Sunday, July 19, 2009
Beware the Ides of July
BRUTUS
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of CAESAR
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.
GHOST
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
BRUTUS
Why comest thou?
GHOST
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Well; then I shall see thee again?
GHOST
Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
***
In celebration of the mum's 60th on the 15th, we went off to the RSC Courtyard Theatre in Stratford to see Julius Caesar.
The Courtyard (formerly the Other Place) used to be a small studio-ish place, playing third fiddle to the main theatre and the Swan (all three RSC theatres.) In its new incarnation, the Courtyard looks like a more grandiose version of the Swan.
RSCStewartHemley_530x352.jpg)
The Courtyard
The Swan
See?
(The main theatre, for the record, is currently being renovated. And not before bloody time either.)
***
Julius Caesar brings back painful memories of the production we went to see at Warwick Uni many moons ago: the only people more inept than the actors were the ushers who, midway through the last act, allowed in a group of eight or nine students who, with a 99% empty theatre to choose from, opted to sit directly behind me, Joe and the mum, then sat there chatting, giggling and getting right up my nose.
I turned round and gave the students the best ice grill I could manage in the darkness; once I turned back round, they carried right on. Fizz, went my last nerve. I turned to face them once more.
"Will you lot shut the fuck up?" I said in a stage whisper that must have reached the performers.
The students remained respectfully mute until the curtain call, at which point they filed out very hastily.
Joe was delighted with me.
***
The RSC production was much better than the Warwick Uni Travesty, although Brutus reminded me rather too much of Mark Hamill after he got fat.
In-keeping with the rancorous tradition, I noticed Julius Caesar giving someone on the balcony the ice grill after they took a flash photograph during the curtain call.
I also noticed him mouth the word twat.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of CAESAR
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.
GHOST
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
BRUTUS
Why comest thou?
GHOST
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Well; then I shall see thee again?
GHOST
Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
***
In celebration of the mum's 60th on the 15th, we went off to the RSC Courtyard Theatre in Stratford to see Julius Caesar.
The Courtyard (formerly the Other Place) used to be a small studio-ish place, playing third fiddle to the main theatre and the Swan (all three RSC theatres.) In its new incarnation, the Courtyard looks like a more grandiose version of the Swan.
The Courtyard
The Swan
See?
(The main theatre, for the record, is currently being renovated. And not before bloody time either.)
***
Julius Caesar brings back painful memories of the production we went to see at Warwick Uni many moons ago: the only people more inept than the actors were the ushers who, midway through the last act, allowed in a group of eight or nine students who, with a 99% empty theatre to choose from, opted to sit directly behind me, Joe and the mum, then sat there chatting, giggling and getting right up my nose.
I turned round and gave the students the best ice grill I could manage in the darkness; once I turned back round, they carried right on. Fizz, went my last nerve. I turned to face them once more.
"Will you lot shut the fuck up?" I said in a stage whisper that must have reached the performers.
The students remained respectfully mute until the curtain call, at which point they filed out very hastily.
Joe was delighted with me.
***
The RSC production was much better than the Warwick Uni Travesty, although Brutus reminded me rather too much of Mark Hamill after he got fat.
In-keeping with the rancorous tradition, I noticed Julius Caesar giving someone on the balcony the ice grill after they took a flash photograph during the curtain call.
I also noticed him mouth the word twat.
