Master Builder

Off to a full Old Vic to see 'The Master Builder' last week, having nearly got off to a bad start by turning left out of Waterloo Station for the National rather than right for the Old Vic. Luckily one of the party knew where we were going; it would have been a pain - although not a catastrophe as we were quite early - to arrive at the National to find that one was at the wrong place. And I would not have heard the end of it for some time.

Before that though, we had taken a good snack at the 'Cabin' wine bar above platform 1. They were advertising something called a bacon and egg butty which seemed a bit strong in a metropolitan wine bar which rather fancied itself - although there are signs of its sliding down hill to cater for the lager trade, larger than the wine trade - but which was actually very good. Bread as good as I have had for a bought sandwich for some time and contents entirely satisfactory. Not particularly dear either. And BH was well pleased with her goat's cheese tart with a dab of salad too. All washed down with a second go at the Lofthouse first noticed at reference 1.

Got in to try to remember the days when we first used the Old Vic, when it had seemed very big, nothing like as big as it seemed on this occasion. Possibly because we were more  used to the smaller West End theatres at that time. Just a handsomely done up place this time.

Striking set, which seemed to owe a debt to both the set designer for 'As You Like It' and Phyllida Barlow. See references 2 and 3. The set was clever and worked well, but I was left wondering whether more creative energy had been spent on the set than it was really worth, that the tail was wagging the dog.

Fiennes was good as the builder. I don't think I have seen him before, or really know anything about him at all, beyond a confusion with the possibly related explorer. A confusion which was only made worse by the great array of Fiennes's great and small listed by wikipedia. Including a bunch who were also called Dacre. Any relation of the chap who fell into the Hitler Diaries elephant trap, back in the eighties of the last century? About which I recall Murdoch being recorded as saying, when told rather late in the day that he had been sold a pup, something to the effect 'sod that, publish the stuff anyway'. Times do not seem to have changed that much.

The splendidly named Sarah Snook was a splendid Hilde.

Peter Yapp started out OK as Knut but rather muffed the business of the master builder suffering from vertigo, making himself out to be a lot more crass & callow than I would have thought that Ibsen intended, or, indeed, was very likely. In any event I left wondering whether the master builder jumped or fell.

About three hours with two intervals. Only dragged a bit towards the end of the first act, that is to say towards the end of the first hour.

Overall, it all worked very well, it still has plenty to say to us more than 100 years after it was written, although I have no idea how many liberties David Hare took with the text. I assume he has no Norwegian and worked from a translation, but at least he is a respectable playwright in his own right. Nonetheless, I have now taken a copy of a proper translation down from Gutenburg onto the kindle - not used in earnest for some months now - and will maybe get around to taking a look while I can still remember something of the Hare version.

Interestingly, Hare himself, in a piece in the programme, says that Ibsen, fully recognising the need for translations, wanted them done afresh for each generation. To be translated into the everyday speech of the time of the production.

In the meantime I read that it is all very symbolic, but speaking for myself, I have no urge to translate the symbols. I am content for them to stand as symbols and symbolise, without dragging it all - or dragging something - out into the open. I suspect that such dragging could easily make things clear which were not intended to be clear.

Outing only marred by some large eating from white plastic tubs of something takeaway by a young family on the train home. Tiresome both on account of having to watch and of having to smell. The latter, of course, being harder to avoid. Far more annoying than the drinking, which I believe that Bullingdon Boris has made illegal - a bit of a cheek for one who admits to having done the odd line of white powder in his time. Not to mention massive consumption of liquid & legal drugs as a member of aforementioned club.

PS: I notice that when we went to see an adaptation of 'The Cherry Orchard' back in 2011, I thought that it was a bit heavy on tutorial material, intended to help those of us not well versed in provincial manners in the Russia of that day. See reference 4. I was not bothered in this way by this adaptation.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/back-on-bullingdon.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/big-charles-1.html.

Reference 3: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/an-older-trace.html.

Reference 4: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=cherry+picnicked.