January 19, 2013
The Evacuation still proceeds, but it's all theatre.
Not that evacuation, the one indicated in the previous post. No, that one has once again been deferred until the next bout of madness strikes. We're not leaving. Mere practicality cannot force us.
No, I'm referring to actual theatre, specifically prankster collective Shunt's latest exercise in audience destabilisation, The Architects.
Shunt have had their ups and downs over the years, but this is easily the best thing they've done since Dance Bear Dance*, and probably their most straightforwardly entertaining piece ever (although still not at all straightforward). It's consistently funny for most of its duration, even when also quite sinister.
- Play the evacuation music!
- ♫ GET OFF THIS MOTHERFUCKING BOAT! GET OFF THIS... ♪
- ... Do you have anything else?
I am reluctant to give too much away, because it's on for a couple more weeks. If you're reading this in that time, and you're in the neighbourhood, go! But, let's face it: you aren't, and you won't.
Building -- extremely loosely -- on the myth of Minos' labyrinth, the show sticks the audience in a literal maze before it even starts, and then does its utmost to wrongfoot them repeatedly on their decadent cruise into the unknown. It's as technically accomplished as ever, with lots of cinematic cutting via blackouts, and some very nice interaction between the live performers and their video counterparts. Shunt's endings are always a bit uncertain, and this one is no exception, but the images are striking and the whole experience very memorable.
We are not from Denmark
But you knew that
As I said before, if you get the chance, go. And wrap up warm. And (no, really) go to the toilet while you're there.
* It turns out I said pretty much exactly the same thing about Money. Well this is better. And I also used the same Pynchon quote the first time I talked about Shunt on WT. I am a prisoner of my own references; but it fits better this time.
January 10, 2013
We are currently going through one of our occasional phases of looking into moving home. There are reasons for doing so, benefits to be had, but it's difficult to negotiate the process properly when the very idea gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies.
I love our flat. It is basically my favourite place in the whole world and I find it hard to imagine living anywhere else. Over the years both Ian and I have had actual wake-up-in-terror nightmares about having left it.
Yesterday we looked at a house in Pyrland Road, a few doors down from where I grew up. An estate agent visited us to evaluate our property. Another one is coming today. I can feel the panic setting in.
I have no idea how far we'll go with it this time out -- we strode briskly to the brink but are now squinting down at the abyss beyond, reeling in dismay -- but if it turns out that we do leave -- if the demands of living require it -- it will be dismal and heartbreaking, like a messy divorce between people still in love.
Expect tantrums and tears.
(Happy '13, btw.)