Rigoletto and Iolanthe

I have to admit it- I'm not really sure if I'm an opera fan. There are some I really love (La Traviata and Eugene Onegin being top of the list), others I wouldn't choose to listen to for fun but found really interesting and moving in performance (Jenufa), but there are many that leave me cold. Jonathan Miller's production of Rigoletto falls into the latter camp. It's something of a modern classic that's been revived numerous times since its premier in 1983 and judging by the performance I saw, I really don't see what's so brilliant about it. For one thing, it didn't sound right in English as the words seemed so banal. It didn't help is that the acting was lacklustre, the singing was nothing more than adequate and the soprano's voice was far too thin for a venue as vast as the ENO. Miller's great innovation is that he transports the action from sixteenth century Italy to 1950s New York and the set for Rigoletto and Gilda's apartment building was straight out of West Side Story. Gilda has to be the wettest blanket in opera- "Oh, my boyfriend is cheating on me and never really loved me, but because I love him sooooo much I'm going to die in his place." Get a grip, girl.

I'm very lucky that all the Gilbert and Sullivan shows I've seen to date have been beautifully sung and presented, but it's the kind of thing I enjoy well enough while the show is going on (though the baby switching twist in HMS Pinafore is just too much) but am quite happy to leave behind at the end. Although I love musical comedy, I've always found G&S just a bit too cutesy and contrived for my liking. I first saw this production of fairy and parliament operetta Iolanthe at the Rosemary Branch last year and it's even better now.  I knew there was a reason why I'd never been to the Pleasance Theatre in spite of the fact it's reasonably local- it's so convaluted to get to by public transport. A shame, as it's a very nice venue with really comfy sofas and the openness of the auditorium works beautifully.

One of the things I loved most about this was the attention to detail and the way that all the characters responded to each other and to all the crazy things going on. I shouldn't really single out anyone from the universally excellent cast, but the three adorable fairies, Fleta (Charlotte Wooll-Rovers), Celia (Karen Richmond) and Laila (Rosie Strobel- whose facial expressions reminded me greatly of Nessa in Gavin & Stacey- could Ness have had a secret career as a G&S star?? Interesting how Gilbert and Sullivan and Gavin and Stacey share the same initials...) stole every scene they were in, giggling and prancing like hyper eight year olds. Iolanthe herself was beautifully sung by Anne-Marie Cullum and the Fairy Queen, portrayed by Kristin Finnigan, was an majestic figure who also was a devoted and loving mother to her daughters. Director John Savournin was very sweet as love interest Strephon (though I missed the blue hair) and he and Georgia Ginsberg as his lady love Phyllis in her flouncy gingham frock and curly blonde wig made an adorable pair of young lovers. There was also a delightful turn by Simon Butteriss as the Lord Chancellor. The music was played beautifully by the Eaton-Young Piano Duo. I loved Mia Wallden's costumes, especially the fairies' brightly coloured ballet-style frocks. It all looked so fresh and vibrant, and the boat that Strephon and Phyllis sailed off in after their duet was a hilarious touch.

I'll never be a card carrying G&S fan (like I am with Sondheim), but for the first time in my life, I thought I might like to listen to more of their works for the fun of it. Something of a revelation.

October acquisitions

It might sound strange, but I rarely buy books new. I prefer finding them second-hand, as if they've been on the shelf waiting for me to rescue them, so I only really buy from bookshops when I have book tokens to spend. I wanted to buy The Brontës Went To Woolworths and Miss Hargreaves, and as the latter wasn't in stock (maybe next time), I settled on Love's Shadow instead. I guess Bloomsbury must have seen how successful Persephone have been, so they've created their own series of 'forgotten' novels. I know I'm a little late to the party, but I'm looking forward to seeing what they have to offer.

Moonraker and At Mrs Lippincote's came from a FreeCyle fair. Both are ex-library copies and in rather ropey condition, but they'll do. I'm reading the latter at the moment and the former doesn't look like typical Virago fare- the blurb sounds a bit like Frenchman's Creek.

I found Spinster for a very reasonable price at Cancer Research UK (which I find to be one of the more expensive charity shops) and it looks most interesting. The Daisy Chain came from the Salvation Army, and it's easily the fattest Virago I've ever come across (673 pages). I remember Wilmet in A Glass of Blessings saying that she was named after a character in a Charlotte Yonge novel- the author biography states that Yonge was the author of about 160 novels, which were heavily edited by her father and John Keble and was a life-long believer in the inferiority of women. I somehow doubt I'll ever actually read this... Lovely cover portrait by Arthur Hughes, though.

