Our tour guide cheerfully informed us that there are no screens on the windows because there are no bugs here -- no mosquitoes, no flying insects, no nothing. (I idly wondered what the hell pollinated their flowers, but whatever.)
I left my hotel room early this morning on some bus tour (more on this later).
I came back to my room to find that housekeeping had left the windows open. And I had a freakin' entomological exhibit in my room. Three or four flying things around the window. One on the floor on its back, struggling to right itself. One buzzing loudly and bouncing back and forth across the ceiling. A red-colored fly in the bathroom. And a butterfly. A freakin' butterfly.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Sunday, August 3, 2014
New hotel, New Wi-Fi
After that last experience, I start this post with some trepidation. The Wi-Fi signal looks strong, but this, apparently, means nothing.
So, after our early start this morning, we went ... someplace. (Long day. Wait. Wait. I'll get it. Oh! Spending money!) We went out to Blarney Castle for the traditional tourist Kissing Of the Germ-Riddled Piece of Rock. Should we not wish to kiss said rock (at the top of a one-way winding, uneven 110-stair staircase), we could wander the grounds and appreciate the gardens.
Here's the problem: I came to Blarney Castle before. I had passed on the stone smooching then for the same reason I'm passing on it now -- my knee could not handle the walk down from the top of the staircase. (It could probably handle the walk up, but I'm trying very hard to break my habit of spending vacations climbing to the top of things it hurts to climb back down from.) And, when I skipped the stone that last time, I engaged in about as much garden-appreciation as the Blarney Castle grounds could provide. So that was out today, too.
Conveniently, our tour guide offered up yet another option: one big-ass store cheerfully providing All Things Irish. (And blaring the "Riverdance" recording over the speakers -- probably 24/7.) I had a few people on my gift list and about an hour to myself (before the rock-kissers made their way over to the shop) and I scouted every damn corner of that store, until such time as I'd found all necessary gifts (and :::cough::: a few items for myself as well). I was actually buying small, easily-packable things ... until such time as I bought something for myself that totally put me over the "free shipping" minimum. My purchases are now preparing to race me home via alternate channels.
After the Spending of the Cash, we drove over to Waterford for a tour of the Waterford Crystal factory. (I asked about free samples, but there weren't any.) Got some pictures, though. This here is (duh) a crystal harp. (The harp being the symbol of Ireland. This explains its appearance on Guinness.)
Also, had not expected to see my local racetrack (Santa Anita) hanging out there, but they had this one on display, and we saw a dude actually working on its twin.
After the tour (exit through the gift shop, natch), we piled back on the bus and made our way to the next hotel. It's a stately home with acres of golf, equestrian, and other sports. This is my room:
The room has a name (which I forget) but that's just as well, as the numbers are kind of useless. My parents are in room 5. I am in room 6. They are not only not next to each other; they are on different floors. (There's been something of a running joke here about the way they number hotel rooms in this country, as our last hotel had rooms which started with "2" on the first floor, and you had to hit "3" in the elevator to get up to the second floor.)
We were also told that tomorrow is a holiday. That's all well and good, excepting it means that there's no laundry available -- and since this is pretty much the halfway point of my journey, I've been sort of counting on being about to do laundry tonight. Ack. I just washed out some delicates in the hotel room sink, using whatever "bath and body soap" they provided. If all goes well, my underthings will smell pleasantly of lavender.
So, after our early start this morning, we went ... someplace. (Long day. Wait. Wait. I'll get it. Oh! Spending money!) We went out to Blarney Castle for the traditional tourist Kissing Of the Germ-Riddled Piece of Rock. Should we not wish to kiss said rock (at the top of a one-way winding, uneven 110-stair staircase), we could wander the grounds and appreciate the gardens.
Here's the problem: I came to Blarney Castle before. I had passed on the stone smooching then for the same reason I'm passing on it now -- my knee could not handle the walk down from the top of the staircase. (It could probably handle the walk up, but I'm trying very hard to break my habit of spending vacations climbing to the top of things it hurts to climb back down from.) And, when I skipped the stone that last time, I engaged in about as much garden-appreciation as the Blarney Castle grounds could provide. So that was out today, too.
