Oh yeah, I totally stole that title from Shakespeare :) because it's all his fault, as usual. I went to see one of his plays again, and it all boiled down to...it was just...it was the way he looked at her.
Last night me and a friend went to see As You Like It. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=qpEqv7DAPV4#! The highlight of my evening was not a) when my friend spotted the lead heading down the road for the stage door and let out a yip and he stared at us nor b) when I was chatting to the barman during interval drinks about how I liked the (other) lead's acting, and the same popped up eavesdropping behind me. No, being me, such embarrassing events I am accustomed to. The highlight of the evening was simply Mr. Shakespeare. Where to start?
There was fire, there was rain. Oh, yes there was, for real. There were lovers, oh, lovers. There were all the married male lovers in the audience who yelled out on the clown's command, followed by a saucy order (presumably followed?) to 'stroke the inner thigh of the woman next to you...who hopefully came with you'. If I knew more about famous clowns, he'd be compared to all of them, right here. There were the onstage lovers -- all four couples of them, plus odds and ends and triangles. There were dirty lovers -- dusty, muddy, matted dreads -- bloody lovers, lovers in nearly see-through white dresses (I told you there was rain). They were not all romantic lovers - there were brother-lovers, music-lovers, freedom-lovers, sadness-lovers...Shakespeare lovers.
What's not to love? There were love songs hurled into the audience. There was a shirtless, balding clown with a large red nose and a cigarette who began his discussion of marriage with the single rasping word 'Courage' and still managed to lead all the single men in the audience in a cheer. There was an Orlando (the hero) who for ONCE was not a sap. There was the way he looked at her... Rosalind, his lover, who spends most of the play in drag. As my friend said, before she started to cry at a play for the first time ever, this story was as much Orlando's as it was Rosalind's.
The director said that they fall in love instantly because both are orphans and see themself in the other. But that's not exactly accurate -- Rosalind's father is still alive in the forest. Both of them have given up at the start, though -- Orlando suicidally wrestles a killer (you have to see it) -- Rosalind stands aloof from the court dancing. OK so it might be a bit gendered. That's all forgotten in the couple's first kiss, when he still thinks she's a boy.
The kiss before the actress started crying at a totally random part in the play, when she realized it was all coming together. Before the cast started pouring the sodas over each other (from a handy mini-fridge), or corpsing when falling through the beach chairs on the first night, or cathartically dabbing mud on one another's faces (I told you there was rain). Before the globe lights came down or the string lights went up, before the audience got that goofy look on their faces, a look which had been stealing over them ever since Orlando came out with an accordion and some mangled rhymes, a look like they'd just had their first kiss. Before the clown bride came out in a matching red nose. Or Hymen, wearing gigantic Herne-like horns of courage. Before the rasta priest came out, or the torches, or the rain. Before my other friend in the front row put down the raincoat she'd brought and gave herself up to the play. Before Orlando listened to himself telling the implausible story of a magician's boy and an appearing maiden. Before the magic happened and it was too late to go back to the way we were.
You sly rogue, Shakespeare. As if we wouldn't like it.
Last night me and a friend went to see As You Like It. http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=qpEqv7DAPV4#! The highlight of my evening was not a) when my friend spotted the lead heading down the road for the stage door and let out a yip and he stared at us nor b) when I was chatting to the barman during interval drinks about how I liked the (other) lead's acting, and the same popped up eavesdropping behind me. No, being me, such embarrassing events I am accustomed to. The highlight of the evening was simply Mr. Shakespeare. Where to start?
There was fire, there was rain. Oh, yes there was, for real. There were lovers, oh, lovers. There were all the married male lovers in the audience who yelled out on the clown's command, followed by a saucy order (presumably followed?) to 'stroke the inner thigh of the woman next to you...who hopefully came with you'. If I knew more about famous clowns, he'd be compared to all of them, right here. There were the onstage lovers -- all four couples of them, plus odds and ends and triangles. There were dirty lovers -- dusty, muddy, matted dreads -- bloody lovers, lovers in nearly see-through white dresses (I told you there was rain). They were not all romantic lovers - there were brother-lovers, music-lovers, freedom-lovers, sadness-lovers...Shakespeare lovers.
What's not to love? There were love songs hurled into the audience. There was a shirtless, balding clown with a large red nose and a cigarette who began his discussion of marriage with the single rasping word 'Courage' and still managed to lead all the single men in the audience in a cheer. There was an Orlando (the hero) who for ONCE was not a sap. There was the way he looked at her... Rosalind, his lover, who spends most of the play in drag. As my friend said, before she started to cry at a play for the first time ever, this story was as much Orlando's as it was Rosalind's.
The director said that they fall in love instantly because both are orphans and see themself in the other. But that's not exactly accurate -- Rosalind's father is still alive in the forest. Both of them have given up at the start, though -- Orlando suicidally wrestles a killer (you have to see it) -- Rosalind stands aloof from the court dancing. OK so it might be a bit gendered. That's all forgotten in the couple's first kiss, when he still thinks she's a boy.
The kiss before the actress started crying at a totally random part in the play, when she realized it was all coming together. Before the cast started pouring the sodas over each other (from a handy mini-fridge), or corpsing when falling through the beach chairs on the first night, or cathartically dabbing mud on one another's faces (I told you there was rain). Before the globe lights came down or the string lights went up, before the audience got that goofy look on their faces, a look which had been stealing over them ever since Orlando came out with an accordion and some mangled rhymes, a look like they'd just had their first kiss. Before the clown bride came out in a matching red nose. Or Hymen, wearing gigantic Herne-like horns of courage. Before the rasta priest came out, or the torches, or the rain. Before my other friend in the front row put down the raincoat she'd brought and gave herself up to the play. Before Orlando listened to himself telling the implausible story of a magician's boy and an appearing maiden. Before the magic happened and it was too late to go back to the way we were.
You sly rogue, Shakespeare. As if we wouldn't like it.
