Antony and Cleopatra (take two)

Following the visit noticed at reference 1 and as advertised then, back to Antony and Cleopatra at the Barbican last week, for what I think was the penultimate performance.

On this occasion I decided for the cloakroom option which meant that I could get togged up for cycling. Helped along by it being a bright, clear day with nothing left of the overnight wind.

Pulled my first Bullingdon from the bottom of the ramp at Waterloo and apart from getting held up at the southside lights at Blackfriars Bridge a good run up Farringdon Road, cutting along Charterhouse Street to get me to Roscoe Street. A tad faster than my usual route via Clerkenwell Road.

On to take the first bacon sandwich of the year in Whitecross Street, noticing three Waitrose trolleys on the way which had been appropriated by market traders. Let's hope they paid for them by buying their supplies there. Two waitresses at the Market Restaurant, one new, one old, that is to say one that I had seem before, rather than old in years. Bacon sandwich on very good form.

Amused by a street food tent on the way down to the theatre called 'Hoxton Beach' and selling something vaguely middle eastern.

In the theatre, played the pseud for once by depositing most of my gear in the cloakroom, but retaining my Arden text (from 1962). Which meant that I was able to quickly read through the first part of the play before the off, which made a surprising amount of difference. A pity I had not gotten around to reading through the whole thing. That said, the notes about 'Cut my lace' on page 30 (Act I, Scene III) seemed a bit overcooked, rather in the way of the Fernyhough notes noticed yesterday (reference 2). But that was before the off; reading them again now, with the performance only a few days old, they seem much more sensible, not just froth spun out of nothing by some clever academic. I clearly need to look out for a take three before the trail goes cold - with this particular production now having closed. In any event, I think it would be better to try a different one.

Antony Byrne as Antony came across better this time, with real tragedy at the end. But he still seemed more like a middle ranking businessman than a top ranking general. To me, he also seemed very Irish, a thought confirmed by Wikipedia telling me that the name is Irish but disputed by IMDB which talks of birth in Newcastle upon Tyne, just about at the time that I was being a lefty at uni. Put in a lot of time on television soaps since then.

Ben Allen as Octavian also came across better this time. His various comments on the vagaries of the mob were interesting - something which was clearly a concern to audiences at the time of writing - and something which, with our reversion to referendums as a way of doing business, is still a cause for concern now. But still not right, looking more like a popular athlete at a fancy public school than an emperor to be. Bing fails to reveal what his background actually is.

While Charmion still failed to please. Iras did rather better. But to be fair, it is hard to sit around on stage doing nothing much and wearing not much more than gauze. Neither came anywhere near matching Cleopatra's control of her body and her pose.

They made less of a mess of hauling Antony's body about on this occasion. But his messy suicide and Cleopatra's rather odd behaviour still raised a few titters - where I felt the tone was tragic rather than comic. But perhaps there are elements of both, with my responding to the former, the titterers to the latter.

I had a posse of people from the far east in front of me, most of whom did not look as if they had too much idea. For some reason I associated to Orwell's anecdote about a bottom dancing performance in Burma, presumably in the 1920's or 1930's, when white men who did not understand the form hogged the best seats and spoiled things for everyone else. The performers were, as I recall, girls of about 12 or 13, so not very correct by today's standards at all.

Dark when I came out, and going down the two-way cycle track down Farringdon Road as some cyclists were travelling at what I thought was an inconsiderate speed, considering the conditions. Encouraged by the lights having been sequenced in a way which meant that one could do a good stretch without being stopped. Plus I got into a muddle with the lights turning right into Stamford Street, with some pedestrians disputing my right of way. Stamford Street very busy - which meant one had to take care not to hit pedestrians popping out from behind things - and Waterloo Road was taped off, but I got up the ramp at Waterloo OK, taking position 5.

I decided against returning the Waitrose trolley on exit at Epsom and it had gone by the following morning. Presumably enough of their staff arrive by train in the morning for one of them to do the decent thing.

Greeted at home by a very smelly brochure from the Globe; something about the ink used by some printers, or perhaps for some purposes. A smell which neither I nor BH can abide, so the brochure hit the recycling bin double quick. I don't suppose we shall be going to the Globe again - unless, that is, they offer Antony and Cleopatra in the coming season. Which does not appear to be the case.

PS: seeing 'Antony and Cleopatra' more or less straight after seeing 'The Birthday Party' certainly made one realise what a slight thing the latter is compared with the former. The former is a serious bit of work about serious facts of life, while the latter is a bit of impressionism, a sketch.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/antony-and-cleopatra-take-one.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/the-birthday-party.html.

The Birthday Party

Earlier in the week to see a matinée performance of  'The Birthday Party' at what is now called the Harold Pinter Theatre in Panton Street. A first in that we had been to neither theatre nor play before, although we did manage another Pinter, 'The Caretaker' in 2016, noticed at reference 1. And once again we had a fine set and a fine cast.

