Love came down and rescued me
Once was lost but now I'm found
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
It's a story that kicks off with a summery Sunday afternoon with the limelight on a little French cafe, complete with characteristic little round tables and dainty white chairs. 1950s dresses of tight waists and large flares, gentlemen in suits of civil politeness, the grocers and its resident couple at the side. Then suddenly, a roar thunders, dust flies rampantly all around, and everyone jumps up in panic and horror... a rhinocerous -gasp- has stormed across town! The characters go on to debate - after a second sighting later on - on whether African rhinoceroses have two horns or one, or Asian rhinoceroses, or maybe the first one had only one horn and the second had two, or the second one was the first one and dropped a horn, or maybe the first one had one horn anyway... (rather like Monty Python's african swallows, eh?) Everyone's obsessed about the rhinoceroses; everyone's curious; everyone's thinking hard about them. And slowly, but quickly enough to be terrifying, everyone starts turning into a rhinoceros as the play progresses......
Absurdist theatre, yes, and it sure was hilarious when it was meant to be funny. But the terrifying bits were portenteous and sinister enough to send constant chills down your spine (well, mine). As the play moved into its third, fourth and subsequent acts the message can't be any less than clear: the mindlessness of Man's herd mentality, the vulnerability of human minds towards reckless idealism, its horrific consequences; Nazism, brutality, violence. For all the absurdism and laughter, there was so much real pain, human reality and struggle. Pathos.
And I was blown away by the acting, really. Because the theatre was small enough every detail of body language and facial expressions were easily discernible, and those, along with pacing of repartee and conversation, were incredibly well-delivered. Jean (Jasper Britton) morphs into a rhinoceros before our very eyes as his skin takes on an abnormal green, his body gradually slouches into a hump, his face becomes increasingly contorted and his voice increasingly throaty - all these over a good period of time of conversation with Berenger. At the last we see him completely naked, almost hunched to all fours - a manic, violent, obsessive creature - charging through the doors of the set and running off to join the rest of the herd...
And oh yes, who can forget Benedict Cumberhatch (Atonement, 2007; Amazing Grace, 2006):
There's something seriously, seriously attractive about men who're incredibly passionate about their art, and who can deliver a soliloquy that well! And having to fill Laurence Olivier's (who led the 1960 cast) shoes as well... tsktsk!
And to boot the evening, I went to the play with a coursemate of mine (from Germany) who really enjoys absurdist theatre/drama like I do, including -ahem- Spongebob Shwammkopf. One of the few girls on the course I get along really well with, so needless to say it was a fun night of conversation and walking around with her. Will blog more about other stuff soon!
(Martin Crimp's translation of Eugene Ionesco's Rhinoceros continues to show at the Royal Court till Nov - check it out if you can. The same cast acts in The Arsonists till December.)
loving london
loving Camden; markets; vintage and colourful stones; accessories and prints; international food and clothes
loving parks; Regent's and Hyde and Green and Kensington Gardens; closing my eyes in the sunshine and thinking on a bench
loving once-a-week gigs or plays or performances of the like; the variety of it all; genres, personages, performers, instruments
loving the learning of the Word at all souls and holy trinity brompton and ocf; the fellowship; people; questions; discussions; hugs and holding hands; sharing and prayer
loving cosmopolitan london and various origins of close-by friends; cyprus, germany, england, singapore, malaysia, hong kong
loving gracious acts; loving deeds; sweet words and laughter; attention; walking to the bus stop; texts and phonecalls; girly stayovers
not-so-loving my course but I guess it's getting more interesting so what the hey
loving ma and kor and wei and pa, all of whom I miss dearly
loving God even more than before
Watched Rent at the Duke of York theatre last night, and halfway through the show I just felt such immense disappointment with the entire production. Was hopeful that it'd pick up towards the end, which it did - a little - but at the end I just walked out feeling like they've just massacred the musical.
