Richard III
Not what I was expecting. Mark Rylance
played Richard with humour, self-awareness and self-loathing. I was
expecting pantomime villain. This Richard had the crowd eating out of
his deformed hand, not baying for his blood. Period costumes, period
music, even an all-male cast. Children. No women or animals. The
actors got a huge ovation, one of the longest I've known a Globe
audience give.
Trigger played Buckingham. There were
double roles: Hastings and a really nasty-looking Tyrrell, and the
Duchess of York and Richmond.
Perhaps my Shakespeare has reached a
critical mass and I can now get by without spending time boning up on
what's going to be going on, or perhaps this was a particularly
straightforward production of a reasonably straightforward history,
but either way it was great entertainment.
It appears that Rylance was the
artistic director at the Globe for ten years. No wonder he knew how
to get the best from a Globe audience. Apparently his stewardship was
between 1995 and 2005 or so and amounted to bit of a rescue mission.
Twenty four years
Wedding anniversary today. Few would
put up with me for twenty four minutes.
Finally...
...an Arsenal goal. Two, in fact. In an
away win at Anfield. Three games, three clean sheets. There's a long
way to go and plenty to prove, for all that, but it's something to
enjoy in the here and now.
The cricket team was overloaded with
dirty Leeds supporters (for some strange statistical anomaly) a few
years ago, and now I often find myself surrounded by scousers, with
Rich, BO'S and Motty all supporting Liverpool, so I'm looking forward
to bumping into them all on Saturday (if I remember by then – I
know I can't count on them to remind me).
Jimmy Cliff
The Harder They Come (CD1 and CD2) was
the music on in the car on the way to (via a ridiculous detour trying
to find a pay later car park because none of us had any actual cash,
via Southwark Bridge, the (no right turns here, my friend) westbound
north bank road, and (eventually) Wandsworth Bridge, the i-Max
roundabout at Waterloo and the back of the Tate Modern) and back from
(via a detour to drop Kiz home, several missed slip roads (“listen
to me, not the bloody SatNav, I live here”, which was fair comment,
but I was actually ignoring the SatNav at the time, just as well
as...) the Queen Elizabeth bridge and all that) the Globe.
As Rich says, it's impossible to listen
to good reggae music and not smile.
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