Saturday, 27 April 2019

Cutting away the cargo


Royal and Derngate Ghosts photographs by Sheila Burnett
At war with the trolls
On the same weekend I breathed the same air as Sir Ian McKellen (see previousblog), I got to see one of the masterpieces of World Theatre: Ghosts by Henrik Ibsen. The marvellous Penny Downie played Mrs Alving in this production by Lucy Bailey with James Wilby as angry hypocrite Pastor Manders, Pierro Niel-Mee as doomed idealistic Oswald, Declan Conlon as old reprobate Engstrand and Eleanor McLoughlin as a spirited no-nonsense Regina. The production was beautifully designed by Mike Britton with the weather (the mist… the rain…), the light (the sun… give me the sun…) and the elements, particularly fire (quite a bonfire…) filling the atmosphere of the building with tightly wound dread. Ibsen wrote of this play that everyone “shares the responsibility and the guilt of the society to which he belongs. To live is to be at war with trolls in heart and soul.”
Collour picture of Lesley Manville and Jack Lowden in Richard Eyre's production available @ Digital Theatre
Sins of the fathers
In my view, Ibsen runs a close second to Shakespeare in creating an everlasting impact on drama and theatre and Ghosts contains many of the motifs that permeate his work:
  • the deadening weight of past conventions and conservative attitudes
  • the exposure of the hypocrisy of authoritarian figures and establishments
  • the symbolism of primal forces like light, education, fire and architecture
  • the contamination of the self, the family, the society, the nation
  • the human need for blistering honesty
We all sail with a corpse in the cargo, believed Ibsen, and to be truly free we need to cut away the cargo and free ourselves from the restrictions placed on us by previous generations. Ghosts is like a coiled spring that gnaws at your conscience until the final moments when you are faced with a pietà of grief and glory.


Saturday, 20 April 2019

Tolkien, Shakespeare, Others and You

Private audience with a theatrical knight
Legendary icon
It was hard to stop smiling in astonishment and wonder at the sight and sound of an almost-octogenarian’s tour de force one-man-show at the Belgrade Theatre, Coventry tonight. I attended with my long-time Shakespeare buddy, Michael Thompson, who’d badgered the box office for returns and who’d not only got the triumphant call – “yes, we have two seats for you” – but, it turns out in a miraculous alignment of the stars, that one of the seats was sponsored by Sir Ian McKellen so we were invited backstage afterwards to hear the legendary knight throw out some extra choice anecdotes and bestow his iconic glory in a private audience. I’d seen him in a backstage environment before with a group of students during the second run of Waiting for Godot in London (see picture below.) I saw him in that play with two casts, playing opposite both Yorkshireman, Patrick Stewart and the late, great, Roger Rees, as well as superb supporting actors – as witnessed below with Ronald Pickup and Matthew Kelly.
Saw this production twice with two casts but one McKellen....
Over 80 venues across GB
Sir Ian McKellen’s stamina, memory, bravura acting techniques and vocal command are, live in the theatre, marvellous to behold. This particular show started as a one-off review and then expanded into an 80th birthday celebration of a tour of upwards of 80 venues across Great Britain. The profits from each performance are donated to local charities that are either drama or education or community based. The audience become the second character as he drags people onstage, invites shout-outs of answers and the names of Shakespeare plays. But more importantly he controls the audience mood as adeptly as any mind-altering wizard. The gossipy anecdotes are hilarious, the moving tales of his childhood and political activism draw us into a circle of quiet intimacy and his geographical range of acting experiences take us around the globe from Bolton to Yorkshire to the North-East to Nottingham to London to Stratford-upon-Avon, up mountains in New Zealand and to the throne room of Buckingham Palace. Wondrous!
Explanation for this pic in paragraph below...
Tolkien, Shakespeare, T S Eliot, G M Hopkins and more
At the flick of an eyebrow he moved from a doddering, ancient Agatha Christie character to a gauche and youthful Romeo. He mugged mercilessly in pantomime mode as Widow Twankey and recalled the ignition of his passion for live acting when seeing a performance of Peter Pan. He gave us a preview of his forthcoming film performance as Gus, the Theatre Cat in T S Eliot’s and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats (directed by Tom Hooper and adapted by Lee Hall) and dextrously delivered Gerard Manley Hopkins poetry in the finale to the first half. Just when it seemed impossible to admire him more, out poured forth from the depth of his soul one of his party pieces, the famous speech from Sir Thomas More (probably the only example of Shakespeare’s own handwriting which I’ve mentioned in an earlier blog – click here) – the speech which appeals to our shared humanity in how we should treat refugees. A memorable moment at each performance was his reading from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and the invitation onto stage of an audience member to wield Gandalf’s mighty sword, Glamdring. Above you can see my dear friend, Amy Lancelot (Creative Education Manager at Leeds Playhouse), receiving the polaroid outcome of just such an encounter at a later performance.
Some of Sir Ian McKellen's Film and TV roles
McKellen TV and Film performances that made an impact on me over the years
1970: Edward II in Edward II by Christopher Marlowe
1976: Macbeth in Macbeth by William Shakespeare
1981: DH Lawrence in Priest of Love by Harry T Moore adapted by Alan Plater
1982: Walter in Channel 4’s Walter by David Cook
1985: Sir Andrew Charleson in Plenty by David Hare
1989: John Profumo in Scandal by Michael Thomas
1995: Amos Starkadder in Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons adapted by     Malcolm Bradbury
1995: Richard III in Richard III by William Shakespeare
1998: James Whale in Gods and Monsters by Christopher Bram adapted by Bill   Condon
1998: Kurt Dussander in Apt Pupil by Stephen King adapted by Brandon Boyce
2000: Magneto (Eric Lensherr) in X-Men by Tom DeSanto & Bryan Singer (a role he   went on to play in X-Men 2, The Last Stand and Days of Future Past)
2001: Gandalf in Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (a role he went on to   play in a further five films and numerous audio projects)
2006 “Sir Ian McKellen” in Extras, created by Ricky Gervais
2015: Sherlock Holmes in Mr Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, book by Mitch Cullin   adapted by Jeffrey Hatcher
2015: Norman in The Dresser (with Anthony Hopkins)

