I just wanted to squeeze out a quick rant before I head off to work.
Last night, I saw some English theatre. Now, in a country where the theatre industry is subsidised for several pounds per audience member (as opposed to the couple of cents per audience member back home), I was expecting great things. I was expecting my love of theatre to be rejuvenated from the heady days of my playwrighting past. I guess I wasn’t disappointed - technically, it did tick most boxes…if theatre has any boxes to tick in the first place.
Lots of old people with programmes, thick coats and sensible shoes? Not quite. In fact, there were far more younger people than the gracious elderly, including a band of young American tourists (who probably got lost on their way to the debut gig of American rock band The Mousetrap).
Tight, stuffy theatre? You bet your arse it was. The seats were about as comfortable as a broken bus seat for a professional basketball player. I’m also certain that, in the unlikely event of a fire, we would all have been in some serious excrement.
Actual production and acting values? Well, Agatha Christie’s play is apparently timeless - so timeless, in fact, that it has been running for 56 consecutive years and still manages to gather an audience every time. I figure the actors would know it all back to front and might even take their characters home with them (especially the exuberant and somewhat camp Christopher Wren character). The acting wasn’t too bad, and given the thick clichés of a whodunnit, the English banter that whips along at a cracking pace and the obligatory twist at the end, it handled itself fairly well. (No, it wasn’t the butler.)
So it wasn’t all too bad, even if I did catch myself doing a little eyebrow-raising at times. But I have to say that I prefer entertainment of the interactive kind.