Conveniently, our tour guide offered up yet another option: one big-ass store cheerfully providing All Things Irish. (And blaring the "Riverdance" recording over the speakers -- probably 24/7.) I had a few people on my gift list and about an hour to myself (before the rock-kissers made their way over to the shop) and I scouted every damn corner of that store, until such time as I'd found all necessary gifts (and :::cough::: a few items for myself as well). I was actually buying small, easily-packable things ... until such time as I bought something for myself that totally put me over the "free shipping" minimum. My purchases are now preparing to race me home via alternate channels.
After the Spending of the Cash, we drove over to Waterford for a tour of the Waterford Crystal factory. (I asked about free samples, but there weren't any.) Got some pictures, though. This here is (duh) a crystal harp. (The harp being the symbol of Ireland. This explains its appearance on Guinness.)
Also, had not expected to see my local racetrack (Santa Anita) hanging out there, but they had this one on display, and we saw a dude actually working on its twin.
After the tour (exit through the gift shop, natch), we piled back on the bus and made our way to the next hotel. It's a stately home with acres of golf, equestrian, and other sports. This is my room:
We were also told that tomorrow is a holiday. That's all well and good, excepting it means that there's no laundry available -- and since this is pretty much the halfway point of my journey, I've been sort of counting on being about to do laundry tonight. Ack. I just washed out some delicates in the hotel room sink, using whatever "bath and body soap" they provided. If all goes well, my underthings will smell pleasantly of lavender.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Ring of Kerry
My mother was excited that this trip included the Ring of Kerry, as everyone who goes to Ireland seems to speak highly of it. I, on the other hand, was pretty sure I'd already been to the Ring of Kerry, but couldn't even remember what it was.
What it is: a circular-ish ring road connecting various towns, views, and rest stops. A tourist road, basically, covering a lot of ground.
This morning, we got on it. There were photo stops and a lunch stop and (I am pleased to say) a not-entirely awful picture I took out the window of the moving bus. The pictures look like this. Very Ireland.
(Argh. I was just emailing someone about how my whole photo uploading system was going well ... and then I uploaded these five photos twice and only ended up with one of them each time. The hell?)
OK, we're re-uploading. Sooner or later, I have to give up, as I have to wake up damn early tomorrow. (But I'm so close -- only one pic left to go. With a "server error." I'm starting to think the problem might not be the Wi-Fi, but perhaps google/picasa itself.)
ANYWAY, the folks on the tour with us seem pretty nice. Most are retired (and there's a suspiciously large number of hearing aids on the bus) but, since several of them rather adorably think I recently graduated, it's hard to not like them. There's one woman who can't quite stop herself (or doesn't try to) from reacting emotionally to, y'know, everything. She's one of those Southern types who says things like, "Oh my stars" a lot, and is way too impressed by all the sheep. I told her that, on my last trip to Ireland, everyone takes pictures of sheep on the first day, but, by the third day, we're all pretty immune to the charms of our woolly friends. She looked at me with what was either disagreement or disbelief. I guess she thinks of sheep the way I think of adorable kittens. (But, y'know, kittens are cute! Sheep are ... sheep.)
Eh, screw it. I got two more of the pictures. This next one was the one out the window of the moving bus. I'm rather proud of it. I was trying to catch the reflection of the sun on the water (it was very sun-dappled), but I think the sky turned out to be the real star of the photo.
And, that's basically it. :)
What it is: a circular-ish ring road connecting various towns, views, and rest stops. A tourist road, basically, covering a lot of ground.
This morning, we got on it. There were photo stops and a lunch stop and (I am pleased to say) a not-entirely awful picture I took out the window of the moving bus. The pictures look like this. Very Ireland.
(Argh. I was just emailing someone about how my whole photo uploading system was going well ... and then I uploaded these five photos twice and only ended up with one of them each time. The hell?)
