The walking wounded, Othello and a pissed-off John Simm
I have had far too much fun in the last month, that I need to see a chiropractor. I am self-diagnosing that I have a pinched nerve because I can’t move the left side of my body and I’m in excruciating pain. Imagine: beached whale trying to roll back out into the sea. Well, that was me trying to get out of bed this morning. I suspect it’s because I have been carrying around the kitchen sink for the last three weeks.
No use moping around. The walking wounded gotta keep on walking.
I trek out to The Globe Theatre where I am determined to catch a 2pm matinee of Othello. Unfortunately the next five performances are sold out. Next available performance is 29 July… after I have left. I’m bummed. Looks like I’ll have to return the next time I am in London. It’s like Musee Rodin in Paris all again (I’ve been twice, and each time managed not to get in). * rolls eyes *
I step out of the complex, and lo and behold. Dost mine eyes deceive me? A line of equally desperate, but hopeful, looking patrons.
CHRISTINA: What’s this line for?
LADY: I think it’s tickets people are trying to get rid of.
CHRISTINA: Ooooh. (air punch)
MAN: I’ve got a ticket for one in Bay G!
CHRISTINA: Where’s that?
MAN: Lower gallery.
CHRISTINA: Is there a beam in front?
MAN: No.
CHRISTINA: I’ll take it.
MAN: Ticket for one?
CHRISTINA: Yes.
MAN: That’ll be ₤32.50 thanks.
29 July? Pfff. I rule!
“Christina’s-version-of-Brodie’s-notes-on-Othello”: 3 hours long. Thank God for half time toilet breaks. I get some shut-eye at two points in the play, which is nowhere as
Shakespeare-sacriligious as the woman two seats down from me who is actually snoring. I am extremely glad to be in the gallery when it starts to rain (that’s a tip for anyone who goes to the Globe, pay the extra so you don’t end up having to wear a garbage bag when it starts to pour).
In the evening, I meet with my friend Caroline (who is decidedly less grumpy in the afternoon than she is in the mornings) for a 7.30pm performance of Elling at Trafalgar Studios. We’ve been seeing signs about it in the tube stations, and it starts John Simm – Jip from Human Traffic. I’m sold.
The play is about 2 asylum inmates who are released into the ‘real world’ and their attempts to adjust. It’s a strange mélange of accents. Set in Oslo, Simm sounds squeaky and the others… well, they just sound like Englishmen on holiday in Norway. When the finale comes (almost 3 hours later, saved by the mid-show interval), Simm looks like he just wants to punch someone in the audience. I will not be sticking around to get his autograph!
NB: Never buy a McFlurry. They are McNasty.
No use moping around. The walking wounded gotta keep on walking.
I trek out to The Globe Theatre where I am determined to catch a 2pm matinee of Othello. Unfortunately the next five performances are sold out. Next available performance is 29 July… after I have left. I’m bummed. Looks like I’ll have to return the next time I am in London. It’s like Musee Rodin in Paris all again (I’ve been twice, and each time managed not to get in). * rolls eyes *
I step out of the complex, and lo and behold. Dost mine eyes deceive me? A line of equally desperate, but hopeful, looking patrons.
CHRISTINA: What’s this line for?
LADY: I think it’s tickets people are trying to get rid of.
CHRISTINA: Ooooh. (air punch)
MAN: I’ve got a ticket for one in Bay G!
CHRISTINA: Where’s that?
MAN: Lower gallery.
CHRISTINA: Is there a beam in front?
MAN: No.
CHRISTINA: I’ll take it.
MAN: Ticket for one?
CHRISTINA: Yes.
MAN: That’ll be ₤32.50 thanks.
29 July? Pfff. I rule!
“Christina’s-version-of-Brodie’s-notes-on-Othello”: 3 hours long. Thank God for half time toilet breaks. I get some shut-eye at two points in the play, which is nowhere as
Shakespeare-sacriligious as the woman two seats down from me who is actually snoring. I am extremely glad to be in the gallery when it starts to rain (that’s a tip for anyone who goes to the Globe, pay the extra so you don’t end up having to wear a garbage bag when it starts to pour).In the evening, I meet with my friend Caroline (who is decidedly less grumpy in the afternoon than she is in the mornings) for a 7.30pm performance of Elling at Trafalgar Studios. We’ve been seeing signs about it in the tube stations, and it starts John Simm – Jip from Human Traffic. I’m sold.
The play is about 2 asylum inmates who are released into the ‘real world’ and their attempts to adjust. It’s a strange mélange of accents. Set in Oslo, Simm sounds squeaky and the others… well, they just sound like Englishmen on holiday in Norway. When the finale comes (almost 3 hours later, saved by the mid-show interval), Simm looks like he just wants to punch someone in the audience. I will not be sticking around to get his autograph!NB: Never buy a McFlurry. They are McNasty.
posted by Christina at 11:21 PM
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