At least that was the story at google. But even my very modest Facebook skills managed to fight through to reference 2 where I learn that Mihara is a product of the NHK School of Actors' Seminar in Tokyo while Donegan is a product of the Ballet Rambert, the people with the fine new headquarters building behind the National Theatre. See reference 3.
In sum, a show which was a triumph of production over content. That is to say that the play was a rather slight thing from California - but given to us in a very slick production, only a little too long. A tale of creative people in New York involving a lot of drugs, amphetamines to be precise, drugs which I now know to have been dished out at the time when I was little in much in the same way tranquilizers and antibiotics are dished out now. The men for all seasons of their day.
There had been a few warning signs at the time I booked - prompted, I expect, by an email - but we got a much stronger warning at entrance about strong language etc. As it turned out the strength amounted to a great deal of the F-word, a lot of talk about drugs and some rather gross talk about sex, this last mainly confined to one scene. This last fitting in with my limited experience of Californians, whom I found to be very nice and polite when sober, but who can be gross in their cups. I forget whether smoking rights were exercised, but probably a bit.
Very clever set, with a limited amount of furniture gliding about at the front and with flats at the back lit up with all kinds of interesting - and moving - some stunning - pictures. I was told afterwards that this was accomplished by back projection. But it meant that you could change venue with very little fuss.
Very arty music, I think from the original production in Paris, in French, ten years or so ago, from the chap at reference 4. Rather good.
Standard of acting good, but the show, apart from the production, was stolen by the lead lady, Freya Mavor, never before heard of by me, but born into an eminent and respected theatrical family in Glasgow, plus a touch of the Irish. Spectacular scene involving cleaning the windows when tanked up on aforementioned amphetamines. Backed up by a very creditable performance by her drug dealer.
All of which served to confirm that while we can no longer do words in the theatre, we can do dancing, music and staging. The National Theatre in microcosm - and a good deal easier to get to, as we were home not long after 2200, in time for cocoa.
Slight contretemps with the Rose car park where we had difficulty telling the machine what we wanted to do, difficulty which resulted in access-denied when we tried to leave, which had me skooting back to said machine for a further, this time, successful parley. Also a triumph of new eyes, with BH's new lenses and new glasses combining to give us a fine performance on the ramps of the darkened car park.
PS 1: I think I have now mastered the mystery of the numbering of the rows in the Rose Theatre. From the back D through to A, with A on the rail with very limited leg room, then AA through to DD, with DD at the very front, more or less down among the cushions. Once again, surprised by the age of some of the cushions, something I would not dream of doing. If we could not afford proper seats we would not go.
PS 2: Hogsmill fish still present outside, but I was not able to see many of them in the gloom of the dusk.
Reference 1: https://www.facebook.com/MiharaDoneganProductions/.
Reference 2: http://www.miharadonegan.com/.
Reference 3: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=rambert.
Reference 4: http://nicolaserrera.com/work/good-canary/.
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