The lettering on the spine of the one underneath has completely faded, but it's an edition of Peer Gynt, found amongst a bunch of stuff being thrown away, which might come in useful as I'm attending a rehearsed reading of the play at the Rosemary Branch on Friday, and it would be helpful to have some idea as to what's going on...

Singled Out is a non-fiction work about the women left husband-less after WW1, it's full of people I like and I was very pleased to find it at Oxfam. Rummaging in the non-fiction section really can pay off.

Judgment Day (Almeida Theatre)

Despite being local, I'm a bit ambivalent towards the Almeida Theatre. I always get the impression that they take themselves terribly seriously as they seem to do Serious Drama only without much in the way of fun. They get tons of funding and plenty of support from rich people, attract lots of star names for their productions and always get outstanding reviews, many of which bemuse me entirely. I've seen a couple of really excellent shows there (Duet for One with a once in a lifetime performance from Juliet Stevenson being a highlight of my theatre going career), but I find so many of them overly earnest and frankly pretentious and dull. I was only vaguely familiar with Ödön von Horvath beforehand as the author of Tales From The Vienna Woods which my grandfather edited (unfortunately for me in German, which I don't know) and it makes me wonder why his plays aren't produced more frequently. In fact, James Macdonald's production is the first fully staged production of Judgment Day in this country, thanks to Christopher Hampton's translation and championing of his work.

Judgment Day doesn't make any explicit references to the Nazis or anti-semitism, but the behaviour of the members of this ghastly provincial town who are quite happy to swap one hate figure for another certainly evokes the way that petty vindictiveness can grow into mob hysteria. It all sounds dreary, but it's absolutely gripping (with a certain amount of sardonic humour) and all the characters are well drawn regardless of their overall importance to the narrative, particularly Sarah Woodward as an increasingly malicious gossip.

Joseph Millson is outstanding as the station master Thomas Hudetz ("such a nice young man, they don't make young men like that anymore...") who has always lived a blameless life and "followed orders and done my duty" until he is 'distracted' by young Anna (a most assured Laura Donnelly), leading to a failure to deliver a signal that leads to a collision on the lines, and both commit perjury. This inevitably leads to horrible consequences. The kiss is witnessed by Hudetz's much maligned older wife (played to neurotic perfection by Suzanne Burden), who is branded a madwoman and pariah. Upon his release from prison, Hudetz is welcomed back into the community as a hero, until the tables turn again...

The staging is remarkably clever, as the train tracks twist and turn at different angles to highlight different locations and perspectives. I also appreciated how it was performed straight through- an interval would have greatly interrupted the suspense.

I was never bored which is high praise for the Almeida. A terrific production and one that's more than worthy of a transfer.

(Esther) Freud, Forster, Pym and Drabble

There's something about the English in Italy that novelists seem to find irresistible. It's easy to see why- the heat, and the beauty of the surroundings give way to all sorts of emotional explosions and self discovery. The heroine of Love Falls by Esther Freud is seventeen year old Lara, who is taken to Italy by her academic father whom she only slightly knows during the time of Charles and Diana's wedding (did people ever really think that that was a love match?), where they get involved with his old friend Andrew Willoughby, his mistress and his gang of spoiled brats. There's certainly an echo of Brideshead Revisited in the depiction of the exiled aristocrat with a Catholic wife who refuses to divorce him, but none of these characters have any of the charm or magnetism of Waugh's clan. The unpleasantness of the Willoughbys would make even Anthony Blanche blush. I found Lara a frustrating character in that she never really responds to anything and doesn't ask any questions about the tangled intrigues she finds herself caught up in. I have to say that although Esther Freud's prose is of course superior to Stephenie Meyer's, I didn't feel as if it was a million miles away from Bella Swann and Edward Cullen (gawky girl who doesn't realise she's beautiful swooning over impossibly beautiful boy). It makes me realise that character really is the thing I value most in a novel, more so than plot (as A Glass Full of Blessings shows)- if I don't care for any of them, there isn't really much point in continuing. Nice cover art, though.     
                                                                                            

Where Angels Fear To Tread definitely isn't my favourite novel by E.M. Forster (I wasn't deliberately going for an English in Italy theme, it just happened). The story of impetuous young widow Lilia who goes to Italy, marries an Italian (younger than her) to the disapproval of her snobbish in-laws before dying in childbirth certainly exposes English superiority and hypocrisy at its worse, but I found it all rather flat overall. I was helping with an audition earlier this week (handing out scripts) and one of the auditionees came in reading this- I mentioned that I felt Forster did the English in Italy better in A Room With A View...                                                  

