FOOTLIGHTS: Last week Vanessa Williams started her fourth season as Ugly Betty’s ever-scheming yet oddly lovable magazine editor Wilhelmina Slater,

WILLIAMS: Sondheim serenader

a roie which has won her three consecutive Emmy Award nominations to date. This week the former Miss America is plotting her return to Broadway with powerhouse Barbara Cook in a new nightly tribute to Stephen Sondheim. Williams starred as the Witch in the 2003 revival of Sondheim’s Into The Woods. “Ugly Betty is my priority,” she says candidly, “and we shoot in the spring — so there are going to be some days that I may not be able to do the Sondheim show. But we’re going to do as much as we can so I can do an eight-show week.” The new musical, Sondheim On

CHENOWITH: Bacharach baby?

Sondheim, will be directed by her Into The Woods champion James Lapine and is scheduled to open early next year … remember Shirley MacLaine and Jack Lemmon in the 1960 Billy Wilder film classic The Apartment? Remember Jerry Orbach and Jill O’Hara in the 1968 Broadway musical version, Promises, Promises? Remember all those hummable Burt Bacharach-Hal David tunes like I’ll Never Fall In Love Again? Word on the Great White Way is that Wicked scene-stealer Kristin Chenowith will return

LAHTI: Carnage

to the New York stage to play opposite Will & Grace funnyman Sean Hayes in a modernized 2010 revival of the hit musical. Stay tuned … and here’s one for the Change Partners & Dance Dept.: A new cast for Yasmina Reza’s Tony-winning black comedy God of Carnage will begin performances on November 17 on Broadway. Christine Lahti will replace Marcia Gay Harden; Annie Potts has signed on to replace Hope Davis; Jimmy Smits will replace Jeff Daniels; and original West End cast member Ken Stott will recreate his performance as Michael, replacing James

SMITS: replacing Jeff Daniels

Gandolfini.

FLICKERS: The 10^th annual Planet in Focus film festival, which opened here yesterday, features over 85 films on environmental issues from 25 countries, with pre- and post-screening discussions and panels and special programs for children and schools. A special section of the festival, Land & Conflict screenings, include Canadian premieres of Voices from El Sayed. The 2008 film set in the Bedouin village that is home to the largest community of deaf people in the world; and Jerusalem Moments 2009, a showcase of short films by seven young Palestinian and Israeli directors. To get all the W5, click here … and following a successful pitch at RomaFictionFest, veteran producer Pat Ferns is teaming up with Britain’s Scenario Films to

TOMLIN: class consciousness

develop Shakespeare in Venice, a dramatic series in the tradition of Shakespeare in Love. Based on exhaustive research by Alessandro Bettero, the screenplays will be co-written with award-winning British screenwriter Gareth Jones … and David Cronenberg is set to appear at tonight’s TIFF Cinemateque screening of Videodrome, his prescient 1983 thriller with James Woods, Deborah Harry and Sonja Smits, tonight at 9 pm at the AGO.

QUOTABLE QUOTES: “I lived in a racially diverse and financially diverse neighborhood and I knew who was favored and who wasn’t and who had “nicer” material circumstances and who didn’t. It was the practice at our grade school in those days to stand and tell the class what you’d received for Christmas that year and it was gruesome because it was clear when a kid was lying or exaggerating out of shame, and I can remember being one of them. You might say you’d gotten a sweater and boots and a new coat and all kinds of things that you never showed up in. I can’t imagine what teacher would support such a practice today unless it was used anonymously to raise political and social consciousness and make it an illuminating exercise.”

The speaker? Lily Tomlin, on becoming class conscious at the age of 7.

MAPLE LEAF JOKES? WE’VE GOT A MILLION OF ‘EM!:

Q: What do the Toronto Maple Leafs and possums have in common?
A. Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.

TOMORROW:

Liz Smith goes on a tear, Jacqueline Bisset goes Italian,

and Ragtime returns to Broadway — without Garth.

-/-

‘God of Carnage’, by Yasmina Reza (Art and Life x 3) and translated by Christopher Hampton (Dangerous Liaisons and Atonement), won three Tony Awards in 2009, including Best Play; the play has been performed in Zurich, London, Paris, New York and currently this is the third production running in Australia.

Helen Thomson, Marcus Graham, Sacha Horler, Russell Dykstra

Off stage two children fight and one of them Bruno, the son of Michael and Veronica loses two front teeth after being hit in the face with a stick by Ferdinand, the son of Alan and Annette; that night the two sets of parents come together to work out a way forward and restore calm to the playground, while they sip espresso.

Civility is thinly veiled as the two couples verbally and then physically spar with each other.

The themes and metaphors are obvious and relentless. How can we ever hope for world peace if we can’t even resolve a playground dispute? Violence is part of human nature, there is nothing we can do to change it and the best we can hope for is to control it. This is the United Nations in a microcosm, with all the posturing and braggadocio. This is not subtle theatre but it is funny. The dialogue is mostly witty and fast as the balance of power shifts continually between the two couples, with new alliances being formed every few minutes until it’s every man or woman for themself.

At 90 minutes the plot progression is fast, almost too fast; what would once have been lovingly developed and crafted over three acts is now force fed to us in a one act farce. I think, with a few obvious exceptions; ‘Cloudstreet’, ‘Angels in America’, we are in for more seasons of these almost tele-visual, theatrical experiences. I imagine that ‘Long Day’s Journey Into Night’ will become ‘A Short Afternoon Nearing Evening’ and ‘Waiting For Godot’ will be a Twitter message, ‘Runng L8 Strt Wthout Me, Sry G.’

Helen Thomson and Sacha Horler

Why they chose to keep it set in Paris, especially when Dykstra and Thomson’s accents are so clearly Australian, is a mystery. Nothing would be lost if it had been tweaked for Mosman or Bellevue Hill; the middle class act as badly there, if not worse, as they do in France.

‘God of Carnage’ is a play that sits somewhere between ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe’ and ‘Will and Grace’, high art versus slapstick.

Although there were a few problems with pacing and timing on the opening night, the cast will get used to when and where the laughs come then they will settle quite well into the rhythm of the work.

Yasmina Reza pays a not so subtle homage to one of her earlier plays, ‘Art’, with numerous mentions of art in one form or another in the first fifteen minutes, maybe it’s just a coincidence and I’m reading far too much into that.

Brian Thomson’s set is effective and stylish and it certainly takes a battering.

‘God of Carnage’ is a painless, fun night out at the theatre.

‘God of Carnage’ is playing at the Drama Theatre in the Sydney Opera House from October 8 until November 14, 2009.

He decidido ampliar la sección de crítica de cine a la de teatro, desgraciadamente porque todos vivimos en Madrid, salvo viajes  esporádicos no podremos dar crítica de espectáculos que transcurran en otras localidades. Si alguien desea actuar de corresponsal cultural de lo que pasa en su localidad, estaremos encantados de recibir su colaboración. Déjeme un comentario en el post.

Solo pedimos tres cosas que haga críticas libres de publicidad oculta, que tenga un mínimo de habilidad para redactar, (nosotros tampoco somos Cervantes ya lo sabemos) y que lo haga y nunca mejor dicho. por amor al arte, al menos hasta que este post comience a colgar anuncios. (todavía falta un buen tracho pero no desesperen).

Si el otro dia hice crítica indirecta de dos espectáculos musicales a los que asistí, pero Vd. lector no podrá asistir, porque  eran función única, hoy no es este el caso, hoy la obra Un Dios Salvaje se seguirá representando en el Teatro Gran Vía, haste el 22 de Noviembre del 2009, pero se da una circunstancia curiosa, voy a hacer la crítica de la obra sin haberla visto. Claro que quien ha ido, es mi hermana y me fío de ella totalmente en esta área, pues es actriz aficionada y entiende mucho mas de teatro y de interpretaciones teatrales que yo.