To be completely honest I haven't watched the original West End/Broadway version, and I only had the 2005 film with which to compare. But it isn't even contending with the film that made this "re-worked", "re-digitalised" version pale in comparison. On objective terms, it seemed like one-long MTV, or a mere school production - hard work acknowledged - or simply, a failed West End production that has lost a sense of what the actual musical meant, complete with acting that rendered a cipher the potential meaning and power of the musical. Oh yes, on another note, the director and music supervisor are the creative team behind Kylie. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to surmise the 'artistic' direction of this musical.
Denise van Outen and Jay Webb were probably the only characters that made it work... slightly. Angel (Jay Webb) wasn't a drag queen anymore though; he's been made into a campy electro-techno gay star. Despite the re-worked interpretation his performance and delivery were remarkable, and he seemed to be the only one who understood his character to present it with impeccable effort and finesse. Maureen (Denise van Outen) was sexy enough, and managed to get the audience engaged and moo-ing away with her famous jump-over-the-moon number. The others however were a complete letdown - Mark was overly-theatrical and hardly subtle enough; Mimi just wasn't attractive and was really awkward with body language and expressions as well; the relationships (Angel and Collins, Mimi and Roger, Maureen and Joanne) were utterly devoid of genuine feeling. Which, compared to the well-delivered and bittersweet tensions of the film, became just what it was - acting. A bad set too; too clean, too contemporary, too sleek and swanky for the streets and home(lessness) of bohemian artists.
To give it credit, some scenes were pretty good. The Tango Maureen was nicely done; Mimi's shooting up was delivered poignnatly and delicately with a quivering, breaking voice; La vie Boheme was riotous and fun. Other than these the rest were pretty forgettable, and drifted by like scenes from one long MTV medley.
Right, enough ranting (HA! PUN!). Because I'm critically insecure, I will include a link:
Michael Billington's own one-star review in The Guardian.
Will get over my disappointment and look forward to Martin Crimp's Rhinoceros next week. rarrr. >.<
"I should tell you, I should tell you."
Went to Hyde Park on Saturday and hadn't played frisbee for more than 5 minutes when someone did a hammer throw - I jumped - landed - 'click' went the sound - and the next minute I was on the ground, grovelling in pain and whining "aaaahhhhh don't touch me don't touch me don't touch meeee arghghhhhhhhhhhhhh".
Thought it should have recovered by now; had been gymming steadily and even went for 2 runs... but I guess not. "Patience, girl, patience," A was saying. I really really want to be able to dance/play frisbee/basketball/badminton/whatever again, so this is really humbling and trying. >.<
Yeah, was hopping around the house for the first half of Sunday but after Arcoxia and lots of prayer the 70% of the pain went away - which is miraculous for just a day. Thank God, and thank God for everyone around who's just being so sweet really! :) -warm and fuzzy-
God's been amazing, so so amazing - it's just heartening to know how He's being actively felt and faithful in the little things as well as in the big things. Just how everything flows - activities, time management, planning of the week, meeting of friends - is so out of my own control and has been working amazingly well the more I surrender it to His spirit and guidance. As one door closes another opens, while another opens as the other closes; sounds simple but it's so easy to be hair-tugging and a nervous wreck when demands from seminar work, ministry and social life can rush at you from all sides. But, praise God, everything's been working out great, and I'm loving London all the more not because everything's been working out great, but because I just feel it in my bones that God is here, right in the heat of things - protecting and guiding me - and that this is the place I'm really meant to be at this year. Hallelujah!
