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Jane Eyre Tour


It is a reasonably well known tale, orphaned child reluctantly brought up in disdain by Aunt, sent off to an ‘educational institution’ at the age on ten. Many years later the child as an adult is a teacher in the same institution, working for bed and board, wishing for something better. She secures a post of Governess at an isolated mansion for a child, where Jane for the first time has freedom, warmth from friendship, and a sense of inner contentment. When the master returns from his travels, his aggressive demeanour, their differing stations in life, her straightforwardness, fuel a tender passion. But there is a heavy secret, locked in the attic is his mad first wife. When Jane discovers the truth she runs away from the lies and the liars as well as trying to distance herself from the distress and disappointment, however something draws her back, and when she returns she finds the mansion in ruins and Mr Rochester blinded from injuries. 

Both my sister and I had seen several adaptations of this classic Charlotte Brontë story.  As this was a National Theatre production we knew it was not going to be the traditional theatrical setting, however as we took our seats the stage was set with what looked like a grown-up sized childs playground climbing frame. Slowly the auditorium began to fill but with just five minutes before curtain up, there were still more than half the seats vacant. The complete cast of 12 took up their starting positions.  Whilst the dialogue, accents and costume stayed close to the original story, the staging was contemporary and sometimes difficult to properly grasp its concept and symbolism. The introjection of music and singing sometimes felt disconnected. By the third act seeing the quiet cast move and climb up and down the various ladders and stairs without seemingly purpose, became rather annoying and children climbing in the playground.

This in no way means the performance was bad. The actors did a brilliant job of portraying the various characters, and by far the most enjoyable was a bearded gentleman who played the part of Pilot the dog, who often raised a mild laughter from the audience with his instantly recognisable dog like antics. The actor portraying the arrogant Mr Rochester brought with it a sense of distraction, of brooding resentment of how his life had been mapped out for him by his father without making him evil or wicked.

For us the thing missing from the production was the sense of a sinister secret. In everything we have seen or read there was always a sense of foreboding, of Jane being told not to go into the attic, of sounds and happenings that indicate all is not right. There was absolutely none of this at all throughout the whole performance, only twice was manic laughter heard. For us it was a significant element that was missing.

With a mixture of live music and recorded sound effects these had a tendency to drown out the dialogue of the actors, and on occasion I felt I had missed a vital piece of information that carried an element of the story. This is not unique to this production but something I have experienced at other performances at this Theatre.

 
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Posted by on July 20, 2017 in Books, Films, Review

 

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Running Wild

Last night Big Sis and I went to see this amazing play, an adaptation of Michael Morpergo’s 2009 novel about the Boxing Day Tsunami in Indonesia in 2004.  Lily Macready was riding Oona the 12-year old elephant along the beach, but she was behaving awkwardly, wanting to turn away from the flat calm waters, her flight or fight senses took hold and she took off deep into the rainforest as the devastating wave hit the shores taking the lives of many and destroying countless buildings.  The story details how Lily learns to understand Oona and how this majestic animal protects and guides her young charge. Stumbling into the dark dangerous world of greedy gun wielding animal hunters and bullying farmers burning the forest to plant plams to make the highly profitable palm oil (used in many products from soap and shampoo to cooking oils and convenience foods). Eventually stumbling into an animal sanctuary, sunburnt, shot, dehydrated and exhausted and being reunited with her Grandma.

I was not prepared for the play to be so dark and violent in places, something which noticeably upset the young children in the audience. The plot brought attention to the environmental plight of the region, the global zealous need for commodities and the cruel lengths the ruthless go to exploiting that market. 

Oona the elephant is mesmerising, her puppeteers seemingly effortlessly bring life to this charismatic character. The orangutans were lively, cheeky and the babies (being hunted to be sold as pets) were utterly mischievous. Even the tiny details as the fire flies were completely believable. There was a palpable gasp from the audience as the tiger was carried into the hunters camp, dead, valuable as a skin, a trophy, medicine, even though earlier we had seen the same tiger attempting to attack Lily and Oona. 

I would have liked Oona’s trumpet call to be a little louder, as compared to the volume and depth of the orangutans and forest noises it was almost overpowered. Also, we did not really get a sense of time Lily was missing, whether it was a couple of days or a couple of weeks.  But none the less it was a very engaging performance.