El texto

Algo fundamental en una obra de teatro es el texto del que se parte. Con frecuencia, una mala dirección o unos malos actores pueden hundir un buen texto, pero en cambio es casi imposible los artistas levanten una obra que parte de un mal texto. En este caso el texto es excelente, una obra ágil que prende en la mente del espectador, un tema candente actual, la educación de nuestro hijos.

Un Dios Salvaje (“Le Dieu du Carnage”) se estrena en Diciembre del 2006 en el Schauspielhaus de Zurich. Posteriormente se realizan los montajes en el Teatro Antoine de París, en Enero de 2008, dirigido por la propia autora y con Isabelle Huppert en  el personaje de Veronique y en Marzo de 2008 en el Teatro Gielgud de Londres con un reparto encabezado por Ralph Fiennes.

Dos parejas se reúnen. El hijo de una de ellas, de tan solo nueve años, ha golpeado al de la otra en un parque…..  Como me da miedo “destripar” la obra prefiero que sea el propio director de la obra quien se lo presente, copio el contenido del programa de mano que dieron en el teatro.

 ¿Que sucede cuando la educación, las buenas maneras y los códigos de convivencia se derrumban? ¿Por que sólo somos capaces de defender Io nuestro, sin entender ni compartir lo ajeno? ¿Que pasa cuando los padres son peores que los hijos?

Yasmina Reza pone la respuesta en boca de uno de los personajes de esta obra y escribe: “Yo creo en un Dlos salvaje. ÈI es quien nos goblema, sin solución de continuidad, desde la noche de los tiempos”. La primera vez que lei el“Un Dios salvaje” pensé que era una obra muy divertida, la segunda vez pensé que era muy difícil, la tercera entendí que era una auténtica tragedia disfrazada de comedia y cuando me puse a trabajar en ella y a pensar en el montaje me pareció una partitura indescifrable. Lo que Yesmina plantea es una guerra sin muertos. Una batalla en la que la agresividad, la competitividad, Ia falta de compasión y la crueldad son sus principales ingredientes y la risa del espectador el necesario contrapunto. Un niño le rompe dos dientes a otro en una pelea. Unos padres conversan sobre lo ocurrido. Un café, una tarta de manzana (y pera) y unas flores. Sonrisas y parabienes al principio, dolor que huele a derrota al final. Y un secreto inconfesable: esto nunca ha ocurrido. Yo, me quedo con los niños y su manera más inmediata y sincera de resolver las cosas. Y me quedo con cuatro actores sín los cuales me resulta imposible imaginar este montaje: Altana Sanchez Gijón, Maribel Verdú, Pere Ponce y Antonio Molero que con generosidad y talento han sacado ese monstruo inconfesable que todos llevamos dentro. ¿Que harían ustedes en su lugar?

 Tainzin Townsend 

La autora

 Par mi Yasmina Reza es desconocida, extracto lo que de ella cuenta el dosier de prensa , Sse trata de una escritora francesa de dramas y novelas que ha conseguido  grades éxitos de crítica y público. Ha escrito el guión de un película  “La Pique-Níque  del Lulu Kreutz” dirigida por Didier Martiny y diversas obras de teatro, como, “Conversaciones para después de un funeral”, “El pasaje del invierno”, “Arte”, “Tres versiones de la vida” y “Una pieza española”, representadas en diversos países,  teniendo traducidas obras a treinta y cinco idiomas.

 Los actores

Los cuatro actores, (dos actrices muy conocidas del gran público y dos actores, algo menos conocidos pese a haber intervenido en conocidas series de éxito en televisión), dieron carne a sus papeles de forma muy convincente, en una obra que es difícil señalar quienes es el protagonista, porque los papeles de todos ellos son de parecida importancia., por lo que es dificil destacar el trabajo de alguno.

Obligada a elegir uno entre los cuatro, mi hermana valoró como la mejor, Maribel Verdú, pero dejó claro, que todos ellos cumplieron notablemente su trabajo.

 La dirección

El para mi desconocido, Tainzin Townsend, tiene según el dossier de prensa  un buen y largo historial como director, principalmente desarrollado en Barcelona. Según la opinión de mi hermana estuvo a la altura de las circunstancias, la actuación de los actores, el movimiento escénico. el tempo de la obra, y todos los elementos físicos y sicológicos que interviene en la puesta en escena, estuvieron bien conjuntados y esa es la misión del director conseguir que ningun instrumento desentone. Por tanto también notable.

El resto

El resto de los componentes del espectáculo, decorado, luces, vestuario, etc, cumplieron también su papel al servicio de la obra, sin que merezca especial mención, ni por exceso, ni por defecto, ninguno de ellos 

Lo que si llamaría la atención aunque ya estamos acotumbrados es la  espartana economía de medios,  algo que nos vamos acostumbrando, pues es un mal habitual y posiblemente irremediable del l teatro comercial, aunque reconocemos, que en esta obra en concreto, un decorado de mas calidad o un elenco algo más numeroso, tampoco habrían añadido mucho al espectáculo.

Tan solo unas anotacioneso, mi hermana pago, (hizo la reserva por Internet. y cobran un recargo), 27 euros por una entrada en la sexta fila de platea algo esquinada. Tomo esas entradas, por ser algo más baratas que el patio de butacas y por no poder elegir algo mejor, pues el teatro, un jueves por la tarde, estaba a rebosar,

La primera consideración es que no oía perfectamente a los actores, aquí se unen dos factores, que mi hermana tiene ya 70 años y está ligeramente dura de oído y que los actores hoy en día no saben declamar, algo que es diferente a hablar. Para hacer que tu voz llegue límpida al fondo del teatro hay que declamar, algo que nada tiene que ver con dar voces, sino con saber vocalizar y expulsar la voz. 

Los actores de hoy no saben o no se esfuerzan en hacerlo, pero aun esos en concreto, consiguen llenar con su voz más o menos al teatro, pero la nueva hornada de actores, formados en las infames series de televisión del tipo “Al salir de clase”, ya no es que no sepan declamar, es que no saben pronunciar, y su voz gangosa se pierde a un metro de su boca, aun que como digo este no ha sido el caso, sino la conjuncion de una persona con una ligera sordera y unos actores que no se esfuerzan en levantar la voz lo suficiente.

Señores directores de teatro elijan actores que sepan declamar los textos y exijan que hablen ALTO.

Consideraciones al margen 

La segunda consideraciones es el horario, teóricamente  comienzan a las 8,30, y con los retrasos y la duración de la obra y el tiempo de salida se sale a las 11,30 y se llega a casa a las pasadas las doce . Comprendemos que quieren esperar a que la gente salga del trabajo, pero procuren empezar en punto, es decir que el telón se eleve a las 8,30, Si la duración de la obra es hora y media  y sin descansos, deberia iniciarse la salida a salirse a las 10’30 y no pasadas las 11.

La última consideración es que el teatro resulta caro, una entrada media cuesta 27 euros, algo que parece excesivo y lo parece ma si lo traducimos a las antiguas peseta 4500 pesetas.  Claro que uno lee el programa y ve que han intervenido exactamente 27 personas

Es decir que con cada entrada vendida hay un ingreso de un euro por empleado, algo que es muy poco dado el aforo del teatro. A eso hay que restar, gastos generales, como es amortización o alquiler del local, impuestos, luz, calefacción etc, Visto así tampoco parece tanto.

 Ahora bien esta compañía hace una obra de hora y media, cuatro dias por semana y el sábado dos sesiones, es decir estirando mucho la entrada y la salida del teatro, la compañía trabaja cuatro horas por sesión, es decir 24 horas semanales.

¿Qué negocio funciona trabajando tan poco? – No se si será posible hacerlo hoy, pero recuerdo que no hace tanto las compañías daban dos sesiones todos los dias los siete dias a las semana, es decir catorce sesiones, frente a seis que se dan hoy.

