i know it was hard to love me for so long
So last night sheba_finesse and friends and I went to see The Duel.
Okay, yes, the entire appeal of the show was Luke --- repeat after me, Llllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke --- Mullins but I was vaguely curious about the textual aspect, being that it was supposed to be from ole Dosto's The Brothers Karamazov, the pronunciation of which I had to be taught by the Russian guy in writing group, emphatic syllable being 'maaaz' and which I'm almost certain I made Indian. Whoops.
And I was quite curious about this new director out of Perth, Matthew Lutton. Who turned out to be twenty-four! *shriek* God, that was enough to shame me into a corner. Five years younger than me and he's directing plays at Wharf 2 for the Sydney Theatre Company. How's that for achievement?
We chose this night specifically because it was an Under 30s event that included a preshow talk with (Our) Tom Wright who did the adaptation. No way in hell were we letting that pass. Miss Sheba pretty much forwarded me the email as soon as she got it and so there was much flailing and silent screaming via caps along the lines of "OMG, MUST BUY NOW! BUY NOW!"
Okay, admittedly that was due to the Llllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke element. But I am so glad we did go for the preshow talk because without it, I would have struggled a lot more with the presentation of the play. Mind you, I was rather impressed at how Tom speaks in paragraphs of fully formed sentences without a single 'um', 'ah', pause or ill-phrased fragment. I bet you I could transcribe exactly what he said without needing to adjust it for grammar. Gotta love a man who can do that.
We were in the front row which was highly embarrassing for me cos I feel very exposed. But there was enough space between us and the stage for me to feel somewhat safer than I would have if we were in the first row of the Wharf 1 theatre. As it was, it did become a little frustrating when the actors were at opposite ends of the stage cos I had to turn my head right around like bloody Linda Blair a tennis spectator. But yeah, totally worth it for the nuances of expression.
It wasn't without its flaws, this play. And I'm fairly certain that out of our group, I was the one to enjoy it the most. Prolly because the moment Tom said it would be presented almost like a reading of the novel, I thought "Ah, okay, so people are going to be talking at me rather than each other for most of it, lots of narration. Righty o." And I was looking at it more like a novel, a chapter from a longer book, rather than a play in the fully present self-contained sense.
It kinda worked for me. True, there were moments that dragged or grated but every time I became aware of my slight frustration, a shift of emotion or physical element always pulled me back into engaging. I was really looking forward to the staging, to see what new stuff this young Matt Lutton would come up with. And really the set was quite unnerving in its ordinariness, an ordinariness that became quite oppressive but god that worked so well in terms of the text and the emotion. And omigod how brilliantly did they use that sense of oppression?!
What struck me with particular horror halfway through was realising there was no way for the actors to get offstage except through the one large window. Four actors all trapped in that space for the duration of the play, and I particularly liked how they reacted to everything even if they weren't part of the action, not removed at all, trapped in the emotion too. I did wonder if they'd all leave through the window and if that would be ludicrous or well managed but that didn't happen. Even when they came back for their curtain calls, they had to jump onto the stage from the front. What did happen blew me away with the gorgeosity of the visual and metaphoric. Guh.
I was really surprised at the ease of the language when we began, delightfully surprised because my fellow Russian writer had been telling me how much he hated Dosto's long bloody convoluted sentences. And maybe that was Tom's own writing because when it did go into actual dialogue during the actual duel, then I flinched and cringed a little because the anachronism and delivery grated a little too harshly for my liking. Mind you, nowhere as awful as bloody Vienna Woods which we still haven't forgiven Tom Wright for but at least I can console myself with the delirious awesomeness of The Lost Echo.
I did love the costuming, how they were in such ordinary clothes --- to the point of sloppy in David Lee Smyth's case --- and how a few of those layers were shed for our two main players as the emotion heightened. But oh, the use of the dresses in the wardrobe. From where I was seated, I could see the entire wardrobe was full of clothes of different colours, a lovely impressive touch when you consider that only two of those garments were actually used. And they were both dresses of vivid colour, eye-catching points of interest in such a flat colourless set, one smooth beautifully bias cut blue and one floaty classic feminine in a spring green. One worn by the only girl in the cast and one held up and held out as a symbol of the invisible female. The choice of that dress as green delighted me no end and even more so when the lighting changed to an eerie sick green cos aaahhhhhh jealousy! *squeee*
For a while, I wasn't sure about the lighting. It was so unrelenting, flat fluorescent and white. And then I noticed the light switch on the side wall and wondered if they'd actually use it. Of course they would, nothing's on a stage if not for a purpose. And ooooh it was verrah cool how they flicked to change mood, to reflect their own moods, how it went from white to green to blue and back to white. Such a clever interesting and, above all, simple device, very much giving that illusion of the actor as director on the stage.