A fraction of Sir Ian McKellen's stage appearances
McKellen Stage performances I have seen
1979: Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night and Andrei in Chekhov’s Three Sisters on   tour at Dewsbury Town Hall (September)
1988: Acting Shakespeare at Wakefield Theatre Royal (22nd May)
1989: Iago in Shakespeare’s Othello at The Other Place in Stratford-upon-Avon
1997: Captain Hook in Peter Pan at the National Theatre in London
1998: Dr Dorn in Chekhov’s The Seagull at West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds
1998: Garry Essendine in Coward’s Present Laughter at West Yorkshire Playhouse,   Leeds
1998: Prospero in Shakespeare’s The Tempest at West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds
2007: King Lear in Trevor Nunn’s production of Shakespeare’s King Lear and Sorin   in Chekhov’s The Seagull at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon
2009: Estragon in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot at Theatre Royal, Haymarket in   London
2017: King Lear in Jonathan Munby’s production of Shakespeare’s King Lear (in a   CinemaLive broadcast)

Easter 2019: the Ian McKellen bonus....


Saturday, 13 April 2019

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee

Mother's Day at the Bronte Parsonage Museum

Mother's Day 2019
We chose to be in Haworth on Mother’s Day. It may seem counterintuitive since the Brontë Parsonage was a home bereft of a mother. Mother Maria died soon after the famous family moved to the town of Haworth from Thornton in Bradford. Therefore, the Parsonage (during the years 1820 to 1861) relied for maternal influences on Aunt Branwell for 21 years, on home helps Tabby Aykroyd and Martha Brown and the sisterly love and mutual support of Charlotte, Emily and Anne.
When imagination once runs riot
Every time I walk round the Brontë Parsonage Museum (and I have done it over 20 times now, including the times I took students there) I spot something new or feel something different. This time I found myself imagining the love, rivalry and intensity of the sibling relationships; how they must have been constantly aware of where each other was in the house, the changing dynamics when each of them left for a time, the circumstances that brought each of them back. And the changing atmosphere when, one by one, they died.
Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee
The extra incentive to visit on Mother’s Day was the opportunity to enjoy a unique audio-hiking experience. The Parsonage Museum have commissioned composer Adrian McNally to set to music a selection of Emily Brontë’s poems. Adrian composed by day at Ponden Hall (historically a place that sheltered Branwell, Emily and Anne along with servant Sarah Garrs during the Crow Hill Bog Burst, a thunderstorm and mudslide in 1824.) Adrian then practised and performed the music on the piano you can see today in Mr Brontë’s study (played by Emily during her lifetime, also by Anne.) Rachel and Becky Unthank (folk group, The Unthanks) have performed and recorded the poems and the Parsonage have devised a walk up onto Penistone Hill so you can listen to the songs/poems as you follow a 45-minute climb and descent onto the nearby moor.
Song Cycle in order of audio experience in Haworth
1. Deep deep down in the silent grave
With no-one to mourn above
Here with my knee upon thy stone
I bid adieu to feelings gone
I leave with thee my tears and pain
And rush into the world again

O come again what chains withhold
The steps that used so fleet to be
Come leave thy dwelling dark and cold
Once more to visit me

Was it with the fields of green
Blowing flower and budding tree
With the summer heaven serene
That thou didst visit me?