After coming home I took a look online to see if I could find out a bit more, and ended up confusing myself further. I thought the story was based on a true life event, although there was a story of a child being taken into the forest on the back of an elephant, Michael Morpergo’s book tells the tale of a boy called Billy, yet the play is a girl called Lily.  There was very little information about what Lily had experienced, or whether she stayed in Indonesia or returned to the UK, whether her father had died prior to the holiday and whether her Mother was killed in the Tsunami, key elements in the plot.

Never the less, I would recommend going to see the performance.

 
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Posted by on April 27, 2017 in Books, Life, people, Review

 

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Granny & Death & Terry & Me


It began by chance, a book sent in error from a club, a blurb that struck a chord, that became a twenty year trek through the wit, the word play, the entendres, the sideways swipe, the unobvious parody, the literal and the Literal musings of a man’s meanderings of a fantasy land. I have no idea why Sir Terry caught my imagination, whether there’s enough reality in the fantasy to hold a ring of truth or I was just entertained.

When two of his books, Wyrd Sisters and Soul Music were made into an animated series, I practically wore the VHS out watching them over and over, the colourful characters firmly in my mind I could see and hear them as I read and reread the books. The dulcet tones of Tony Robinson reading the audiobooks often accompanied sleepless nights.  Later when tomes like Hogwatch, Going Postal and The Colour of Magic were filmed, they were top of my birthday/Christmas lists, staying close to the story, capturing much of the books comedic quality without tipping over into absurdity. 

Every one of the forty-one works has had its own flavour, often parodying cliches of religion, science, mythology, folklore, business acumen, dynasties and continents or authors like Shakespeare, Tolkein, Dicken’s and Potter.  A few of his notable characters have burrowed and set up home in my psyche, Granny Weatherwax and Death being the primary.  I can loose hours perusing numerous quotes or mini scenes. Such as (in exaggerated witchy hag voice), “When shall we three meet again”, “I can do next Tuesday” replies Nanny Ogg in her West Country tone; or “On nights such as this, witches are abroad.  Well, not actually abroad. They don’t like the food and you can’t trust the water and the shamans always hog the deckchairs.” In this time of election decisions I’m reminded of Ankh-Morpork’s take on democracy, “Ankh-Morpork had dallied with many forms of government and had ended up with that form of democracy known as One Man, One Vote. The Patrician was the Man; he had the Vote.”

With the death of Sir Terry and the publication of The Shepherd’s Crown, the final novel, something had an end. I delayed reading the book as I wasn’t ready to say good bye to this comforting friend. Last week I took up the book and began. The first few chapters were pure Pratchett even if the content was the death of my favourite character, but after that the book felt disjointed and unpolished. After the epilogue Sir T’s PA Rob added a letter, he told of their working methods and how books came together, but with the last book there had not been the time to fully work on the drafts, although often the final draft had to be crowbarred from his hands as Sir T was ever quite totally ready to say it was complete and done. It’s well known that this is not his finest, but it is his last and maybe demonstrates that despite his failing mental faculties he was determined to write to the end and not leave us hanging.

Farewell Sir T, Granny and all. 

 
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Posted by on April 22, 2017 in Books, people, Review

 

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Reluctant Read


For Christmas I received a long waited for book, The Shepherd’s Crown by Terry Pratchett. This is his final book in the Discworld series published after his death. It is sitting at my bedside but I find myself reluctant to start it.

I have been a fan of these books for many years, thanks to a mistake. Masquerade landed in my lap and I was hooked from the first chapter. I’d never consider myself a science fiction fantasy fan and I cannot tell you why this series of books have hooked me. I have my favoured characters (Granny Weatherwax, Death, Nanny Ogg, Rincewind, Nobby Nobbs, The Librarian, the list could continue) and I often re-read favoured titles (Wyrd Sisters, Witches Abroad, Reaper Man, Mort, The Last Continent, another list that could continue). I have many of the forty titles in both paperback and audio formats, as well as the dvd’s and all are well used and frequently revisited.

But I am reluctant to start the last book, maybe somewhere I see the last page as a true end to the series and once reached that is it, there really is no more, nothing new yet to be discovered and I’d hate for that to be an anticlimax.

Curious things us humans….. 

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2017 in Books, General, Life, people

 

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The Book Thief

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This read was recommended to me by a fellow blogger sometime ago and when the book was available on offer, I plumped for it.  It tells the tale of a small child growing up just outside Munich during the Second /world War.  It is narrated by the fictional persona of Death, of things that happened across a brief number of years, to her and those around her.