I wondered for a while if the flickering tube was intentional, then realised of course it was because if it didn't, the place would be even more static and oppressive. As it was, I began to rather enjoy the movement the flicker caused. Funny how elements like that sometimes work.
Like the fuzzy static when they flicked to the radio. God, I loved that drone of white noise so much! Even if I felt slightly guilty for enjoying it so much when possibly other people in the audience might feel put off. I'm just weird that way, yes. Tom had warned us about the use of music, how it might be used for a jarring rhythm of the play, started and stopped at odd moments. I prolly would have paid the same degree of attention anyway cos I tend to do that, especially when it was incorporated into the action like here, with the actors themselves inserting CDs or tapes, hitting play or stopping or adjusting the volume. I really really liked the mundane reality of that, the sense of quiet and anticipation, of breathing and watching an ordinary action that I do myself every day.
But oh god yes, the use of the music was excellent. From that first swirling and quite Russian (to my ears) sumptuous orchestral piece to the cloyingly sweet but touching suspiciously Christian love song used as comfort to the amusing techno beat to the absolutely hysterical delirium of Donna Summer's I Feel Love. I was a bit bewildered by the dancing and the grinning until Zosima spoke again and then the ridiculousness made sense and made me smile with approval. The use of dance as a device of ridicule in theatre is something I'm still not sure about but hey, I guess that's the point. To unnerve you.
Mind you, I am wondering if poor Luke --- Lllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke --- needs chiropractic therapy after every show. Because god, the way he did the militaristic trauma was something terrible and awesome --- awe-inspiring, I mean this time --- to watch. Down on his knees, spine snap forward, on his feet slamming back into the wall, turn and punch wall, then in reverse. Over and over again, with such force he shook the whole set. Seriously, man. Who came up with that? That was brilliant. Painful to watch but brilliant. And what I loved best was he didn't just bark the commands as he did, he whimpered every now and then too. God, Luke breaks so beautifully there's nothing like it. Dan terrifies me with power, Luke breaks me with vulnerability. And I'd just like to point out that Dan is not a big tall muscly Arnie type dude who can intimidate with sheer physical mass like Colin Moody can, he's a short fine boy with big eyes and finely arched brows so the fact that he can make me recoil and freeze in my seat, breath stopped, at least once in every single play is not an easy feat. I'm just saying. God, I missed Dan. Spielman, that is. Oh shut up.
Tom pretty much told us the entire structure of the play which was quite useful. Without it, I may not have floundered as much as I did with Manna --- which, ha, was the last play I saw in that space, god those gorgeous visuals, argh never mind --- but it was good to have that plot set out in my head so I could concentrate on the intricacies of emotion and word and physicality. Mind you, there was a point where I twitched with the uneasy thought that it had all proceeded a little too neatly and --- heh --- bloodlessly, the hero's journey in a little too clinical terms. But then, as soon as I thought that, in came the chaotic element and the entire play came alive once more for me.
Brian Lipson, man. He almost eclipsed Luke. And I was very easily pulled right into the reel and rhythm of his performance, mesmerised by the expressiveness of his face, the shifting light and blink of his bright eyes, the twitchiness of his smiles and his darting movements around the stage. I was totally with him every step of the way, amazed at the depth of my own engagement even as I was feeling all the right notes of horror and pain and condemnation.
But then maybe I just like the mad ones. No, seriously, I'm detecting a bit of a pattern here. I had the same intense engagement with Cassandra in Women Of Troy but then I thought it was just the sheer awesomeness of ... ooh, what was her very interesting name? I'm sure I'm mispronouncing it in my head. *googles* Melita Jurisic, right. Now I'm wondering otherwise.
So really, the whole play belonged to Luke's Zosima and Brian Lipson's Mysterious Visitor. David Lee Smyth and Renee McIntosh played multiple parts, reacting beautifully even when they had no part in the action, being the Chorus in effect, I guess. Heh, it was very smart of Tom to tell us where we'd know David Lee Smyth from because I would totally have goggled at him and nearly squealed "It's Fin! It's Fin from the iinet ads, omg!" As it was, he was a bit too comedic for my liking cos I was totally prepared to take him seriously as an ActORRRR. But he was good, as were they all.