OK, we're re-uploading. Sooner or later, I have to give up, as I have to wake up damn early tomorrow. (But I'm so close -- only one pic left to go. With a "server error." I'm starting to think the problem might not be the Wi-Fi, but perhaps google/picasa itself.)
ANYWAY, the folks on the tour with us seem pretty nice. Most are retired (and there's a suspiciously large number of hearing aids on the bus) but, since several of them rather adorably think I recently graduated, it's hard to not like them. There's one woman who can't quite stop herself (or doesn't try to) from reacting emotionally to, y'know, everything. She's one of those Southern types who says things like, "Oh my stars" a lot, and is way too impressed by all the sheep. I told her that, on my last trip to Ireland, everyone takes pictures of sheep on the first day, but, by the third day, we're all pretty immune to the charms of our woolly friends. She looked at me with what was either disagreement or disbelief. I guess she thinks of sheep the way I think of adorable kittens. (But, y'know, kittens are cute! Sheep are ... sheep.)
Eh, screw it. I got two more of the pictures. This next one was the one out the window of the moving bus. I'm rather proud of it. I was trying to catch the reflection of the sun on the water (it was very sun-dappled), but I think the sky turned out to be the real star of the photo.
And, that's basically it. :)
Friday, August 1, 2014
Let's Try That Again
New hotel. Better Wi-Fi.
Cliffs of Moher:
View toward O'Brien's Tower:
Proof I was at O'Brien's Tower:
And (yes! thank you!) Portal Tomb at the Burren:
Today was nothing particularly photo-worthy. We started out early, said our farewells to the Hotel Of the Crappy Wi-Fi, and drove off to a dairy farm where we met the local farmer, learned of his (and his family's) story (several generations of Irish farmers), and ate lunch in his house. He was a great -- and amusing -- storyteller. What was particularly funny about his storytelling was that it was absolutely word-for-word scripted, but he delivered it as though he was just recounting events. But, every so often, someone would throw him off with a question or comment, and he'd ask, "Where was I?" Then he'd just repeat the last line and move on. Except, once, he thought he was earlier than he was, and actually repeated, like, a whole paragraph of story. It was here when we realized he was totally scripted. Still, it was a good script. And he had neat visual aids preserved, like the old (very) manual Singer sewing machine on which his mom had made all his clothes, and the receipt for when his dad paid off the farm in 1961. Cool.
Post farmer, we drove over to Killarney, and did a tour of Muckross House, an old stately home (some of the decor dated back to the Victorian era). No photos were allowed in there (and it had seemed way too weird to take pictures in the farmer's house when it had been, y'know, his house -- he pointed out the bedroom in which he'd been born), so no pics from today's journeys.
We are, however, in a really lovely hotel & spa. Here's a photo from my room -- I'm looking out the window to my balcony, and the view beyond.
Cliffs of Moher:
View toward O'Brien's Tower:
Proof I was at O'Brien's Tower:
And (yes! thank you!) Portal Tomb at the Burren:
Today was nothing particularly photo-worthy. We started out early, said our farewells to the Hotel Of the Crappy Wi-Fi, and drove off to a dairy farm where we met the local farmer, learned of his (and his family's) story (several generations of Irish farmers), and ate lunch in his house. He was a great -- and amusing -- storyteller. What was particularly funny about his storytelling was that it was absolutely word-for-word scripted, but he delivered it as though he was just recounting events. But, every so often, someone would throw him off with a question or comment, and he'd ask, "Where was I?" Then he'd just repeat the last line and move on. Except, once, he thought he was earlier than he was, and actually repeated, like, a whole paragraph of story. It was here when we realized he was totally scripted. Still, it was a good script. And he had neat visual aids preserved, like the old (very) manual Singer sewing machine on which his mom had made all his clothes, and the receipt for when his dad paid off the farm in 1961. Cool.
Post farmer, we drove over to Killarney, and did a tour of Muckross House, an old stately home (some of the decor dated back to the Victorian era). No photos were allowed in there (and it had seemed way too weird to take pictures in the farmer's house when it had been, y'know, his house -- he pointed out the bedroom in which he'd been born), so no pics from today's journeys.