 Yo me pregunto, ¿no sería más barato el teatro y ganarían más todos si se dieran dos sesiones diarias cinco días a la semana?. -  De acuerdo que es duro el trabajo de actor,  pero también lo es el de electricistas, o un camarero  y trabajan sus cuarenta horas semanales, (como poco) y no se hernian. ¿Han pesado los señores actors cuantas horas tiene que trabajar un camarero para que pueda pagar los 27€ que custa la entrada?.  ¿No tendrían los teatros mas llenos y las obras durarían más en cartel, si los camareros y los electricistas pudieran ir al teatro?

A todos, no solo a la gente de teatro, nos gusta vivir sin trabajar, pero casi nadie puede hacerlo. 

Taatro Gran Vía
Gran Vía, 66
Teléfono 91 541.55.65
Grupos    91.701.02.30  Precios especiales para grupo
Hasta el 22 de Noviembre

Un Dios Salvaje de  Yasmina Reza
unes y martes descanso
De Miércoles a Viernes  a las 20.30 horas
Sábado 20 y 22.30 horas
Domingo 19 horas

Venta en taquilla, El Corte Inglés   y entradas.com, 

Otros post de Cine y Teatro

It’s a very old question, and certainly one that theatre makers, producers and practitioners in Australia and abroad have been asking, and feeling nervous about, for decades: what is it that audiences want from theatre? Perhaps more accurately, what is it that audiences will pay for? Is it a story, a narrative which they can follow, laugh with, become immersed in and relate back to their own lives? Is it an experience, intellectual, emotional, visceral or otherwise? The big-name actors, the auteur directors? Is it a cultural and social event? Of course, in Australia, without same level of government support and general mainstream interest in theatre, it’s a more pertinent question than, say, in the United Kingdom; there’s only so much that can be catered for, for so many people, at the one time. But with less money, fewer venues, and smaller audiences, you could be forgiven for thinking that the richness and diversity of theatre in Melbourne was far less than it actually is. There’s reason to be optimistic: Melbourne Fringe Festival is upon us, the main-stage seasons of Malthouse and MTC are in full swing, and the International Arts Festival is around the corner. It is the theatre season and spectators, regardless of their theatrical dispositions, are being treated across the spectrum. No better is this illustrated, perhaps, than in the concurrent productions of Melbourne Theatre Company’s drawing-room dramedy God of Carnage and Declan Greene and Susie Dee’s seething satire A Black Joy.

I sit at the part of the spectrum as someone who, at the very least, wants to be stimulated, irrespective of how successful the piece is on the whole. I don’t want to be comforted or consoled with theatre, and I don’t want to sit in a big space squinting, attempting to watch something that could be done at least a hundred-times better on a TV screen with close-ups, soundtracks, camera pans and montage sequences. I like my theatre theatrical, thank you very much; you can save the rest for a night in with the remote control. So perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me how much I disliked God of Carnage, Christopher Hampton’s translation of Yasmina Reza’s Tony Award winning play, directed here by Peter Evans with a cast including Pamela Rabe and Hugo Weaving. Taking my seat in the Playhouse and realising that the set, a scarily-imposing French calendar, wasn’t likely changing or going anywhere for at least ninety minutes, I took a few breaths and reassured myself. I knew that I was expecting a particular type of talking-heads theatre for a particular, and very profitable, cross-section of the theatre-going public; that I should keep an open mind (Tony-Award winning after all!) and try and take whatever I could from it. But that knowledge was not enough to keep me from shuffling, twitching, tugging my hair, chewing my tongue and finally fuming. I got just the kind of visceral reaction that I had considered impossible from Melbourne Theatre Company shows. Alas, for all the wrong reasons.

That is not to fault this production, which I can appreciate. It is very solidly, and delicately, directed by Evans, who gets some terrific performances from his cast; Rabe and Geoff Morell, Weaving and Natasha Herbert playing French middle-class and upper-middle-class middle-aged couples respectively, are engaging performers and at times very funny to watch. The physical comedy occasionally works and there’s a few chuckles to be had; particularly in the wonderfully prolonged vomit scene. But it’s all so spick, squeaky-clean and slick; it reminded me somewhat of the approach that Simon Philips took to Tracey Letts’ much darker, but similarly made-for-broadway, August: Osage County earlier in the year. It’s all adequately lit and sounded and costumed, without any kind of interesting or dominant design feature (aside from that precarious, pointless calendar) or anything, really, to detract from the text. Evans has opted for a very inoffensive and efficient enactment of Reza’s script, which also happens to be the biggest problem.

Not that there is much that he could have done with it, really. The flimsy set-up sees the two couples predictably negotiating, then arguing, about an altercation between their sons at school. There’s something profoundly disturbing about violence involving children and the way in which a society responds to it – as Christos Tsiolkas recently explored in The Slap – but here, it’s glossed over and only touched on in metaphorical terms, adding the only thread to an otherwise formless structure. The couples throw things at each other, divide down gender lines and support and subvert one and other, they get drunk and the rich(er) couple attempt to leave at least six or seven times. There’s also an unbelievably implausible, ridiculous subplot or two thrown in about the ethics of pharmaceutical corporations and the moral responsibilities that we have to people in developing countries. There is nothing remotely surprising, or challenging, or even attention-commanding about what unfolds in God of Carnage; the characters are so nauseatingly one-dimensional, narcissistic and bourgeois, and their dramas are absolutely trivial. They seem to spend the whole play going to great lengths to be sure that they don’t actually do anything. Except vomit. And yes, the vomiting is a definite highlight.

What Reza attempts to say about the cyclical nature of violence, the repetition of taught / learnt behaviour, conflict resolution and the way in which dysfunctional couples raise their children is said without a whiff of freshness, irony, or depth. It’s an unashamedly unsophisticated, clichéd and easily-forgotten piece of domestic fluff; when it aspires to something bigger in its ‘serious’ moments, it falls flat on its face. Ultimately shallow as a drama and nowhere near self-aware enough to be a satire, God of Carnage presents an easy night out for the particular Melbourne Theatre Company constituency that it panders to – and it panders very specifically, and very capably. But there’s no hiding that this is a good production of a disappointing, half-thought of a play.

What may be the polar opposite of the God of Carnage brand of theatre, and yet what I believe will similarly not struggle too hard to find an audience, is the much-anticipated second collaboration (after Union House Theatre’s Rageboy in 2006) between camp / crass craftsman Declan Greene and Susie Dee – A Black Joy. We last saw Dee in the fantastic Wretch and Greene has already established a name for himself with his theatre company Sisters Grimm, but this play, using the fortyfivedownstairs space for the Melbourne Fringe Festival, marks an important point of departure for him. While there is no doubt that Sisters Grimm have staged some fantastically glamorous, exploitative, hilariously overblown and cinematically derivative shows, and will continue to do so, A Black Joy, recipient of an R.E. Ross Trust Award, sees Greene moving on his own to stake out territory as an important, and unique, voice in contemporary Australian playwriting. It’s a play that echoes the work of Sisters Grimm in many ways, and also moves in a darker, more poetic, direction.

A Black Joy is a blackly humorous exploration of consumption, celebrity, ambition and desire, fusing high-camp thrills and melodrama with the bite of suburban satire. Plain and overlooked Bette Davis (Carole Patullo) feeds and cleans her morbidly overweight, insatiably hungry boyfriend, John Candy (Tom Considine), whose feet are turning gangrenous and rotten under his huge folds of flesh. Davis’ daughter, Dakota Fanning (Miriam Glaser), a one-time TV celebrity as a result of very-publicised battle with leukaemia and musical theatre fanatic, is seeking the lead role in her school production of Hello Dolly! but instead finds herself falling for Corey Haim (Sisters Grimm co-collaborator Ash Flanders), an insecure neo-Nazi nerd who perversely crank-calls his mother for self-esteem. Things are stranger still at Haim’s home; his mother, Diane Keaton (Anne Browning), a depressed and unstable pill-popping housewife, starts a rigorous training routine to protect herself from the perceived imminent threat of her lesbian cleaner. His father, Joseph Cotton (Chris Bunsworth), eerily obsessed with the plight of minke whales, has a slightly more concerning ethical dilemma in his basement; an unnamed starlet (Megan Twycross) whom he plans on starving, murdering and disposing of in the sea.