I didn't actually like the moment of Zosima's epiphany, it was a little too convenient for my liking, not nearly organic enough. Not Luke's fault, I'm inclined to blame the structure of the play. Cos the moment itself was shot like a thing of beauty, the darkness and the very subtle rise of dawn light and then the sun dawning on Luke's Zosima's beautifully shaped face. Almost made me want to go back to church. But yeah, it did feel a little manipulative and artificial in the flow of the play.
The journey of the Mysterious Stranger was far more interesting and powerful to me, maybe because of the entropic energy of Brian Lipson's performance? That madness element? Even though technically it was the more boring of the two in terms of presentation, with the Mysterious Stranger telling us the entirety of the story ... ah no, he didn't. He told most of the story and then Zosima and him talked and reacted to each other. And it was in that interaction that the tension became so terrifying and emotional for me, the push and pull of final annihilation --- "It's forever, you know. Forever." --- against conscience. I did love that, the intricate pacing of that, the fact that he actually got me thinking what I would do in the same situation even though there's no way in hell I would ever get into that situation, whether I'd confess or hide my guilt all my life.
But oh it was marvellous how his immediate journey influenced the subtler more mystical journey of Zosima. And god, the cruel irony of it! That puzzled me, actually, the treatment of it. Because the reaction his confession got flashed me instantly to American Psycho and Strangers On A Train, how in both those cases the lack of reaction results in a sort of betrayal. "This confession has meant nothing." Which is the worst worst moment of horror for me in both novels and makes me scream and rail and burst into indignant tears at the awfulness of humanity.
Here, the fact that none of the villagers believed the Mysterious Stranger's confession became a sort of mercy. And I didn't like that one bit until it was made clear that it was the best thing he could have hoped for, to not lose respect. Then I felt comforted on his behalf, glad for him. Now that I think about it, I have issues all over again. But then maybe my biggest issue is the fact --- oh yes, Zosima actually said this, echoing my reaction perfectly --- that "he still cares what other people think of him?" Point of separation, I guess.
And that is why the gorgeous way Zosima's journey ended, transcended, worked so well for me. Practically took my breath away, all the elements of the play --- physical space, the soaring gorgeous music from the start, the lighting --- coming together in this moment of perfection. Because the other thing I loved about the lighting was the use of the window, almost like Mercury Fur's bank of lights actually. Here it was the dawn light ripening into gold and then dwindling into evening shades, and finally into that heavenly warmth.
Curious thing I just realised --- when he has his epiphany, it's at the front of the stage, looking above us into the golden light. But when he finally transcends, it's at the back of the stage, first sitting on the window sill and then turning away from us, stepping off, the glass sliding shut, and him on the other side in this soft glowing space, his back to us. Oh christ how much did I love every single moment of that, the lines and empty space framing the black clad shoulders of our lean fey Luke, the light touching his hair and suffusing the white space behind him in a divine glow. And when he stands there with his back to us, the glass between us, gone where we cannot follow. Oh man.
It was at that point I looked again at the set and the rest of the actors and ah, how weary and ordinary and dragged down they looked in comparison, sluggish and dull in this sluggish dull trap of a nondescript room, the ordinary horror of living in this world. Gah. Awesomeness. And I LOVED the way it mirrored the start of the play, with David Lee Smyth lighting up a cigarette and pacing. And omigod the fact that the moment he stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, the lights went out. Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.
And now I have to figure out how to condense this to tell my fellow Russian writer. Because he'll only go see it after he hears from me. And I can totally see him resisting it --- *bangs head into desk* --- but seeing as how it's ole Dosty in such a contemporary setting, I think he should see it. And I just realised it was the final preview we saw so the season opens proper today.
Also? Matthew Lutton rocks. He is now in my league of Do Not Miss This Director. Okay, there are only two other people in that league, theatre-wise --- Kosky and Benedict Andrews -- but still. *nods*
Best of all, though? Both before and after the play, we walked around the harbour and got to see all Eno's pretty lights colouring the MCA and the Opera House. Sooooooo lovely and magical.