No ‘t was not the flowery plain
No ‘t was not the fragrant air
Summer skies will come again
But thou wilt not be there

2. She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow.

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away.

3. I’m happiest when most away
I can bear my soul from its home of clay
On a windy night when the moon is bright
And the eye can wander through worlds of light—

When I am not and none beside—
Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky—
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.

4. Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall nature cease to bow?

Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving -
Come back and dwell with me.

I know my mountain breezes
Enchant and soothe thee still -
I know my sunshine pleases
Despite thy wayward will.

When day with evening blending
Sinks from the summer sky,
I've seen thy spirit bending
In fond idolatry.

I've watched thee every hour;
I know my mighty sway,
I know my magic power
To drive thy griefs away.

Few hearts to mortals given
On earth so wildly pine;
Yet few would ask a Heaven
More like this Earth than thine.

Then let my winds caress thee;
Thy comrade let me be -
Since nought beside can bless thee
Return and dwell with me.

5. O evening, why is thy light so sad
Why is the sun's last ray so cold?
Hush our smile is as ever glad
But thy heart is growing old.

It's over now; I've known it all;
I'll hide it in my heart no more,
But back again that night recall,
And think the fearful vision o'er.

The evening sun in cloudless shine
Has passed from summer's heaven divine,
And dark the shades of twilight grew,
And stars were in the depth of blue,
And in the heath or mountains far
From human eye and human care,
With thoughtful heart and tearful eye,
I sadly watched that solemn sky.
6. High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars;
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,
Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending,
Man's spirit away from its drear dungeon sending,
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.

All down the mountain sides wild forests lending
One mighty voice to the life-giving wind;
Rivers their banks in their jubilee rending,
Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,
Wider and deeper their waters extending,
Leaving a desolate desert behind.

Shining and lowering and swelling and dying,
Changing forever from midnight to noon;
Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing,
Shadows on shadows advancing and flying,
Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying,
Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.

7. Lines
The soft unclouded blue of air,
The earth as golden, green, and fair,
And bright as Eden's used to be,
That air and earth have rested me,

Laid on the grass I lapsed away,
Sank back again to childhood's day;
All harsh thoughts perished, memory mild
Subdued both grief and passion wild.

But did the sunshine even now
That bathed his stern and swarthy brow,
Oh did it wake—I long to know—
One whisper, one sweet dream in him,
One lingering joy that years ago
Had faded—lost in distance dim?

That iron man was born like me,
⁠And he was once an ardent boy;
He must have felt in infancy
⁠The glory of a summer sky.

Though storms untold his mind has tossed,
He cannot utterly have lost
Remembrance of his early home—
So lost that not a gleam may come.

No vision of his mother's face
⁠When she so fondly mild set free
Her darling child from her embrace
⁠To roam till eve at liberty.

Nor of his haunts, nor of the flowers,
⁠His tiny hand would grateful bear,
Returning from the darkening bowers,
⁠To weave into her glossy hair.