If it sounds a little chaotic, the celebrity names a bit confusing and the whole thing a lot disturbing, it is. This is not theatre for the faint-hearted or the easily-offended; indeed, Dee’s production (moodily lit by Katie Sfetkidis and accompanied, live on cello, by Alastair Watts) does not shy away from the gross or gratuitous moments, and nor does it attempt to soften the barbs of Greene’s writing. This is a good thing, as A Black Joy is also incredibly funny and wonderfully constructed; the tone of the piece sits somewhere between vintage John Waters and The Silence of the Lambs on speed. The arcs of these simultaneously revolting and curiously endearing characters, with fantastic performances from Tom Considine, Anne Browning and Carole Patullo in particular, are strongly drawn. And effectively staged in the round, it’s an exhilarating experience as the drama shifts between their stories, and ultimately descends into an unremittingly black spiral of betrayal, torture and murder. Exhilirating, exhausting, unpredictable and utterly worth it; this is impressive, highly theatrical stuff which looks and sounds fantastic, and Dee keeps it all moving at a cracking pace.

With that said, there is a wrestle between the darkness, energy and the humour of the script which can, at times, feel a little unbalanced and awkward – as if the play might not always be certain in which direction it is wanting to go, or what it is that it is wanting to say. An ambiguous storyline about survivors in a plane crash, although assisted by a beautiful video projection design by Nick Verso, is also not as skilfully integrated into the overarching narrative as the other stories.

But these are ultimately minor concerns. The quality of the writing, direction, design and performances make A Black Joy an unsettling, unnerving and still very, very, enjoyable stand-out for the Melbourne Fringe this year. It’s a fabulously taut, twisted nightmare and  a taste of things to come.

God of Carnage runs until October 3, Arts Centre Playhouse, http://www.mtc.com.au/

A Black Joy runs until October 4, fortyfivedownstairs, http://www.fortyfivedownstairs.com

Purchase your tickets now! A must see!

More information about the show here.

God of Carnage, by Yasmina Reza (trns Christopher Hampton)
MTC @ Playhouse
Sat. 29 Aug. to Sat. 3 Oct.

It was Gramsnort and myself, Neandellus, at the Café Procopius, opposite Melbourne’s Art Centre: another MTC production, another brisk exchange as to whether it was all deleterious nonsense requiring definite censure, or only a pale entertainment meriting no especial comment. It is true that between these two extremes there is some small diversity of opinion to be pleasantly examined, and so we shall,but the range, however, is very narrow, very, very narrow, and it is not a survey that can be made often or at length without the obtrusion of dullness. Briefly then, to the point.

I said: “Oh, it is sheer cynicism and calculated grumpiness, not satire at all, for what, or who, truly, is the target of its ridicule? Is it the hypocrisy of bourgeois social mores? Or is it the meanness of the well-to-do, barely concealed beneath their veneer of good manners? Or is it society at large, all of us, and our pretension to civility? Or is it civilisation itself, or at least Western Civilisation, and its privileging of polite virtues over true feeling? Or is it, finally, the human individual, whose capacity for genuine communication has disintegrated under the pressure of the global condition? These are all very grand-sounding targets, and the play runs up various suggestive flags: vomiting onto a coffee table full of art books; admissions of secret philistinism; telling contrasts between the behaviour of savage children and the behaviour of civilised adults; fatuous prattle and lines like there is still such a thing as the art of co-existence leading only to drunken tulip tossing; windy clichés breaking off into surly silence. Lots of that sort of thing. But it comes to nothing more than quibbling. Yes, I think that’s it. A play about quibbling.”

“You think the play didn’t really get at these targets then?” asked Gramsnort.

“What targets? Those aren’t real targets. Those are puffy slogans that reviewers use when they can’t quite get at what specifically was going on in so-and-so’s livingroom drama/courtroom comedy/bedroom tragedy. They are, thematically speaking, straw men. The characters in this instance have been spun together for no other purpose than to provide a plausible foil for Reza’s exaggerated grumpiness. The most specific critique that can be extrapolated from the play’s moral is that against the mediocrity of the middle classes, a vague wish that they be better human beings. And it is cynical, I say, because everyone knows the middle classes enjoy nothing so much as laughing at the mediocrity of their neighbours, husbands, wives, children, friends and friends’ children, wives husbands, &c:

MICHEL: So you’re a—
ALAIN: A lawyer.
[audience: hearty laughter]
ANNETTE: And what about you?
MICHEL: Me? Er, I have a wholesale company. Household goods…
[audience: serious silence]
…
VERONIQUE: And you? What field are you in?
ANNETTE: I’m in wealth management.
[audience: hearty laughter]

I mean, Goldman Sachs, Middletons, lawyers, wealth managers, they’re all over the MTC corporate sponsorship. And it’s not subversive; it’s a gentle nudge.”

“Irredeemable, then?” suggested Gramsnort.

“No, I suppose it is well enough put, this familiar complaint. It’s appropriately ordinary, being neither too funny nor too clever. A nudge is only a nudge if you’re on the audience’s level: a mediocre play for mediocre people about the mediocrity of the world. Perfect. I suppose, therefore, people might reasonably object to the set, which was rather too good for this production. Much too bold and clever. The cast too were very good and almost spoilt things by attaining an awkward level of poignancy. But only when they kept silent; fortunately, however, Reza-via-Hampton’s lines were always to hand. It is a script that represents the kind of elevated sneering disconsolate minds pass off as cutting social commentary. Think, Houellebecq or Martin Amis: Look at the little creatures moving in the distance; look. They are humans. It could have been nastier, I suppose. The nastier the joke the better it works.”

“This is what you mean by the nastiness being calculated.”

“Yes, to the last gram. Though I suppose the MTC knows best what measure of meanness makes an ideal counterweight to ticket sales.”

Here I sort of trailed off gloomily. Gramsnort, however, who had been leaning back languidly, bent forward—bent forward to point yr crrspndnt to a different moral:

“The target of this play, so far as I have made it out, is legitimate. It targets a pompous notion of civilisation that is at this moment resurgent in certain circles: civilisation as a kind of polite ideal,” he gestured airily, taking in, you know, the whole precinct. “They, the people that put it about, flatter themselves that by adhering to certain forms and extolling certain values, they are cultural idealists—in their own way, of course, for they all differ in what the forms and values are. We see here, in this play, four versions of civilisation as a cultural ideal: for Annette Reille (Natasha Herbert), civilisation is a matching set of small values, of civilities, which find best expression in polished manners, pantsuits and fake smiles; for Michel Vallon (Geoff Morrell), with his expensive rum, imported cigars, clafouti and espressos, civilisation is the art of contentment and gratification; for Veronique Vallon (Pamela Rabe), it is high-mindedness, noble compassion, art, books, and all that sort of thing; and for Alain Reille (Hugo Weaving), the incorrigible one, always on his mobile phone to Big Pharma, civilisation is material and economic progress.”

Gramsnort took a sip of water and continued:

“It’s nonsense, of course, all of it. Civilisation is only politics. Civilisation, really, is the historical dimension of politics. In as much as it is material, it is only the material proof of past and present political relations. Civilisation is a reality, not an ideal. And that’s what I think this play is aimed at, the nonsense and hypocrisy of it.”

“What hypocrisy?” I inquired. “Don’t they truly believe in their ideal?”

“It’s not a question of belief. An event that touches definitely on their interests intrudes upon them and no ideally conceived notion of civilisation can stop it ending in a bust-up: they are, despite their pretensions, no better than cynical vulgarians … the moral being: get off your high horse.”

