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.
No comments:
Post a Comment