Picnic'd at the Royal Festival Hall, where they seem to have installed some new-to-us small tables, ideal for the purpose, in the area adjoining the path through to the downstream side of Hungerford Bridge.

Having been to a piano bar of sorts quite recently, interested to see the concrete sign for Piccadilly's No.7 Piano Bar above one of the pubs next to the theatre. We did not have much time, so settled for the bar inside the theatre, and now Bing fails to reveal what the sign is about. Clearly calls for a second visit, perhaps in the margins of a visit to the National Gallery. The bar in the theatre was lush, small and comfortable. They seemed keen on gin but I stuck with my usual white wine. The theatre itself seemed rather labyrinthine with lots of narrow passages and we were not the only people to wonder what it would be like if one had to evacuate in a hurry. No doubt they have it all worked out.

House pretty full downstairs, and there were lots of people of working age, even young people, despite it being a working afternoon.

The cast generally did well. The only thing that really grated with me was the rather theatrical declamation of the senior thug Goldberg, played by Stephen Mangan, in the first half. It sounded all wrong to me, but he seemed to have found a better voice for the second half. Nonetheless, I found it all far too long. There was not nearly enough here to keep us going for a couple of hours - excluding here the interval. BH got on with it rather better than I did.

Furthermore, the break at the end of the first of the three acts seemed unfortunate. Maybe the thing to do would be to get it down to what could comfortably done without an interval.

Interesting programme, including a piece by Charles Fernyhough, the chap whom I noticed last year, for example at reference 2. A piece which I felt put more purpose into Pinter than was really there; without having gone into it, it seems to me unlikely that Pinter was making a serious study of the mysterious workings of memory. Much more likely that he was having a bit of fun, was playing games. Playing games by giving us contradictory bits of story which added up to a good deal less than a whole.

The programme also reminded me of the story about the fighter plane, with one pilot but hundreds of people working away in the background to keep it in the air. So here we had a cast of half a dozen or so and a regular army of people in the background. Including at least two carpenters and two voice coaches. Not to mention all the management types.

And thinking about it now, interesting that what, in the late 1950's had been set more or less in the present, almost a kitchen sink drama (a term which survived until my own youth), has now become a costume drama, with lavish reconstruction of a boarding house of that time. A costume drama with roots in the Agatha and other thrillers on which Pinter spent his apprentice days in repertory. Plus more than a touch of Beckett.

Thinking also about all the many people who were damaged by the second world war, in one way or another, and who were probably very visible at the time that Pinter was writing. Something of the sort must have also been true after the wars with the French after their revolution: it could not have taken many battles of Waterloo to do very bad things - other than physical damage - to the participants. While I can remember, even in the mid 1970's, coming across a couple in a pub in Highgate Village in north London, a couple with a homely wife, very protective of a husband, then a lorry driver, who had clearly been left in a bit of a state after war service in one of the more serious outfits.

Afterwards, we crossed back over the river to dine at the Archduke. For me, sour dough bread (far too much of it about for my taste these days), warm salmon fish cake which came with a good dollop of spinach and a good sauce and which was not bad but which would have been better warmer. Followed by sausages and mash. In which they were a bit mean with the French beans, I forget to ask for the gravy in a jug and the mash had been drowned in oil or cream. But the sausages were large, light and good. A 2016 Chablis from Gautheron also good, although a bit annoying to find that it would have been half price the previous day. With the continuing oddity of first sip bad, second and subsequent sips good. Nevertheless, all carping aside, the staff were friendly and the atmosphere was good. No doubt we shall be back.

PS: yesterday, we saw three reviews of the play. In descending order of enthusiasm: Guardian, Evening Standard, Metro.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/caretaker.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/08/descriptive-experience-sampled.html.

Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/02/the-inspector-calls-again.html. It seems that our last visit to the Archduke for a meal was just about a year ago. At which time I was already complaining about the price of the Chablis.

Reference 4: http://www.chablis-gautheron.com/. I think the right people, but the wrong website. Plenty of wine shippers and such like know all about him; clearly a force to be reckoned with in the world of Chablis. But not in the world of websites.

Rights for ladies

It seems that the Prime Minister of New Zealand is going to have a baby and is proposing to take just six weeks maternity leave for the purpose. Something which would have been unlikely to arise until very recently, with lady leaders not often having been of child bearing age, at least not since the days of hereditary monarchs like Boudicca or Maria Theresa - although Elizabeth I had the wit to abstain.

While I do not see how one could make such a thing against the law or against the rules, I would not care to have anything to do with it, as partner, parent or voter. And I would certainly not vote for a lady who looked at all likely to pull such a stunt. Not fair on the baby and not fair on the country of which she is supposed to be in charge.

Balloon

Last night in town to find road closures but not many arty light installations, in fact just the one at Oxford Circus, up and running at 2200 on Friday evening. The one which escaped to much media noise a week or so ago.