Nothing more than the confidence of being that sets you aright, and alight. A while ago I was paranoid and worn out by socialising; and after I realised that it really really wasn't about getting people to like me, or trying to prove anything, or getting friends really - what was I living for then? For the opinions and glances of people? No! I was re-oriented to focus on the crux of living, of singing, of being - for Him, for Him, for Him! As a lover finds purpose and meaning in a relationship, as well as derives her/his strength from it, God transcends even that notion to provide an even more powerful focus and meaning to what I'm doing. It shifts from me, me, me to something greater; I stop looking at my own inadequacies and little misgivings, I stop blaming other being for coldness or what-nots, I stop being fidgety the minute people don't give the responses I want - God has given me an incredibly supernatural ability to take off the masks, to be natural, to love. And it's knowing who I am - steeped in the identity and love of Christ - and the sheer stability of it that gives me strength to look beyond the failings, pessimism and self-consciousness of human beings, and appreciate the beauty that God is amongst people and relationships.
So socialising doesn't have to be tiring at all! heh heh heh.
Yes Lord help me focus on You!
bitter disappointment comes so readily at hand when you expect some semblance of effort put into friendship, but become pathetically let down, again and again. Does the fault with having expectations to begin with?
sometimes, argh, sometimes you just can't tell between the fine lines, and there're so many questions that will only remain unanswered and hidden in a grey mess because when the time comes for the black to be black and the white to be white it'll mean that so much attention and little things we cherish about each other might just disappear in a flash. But love will sustain it, she says, true godly love, and while I can't do anything but wait and let the sun shine on, I must watch myself and listen out for the One who leads; not run ahead of Him nor lag behind, as they say, lest someone walks away feeling the pierce from a never-intended wound... Ah! But the heart is too soft, too weak, too easily moved!
On another note, I went for Damien Rice at Wembley yesterday. And it was. awesome. great. wow. He ended with Cannonball and Blower's Daughter, which were fantastically fantastically sung (I had never realised just how powerful and good his voice can be until I heard him live). And there's just something about Damien that sings to your soul; his honesty, his transparency, his fumbling mumbling shy stuttering self (or persona)... yes, his honesty. And what angst, my goodness. There were so many songs that inclined much closer to heavy rock, even metal maybe, (electric distortions, reallyloud drums, white blinding flashing lights, screaming into the mike) and that surprised me quite a bit - I'd never thought Damien Rice sang such songs - but I guess he wanted to involve the whole band rather than let them space out while he croons his acoustic folk repertoire. Which I thought was kind and nice of him. Arrangement of songs were good as he interweaved the heavy stuff with his signature folksy songs, and I can never repeat too much the fact that he sings well. He sings really well.
Did a tribute to Aung Sang Suu Kyi in the end too; he wrote a song in her honour and sang it on the piano. Raised awareness of the situation by playing a video in the background, and recorded everyone in the arena chanting the democracy chant that the Burmese monks chanted. Very heartening to know that he's using his popularity for meaningful purposes, and not in an affected, celebrity fashion - but in his shy, conscious, fumbling mumbling, stuttering, sincere self. Or persona.
Ah, Damien! <3
oh, all that nonsense
YOU are the reason I live, God,
YOU are the reason I sing.
-breakthrough-
:)
am I older, more tired and less enthusiastic, or have I grown to be more serious about things and so find socialising so much more tiring? Is it people in London who're different - more complex, more cold perhaps, tho just a few of them I suppose - or is it just me who's a frothing cauldron of insecurity all over again?
never knew it could be this jading...
so far it's been ok though, and it's always nice to have old friends visit. Spent a nice afternoon with Heng Chin at a Moroccan restaurant and in my room; spent a good Saturday morning in a Camden cafe with Lauren; had Esther stay at my place over the week and it was especially nice chatting to her about all sorts of things last night, as of old. And I suppose, there're always old faces around anyway...
But I shan't stick within a bubble of comfort; I don't want to. It's good being in London in that there're so many things to go for and so many things to check out... and along with that, many opportunities to hang out with different people I guess. Went to a jazz bar at Covent Garden on weds, had late night supper at Chinatown tonight, and am going to Damien Rice gig tomorrow with a German coursemate - experiences that seem quite strange to the semi-quiet lifestyle I had in York. For good or for worse? We'll see about that...
Pilates is good. I discovered muscles I never knew I had.