I picked up A Glass of Blessings in honour of the new Barbara Pym group on LibraryThing, which was most entertaining and delightful. One doesn't read Barbara Pym for her plots as there isn't really one to speak of. This is the third Pym novel I've read, and it's unusual in the sense that its heroine, Wilmet (what a name), is a fairly young, financially comfortable married woman with rather too much time on her hands and not much to do. Pym has such a flair for creating quietly quirky characters and I particularly enjoyed Wilmet's go-getting mother-in-law Sibyl (strangely the character I most identified with) and kleptomaniac clergy housekeeper Mr Basin. I have to admit that I never expected to find a gay couple in a Pym novel, but it's handled in a very understated, matter-of-fact way, and it forces Wilmet to reassess her assumptions about love and relationships. My favourite bit was in the blood donation clinic, which shows just how little has changed (my brother is a donor and has had some not so pleasant experiences due to horrible organisation and evil nurses- that scares me far more than the prospect of a needle), and reminded me of an episode of the Provincial Lady that E.M. Delafield never wrote. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I've ever read a scene in a novel in a blood donation clinic. Quite surprising really, as such a place is rife for drama. I also love all the cross-references to characters in other Pym novels, it's like an extended network where everyone knows everyone else.

I'm not quite sure how to talk about The Red Queen by Margaret Drabble. This is going to sound really strange and it's not something I've ever suggested before, but I recommend reading the first narrative (the Crown Princess of Korea's story) and skipping the rest. The Crown Princess's story is frankly superb and absolutely riveting with one of the most fascinating and unique narrative voices I've ever come across. Her life, involving her marriage as a child to the mentally unstable Crown Prince  is so full of violence, intrigue and backstabbing and puts many a Jacobean tragedy in the shade (as the Crown Princess herself observes). It's quite complete in itself, which is an excellent thing as the second story is bit of a dead weight. The Crown Princess narrates her story from the afterlife, where she is able to observe her life and position from a global historical and cultural context. Normally I'd find such a device annoyingly contrived, but it works brilliantly. I think it's because the Crown Princess comes across as such a wise, introspective figure that it's completely believable that she'd be able to draw these parallels herself without the author putting the words in her mouth (though that's exactly what's happening, so I may just be talking nonsense...). There are also some deliciously wry comments. The second half of the story deals with Babs (awful name), who finds herself fascinated by the Crown Princess's story on her way to a conference in Korea and has an affair with a famous academic. That's about it. There are some tenuous parallels between her and the Crown Princess. She eventually meets Margaret Drabble at a party, who is so taken by the story that she decides to write a novel about it. That's when it all becomes too clever for its own good. I'm going to hear Margaret Drabble talk about this novel at the Korean Cultural Centre a week on Tuesday, should be interesting...

I've been...

(This idea is shamelessly ripped off from Alexandra Silber's wonderful blog, but I hope she doesn't mind as it's a nifty way to sum things up)

Visiting my brother at uni in Nottingham (pictured). I've got to say I was pleasantly surprised. The campus is lovely and the city centre is gorgeous. It's easy to idealise a place when you only see the 'nice' parts, but there are some stunning buildings and everyone's really friendly. I have a feeling its not so positive reputation is very unfair.

A most interesting conversation with a very funny, charming couple on the train back. It's always heartening to see people who are so absolutely perfect for each other. They've been everywhere and have done everything (including a sky dive and bungee jump on the same day). They're about to embark on a trip to southern Africa, where they plan (amongst other things) to ride ostriches (apparently it isn't cruel...) and swim with sharks. Makes me realise I haven't lived at all...

Attending a frightfully dull wedding reception for Old Family Friend in Suburban Hell. My grandmother and her sister lived in this place (which I won't name in fear of offending anyone) in the 1920s, and my dad was on a mission to find the house (with amazingly specific directions from my 89 year old great aunt), but all the houses have since been replaced with mock Tudor atrocities with enormous drives to show off all their cars (many which have personalised license plates- the ultimate in vulgarity, IMO). There was one house with three four wheel drives in the driveway and heaven know how many more in the garage. There are no pavements or street lights as they assume that no one goes anywhere on foot. It's the kind of place I could imagine Just William being set in, only now the Botts have taken over everything. As for the not so marvellous party, the bride and groom seemed to enjoy it, which I suppose is the important thing. Why would anyone choose to have their wedding reception in a dingy sports club? I've never been so glad to see Marylebone (the prettiest station in London) in my life. I'd sooner put my head in an oven than go back there.

Feeling like Flora Poste of Cold Comfort Farm- expensively educated, but not qualified to do anything useful.

Getting a bit nervous about an interview of sorts at a very trendy, cutting-edge gallery next week. I'm probably going to be exposed as a fraud as I'm rather old fashioned and not trendy in the slightest. EDIT: Everything seemed to go fine and the people were really friendly and approachable, but it made realise that a commercial gallery really isn't for me. That's what these one-day placements are for...