So we had a spherical balloon, perhaps as much as 4 or 5 metres in diameter tethered above the middle of Oxford Circus, more or less as shown here, with this picture being taken from Twitter. Not the first time I have been there, but probably the first time I have taken anything away. Found for me by Google, on this occasion doing a better job than Bing.

A bit of fun, but I am not sure about spending a lot of money on it, despite the seeming enthusiasm of the reports on Twitter. But I do wonder about how these swirling patterns were made, in appearance reminding me of the (psychedelic) lights shows you used to get at discos in the early 1970's, made then by shining light through moving mixtures of immiscible, multi-coloured oils. Probably an oxymoron but hopefully you can see what I am getting at.

But those displays were made by simply pouring small amounts of suitable oils onto a glass plate, or perhaps between two glass plates, stirring them up somehow, and then projecting the results onto a screen or onto the walls, a proceeding which is clearly not going to work inside a sphere. I assume that some sort of projection is involved, but how do you project a plane image onto the inside of a sphere without the joins showing? Does it require a great deal of computer power and the sphere to be kept very still, so that the stable joins can be computed? The catch with this notion being that I could not see any joins, and there are none to be seen in the snap above.

Or, seemingly equally far-fetched, does the balloon have two skins, with the mixtures of immiscible, multi-coloured oils being contained between them and being stirred up in some cunning way? But with projection being quite simply accomplished with lights at the centre of the sphere?

Motif

With a snip from Bing's picture of the day being included left.

Included because of the three very un-English spires, two left and one right. The ones which come to a line at the top rather than a point. The ones with only two axes of symmetry rather than the three or more, more usual with us.

I think you get stumpy versions on the top of posh French houses, perhaps on what they used to call hôtels particuliers, but nothing nearer home.

Two fragments

Two fragments of dreams from last night, illustrative, I think, of two of the ways in which such things are constructed.

The first was a dream set in break in a car journey at Cartgate Services on the A303 (of reference 1). During this break, I became very concerned about the need to get on with the journey, to catch the 1726. With catching the 1726 being a real enough incident, taken from my trip of yesterday to London, but being a train, quite inappropriate to a car journey. Anxiety about making a time fair enough, but bringing in a train, no. It was as if the sleeping brain is a bit careless about assembling ingredients from memory when it is making the new story that is a dream. If one or two of the features seem to fit, wheel it in, without bothering to check the fit of the others. Without bothering to adapt the ingredient to fit its new home.

The second was a dream set, roughly speaking anyway, from my time in CCTA (central computer and telecommunications agency, then part of the Treasury) but drawing on a contractor (aka consultant) from my time at the Home Office, a contractor who had managed to carve out a very lucrative nest for himself and his employer. A contractor who was now making a very poor fist of chairing a meeting of around twenty people at CCTA. One of those meetings with a tendency to degenerate into a shifting population of sub-meetings and more or less irrelevant conversations. With the dream nicely improving my own role, with my being able to deftly insert a bit of direction into the meeting without ruffling the chairman's feathers. And concluding with my offering to write the note of the meeting, something that he was far too busy and important to bother with, but which would leave me free to decide what was decided.

A very important role, as those familiar with the workings of meetings and committees will allow.

From which I now associate to the word 'secretary', once the person who captured the private thoughts and deeds of his or her master, then the public deeds, then the shift of power from master to servant, all too necessary in an increasingly complicated world. From which I further associated to the leadership role of general secretaries in trade unions and soviet unions. Or of permanent secretaries in governments. Or of Samuel Pepys, whose springboard to power was his humble role as Clerk of the Acts. To the way that the written word trumps the spoken word.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/the-stones-of-cartgate.html.

Little Foot

I learn today that scientists at the University of the Witwatersrand have been working for twenty years to reassemble a more or less complete Australopithecus skeleton.

To quote: 'Little Foot is the only known virtually complete Australopithecus fossil discovered to date. It is by far the most complete skeleton of a human ancestor older than 1.5 million years ever found. It is also the oldest fossil hominid in southern Africa, dating back 3.67 million years. The unveiling will be the first time that the completely cleaned and reconstructed skeleton can be viewed by the national and international media'.

About 1.3m tall, probably a female and with legs longer than arms, so not an ape, at least to that extent.

Makes our own ancient history, noticed at reference 3, look a bit tame.

PS: waking this morning I computed that the Deity and natural selection took more than 100,000 generations to get from Little Foot to Big Trump, something that a common or garden agricultural pig breeder, applying a bit of intelligence, could have probably managed with less than 100. At least, that is what their exploits of the nineteenth century would suggest.

Reference 1: http://www.wits.ac.za/news/latest-news/research-news/2017/2017-12/little-foot-takes-a-bow.html.

Reference 2: https://youtu.be/t1RHCzA7SnA.

Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/beeches-pit-one.html.