Because the parrot is awesome.
Also, you can get £10 tickets...
Went to the National Theatre yesterday to see Nation with parents and Rai, who picked up spare ticket (my brother is possibly the worst diary keeper I know - he managed to double book Eddie Izzard on the same date). Rai has not read Nation. Rai was sniffling and laughing her head off and going 'oooo' throughout.
It's brilliant. The set design alone is just.... We didn't know how they'd manage the shipwreck scenes, or the swimming, but considering everyone was spell-bound and going 'gahhhhh' whenever the blood hit the water, I'd say it was successful. (points for doing the ship with just a rope for the rail) They cut a lot, but you have to when it's book vs. staged/filmed (the only books I know that had to be expanded for the stage/film were Fight Club and Christmas Carol because they're so short). Seamless, though, and the stuff about science and gods so on was not preachy or boring, thank you critics.
Mao and Daphne are wonderfully cast - Mao's frustration with all the islanders wanting to attribute things to the gods and cling to the past, and Daphne's terribly well-bred victorian teenager that morphs into practical but horrified at what she's doing are great. They did turn up the romance a bit between Mao and Daphne, but it works as kids-just-discovering-hormones. Especially when Daphne looks utterly scandalised when the islanders tease them about it.
Islanders varied a bit between slightly iffy crowd scenes and really good individual ones. The sailors and Cox? Brilliant. Cox is, admittedly only okay until he gets to the Raiders. At which point it's a case of 'you are deeply, deeply scary'.
Milton the Parrot is a complete fucking scene stealer - does it all through body language and smug sarcastic bastardness - had audience in stitches. Grandma is also a veteran scene stealer. Points to Daphne's father when he turns up.
V. confused by some of the critics complaining that the islanders were wearing cliched grass skirts and printed woven mats. Er. What the hell else do you expect them to wear? In several places they still wear the things, especially on formal occasions. Sometimes over jeans.
I deny sniffling something chronic at the end.
Went to the National Theatre yesterday to see Nation with parents and Rai, who picked up spare ticket (my brother is possibly the worst diary keeper I know - he managed to double book Eddie Izzard on the same date). Rai has not read Nation. Rai was sniffling and laughing her head off and going 'oooo' throughout.
It's brilliant. The set design alone is just.... We didn't know how they'd manage the shipwreck scenes, or the swimming, but considering everyone was spell-bound and going 'gahhhhh' whenever the blood hit the water, I'd say it was successful. (points for doing the ship with just a rope for the rail) They cut a lot, but you have to when it's book vs. staged/filmed (the only books I know that had to be expanded for the stage/film were Fight Club and Christmas Carol because they're so short). Seamless, though, and the stuff about science and gods so on was not preachy or boring, thank you critics.
Mao and Daphne are wonderfully cast - Mao's frustration with all the islanders wanting to attribute things to the gods and cling to the past, and Daphne's terribly well-bred victorian teenager that morphs into practical but horrified at what she's doing are great. They did turn up the romance a bit between Mao and Daphne, but it works as kids-just-discovering-hormones. Especially when Daphne looks utterly scandalised when the islanders tease them about it.
Islanders varied a bit between slightly iffy crowd scenes and really good individual ones. The sailors and Cox? Brilliant. Cox is, admittedly only okay until he gets to the Raiders. At which point it's a case of 'you are deeply, deeply scary'.
Milton the Parrot is a complete fucking scene stealer - does it all through body language and smug sarcastic bastardness - had audience in stitches. Grandma is also a veteran scene stealer. Points to Daphne's father when he turns up.
V. confused by some of the critics complaining that the islanders were wearing cliched grass skirts and printed woven mats. Er. What the hell else do you expect them to wear? In several places they still wear the things, especially on formal occasions. Sometimes over jeans.
I deny sniffling something chronic at the end.