We are, however, in a really lovely hotel & spa. Here's a photo from my room -- I'm looking out the window to my balcony, and the view beyond.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Cliffs of Moher
So, I'm hanging out in Ennis, Ireland, the first city on our tour. (The hotel has Wi-Fi, but said Wi-Fi is temperamental. I managed to get the post up last night, but tonight, I have to try one with photos.)
I regret (well, not really regret -- "regret" doesn't quite capture it; it's more of "this happened, oh well") that I can't really explain anything that I saw today. Our tour guide (Lauren) is quite nice, but she has a habit of burying the lead. Which is to say, she starts off talking about something that seems totally uninteresting, so I kind of tune her out -- then, the next thing I know, it ends up at something relevant, and I sort of wish I'd been paying attention. So, I mean, a random discussion of Irish geology (seriously, geology) ended with, "So that explains the cool thing you're about to see," and then I thought, "yeah, probably should have listened to that one."
(I admit, also, that Lauren is at her most amusing when she just totally misspeaks. Within the first five minutes, she said something about how we're listening "tentatively," which cracked me the hell up.)
So, to the photos. We got out to the Cliffs of Moher (that's the Cliffs of Insanity to you). I was pretty excited about seeing said cliffs as, on my previous trip to Ireland, it was raining cats, dogs and amphibians the day we went to the Cliffs of Moher. I didn't get any pictures because my non-waterproof camera couldn't have handled the downpour, and remained safely in my pocket for the duration. This time, I am pleased to report I actually got out there when it was not raining! (Actually, it then started raining, but I had already taken the pictures.)
(Poorly. The Wi-Fi is going really poorly. Six attempts at adding photos later, and -- although the Wi-Fi signal claims to be strong -- Blogger is having a hell of a time saving the post and connecting to Picasa.)
Screw it. I've got to get to sleep because it's an early morning tomorrow. At some point, there will be one nice photo of the Cliffs of Moher, a random pic of O'Brien's Tower at said cliffs (which, itself, isn't particularly exciting, but it's nice for scale), and a picture of a stone tomb at the Burren, about which I've got precious little, as that's where I sorta zoned out on Lauren. But it's neat -- the land around it is all broken stone, which has been eroded away from underneath. (Or some such other geologically interesting thing.) Honestly, I realize I am amazingly lucky to be here and that I should be taking it all in, but I do get a bit sleepy on bus tours and tend to skip the science lessons.
The bus ride did get rather more interesting upon impact. It was around the time Lauren was tempting fate talking about what an awesome driver our driver is (which he is), and some tourist in a rental car (who is not as awesome as our driver) misjudged the clearance and clipped the tour bus. (Much waiting around followed, as relevant information was exchanged.)
We ultimately got back to the hotel about an hour before dinner -- and about a half hour before the shops closed. This was kind of important, as Lauren suggested this was our last stop in a real town for about a week, so if we needed any supplies, we should get them tonight. I went out on a mission for anti-blister-stuff for me and a some nuts for my mom to snack on.
The anti-blister-stuff was easy because, in about 3 blocks of street, there were about 5 pharmacies. The nuts were a problem. I thought I'd go into the place labelled "[Somebody] Family Grocer." Surprise! It's a pub. Then I figured I'd try the place labelled "Market." Surprise! It's a restaurant. I was pretty sure I understood English, but the signs in this town were taking me down and I only had about 15 minutes left. I tried a "Euro Store" (the equivalent of a "Dollar Store") and it had lots of candy, but no nuts. I was pretty much about to give up when I happened upon a convenience store (two doors down from the pharmacy I'd been in at the start of this journey) -- success!
Back to the hotel for our Welcome Dinner (nummy), with some Irish folk music performed live to entertain us. (An accordian, a banjo, a flute, two harps, a singer and a step-dancer.) They were quite good, and played lots of reels, which made me a happy camper. (Also some slip-jigs -- I'm not entirely sure what they are, and, were the internet working, I'd look that up -- but they were cool, too.) I can't quite put my finger on what a reel is, either, but I know one when I hear it, because you can hear the music roll (and not the way a polka rolls; reels unwind more), and I quite enjoy them.
