frowny baby

I hate getting my hair cut. From the second I make the appointment, I dread the awful stifled conversations and the feelings of not belonging that whisk me back the hideous days of high school. Every time the split ends get out of hand I take a deep breath and give myself a pep talk. “This time it’ll be different.” So, on Saturday I walked into the salon, put a smile on my face and took a deep breath. The first conversation with my stylist went something like this….

Her: Are you going out tonight?
Me: Yes, I’m going to see Evita.
Her: Evita? What’s that?

I knew I was doomed.

Evita was great though. I was a bit unsure whether to go - I’m not a particularly big fan of Manchester commercial theatres, as I’ve admitted before. I’ve always had a soft spot for Evita though, developed over years of (inebriated) forced peasantry while a certain friend of mine gesticulates from a chair-top balcony. It was well worth braving the sweet rustlers to see it, and I absolutely loved it.

And the title? A verdict overheard whilst waiting in the queue for the ladies during the interval….”it’s alright….if you like all that theatrical stuff.” **Shakes head in depair**

When I was at 6th Form College, a group of us were taken to see Othello at the Everyman Theatre in Liverpool. The details of the performance itself have long since left my memory, but we also saw a lecture by the director which has stayed with me ever since. He used the handkerchief scene between Iago and Emilia to demonstrate how differences in direction can dramatically change the tone of a play. We saw the same actors speaking the same words three times, and Emilia subtly changed from seductive adulteress to besotted colluder to tyrannized spouse. I can’t remember her characterisation during the play, but I do remember thinking how differently the motives of all the characters would have been perceived if the director had chosen one of the other paths.

This lecture came back into my mind this week, when we went to see Brenda Blethyn’s much anticipated appearance in The Glass Menagerie at the Royal Exchange. I’d never seen The Glass Menagerie on stage before, but it was a play I’d studied and loved at University, mostly due to the quiet desperation and heartbreaking fragility of the three central characters. So, it was a surprise to me that Blethyn’s Amanda Wingfield had more than a touch of the northern matriarch about her. Even the costume was reminiscent of Ena Sharples with its pinny and slippers. Given the subject matter and the fact that Blethyn took the lead in the film, I suppose it was inevitable that The Rise and Fall of Little Voice popped into my head more than once during the performance.

There’s no denying Brenda Blethyn’s talent and stage presence, but it was the delicate and fragile Laura that touched me more. Some of the subtleties of Amanda seemed to be lost, and I can’t help but wonder whether the audience would have howled with laughter if any other actress had flounced on stage, dressed in her old finery. Was it, as The Stage review suggests because the audience was desperate to laugh at the slightest excuse due to the baggage of past performances, or was Amanda’s comedic touch a decision of direction? From the page, Amanda seemed to be a tragic figure, someone who couldn’t bear to exist in her present so lived in a remembered past. For me, her tragedy didn’t quite translate on stage, but somehow, I don’t think Brenda Blethyn’s impeccable acting was to blame for that.

I’d still recommend seeing it, but perhaps look a little deeper for the lost emotion.

How true this is! A recent overnight visit to London to see Wicked cost almost as much as a week in Arran at New Year! Of course, once the curtain rises and orchestra blasts out those first spine tingling notes, I forget about the 10 minute queue for the loo, the second mortage I’ve taken out to buy the programme, and the ‘convenience fee’ (don’t get me started!) that the money grabbing ticket agent extorted for the inconvenience of picking up the phone and printing the ticket I’ve just extended my overdraft to pay for. When it’s all over it’s (almost) always worth it, and sometimes I’d pay to do it all over again….right there and then. For those of us who love the theatre, it’s always going to be worth it and we’ll always pay over the odds to sit in a red velvet seat, stare at the gold ceilings, and wait in giddy anticipation for the safety curtain to rise. And why? Because it’s being there that counts. How else would we get to sing out of key to the original cast recordings and cry at the sad bits all over again? So, yes, theatre tickets are ridiculously expensive, but I wonder how expensive they would have to be for me to stop paying?

What concerns me at the moment is that the people who are in the theatre business don’t seem to care a jot about theatre; it’s just a business to them. Live Nation and Ticketmaster, to name two of the worst culprits, care about how much money is flooding into the bank and nothing about the artform that they’re promoting. Living in Manchester means that I can escape the worst of commercial theatre, and my god commercial theatre in Manchester is the worst. Despite going to the theatre about once a month, I probably only step inside the Palace or the Opera House once a year. And whenever I do, I know why I avoid them! Girls (and yes it is, unfortunately almost always girls) tramping to the toilet in the middle of the performance, people eating sweets, mobile phones beeping, people holding conversations…I could go on…..and on…..and on! Maybe I am a snob? Some people have dared to suggest such a thing, but nobody who has ever spent an evening in the Royal Exchange ;-). Is it too much to ask that, after spending £40 on a ticket, the actors on stage aren’t drowned out by the deafening rustle of 500 opal fruit eaters? So, you can imagine my joy at reading this earlier today. Nachos, coming soon to a theatre near you. Sob.