I tried here to see the play in this way. “And so this moral as you call it is best seen as a kind of longing for carnage? I suppose the play was slick enough for that purpose. The bloody colour of the set, opening the show with Marie Laforêt’s Marie-douceur, Marie-colère, a French echo of Jagger’s desire to paint it black, classical unity to heighten the impact of a single moral—”

“Oh, no, I’m not defending the play, only its moral,” retorted Gramsnort. “The play is awful. It starts well enough. The entrance of the characters, their introduction, is fine. I’m still unclear why the four were drawing up a statement, I suppose for insurance purposes, but the light that was shone upon the characters was well enough. But then, the second part of the play’s design, the part where a play ideally grows warmer as argument and device develop, was very disappointing. The progression that leads to all four drinking rum at top speed, at three in the afternoon on a school day, is improbable. Added to that, all four reach a state of truculent drunkenness in incredible quick time, a matter of five or ten minutes, which perhaps shows that they’re not used to drinking rum at three in the afternoon. It is improbable behaviour for parents possessing such turgidly serious dispositions. The argument by which the moral is progressed—being the failure of smooth language and good intentions to support the civilised ideal—is undercut by this device, the drunkenness. Obviously language is going to prove inadequate if you start drinking rum from a tallglass at three in the afternoon. This is, for me, where the feeling of vagueness that you first complained of comes from: it is a technical flaw in the script, if you like, not a moral one.”

At last our critiques had found a point of intersection. “It’s not a very savage environment,” I suggested. “The eponymous god of carnage is not a savage god, not a very wrathful spirit, tending more to sulky impertinence and contrariness.”

“Yes, that’s the worst thing of all—the fact that it’s boring. By the time the play reaches its counterturn, the dunking of Alain’s mobile phone in a bowl of water, they’re all already on their way to irritable exhaustion; not Neanderthals gripped by the spirit of destruction, but spoilt children. Through Reza-via-Hampton, they yearn toward smashing the pretence of civility, of getting past civilisation and its tiresome words and arts and morals, but that should open the gates to a jet of primal creativity and inventiveness, Death in Venice and all that sort of thing. But, no, they’re mostly tired and bored. The actors drag themselves wearily around the stage to good immediate comedic effect, I grant you, but to no deeper or affecting purpose. The ultimate catastrophe, Annette tossing the tulips, is therefore at least true to the underwhelming bathos of the play’s final two-thirds.”

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El Teatre Nacional de Catalunya torna a obrir les seves portes. El director del teatre, Sergi Belbel, va presentar la temporada d’enguany, on sorprèn que per primera vegada a la breu història del TNC es repetirà un títol, precisament el que va servir per inaugurar-lo al 1997: L’ auca del Senyor Esteve de Santiago Rusiñol, aquest cop dirigida per Carme Portaceli, a partir de la revisió del text per part de Pablo Ley. El text modernista gira al voltant de la lluita entre artista i societat, la necessitat del reconeixement i el respecte recíproc entre artista i societat. La tornada de l’obra al TNC pot entendre’s com una metàfora de la necessitat de crear un espai respectuós i reflexiu no només cap al teatre, sinó també per l’art i la cultura, però prescindint de les elits i dels cercles artístics massa tancats, on les amistats i el quedar bé i no criticar res que comprometi encara hi juguen un paper massa important. Nova temporada al TNC i esperem que també nova temporada per nous actors, noves actituds i noves propostes, i si fos possible, preus més assequibles per tothom.

El tret de sortida es donarà a la Sala Tallers amb la reposició de Non Solum (en cartellera del 17-09 al 18-10) , en un monòleg existencial protagonitzat per Sergi López, qui interpreta un grapat de personatges que dubten i qüestionen sobre tot. Una bona obra i una gran oportunitat per posar en pràctica fora del teatre el que un ha presenciat a dins, i intentar que anar a un acte cultural no sigui un simple passatemps. La direcció és a càrrec de Jorge Picó, i destaca la peça musical L’home estàtic de Pau Riba, que si un la llegeix ho diu tot: “Han passat anys i s’ha fet gran; i assegut davant la porta esperant l’enterrament (…) dins d’un caixó sense potes jeu el cos d’un home mort, ningú riu i ningú plora”.

La Sala Gran obrirà amb Una comèdia espanyola, de Yasmina Reza, en cartellera del 7 d’octubre al 8 de novembre. L’autora de l’ exitosa Arte ofereix una reflexió sobre realitat i ficció, sobre el món del teatre a través d’una reunió familiar. Al més pur estil Opening Night, actors i personatges canvien rols i exposen els seus dubtes i reflexions al públic.

Del 15 d’octubre al 8 de novembre, a la Sala Gran es posarà en enscena El vestit nou de l’emperador, una de les propostes de caire familiar. Teatre musical per pares, avis i fills, en el clàssic de Hans Christian Andersen, on un ampli ventall de personatges cantaran i ballaran jazz, gospel i funk, adaptant el conte curt de l’escriptor danès sobre la sinceritat i el pes de l’opinió pública d’una majoria anestesiada, sacsejada en el conte per la “higiene” mental d’un nen.

Un dels plats forts de la temporada el trobarem del 15 d’octubre al 22 de novembre a la Sala Petita. L’escriptor modernista Juli Vallmitjana, proper a les classes marginals, als costums dels gitanos, a la vida de les prostitutes i dels delinqüents, als personatges dels baixos fons de la seva Barcelona, la de finals del S.XIX i principis del XX, allunyada de les classes pudents i altives que freqüentaven i freqüenten l’oci de la ciutat comtal, serà el gran protagonista i el gran provocador gràcies a la intemporal obra El casament d’ en Terregada. L’obra posarà a prova les neurones i la mentalitat del públic amb un relat sobre la boda entre una prostituta i en Terregada, personatge transversal en l’obra de Vallmitjana. La celebració és esponatània i festiva per qui la celebra, però de mal gust i excessiva sota el punt de vista dels retrògrades i dels fanàtics de les normes i de les conductes políticament correctes o sumisses.

Estarem atents des de BCNCultura a properes propostes, perl les quals ja hi ha data; pròximament podrem presenciar l’adaptació dels centenaris balls russos de Serge Diaghilev a càrrec de quatre innovadors del ballet contemporani: Wayne McGregor, Russell Maliphant, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui i Javier De Frutos. Aquests posaran en escena In the spirit of Diaghilev a la Sala Gran del 12 al 15 de novembre. Per celebrar el 25è aniversari de la mort de Salvador Espriu, s’estrenarà El jardí dels cinc arbres, a càrrec del sempre interessant Joan Ollé, qui a través de poemes i escrits de l’escriptor de Santa Coloma de Farnés recordarà la seva figura i obra del 19 al 25 de novembre a la Sala Gran.

Secrets d’un matrimoni i Saraband de l’ imprescindible Ingmar Bergman, i la gran tragèdia grega de Sòfocles, Elektra, seran els següents atractius del TNC, obres que pròximament intentarem apropar-vos des de BCNCultura.

First, a little background. I stumbled upon this play on http://www.australianstage.com.au/ after Mad and I began to fret about not having had our annual serving of cultured/artsy experiences (the main course of previous years have been Phantom of the Opera, Romeo and Juliet and Wicked!). So, after site browsing, I saw the overtly destructive title God of Carnage and, of course, was naturally drawn to click for more info. To my delight, I discovered that the play was coming to stage in a few weeks and, had the added bonus of starring Hugo Weaving as well as winning 3 Tony awards. Also, the $30 concession was a very pocket friendly persuasion. At that point it was just a must see. So, dragging Sinead and Nathan into the mix, the four of us made plans to see this play for the pure sake of feigning sophistication and man, Best. Decision. Ever. It was just MIND-BLOWING! Insanely superbly ohmigoshly awesome!! Seriously, seeing the play brought back tides of all-consuming regret making me wish I had not turned to the ‘dark side’ and succumbed to the world of pretentiously intellectual science degrees rather than staying faithful to my dearest English Lit. So, having just spent the last 3 hours reading a statistics textbook on the theoretical principles underlying analysis of variance and its application to research I don’t give a shit about, I now scornfully toss my scientific subsidiary aside and instead choose to geekify myself through my once masochistically pleasing prima donna by engaging in a thorough and comprehensive literary dissection God of Carnage such that would be worthy of A Level English Literature all over again.