Er, screw it. I'm rambling disjointedly as I'm tired and I'm peeved at my inability to post what I'd wanted. I'm just going to try to post this, finish up my packing, and catch some z's.
I regret (well, not really regret -- "regret" doesn't quite capture it; it's more of "this happened, oh well") that I can't really explain anything that I saw today. Our tour guide (Lauren) is quite nice, but she has a habit of burying the lead. Which is to say, she starts off talking about something that seems totally uninteresting, so I kind of tune her out -- then, the next thing I know, it ends up at something relevant, and I sort of wish I'd been paying attention. So, I mean, a random discussion of Irish geology (seriously, geology) ended with, "So that explains the cool thing you're about to see," and then I thought, "yeah, probably should have listened to that one."
(I admit, also, that Lauren is at her most amusing when she just totally misspeaks. Within the first five minutes, she said something about how we're listening "tentatively," which cracked me the hell up.)
So, to the photos. We got out to the Cliffs of Moher (that's the Cliffs of Insanity to you). I was pretty excited about seeing said cliffs as, on my previous trip to Ireland, it was raining cats, dogs and amphibians the day we went to the Cliffs of Moher. I didn't get any pictures because my non-waterproof camera couldn't have handled the downpour, and remained safely in my pocket for the duration. This time, I am pleased to report I actually got out there when it was not raining! (Actually, it then started raining, but I had already taken the pictures.)
(Poorly. The Wi-Fi is going really poorly. Six attempts at adding photos later, and -- although the Wi-Fi signal claims to be strong -- Blogger is having a hell of a time saving the post and connecting to Picasa.)
Screw it. I've got to get to sleep because it's an early morning tomorrow. At some point, there will be one nice photo of the Cliffs of Moher, a random pic of O'Brien's Tower at said cliffs (which, itself, isn't particularly exciting, but it's nice for scale), and a picture of a stone tomb at the Burren, about which I've got precious little, as that's where I sorta zoned out on Lauren. But it's neat -- the land around it is all broken stone, which has been eroded away from underneath. (Or some such other geologically interesting thing.) Honestly, I realize I am amazingly lucky to be here and that I should be taking it all in, but I do get a bit sleepy on bus tours and tend to skip the science lessons.
The bus ride did get rather more interesting upon impact. It was around the time Lauren was tempting fate talking about what an awesome driver our driver is (which he is), and some tourist in a rental car (who is not as awesome as our driver) misjudged the clearance and clipped the tour bus. (Much waiting around followed, as relevant information was exchanged.)
We ultimately got back to the hotel about an hour before dinner -- and about a half hour before the shops closed. This was kind of important, as Lauren suggested this was our last stop in a real town for about a week, so if we needed any supplies, we should get them tonight. I went out on a mission for anti-blister-stuff for me and a some nuts for my mom to snack on.
The anti-blister-stuff was easy because, in about 3 blocks of street, there were about 5 pharmacies. The nuts were a problem. I thought I'd go into the place labelled "[Somebody] Family Grocer." Surprise! It's a pub. Then I figured I'd try the place labelled "Market." Surprise! It's a restaurant. I was pretty sure I understood English, but the signs in this town were taking me down and I only had about 15 minutes left. I tried a "Euro Store" (the equivalent of a "Dollar Store") and it had lots of candy, but no nuts. I was pretty much about to give up when I happened upon a convenience store (two doors down from the pharmacy I'd been in at the start of this journey) -- success!
Back to the hotel for our Welcome Dinner (nummy), with some Irish folk music performed live to entertain us. (An accordian, a banjo, a flute, two harps, a singer and a step-dancer.) They were quite good, and played lots of reels, which made me a happy camper. (Also some slip-jigs -- I'm not entirely sure what they are, and, were the internet working, I'd look that up -- but they were cool, too.) I can't quite put my finger on what a reel is, either, but I know one when I hear it, because you can hear the music roll (and not the way a polka rolls; reels unwind more), and I quite enjoy them.
