This is a little blog intended to show up as an RSS feed in my main blog, Me Fail? I Fly!. I make a note here when I start reading a book, and mostly write something there when I finish. Click on an image for a link. Blogger lets you choose from a number of views. For example, try mosaic view.
Apart from a section of the audience who seemed to think misogyny was the funniest thing on earth, this was a brilliant ninety minutes. Nina Conti's ventriloquial skills are consummate (she even did the drink-while-the-dummy-keeps-talking bit), and the play throughout the evening on the relationship between the dummies and her was beautifully conceived and executed, with a great final moment.
Bob Connolly's back, and again he and his co-director are looking at music in an educational institution. It gave us refuge from a royal wedding, and while showing us our tax dollars at work among the privileged told a terrific story of music as challenge, with a handful of memorable characters.
I loved this for its big heart: a Harold and Maude whose characters aren't at all pathetic, and are in love with life and language. The French title La Tête en Friche means something like 'An untended head'.
Compiled by Webb's sister and brother-in-law after Michael Griffith's and Bill Ashcroft's books, this aimed among other things to set the record right by publishing all his extant letters to his family, and giving context for his poems as recalled by his family.
I don't know about the play - that is, it seemed to be playing with stuff about Australian vs US sensibilities, though not very convincingly - but it was great to see Bryan Brown and Colin Friels on stage together.
I'd seen Wajdi Mouawad's play, on which this is based, but blush to say I slept through much of it. I didn't sleep through this. 'When does the story of your life begin? With your birth? ... With your father's birth?'
I haven't read Kazuo Ishiguro's novel and I'm unlikely to now, but I suspect I would have preferred to experience this story by reading the novel rather than seeing the film. It's a wonderful film all the same: horror with a cello, and only one scream (and thank God for that one, or the audience might have had to take things into our own hands).
Directed by Imara Savage and performed by three brilliant men, this is just fabulous! I hope to have time to write about it in my main blog. Apart from anything else, it illustrates vividly the kind of thing we're missing because of the lack of cultural diversity in Sydney theatre.