So, where do I begin? I guess an overview of the plot would be wise. The play revolves around the story of two couples, Annette (Natasha Herbert) and Alain (Hugo Weaving), Veronique (Pamela Rabe) and Michel (Geoff Morrell), who are brought together by the precipitating event of a schoolyard fight between their children. Despite their primness of dress and spick-span ways, Annette and Alain initially come off as the ‘villains’ of the play given that their son was the one who incited the event by hitting his playmate with a stick such to cause a fat lip and the loss of two teeth. On the other hand, Veronique and Michel are portrayed as the less exacting, more domestically comfortable couple (think your Martha Stewart homemaker) who aim for that hippy-love pacification between the ‘civilised’ adults. Of course, like the classical suburban satire, it all falls apart with dark secrets being revealed, cataclysmic riot between the individuals, and problems being amplified rather than being solved.

Now, I’m not too sure how I want to go about analysing this play since there are just SO many components that a single blog entry could absolutely NEVER do it justice so what I think I might start with is the obvious comparison I drew between God Of Carnage and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Honestly, the degree of parallel was uncanny and Nicole, if you’re reading this right now, you would already be halfway there picking apart every little tragicomic element and foreshadowing symbol with me. But to highlight the obvious comparisons, both plays have a dual couple cast who watch their marriages fall apart through the common dilemma of the son; both plays utilise inebriation and vomiting to emphasise the escape/catharsis effect; both plays (though perhaps Carnage more) illustrate entrapment by confining the characters to a single room without allowing the guest couple to leave when they should; both plays utilise humour to reveal the darker core underneath the shallow rind; both plays fiddle around with inter-character dynamics, alliances and consequences; and both plays end on a note of unresolved exhaustion that leaves the audience to interpret the fate of the characters. Okay, I could go on but then I’m pretty sure Reza won’t be too happy that I think her play is a virtual mimic of Albee’s.

I think one of the interesting things about this play compared to Woolf though is that they don’t emphasise the role of one couple over another and the tragedy is shared fairly equally between all characters. I suppose you can say that Veronique is the most ‘Martha’ of them in the sense that it’s probably her whom you isolate for the attentions of your pity, but the others are all very close behind. Particularly interesting was the plight of the men given that usually women in domestic plays are given the focus, but in Carnage I think the men are just as trapped in their lives as the women are if not more so. The fact that Alain is on the phone intermittently throughout the entirety of the play makes me feel quite sad for him. It gives me the sense that in conjunction to being trapped in his worthless marriage with his wife, he’s also trapped in a hollow marriage with his job. The latter serves as an escape from the horrors of his real marriage and yet, does no more for him than Annette does. His relationship with life exists on an aviodance with its complexities symbolised by the phonecalls he constantly engages in, yet ironically, is not a direct form of engagement in itself. The destruction of the phone by his wife is the crux of his tragedy whereby the cutting of the phoneline mirrors a severing of his own lifeline to an escapist realm where he does not have to confront a harsh reality.

Wow… I just re-read that last paragraph and it sounded awfully A levelish. Awesome. I’ve still got it. I found the dynamics between Veronique and Michel a very interesting one too particularly in that you can’t quite decide whether or not you view them as a happy couple. Sure, if you observe the body language that goes from huggy-stroky-cuddly in the beginning to disarrayed separation at the end, or the fact Veronique is breaking sound barriers when she’s yelling at her other half, it can probably be concluded that they are far from a pretty sight. But in contrast to the aloofness that you see in the way that Alain regards Annette throughout the play (maybe aside from the pet-name of ‘Woof Woof’), Michel actually shows signs of deep caring for his wife. You catch a glimpse of their closeness when they’re together cleaning up the mess Annette leaves and mocking the other couple behind their backs. You also see it in the way Michel lovingly blow dries the pages of her books that get puked over which is in stark contrast to Alain’s laziness to so much as help Annette while she’s spewing into the bowl. The scenario makes me think that Michel and Veronique find a somewhat redemptive quality through the destruction of the other couple or perhaps, symbolises the huge efforts they go to to preserve their ‘image’. The latter would make more sense if you view the perfume they spray their books with as a way in which they try their best to mask the flaws of their relationship and similarly, the partial fault in their son’s victimisation.

My favourite part of the play for me though was still the very ending. The effect was just fantastic how the pace of everything slows down, tension falls and the lighting gradually dims. You kinda feel cathartic alongside the characters who have basically been sapped of all the energy they have. The last burst of energy comes from Annette when she tears apart the bunch of priceless tulips and goes psychotic at Michel and wife. It’s all very lovely/tragic/poignant though when you see Alain bend down to slowly gather up each of the broken stems and replace them back in the glass bowl. It was a moment that reminded me temptingly of The Glass Menagerie with the shattering of Laura’s glass animals but I won’t go into that before I start a three-way comparison between all these plays. I guess it’s hard to say whether the two couples finally break out of their illusions and bypass the cycle of catastrophe. Alain’s gesture and Veronique’s phonecall with her son (? still not too sure) would suggest that they’re making their way but the fact that they all remain static in the room and never actually get around to discussing the problem they initially gathered for suggests they might just be confined to the miseries of life still to befall them. Interestingly, the fact that this was a one act play might also cement that concept because it gives a sense of a breathless chaos with no breaks, no progression and no escape. I think there was also the final line said by Michel which I can’t remember at the second but made me think that it was all just a loop at the time. Still, I think I want to hope that the characters find their way out since it seems almost sad that they should go through such an ordeal without having anything come of it.

Holy shit, 1500 words. Only 500 short of an essay and hell, I’m doing this for FUN. Man, I really forgot how much I loved English. Okay, no, I never forget but this simply reminds me even MORE how much I live, breathe and relish that subject. But I better end it here. I’m sure I could dissect the literary depths of this play to a far more granulated mincemeat but I think that might take the fun out of literature just a TAD. Besides, I think any more points of nerdification and I’ll no longer be allowed to pass as a socially-aware psychologist. So how about I just shush up now and end with a pretty picture then?

Ahh… delightful.

…………………..VERSUS………………….

A peça O Deus da Matança, da autoria de Yasmina Reza e encenada por João Lourenço está de novo em cena, na Sala Azul do Teatro Aberto, em Lisboa, desde o dia 4 de Setembro, para mais uma temporada, devido ao grande sucesso alcançado junto do público.

Mais uma vez Joana Seixas, Paulo Pires, Sofia Portugal e Sérgio Praia “dão a vida” aos pais de Bruno e Fernando, dois rapazes traquinas, que se pegam numa luta na escola.

Os espectáculos decorrem de 4ª a sábado, às 21h30 e domingo às 16h00, e os bilhetes custam 15 euros para adultos, 7.50€ para jovens até 25 anos e 12 euros para mais de 65 anos.

Para saber mais sobre a peça, veja aqui o que escrevemos na altura da estreia:

“O Deus da Matança” estreia hoje no Teatro Aberto, em Lisboa

El proper 2 d’octubre Temporada Alta 2009–Festival de Tardor de Catalunya Girona/Salt alçarà oficialment el teló de la seva divuitena edició al Teatre Municipal de Girona amb l’espectacle El jardí dels cinc arbres, una coproducció dels centres d’arts escèniques El Canal, CAER, CAET i el Teatre Principal de Palma dirigida per Joan Ollé sobre textos de Salvador Espriu. Aquest muntatge donarà el tret de sortida d’una intensa programació que durant més de dos mesos omplirà diferents espais de Salt i Girona i que pretén acostar a tot tipus de públic les darreres creacions de teatre contemporani, dansa, circ, música i altres disciplines que s’estan fent a Catalunya, l’Estat Espanyol i més enllà de les nostres fronteres.