At the American Embassy, and will hopefully receive my new American passport before long (I have dual nationality). There was bit of a panic over my non-existent social security number (involving a supremely rude woman determined to make everything as complicated as possible), which fortunately turned out to be a red herring. All going well, Chicago 2010 should be going ahead. For such a paranoid nation, I was amazed at how haphazard everything was. I had to swear my oath over a counter, it wasn't even in a private office.

Eating lots of Greek yogurt with maple syrup.

Attempting to learn the Korean alphabet. Watch this space...

Pleasantly surprised by the BBC's new adapation of Emma. I thought Romola Garai was very charming and winning as the eponymous heroine. I'll write about it in more detail when I've seen it all, but I'm cautiously optimistic and already like it better than last year's overwrought Sense and Sensibility and a million times more than ITV's ghastly Mansfield Park and Persuasion (I rather liked Northanger Abbey).

Reading some not so brilliant books, and some excellent ones too (more on that later).

Enjoying having Strictly Come Dancing back (a guilty pleasure- a bit early to choose favourites, but I loved Ali and Brian's quickstep- my favourite dance- last week). I find it quite amusing that Arlene Phillips has been turned into some kind of saint now that she's now longer on the show. If anyone should be a judge, it's Karen Hardy. An incredibly talented woman who really knows her stuff.

Wondering why Obama received the Nobel prize now. I'm a supporter, but it seems very premature.  Wouldn't it be better to wait to see if he delivers?

Looking forward to the Branching Out 3 festival at the Rosemary Branch starting next week. It should be a great blogging opportunity and a chance to sample all sorts of new and interesting things.

Wuthering Heights, ITV style

Another year, another Wuthering Heights adaptation (I know I'm a little late to the party as it's been sitting on the PVR since August). Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre must have more screen adaptations than any other novel (except perhaps Oliver Twist), but I've never been completely happy with any of them. In fact, I think it's nigh on impossible to do either of them justice on screen, but they keep on trying... I'd love to see an adaptation of Villette, however, as I think the novel is brilliantly cinematic and as it hasn't been done to death, something really interesting could be unearthed with a sensitive, intelligent screenplay. I really, really enjoyed Peter Bowker's work on Desperate Romantics. While it was far from being impeccably accurate, it had so much heart and energy and was delightfully acted, which made me see past historical accuracy (though being a pedantic nineteenth century-ist, I feel a bit guilty about doing so). This was a disappointingly watered-down, rather than a full-blooded take on Emily's story. It felt like the Laura Ashley version of Wuthering Heights- there was hardly any emphasis on the Gothic, everything was spotless, the moors were indistinguishable from any other bit of countryside and it was much too sunny (that wasn't anyone's fault and I'm sure any other director would have been thrilled to have such good weather, but that doesn't work so well for WH where stormy and miserable is much more suited to the mood).

Wuthering Heights is not a romance and it always surprises me when it's labeled as such. Heathcliff and Cathy have to be the most miserable, self-destructive protagonists in literature. Tom Hardy has a credible go at Heathcliff (everyone seems to find him gorgeous, but I don't think he's attractive at all- not that Heathcliff has to be good looking). Aidan Turner, recently seen as Rossetti in Desperate Romantics, would make a brilliant Heathcliff (although I find him absolutely gorgeous, he plays selfish and pathologically destructive so well). Although they made Heathcliff more demonic than he usually is (they included the bit when he digs up Cathy's body), they tried to make Cathy more sympathetic in a way that isn't true to the book. Charlotte Riley might be the prettiest Cathy I've seen, but they take out the line about how marrying Heathcliff would be a degradation, making it look as if she marries Edgar on the rebound because Heathcliff has disappeared. 

One of the reasons why Wuthering Heights struggles on screen is because the layered narration is so tricky. Lockwood (non-existent in this version) is hearing the story from Nelly, who relies on various other accounts, and it all becomes very messy (in a good way!) and one doesn't know who to believe. If handled well, I think such a narrative could be really interesting. I also firmly don't believe that Heathcliff and Cathy ever had sex. Only about half an hour is devoted to the second generation (which is where Heathcliff really shows the full extent of his brutality) and the full extent of Heathcliff's physical and emotional cruelty towards Isabella is glossed over.

I wonder what next year's big screen adaptation will be like. Gemma Arterton as Cathy is great casting, but so much hinges on the screenplay... In January 2008, I saw a stage adaptation by Heartbreak Productions that stuck to the book like glue. It was magical. When you have such a fantastic story, why would you want to change it?

When I took my copy of the book off my shelf, I found this rather beautiful bookmark inside. The thing is, I don't remember making it, or anyone giving it to me. A mystery.