seldomifever: (candle)
Ooh! Richard III is coming to NY next January. There is a god. And his name is Kevin Spacey.
seldomifever: (Default)
I decided that I would use the excuse of my fortieth birthday to get my husband to splurge for a weekend at the Ritz-Carlton. With a view of the park and new tix to Equus, this mini trip will cost a small fortune - nearly a third what taking the kids to Disney for a week will - but, I figured, I'll only turn forty once, and I never ever, ever spend money on myself, so why not indulge? I've been wracked with guilt over this decision and have considered canceling several times, but VT friend told me she traveled to Italy for her fortieth and that I should absolutely go anyway. Now I'm wondering if we should fly down to Bermuda to see Anthony Head in The Tempest instead. It would actually cost less than our trip to the Ritz. The thing is, I really don't care for The Tempest. If Patrick Stewart couldn't make Prospero fly for me, how is ASH gonna do it? It's not like Bermuda is even that warm this time of year, but still, I am tempted. Seeing him live in anything does sound dreamy. How outrageously extravagant would that be? Good golly.

ETA: Just discovered we cannot get tickets for the Sat evening performance, so the point is moot. Good. I love when fate takes decisions outta my hands.
seldomifever: (nice)
I dreamed of Macbeth all night, and it was...beautiful.
seldomifever: (candle)
Just got back from the city after seeing Patrick Stewart in Macbeth, and I am going to flat out say that I don't like watching Shakespeare's work, blasphemer that I be. It makes my head ache. It's like seeing a play performed in Italian...I get the gist, but how much happier would I be without the guesswork involved in deciphering fast-paced iambic pentameter? The production itself was interesting, and I can honestly say that at 67, Mr. Stewart remains swoon-worthy--a sexy show-stealing stage presence personified. But, dudes, if you're setting Macbeth somewhere in like WWII Soviet Union, with loud, irritating machine gun battles and moving image backdrops, what would it hurt to update the dialogue? I know. You don't have to say it. Shakespeare is all about the language. The beauty and cleverness and rhyme-ability. I get it, I do. But after having suffered through three stage productions of it, I've pretty much had my fill, and will officially and happily declare myself Bard-free for the rest of my life. Time to just say no the next time I am tempted into seeing another. Maybe I'd see the RSC at the Barbican for old times' sake, but that is probably the only thing that could get me to go back for more. I am the ugly American. I am without couth. But I think it's time to take a stand and come out of the closet and admit that I don't enjoy this stuff any more, and possibly never did.

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