We better bloody get Knives In Hens. I WANT my Dan. I've been very patient and very calm and now I WANT my own damned fey thespian back on a Sydney stage, thank you very much. *glowers at the universe*
Okay, yes, the entire appeal of the show was Luke --- repeat after me, Llllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke --- Mullins but I was vaguely curious about the textual aspect, being that it was supposed to be from ole Dosto's The Brothers Karamazov, the pronunciation of which I had to be taught by the Russian guy in writing group, emphatic syllable being 'maaaz' and which I'm almost certain I made Indian. Whoops.
And I was quite curious about this new director out of Perth, Matthew Lutton. Who turned out to be twenty-four! *shriek* God, that was enough to shame me into a corner. Five years younger than me and he's directing plays at Wharf 2 for the Sydney Theatre Company. How's that for achievement?
We chose this night specifically because it was an Under 30s event that included a preshow talk with (Our) Tom Wright who did the adaptation. No way in hell were we letting that pass. Miss Sheba pretty much forwarded me the email as soon as she got it and so there was much flailing and silent screaming via caps along the lines of "OMG, MUST BUY NOW! BUY NOW!"
Okay, admittedly that was due to the Llllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke element. But I am so glad we did go for the preshow talk because without it, I would have struggled a lot more with the presentation of the play. Mind you, I was rather impressed at how Tom speaks in paragraphs of fully formed sentences without a single 'um', 'ah', pause or ill-phrased fragment. I bet you I could transcribe exactly what he said without needing to adjust it for grammar. Gotta love a man who can do that.
We were in the front row which was highly embarrassing for me cos I feel very exposed. But there was enough space between us and the stage for me to feel somewhat safer than I would have if we were in the first row of the Wharf 1 theatre. As it was, it did become a little frustrating when the actors were at opposite ends of the stage cos I had to turn my head right around like bloody Linda Blair a tennis spectator. But yeah, totally worth it for the nuances of expression.
It wasn't without its flaws, this play. And I'm fairly certain that out of our group, I was the one to enjoy it the most. Prolly because the moment Tom said it would be presented almost like a reading of the novel, I thought "Ah, okay, so people are going to be talking at me rather than each other for most of it, lots of narration. Righty o." And I was looking at it more like a novel, a chapter from a longer book, rather than a play in the fully present self-contained sense.
It kinda worked for me. True, there were moments that dragged or grated but every time I became aware of my slight frustration, a shift of emotion or physical element always pulled me back into engaging. I was really looking forward to the staging, to see what new stuff this young Matt Lutton would come up with. And really the set was quite unnerving in its ordinariness, an ordinariness that became quite oppressive but god that worked so well in terms of the text and the emotion. And omigod how brilliantly did they use that sense of oppression?!
What struck me with particular horror halfway through was realising there was no way for the actors to get offstage except through the one large window. Four actors all trapped in that space for the duration of the play, and I particularly liked how they reacted to everything even if they weren't part of the action, not removed at all, trapped in the emotion too. I did wonder if they'd all leave through the window and if that would be ludicrous or well managed but that didn't happen. Even when they came back for their curtain calls, they had to jump onto the stage from the front. What did happen blew me away with the gorgeosity of the visual and metaphoric. Guh.
I was really surprised at the ease of the language when we began, delightfully surprised because my fellow Russian writer had been telling me how much he hated Dosto's long bloody convoluted sentences. And maybe that was Tom's own writing because when it did go into actual dialogue during the actual duel, then I flinched and cringed a little because the anachronism and delivery grated a little too harshly for my liking. Mind you, nowhere as awful as bloody Vienna Woods which we still haven't forgiven Tom Wright for but at least I can console myself with the delirious awesomeness of The Lost Echo.
I did love the costuming, how they were in such ordinary clothes --- to the point of sloppy in David Lee Smyth's case --- and how a few of those layers were shed for our two main players as the emotion heightened. But oh, the use of the dresses in the wardrobe. From where I was seated, I could see the entire wardrobe was full of clothes of different colours, a lovely impressive touch when you consider that only two of those garments were actually used. And they were both dresses of vivid colour, eye-catching points of interest in such a flat colourless set, one smooth beautifully bias cut blue and one floaty classic feminine in a spring green. One worn by the only girl in the cast and one held up and held out as a symbol of the invisible female. The choice of that dress as green delighted me no end and even more so when the lighting changed to an eerie sick green cos aaahhhhhh jealousy! *squeee*
For a while, I wasn't sure about the lighting. It was so unrelenting, flat fluorescent and white. And then I noticed the light switch on the side wall and wondered if they'd actually use it. Of course they would, nothing's on a stage if not for a purpose. And ooooh it was verrah cool how they flicked to change mood, to reflect their own moods, how it went from white to green to blue and back to white. Such a clever interesting and, above all, simple device, very much giving that illusion of the actor as director on the stage.