I saw the light breeze kiss his cheek,
⁠His fingers 'mid the roses twined;
I watched to mark one transient streak
⁠Of pensive softness shade his mind.

The open window showed around
⁠A glowing park and glorious sky,
And thick woods swelling with the sound
⁠Of nature's mingled harmony.

Silent he sat. That stormy breast
At length I said has deigned to rest;
At length above that spirit flows
The waveless ocean of repose.

Let me draw near, 'twill soothe to view
His dark eyes dimmed with holy dew;
Remorse even now may wake within
And half unchain his soul from sin.

Perhaps this is the destined hour
When Hell shall lose its fatal power,
And Heaven itself shall bend above
To hail the soul redeemed by love.

Unmarked I gazed, my idle thought
Passed with the ray whose shine it caught;
One glance revealed how little care
He felt for all the beauty there.

Oh! crime can make the heart grow old
⁠Sooner than years of wearing woe,
Can turn the warmest bosom cold
⁠As winter wind or polar snow.
8. Remembrance
Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee.
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on that northern shore;
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
That noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth - and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven;
No second morn has ever shone for me:
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But when the days of golden dreams had perished
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion -
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in Memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?

9. The night is darkening round me
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

I'll come when thou art saddest,
Laid alone in the darkened room,
When the mad day's mirth has vanished,
And the smile of joy is banished
From evening's chilly gloom.

I'll come when the heart's real feeling
Has entire, unbiased sway,
And my influence o'er thee stealing,
Grief deepening, joy congealing,
Shall bear thy soul away.

Listen! 'tis just the hour,
The awful time for thee.
Dost thou not feel upon thy soul
A flood of strange sensations roll,
Forerunners of a sterner power,
Heralds of me?

I would have touched the heavenly key
That spoke alike of bliss and thee;
I would have woke the entrancing song,
But its words died upon my tongue.
And then I knew that hallowed strain
Would never speak of joy again,
And then I felt . . .

The night is darkening round me
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
And I cannot, cannot go.
And I cannot, cannot go.



Saturday, 6 April 2019

Colemanballs

For no other reason than I think they’re funny (and I have a fondness for the perpetrators)
The magazine Private Eye coined the phrase Colemanballs to mean the funny verbal phrases and sentences that come out of the mouths of sports commentators. It was originally applied to David Coleman whose enthusiasm and involvement in his job meant he made many endearing gaffes during his 46 years as a highly respected sports commentator. 
Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales - a medieval text full of language fun
Honourable History
Ballsing up the English Language has a long history with deliberate language jokes as far back as Chaucer’s medieval Canterbury Tales and embodied in the misspeaking of Mrs Malaprop in Sheridan’s 1775 play The Rivals. Apparently as early as the 1949 Oxbridge Boat Race, the BBC commentator John Snagge announced “I can’t see who’s in the lead, but it’s either Oxford or Cambridge” which falls into the category of Stating The Bleeding Obvious. Some of David Coleman’s utterances fall into this category.
Sheridan's Mrs Malaprop - the "very pineapple of politeness"

Verified Colemanballs
  • If that had gone in, it would have been a goal.
  • This evening is a very different evening from the morning we had this morning.
  • He is accelerating all the time. The last lap was run in 64 seconds and the one before that in 62.
  • He’s 31 this year – last year he was 30.
  • Forest have now lost six matches without winning.
A few of my favourite Colemanballs not by Coleman
  • They didn't change positions; they just moved the players around.
  • I don’t want Rooney to leave these shores but if he does, I think he’ll go abroad.
  • He’s one of the greatest players in the world, if not one of the greatest anywhere.
  • I never make predictions and I never will.
  • This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother.
  • Sure there have been injuries, and even some deaths in boxing, but none of them really that serious.
  • If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again.
  • He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn't like it – in fact you can see it all over their faces.
  • Here they come, every colour of the rainbow: black, white, brown.
  • And he missed the goal by literally a million miles.
  • He's pulling him off! The Spanish manager is pulling his captain off!
  • The game is not over until it is.
RIP David Coleman