We have all been taught and told about the war, the battles and conflicts, the soldiers, sailors, resistance workers, we’ve seen films and television shows about war time Britain and how it affected various lives in various areas of our island.  I’ve read accounts of the occupation of Jersey but never have I come across anything relating to ordinary people living ordinary lives within Germany, during this epic period in history.

Liesel experiences a great deal of hardship, the disappearance of her father, the death of her brother, the distress of her mother, all which bring her to Hans and Rosa Hubbermann, her foster parents.  Strangers become her closest kin and she sees first hand the power of word, the unity of struggle and the erroneous understanding of a dictator.  How work became a struggle, rationing cripplingly severe, the affects of suspicion, forever being watched, every action suspicious, division within family and tragedy after tragedy.  Words are her saviour, learning to read, to write, to understand all that kept the nightmares away.

The twists, turns and fear through out the book are gripping, the people technically an enemy but really victims, just the same.  A generation of youngsters whose childhood, education, life, has been like no other.  A nation today that would be deep in the grips of PTSD. in an age where you just got on with it.

Enjoyable read, it wrong to say, it kept me enthralled, it shone a light on an area I had not thought about, it entertained and showed strength of character within these people.  It maybe a fictional story set in a real life time, but I am sure there were many people who could relate to her experiences and probably experienced worse.

I rated it 5*

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2015 in Books, Review

 

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Alan Cumming :: A Memoir

cumming

Rarely have I come across a book, especially a biography, that was so page turningly gripping, when I do, it stays with me after I turn the final page, there is a sense of wishing for it to continue and an astounding amount of wonderment.  This book is firmly in my top five of those books.

This is not the run of the mill celebrity life biography, the rage to riches, poverty to prosperity, violence to vindication, with extreme luck and persistence.  The book comfortably switches between three areas, “Then” is the period in Alan’s history that highlights a personal decision or illustrates a cause, “2010” the filming of his episode of “Who Do You Thin You Are?” and the “Now” the time of writing in 2012.

We all have those triggers in life, a smell, a sound, a place, that take us straight back to a memory either warm or cold.  For Alan who describes the fear and violence of his childhood as something locked away in the box in the attic of his brain, an unexpected phone call from his estranged father caused the hinges on that box to collapse and a life time of suppression had to find somewhere to go.

Walking alongside him as he discovers the history of his maternal grandfather Tommy Darling, while keeping what was bubbling and boiling in his private life, you wonder how this cheeky charming bouncy Scot can keep the smile on his face and in his eyes.

I don’t want to go into the contents of the book as it would spoil it for other readers, but this agonising memoir, part mystery, part tragedy, part history, is such a strong moving read I cannot recommend highly enough to those who like this genre.

 
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Posted by on August 11, 2015 in Books, people, Review

 

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Coffee Sandwiches

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You get a pretty good inkling that it is going to be one of those sorts of days when it takes four attempts to get stood up from the bed, it takes three attempts to put the trousers on the right way around and after making my turkey and Branston sandwiches as I was about to take my first great mouthful discovering that as I had waddled through to the desk my coffee had slopped onto the tray and been soaked up by the bread.  I don’t recommend this alternative addition to luncheon, it is an unpleasant texture and an equally unpleasant taste.

I considered making one of my lists things that need to be seen to, but there isn’t really that much

  • Sort Paperwork in Desk Draw
  • Resort iPad Photos
  • Crochet third and fourth coaster
  • Ravelry my baby crochet
  • Blog a review of a film or book

Just general sorts of tasks, although I do need to get on with finding a bed.  There are so few places locally where I can go, many of out of town places have close down and the nearest is some thirty mile away.  There are two local independent stores where I can go, but if none of them has the very specific height I require, I am going to be rather stumped.

As I am typing I am listening to Michael Caine read his second autobiography “The Elephant To Hollywood”. By coincidence I seem to be reading biographies, by chance after finishing Stephen Fry’s I come across Alan Cumming’s “Not My Father’s Son” and the twist that hooks you in from the title onwards has me gripped.  I recently finished listening to Danny Baker’s autobiography, that was an exceptional find, quite the character who stumbled through an extra ordinary period in our history, I heartily recommend it.

Right then, I’m about to organise all the baby photos and then I might amuse myself with a jigsaw game I have.

Happy Sunday 🙂

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2015 in General, Life

 

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