Temporada Alta segueix mantenint i potenciant les seves relacions amb els principals teatres, productors, companyies i creadors de Catalunya i l’Estat, així com amb d’altres països, per als quals sovint el Festival és ja la porta d’accés per l’estrena dels seus nous espectacles al país. En aquesta línia, el Festival acollirà els espectacles de la propera temporada del Teatre Lliure Nixon – Frost, de Peter Morgan (dir. Àlex Rigola) i Al Cel, un oratori per a Jacint Verdaguer (Xavier Valentí i Narcís Comadira), aquest darrer en coproducció amb El Canal. Del Teatre Nacional de Catalunya es podrà veure El ball, d’Irène Némirovsky (dir. Sergi Belbel) i Una Comèdia Espanyola, una producció de Bitò Produccions, de Yasmina Reza (dir. Sílvia Munt), tots dos en coproducció amb el Centro Dramático Nacional. Un dels espectacles més destacats en l’apartat d’estrenes a Catalunya de companyies de l’Estat és el Tito Andrónico de la companyia Animalario de Madrid, amb direcció d’Andrés Lima.

D’altra banda, un dels creadors i actors més coneguts del públic català, Sergi López, enguany torna al Festival amb Non solum, l’espectacle que va estrenar al Teatre de Salt la tardor de 2005, per celebrar la funció número cent amb el públic que el va veure néixer. Des d’aleshores ha girat per tot arreu sorprenent i seduint tothom amb aquesta comèdia existencial.

Com cada any, Temporada Alta posa èmfasi en la programació per a tots els públics i familiar, enguany amb vuit noves propostes. Destaquen dues produccions de circ internacionals que es podran veure per primera vegada al nostre país: Le sort du dedans, de la companyia catalano-francesa Baró d’evel CIRK, encapçalada per Camille Decourtye i Blaï Mateu (fill del nostre Tortell Poltrona),  que ens proposa endinsar-nos en l’interior de les nostres sensacions a través del món que s’amaga sota la carpa de circ.

I’ve been reading a book called Desolation by Yasmina Reza. I like that the cover is an old’s man hand, a gaudy ring on his middle finger, giving me the finger. I feel amused, tempted, and challenged by this man’s hand. As if it’s a dare. Open this book. And his curved finger is almost an inviting gesture. Read only if you care to confront the cantankerous, the lewd, the unhappy.

And I have been reading it. Quickly, relentlessly. Much like the man on the cover, I’ve been giving my responsibilities the finger. I’ve been thinking too much about what it means for a man to be unhappy. I’m not sure why these thoughts are uniquely about men- maybe because my grandfather died. And he was unhappy. And a man. Maybe because I’ve met a lot of unhappy men recently. I suspect unhappiness doesn’t differ much by gender, though its causes might.

The narrator is an old man who is speaking to his son. As the reader, you become the son, since it’s written in second person. You live in some tropical country eating mangos all day, happy and maybe bored, and you may or may not despise your father for his deep-rooted unhappiness and refusal to accept your apparent joy. Or at least that’s how he sees it. He recounts his friend Lionel’s epic battle against impotence when the prospect of sex with a young waitress presents itself. And he talks about his wife, your mother: Nancy.

It seems odd that she should care so much about a single wrinkle on her cheek but accept humanity as good, life as beautiful, without a second-thought. And her husband is heroic in an anti-hero kind of way; he triumphs against happiness. Or perhaps that’s how he frames it, and there is no triumph involved.

He says to you, “Some idiot schoolboy once wrote, ‘I was walking quietly along the path when all of a sudden, cunningly hidden behind a tree, the picturesque leapt out and struck me.’ Do you remember how we laughed? It was the cunningly hidden behind a tree that was the best. Well, that’s exactly how it’s been for me recently with depression. I’m walking along minding my own business and all of a sudden, cunningly hidden in the scenery, depression leaps out and strikes me. With a force and a weight you can’t even imagine. And what do I do to fight it? I dye my hair. When existential depression attacks without warning, your father dyes his hair.”

I like that quote in part because that’s how students write. They want to write something that sounds smart, and they end up writing things like that, and it makes me laugh and teaches me what not to write. And also because that’s what depression is; something dark and hidden that comes out of nowhere and feels the way you feel as a child when you get the wind knocked out of you. I haven’t been depressed as much as I have been thinking too much about what depression or unhappiness or whatever you want to call it means for others.

And at funerals, that’s all you see, unless someone has no social graces. Unless he does not wish to hide his happiness about the events that transpired that resulted in a person’s death. But I didn’t see any of that (read: the funeral wasn’t a Lifetime movie). Just sadness, fear, uncertainty. And maybe that’s why I like this book so much. It’s my grandfather’s voice, and he’s speaking directly to the reader, to me. I don’t miss my grandfather as much as I am confused by his death. It’s worse when the dead person was young and hadn’t had what we consider to be a ‘full’ life.

But an old man’s funeral is more uncomfortable than it is sad. It causes all of those delicate questions to come bubbling up from the depths, pesky like a small child who keeps asking why, painful like a papercut that’s resistant to antibacterial cream.

I’m not sure I recommend this book. It’s short, if you like short things. But it’s sad, and it’s aggressive. You have to be in the mood to have someone giving you the finger the whole time. xo-m

Yasmina Reza, the famed French playwright behind Art and Conversations After a Funeral (for which she won the Molière Award), travelled with French President Sarkozy as he campaigned for the presidency in 2006. Her recollection of a conversation between them appeared in the March issue of The New Yorker, and I love this passage.

Flying to Toulouse.
I say I still love the men I have loved.
He shrugs as if I’ve uttered something incredibly stupid.
-Yes, I assure you. I have never stopped loving the men I’ve loved.
-Oh, please!
-I still love them, but differently.
-It’s all about the ‘differently,’ my pretty one. Don’t take me for a moron. Once you qualify love, it ceases to exist.

Reza documents conversations as only a dramatist could. And Sarkozy speaks as only a Frenchman could. (I suspect that the translation of ‘my pretty one’ isn’t particularly accurate, but I love it anyway.) I’m looking forward to reading her book Adam Haberberg, which I’m picking up tomorrow. I’ll let you know if it’s as delightful and depressing as I expect it to be. xo-m

Dois rapazes andam à pancada depois da escola e um deles parte os dentes ao outro… mas esta história não é acerca deles.

Os pais de Bruno, agora desdentado, conseguem descobrir que foi Fernando quem lhe bateu, e convidam os pais deste para irem lá a casa resolver o assunto como pessoas civilizadas.
O encontro começa num tom muito cordial e civilizado, mas lentamente, pequenas verdades se vão dizendo e insinuando, de parte a parte. O tom amigável e compreensivo com que começaram o encontro é a pouco e pouco substituído por uma desagradável tom de agressão.
Todo o ser humano consegue conter a sua raiva apenas até um certo ponto…e uma vez ultrapassado esse ponto, poderemos finalmente conhecer verdadeiramente alguém…Este será o pior dia da vida deles.

A situação retratada na peça é tão real que podiamos facilmente substituir os personagens por pessoas que nós mesmo conhecemos. Este é o enredo da nova peça de João Lourenço, que estreia hoje na Sala Azul, no Teatro Aberto à Praça de Espanha, com Joana Seixas e Sérgio Praia no papel dos “muito compreensivos” pais de Bruno, o rapaz que ficou com os dentes partidos e, Sofia Portugal e Paulo Pires interpretam os pais de Fernando.

Sobre a sua personagem, Joana Seixas disse ao C&H que, “A Verónica tem a razão nas palavras, mas não a tem nos actos, ela é uma pessoa muito fundamentalista, muito intensa”. Um papel muito intenso, com o qual a actriz se mostrou muito satisfeita, “Fiquei muito contente com o convite do João Lourenço, especialmente porque me estreei no Teatro Aberto, e como tinha acabado de gravar a novela (Podia Acabar o Mundo na SIC), estava disponível, foi um timing perfeito”.

O Deus da Matança é uma peça de Yasmina Reza (escritora francesa, filha de pai iraniano e de mãe húngara), com encenação de João Lourenço, que em conversa com o C&H disse, “A peça estreou inicialmente na Alemanha, mas na altura não me chamou muito a atenção, só mais tarde, quando ela foi traduzida e adaptada para inglês é que me despertou a curiosidade e vi que dava um “bom jogo” para quatro actores”.