I wondered for a while if the flickering tube was intentional, then realised of course it was because if it didn't, the place would be even more static and oppressive. As it was, I began to rather enjoy the movement the flicker caused. Funny how elements like that sometimes work.
Like the fuzzy static when they flicked to the radio. God, I loved that drone of white noise so much! Even if I felt slightly guilty for enjoying it so much when possibly other people in the audience might feel put off. I'm just weird that way, yes. Tom had warned us about the use of music, how it might be used for a jarring rhythm of the play, started and stopped at odd moments. I prolly would have paid the same degree of attention anyway cos I tend to do that, especially when it was incorporated into the action like here, with the actors themselves inserting CDs or tapes, hitting play or stopping or adjusting the volume. I really really liked the mundane reality of that, the sense of quiet and anticipation, of breathing and watching an ordinary action that I do myself every day.
But oh god yes, the use of the music was excellent. From that first swirling and quite Russian (to my ears) sumptuous orchestral piece to the cloyingly sweet but touching suspiciously Christian love song used as comfort to the amusing techno beat to the absolutely hysterical delirium of Donna Summer's I Feel Love. I was a bit bewildered by the dancing and the grinning until Zosima spoke again and then the ridiculousness made sense and made me smile with approval. The use of dance as a device of ridicule in theatre is something I'm still not sure about but hey, I guess that's the point. To unnerve you.
Mind you, I am wondering if poor Luke --- Lllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke --- needs chiropractic therapy after every show. Because god, the way he did the militaristic trauma was something terrible and awesome --- awe-inspiring, I mean this time --- to watch. Down on his knees, spine snap forward, on his feet slamming back into the wall, turn and punch wall, then in reverse. Over and over again, with such force he shook the whole set. Seriously, man. Who came up with that? That was brilliant. Painful to watch but brilliant. And what I loved best was he didn't just bark the commands as he did, he whimpered every now and then too. God, Luke breaks so beautifully there's nothing like it. Dan terrifies me with power, Luke breaks me with vulnerability. And I'd just like to point out that Dan is not a big tall muscly Arnie type dude who can intimidate with sheer physical mass like Colin Moody can, he's a short fine boy with big eyes and finely arched brows so the fact that he can make me recoil and freeze in my seat, breath stopped, at least once in every single play is not an easy feat. I'm just saying. God, I missed Dan. Spielman, that is. Oh shut up.
Tom pretty much told us the entire structure of the play which was quite useful. Without it, I may not have floundered as much as I did with Manna --- which, ha, was the last play I saw in that space, god those gorgeous visuals, argh never mind --- but it was good to have that plot set out in my head so I could concentrate on the intricacies of emotion and word and physicality. Mind you, there was a point where I twitched with the uneasy thought that it had all proceeded a little too neatly and --- heh --- bloodlessly, the hero's journey in a little too clinical terms. But then, as soon as I thought that, in came the chaotic element and the entire play came alive once more for me.
Brian Lipson, man. He almost eclipsed Luke. And I was very easily pulled right into the reel and rhythm of his performance, mesmerised by the expressiveness of his face, the shifting light and blink of his bright eyes, the twitchiness of his smiles and his darting movements around the stage. I was totally with him every step of the way, amazed at the depth of my own engagement even as I was feeling all the right notes of horror and pain and condemnation.
But then maybe I just like the mad ones. No, seriously, I'm detecting a bit of a pattern here. I had the same intense engagement with Cassandra in Women Of Troy but then I thought it was just the sheer awesomeness of ... ooh, what was her very interesting name? I'm sure I'm mispronouncing it in my head. *googles* Melita Jurisic, right. Now I'm wondering otherwise.
So really, the whole play belonged to Luke's Zosima and Brian Lipson's Mysterious Visitor. David Lee Smyth and Renee McIntosh played multiple parts, reacting beautifully even when they had no part in the action, being the Chorus in effect, I guess. Heh, it was very smart of Tom to tell us where we'd know David Lee Smyth from because I would totally have goggled at him and nearly squealed "It's Fin! It's Fin from the iinet ads, omg!" As it was, he was a bit too comedic for my liking cos I was totally prepared to take him seriously as an ActORRRR. But he was good, as were they all.