Er, screw it. I'm rambling disjointedly as I'm tired and I'm peeved at my inability to post what I'd wanted. I'm just going to try to post this, finish up my packing, and catch some z's.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Ireland (and an answer)
So, today I said my farewells to the little flat I like to stay at in London. Sniffle.
But, on the serious plus side, I'm now in Ireland! County Clare to be precise. Although the flight itself was an hour, when you add in all the transit time, and the waiting around time (and the watching people at Heathrow paw through my parents' carry-ons time), we pretty much checked in the hotel, had dinner, and retired to our rooms for getting ready for the tour. It starts tomorrow at 1:00, which is nice, but the next day, we have to be all packed with our bags ready to go at 7:00 a.m., so I'm planning to get up somewhat early tomorrow just to start getting used to it. It's vacation and all, but the hours are a bit ... well, it isn't exactly leisurely.
Going back to yesterday's post, someone (hi!) inquired if I thought Martin Freeman actually could have pulled off Richard III in the hands of a better director. I do. Let me go find my critic hat for a minute...
OK, here's the thing. It would all go to shit if he just didn't have a facility with Shakespeare or a clean delivery. Not a problem here. He understands the text and puts it over. Which means it's all just down to characterization.
Now, I've probably seen more versions of Richard III than any other Shakespeare play. I have seen quite a few Richards and I know there are plenty of ways to approach the role, all of which can be made to work. I've seen Richards who are elegantly evil, sort of your classic British villain, who has an intellectual superiority to everyone around him, and even if he's slitting your throat, he somehow would manage to not actually dirty himself with a speck of blood. (I think that's your "go to" Richard -- it's what people generally think of when they imagine the character. It's sort of where you expect Cumberbatch will go with it -- because that's so easy for him to do.) But that's not, by far, the only way you can do a successful Richard.
I've seen a reptillian Richard, who so oozed across the stage, I was actually surprised that I didn't see a trail of slime behind him. I've seen a spider-like Richard, cold and calculating in the center of his web, and occasionally bursting forth with a frightening attack of speed and power. I've seen Richard as a playful scamp -- a man, slight of frame, who rather effectively manipulated people because they thought so little of him, they didn't see it coming. I've seen Richards with an insatiable taste for power and Richards who schemed for the crown because they were bored and didn't have anything better to do. And all of them, all of them, worked. (Thank you, Mr. Shakespeare.) They all brought the text to life with a complete characterization that dominated the theatre (even if the character didn't have a dominating presence). Power can come in many different forms, and even an utter wimp who makes people do his will out of misplaced pity can be a magnetic Richard. It is, without putting too fine a point on it, kind of hard to fuck up.
The director of the instant production took a tack which, upon reflection, I'm not entirely certain could ever work. What he went with was a setting in which everyone was corrupt, everyone was selfish, everyone was evil, and Richard was just a teensy bit better at it than everyone else. This wasn't a Richard III in which Richard was a bastard playing all the innocents around him (and Margaret was the only one who saw it); it was a Richard III in which you didn't actually feel bad for any of Richard's victims, because they all sort of deserved it (either by their own corruption or terminal stupidity). I don't think any actor could have made this work. There was nothing inherently wrong with Freeman's performance. His Richard was smug, manipulative, capable of vicious violence, utterly bereft of humanity (and, ultimately, losing his grip on sanity). That's a perfectly workable approach to the character -- it just died because he was surrounded by a lot of other people who were similarly scummy. There was no contrast, nothing to make him stand out. He seemed to actually have the audience on his side, because we didn't see anything redeeming in anyone, and he was at least playful about it. But that, when you get right down to it, makes for a really disappointing Richard III.
