, near St. Luke's) and the second hand book shop seems to have given way altogether. A book shop to which I owe my account of the Cromwellian invasion of Jamaica, an invasion known quaintly at the time as the western design.
Onto the play itself which seemed very familiar, even making allowance for having had a quick read, but cannot find any mention in the blog, so the last time must have been at least six years ago. But probably not as long ago as for the lady in the queue for the (disabled) loo who was explaining that when she last saw the play it was Peggy Ashcroft in the lead. Or perhaps I have got this wrong - and this was not my fault for eavesdropping. It was the sort of voice which wanted to be eavesdropped - and it was that she thought that this was the best Hedda that she had seen since she saw Peggy.
But she was right that it was a good show, with a strong cast, even if I thought that the Brian Friel had been a bit over enthusiastic about padding the play out. But then, what do you expect if you invite an Irishman to pad something out? But I did like his injection of an interest in words, particularly words from the US, into the character of Judge Brack. I note in passing that Friel has been awarded the Ulysses medal by UCD, an honour he shares with the tarnished ex-president Clinton, among others. See http://www.ucd.ie/.
The play retained for me its primary impact, being for me a play with two linked strands: first the proper place of women and second the work of creation in the academy (as opposed, for example, to creation in the studio), with the second of these being the one which struck me yesterday. I got to ponder. This primary impact is the response to the thing portrayed. Later, one might respond to the quality of the portrait - when one might love the portrait but hate the subject of the portrait. Or wax lyrical about the place of portraits of this sort in the history of civilization as we know it. Later still, one might respond to the quality of this interpretation of the portrait. I was very conscious that most of the comment which one overhead in the margins of the performance was about this last, this secondary impact or derivative interest. As if people had either lost interest in what was primary or were embarrassed to talk about it in a public place. Which I thought was a pity, particularly as this was a translation of a play which is not poetry. One does not spend all that much time lost in admiration of the language, although one does respond to the odd neat turn of phrase.
Only really bad thing was the cold draft coming out of somewhere on high. Not as bad as the Duke of York's last week but I could still have done with a scarf.
PS: back home with the orange lentils, had a new experience. Having simmered the lentils for a couple of hours, left them to stand overnight. In the morning, they had separated with a fine white layer maybe a quarter of an inch deep lying on top of the much deeper orange layer. Don't recall this happening before. And then, by the time I had finished cooking these new-to-us lentils, there had been a modest invasion of dead flies. Clearly time for another try with Sainsbury's customer services, not having got anywhere with Tesco's last time and as a result I was impressed to get though to a nicely regionally accented call center person within about 30 seconds of dialing the number printed on the packet at around 0830 on a weekday morning. As well as being accented, she was also very keen on the word 'fantastic' which she must have used at least a dozen times during our short conversation, following which I will deliver the (near empty) packet to Kiln Lane later this morning and await developments.
Notwithstanding all this, I think I prefer the slightly coarser texture of lentils which have not been cooked for quite as long.
But before the off, to the noodlarium in Lower Marsh, a place we may not have visited since before FIL came to live with us. Still there and busy - our previous visits being in the evening. Same sort of grub, excellent value for money, but something seems to have happened to the mixed seafood noodles. I remember the noodles in question being soft noodles, but the choice yesterday was crispy noodles or soup noodles. Not being that keen on crispy, opted for the soup, which was fine apart from the liquid portion being rather peppery. Rather too peppery by the time one had got to the bottom of the bowl. We will visit next time when it is not so busy and have a proper study of the menu.
I notice in passing that the vegetable market in Lower Marsh seems to have given way to lunch tents (like those in Whitecross Street, near St. Luke's) and the second hand book shop seems to have given way altogether. A book shop to which I owe my account of the Cromwellian invasion of Jamaica, an invasion known quaintly at the time as the western design.
Onto the play itself which seemed very familiar, even making allowance for having had a quick read, but cannot find any mention in the blog, so the last time must have been at least six years ago. But probably not as long ago as for the lady in the queue for the (disabled) loo who was explaining that when she last saw the play it was Peggy Ashcroft in the lead. Or perhaps I have got this wrong - and this was not my fault for eavesdropping. It was the sort of voice which wanted to be eavesdropped - and it was that she thought that this was the best Hedda that she had seen since she saw Peggy.
But she was right that it was a good show, with a strong cast, even if I thought that the Brian Friel had been a bit over enthusiastic about padding the play out. But then, what do you expect if you invite an Irishman to pad something out? But I did like his injection of an interest in words, particularly words from the US, into the character of Judge Brack. I note in passing that Friel has been awarded the Ulysses medal by UCD, an honour he shares with the tarnished ex-president Clinton, among others. See http://www.ucd.ie/.
The play retained for me its primary impact, being for me a play with two linked strands: first the proper place of women and second the work of creation in the academy (as opposed, for example, to creation in the studio), with the second of these being the one which struck me yesterday. I got to ponder. This primary impact is the response to the thing portrayed. Later, one might respond to the quality of the portrait - when one might love the portrait but hate the subject of the portrait. Or wax lyrical about the place of portraits of this sort in the history of civilization as we know it. Later still, one might respond to the quality of this interpretation of the portrait. I was very conscious that most of the comment which one overhead in the margins of the performance was about this last, this secondary impact or derivative interest. As if people had either lost interest in what was primary or were embarrassed to talk about it in a public place. Which I thought was a pity, particularly as this was a translation of a play which is not poetry. One does not spend all that much time lost in admiration of the language, although one does respond to the odd neat turn of phrase.
Only really bad thing was the cold draft coming out of somewhere on high. Not as bad as the Duke of York's last week but I could still have done with a scarf.
PS: back home with the orange lentils, had a new experience. Having simmered the lentils for a couple of hours, left them to stand overnight. In the morning, they had separated with a fine white layer maybe a quarter of an inch deep lying on top of the much deeper orange layer. Don't recall this happening before. And then, by the time I had finished cooking these new-to-us lentils, there had been a modest invasion of dead flies. Clearly time for another try with Sainsbury's customer services, not having got anywhere with Tesco's last time and as a result I was impressed to get though to a nicely regionally accented call center person within about 30 seconds of dialing the number printed on the packet at around 0830 on a weekday morning. As well as being accented, she was also very keen on the word 'fantastic' which she must have used at least a dozen times during our short conversation, following which I will deliver the (near empty) packet to Kiln Lane later this morning and await developments.
Notwithstanding all this, I think I prefer the slightly coarser texture of lentils which have not been cooked for quite as long.
# posted by Jim @ 12:54 AM 