I didn't actually like the moment of Zosima's epiphany, it was a little too convenient for my liking, not nearly organic enough. Not Luke's fault, I'm inclined to blame the structure of the play. Cos the moment itself was shot like a thing of beauty, the darkness and the very subtle rise of dawn light and then the sun dawning on Luke's Zosima's beautifully shaped face. Almost made me want to go back to church. But yeah, it did feel a little manipulative and artificial in the flow of the play.
The journey of the Mysterious Stranger was far more interesting and powerful to me, maybe because of the entropic energy of Brian Lipson's performance? That madness element? Even though technically it was the more boring of the two in terms of presentation, with the Mysterious Stranger telling us the entirety of the story ... ah no, he didn't. He told most of the story and then Zosima and him talked and reacted to each other. And it was in that interaction that the tension became so terrifying and emotional for me, the push and pull of final annihilation --- "It's forever, you know. Forever." --- against conscience. I did love that, the intricate pacing of that, the fact that he actually got me thinking what I would do in the same situation even though there's no way in hell I would ever get into that situation, whether I'd confess or hide my guilt all my life.
But oh it was marvellous how his immediate journey influenced the subtler more mystical journey of Zosima. And god, the cruel irony of it! That puzzled me, actually, the treatment of it. Because the reaction his confession got flashed me instantly to American Psycho and Strangers On A Train, how in both those cases the lack of reaction results in a sort of betrayal. "This confession has meant nothing." Which is the worst worst moment of horror for me in both novels and makes me scream and rail and burst into indignant tears at the awfulness of humanity.
Here, the fact that none of the villagers believed the Mysterious Stranger's confession became a sort of mercy. And I didn't like that one bit until it was made clear that it was the best thing he could have hoped for, to not lose respect. Then I felt comforted on his behalf, glad for him. Now that I think about it, I have issues all over again. But then maybe my biggest issue is the fact --- oh yes, Zosima actually said this, echoing my reaction perfectly --- that "he still cares what other people think of him?" Point of separation, I guess.
And that is why the gorgeous way Zosima's journey ended, transcended, worked so well for me. Practically took my breath away, all the elements of the play --- physical space, the soaring gorgeous music from the start, the lighting --- coming together in this moment of perfection. Because the other thing I loved about the lighting was the use of the window, almost like Mercury Fur's bank of lights actually. Here it was the dawn light ripening into gold and then dwindling into evening shades, and finally into that heavenly warmth.
Curious thing I just realised --- when he has his epiphany, it's at the front of the stage, looking above us into the golden light. But when he finally transcends, it's at the back of the stage, first sitting on the window sill and then turning away from us, stepping off, the glass sliding shut, and him on the other side in this soft glowing space, his back to us. Oh christ how much did I love every single moment of that, the lines and empty space framing the black clad shoulders of our lean fey Luke, the light touching his hair and suffusing the white space behind him in a divine glow. And when he stands there with his back to us, the glass between us, gone where we cannot follow. Oh man.
It was at that point I looked again at the set and the rest of the actors and ah, how weary and ordinary and dragged down they looked in comparison, sluggish and dull in this sluggish dull trap of a nondescript room, the ordinary horror of living in this world. Gah. Awesomeness. And I LOVED the way it mirrored the start of the play, with David Lee Smyth lighting up a cigarette and pacing. And omigod the fact that the moment he stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, the lights went out. Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.
And now I have to figure out how to condense this to tell my fellow Russian writer. Because he'll only go see it after he hears from me. And I can totally see him resisting it --- *bangs head into desk* --- but seeing as how it's ole Dosty in such a contemporary setting, I think he should see it. And I just realised it was the final preview we saw so the season opens proper today.
Also? Matthew Lutton rocks. He is now in my league of Do Not Miss This Director. Okay, there are only two other people in that league, theatre-wise --- Kosky and Benedict Andrews -- but still. *nods*
Best of all, though? Both before and after the play, we walked around the harbour and got to see all Eno's pretty lights colouring the MCA and the Opera House. Sooooooo lovely and magical.
We better bloody get Knives In Hens. I WANT my Dan. I've been very patient and very calm and now I WANT my own damned fey thespian back on a Sydney stage, thank you very much. *glowers at the universe*