But, on the serious plus side, I'm now in Ireland! County Clare to be precise. Although the flight itself was an hour, when you add in all the transit time, and the waiting around time (and the watching people at Heathrow paw through my parents' carry-ons time), we pretty much checked in the hotel, had dinner, and retired to our rooms for getting ready for the tour. It starts tomorrow at 1:00, which is nice, but the next day, we have to be all packed with our bags ready to go at 7:00 a.m., so I'm planning to get up somewhat early tomorrow just to start getting used to it. It's vacation and all, but the hours are a bit ... well, it isn't exactly leisurely.
Going back to yesterday's post, someone (hi!) inquired if I thought Martin Freeman actually could have pulled off Richard III in the hands of a better director. I do. Let me go find my critic hat for a minute...
OK, here's the thing. It would all go to shit if he just didn't have a facility with Shakespeare or a clean delivery. Not a problem here. He understands the text and puts it over. Which means it's all just down to characterization.
Now, I've probably seen more versions of Richard III than any other Shakespeare play. I have seen quite a few Richards and I know there are plenty of ways to approach the role, all of which can be made to work. I've seen Richards who are elegantly evil, sort of your classic British villain, who has an intellectual superiority to everyone around him, and even if he's slitting your throat, he somehow would manage to not actually dirty himself with a speck of blood. (I think that's your "go to" Richard -- it's what people generally think of when they imagine the character. It's sort of where you expect Cumberbatch will go with it -- because that's so easy for him to do.) But that's not, by far, the only way you can do a successful Richard.
I've seen a reptillian Richard, who so oozed across the stage, I was actually surprised that I didn't see a trail of slime behind him. I've seen a spider-like Richard, cold and calculating in the center of his web, and occasionally bursting forth with a frightening attack of speed and power. I've seen Richard as a playful scamp -- a man, slight of frame, who rather effectively manipulated people because they thought so little of him, they didn't see it coming. I've seen Richards with an insatiable taste for power and Richards who schemed for the crown because they were bored and didn't have anything better to do. And all of them, all of them, worked. (Thank you, Mr. Shakespeare.) They all brought the text to life with a complete characterization that dominated the theatre (even if the character didn't have a dominating presence). Power can come in many different forms, and even an utter wimp who makes people do his will out of misplaced pity can be a magnetic Richard. It is, without putting too fine a point on it, kind of hard to fuck up.
The director of the instant production took a tack which, upon reflection, I'm not entirely certain could ever work. What he went with was a setting in which everyone was corrupt, everyone was selfish, everyone was evil, and Richard was just a teensy bit better at it than everyone else. This wasn't a Richard III in which Richard was a bastard playing all the innocents around him (and Margaret was the only one who saw it); it was a Richard III in which you didn't actually feel bad for any of Richard's victims, because they all sort of deserved it (either by their own corruption or terminal stupidity). I don't think any actor could have made this work. There was nothing inherently wrong with Freeman's performance. His Richard was smug, manipulative, capable of vicious violence, utterly bereft of humanity (and, ultimately, losing his grip on sanity). That's a perfectly workable approach to the character -- it just died because he was surrounded by a lot of other people who were similarly scummy. There was no contrast, nothing to make him stand out. He seemed to actually have the audience on his side, because we didn't see anything redeeming in anyone, and he was at least playful about it. But that, when you get right down to it, makes for a really disappointing Richard III.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Quickie
Not much to report today. The original plan was to do touristy stuff with my folks, but the plan was modified somewhat to food and shopping.
We did, however, design our own Magnum ice cream bars, at a temporary shop inside Selfridge's, which, as far as we're considered, ought to exist permanently. Everywhere.
Also saw Martin Freeman in a production of Richard III. I tried really really hard to take my critic hat off for this one and just enjoy it, but the director took an approach which just, er, um, was interesting, but ultimately unsuccessful. I think the play and the actor both deserved better.
We did, however, design our own Magnum ice cream bars, at a temporary shop inside Selfridge's, which, as far as we're considered, ought to exist permanently. Everywhere.
Also saw Martin Freeman in a production of Richard III. I tried really really hard to take my critic hat off for this one and just enjoy it, but the director took an approach which just, er, um, was interesting, but ultimately unsuccessful. I think the play and the actor both deserved better.
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