O encenador salientou ainda que, “Actualmente, esta peça está em cena na Alemanha, em 18 teatros, com 18 encenações diferentes. É muito intensa e actual, uma comédia, com a qual muitas pessoas se vão identificar, uma vez que fala sobre a ditadura das crianças e das famílias que vivem em função delas”.

O elenco é composto por uma camaleoa, “histérica” e extremista defensora dos direitos humanos Joana Seixas, um “indiferente” e workaholic Paulo Pires, um “indeciso” Sérgio Praia e uma forte e “autoritária” Sofia Portugal.

Os actores foram cuidadosamente escolhidos, “A Sofia Portugal é uma óptima actriz e faz parte da casa, Paulo Pires achei que era perfeito, a Joana Seixas queria experimentar trabalhar com ela, e o Sérgio é um actor pouco conhecido, uma pessoa cinzenta que me pareceu ideal para o papel”, explicou o encenador.

Os espectáculos têm lugar de quarta a sábado, às 21h30 e domingo às 16h00, em cena até ao fim de Julho.

Os bilhetes custam 15 euros para adultos, 7.50€ para jovens até 25 anos e 12 euros para mais de 65 anos.

Land of Punt noticed that during her acceptance speech at the Tony Awards, playwright Yasmina Reza, author of God of Carnage, had a French accent. Then LOP learned that Reza has a French accent because she’s French.

It struck us as odd that a French woman’s play, obviously performed in English, would win the Tony Award for Best Play. Most native English speakers can’t write a Tony Award winning play but a French woman was able to write an award winning work in a foreign tongue?

The irrepressible cast of God Carnage: (from left to right) Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini and Marcia Gay Harden.

Then we later learned that the God of Carnage was originally written in French (Le Dieu du Carnage) and translated into English by Christopher Hampton. Before that it was translated into German—in fact, the play debuted in German.

Needless to say we were a little disappointed. However, this makes sense. It would be extremely difficult for anyone to write an award winning work in their second language.

We just wish the producers of the Tonys would have mentioned that fact or allowed the translator to say a few a words—after all, LOP believes the translation of a work from one language to another is almost as important as the original work.

So now the question remains, do we still say it’s a well written play or do we say it’s a well translated play?

God of Carnage was first performed in Zürich on December 8th, 2006. It was originally directed by Jürgen Gosch.

We digress. Don’t let our fascination with language distract you from this wonderfully poignant and funny play that wins Tony Awards and sells Broadway tickets.

Currently playing at the Bernard Jacobs Theatre, God of Carnage has an absolute dream cast of Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini and Marcia Gay Harden. All four were nominated for best actor with Harden actually taking home the hardware.

Besides winning Best Play, Matthew Warchus won a Tony for Best Direction. He was also the director of the award winning West End production.

The show was originally scheduled to end July 19th but it’s been extended through November 15th, 2009. The show will temporarily close from July 27th through September 8th as the cast and crew go on summer holiday.

God of Carnage opened in the West End at the Gielgud Theatre on March 25, 2008. The original cast featured famous film actor Ralph Fiennes.

God of Carnage tells the story of two sets of parents, Alan and Annette Raleigh (Daniels and Davis) and Michael and Veronica Vallon (Gandolfini and Harden) who meet to discuss a fight that took place between their two sons. Alan and Annette’s son broke two of Michael and Veronica’s son’s teeth.

After the couple exchange pleasantries, and drinks, their supposedly diplomatic meeting turns into a no holds barred verbal brawl. The couples get into a series of arguments about everything from misogyny to racial prejudice to homophobia to Darfur. That is until their vicious barbs and their snappy comebacks decimate each other’s liberal values.

The reviews for this masterpiece, as you might expect, have been overwhelming positive. Yet, there has been some negative feedback. A few critics have complained the play lacks the length, depth and breadth to sufficiently address and resolve the myriad of issues it addresses.

While the criticisms are duly noted, the strength of this work isn’t its resolution but its resonance. After all, this play has been successful in three different languages and four different countries. Obviously, God of Carnage has universal appeal.

Last year’s English translation of Yasmina Reza’s Dawn Dusk or Night: A Year With Nicolas Sarkozy came at a low point for the French president. When Reza’s book, an intimate account of his unlikely campaign, was published in France, hopes were high for the new head of state. Although he ran as a conservative, he was classy enough to win over the left and center, in part because he represented a serene alternative to the bumblings of opponent Ségolène Royal. In the next year his approval ratings dropped as low as 32%, and have never really recovered. It was Reza’s book, a skinning of the political animal that sold over 100,000 copies, which helped him on his collapse.

What’s compelling about the book is that, unlike ordinary campaign trail tell-alls, it has a shelf life. By focusing on the details of Sarkozy’s neuroses—an obsession with his watch, for instance—she exposes the vanity and insecurity of all politicians, something with applications far beyond France in 2007.

Just as all presidential candidates have something in common, so are parents alike across the world. Reza’s God of Carnage recently won the Tony award for Best Play, and what made it remarkable was how American it seemed. This was partly good production and partly James Gandolfini (nobody’s more American than Tony Soprano), but those wouldn’t have been enough if the play had been too French. As Sarkozy’s cool strength won the affection of his country, Reza’s broad accessability is the secret to her international appeal. She’s lucky that crowds turn on presidents much faster than they do playwrights.

Greetings Sentients!  It is I, your humble ambassador of all things epicurean, Mygar. Once again it falls upon me to relay news of the artistic world, this time the Tony Awards.

Regrettably my invitation to the event seems to have been lost in the mail so I was forced to watch the proceedings on television, champagne still in hand to toast each winner.

Last night’s overall winner was Billy Elliot, which took home 10 Tonys including the highly coveted best musical.  Billy Elliot is the story of a boy from a working class town who uses art, in his case dance, to rise out of poverty.  A story close to my own heart.  The only downside to this show is that it is yet another large musical based on a movie, a trend borne by Satan and carried out by demon-spawn dressed as Broadway producers.  However this musical far surpasses the standard set forth by “Legally Blonde” “Hairspray” “Carrie” and “The Toxic Avenger.”  When I saw it in previews, I was left weeping like a child and had to be helped into a cab by ushers.  All hail Billy Elliot!

Best Leading Actor went to Geoffrey Rush as for his role in “Exit the King.”  Upon accepting his award, he said, “I want to thank Manhattan audiences, for proving that French existential tragicomedy rocks.”  Oh Geoffrey, you card!

Other notable wins include winners included Angela Lansbury and Liza Minelli, who surprised audiences not just by winning but by still being ambulatory at their age.  Their wins came for playing Dorothy and Blanche in a staged version of “The Golden Girls.”

“God of Carnage”, a British show by Yazmina Reza, dominated the straight play categories.  It took Best Play and Best Leading Acress for Marcia Gay Harden.  The show focuses on the quiet hell suffered by two middle-aged married couples, and ends with an explosive shootout and car chase.  James Gandolfini did not win for his part in the show, and says he hopes for better luck next year with the highly anticipated “Sopranos: the Musical.”

The awards and my glass of bubbly have come to an end.  Join me next time when I will be reviewing the DVD collection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

As always, your humble servant,
Mygar.

WRITTEN BY JOEL GUNTER

As her new play hits the West End, local company Lebenskuenstler are staging Yasmina Reza’s earlier triumph in the small confines of The Hope.

Art tells of the friendship of three young men, strained to breaking point after one spends a small fortune on a blank canvas.

Cosmo Cooper is notable from the off for his stifled, impotent Yvan, helplessly caught between warring friends. He delivers Yvan’s spectacular wedding preparation rant with real verve.

Mark Jackson and Chris Hislop get off to a more shaky start as sparring partners Marc and Serge, too inert for their vigorous characters, but both engage with the dialogue more and more actively as the play continues.

All navigated the changing territory of the central argument well enough on Tuesday, but none are entirely convincing. They do show promise however, and I imagine they will find their way more deftly after a couple of outings.