(no subject)
Yesterday evening, I saw Richard III. Now, I took six pages of notes on it, and usually I only get past one or two. Because, you know, the play tends to distract me.
This was at Boscobel, which is this lovely house, Federal-era and restored up all prettily. I dreaded the company we went with. Before we drove up, my mother pulled me aside, and said, "Now, we're not trying to stick you and this boy together, but he's really very nice..." Ravers could learn subtlety from my mother. So that was hugely awkward. It's an outdoor theater, and actually, midway though, there was a most torrential downpour, and the actors, who were trying very hard, were just completely drowned out. At the Q&A that followed, though, we heard that apparently, there's been a skunk lurking around during some of the performances. I am not feeling particularly one with nature this week, and this just displeased me more.
Richard was played really well, but wow, the concept behind it was truly bad. Richard is not an antic, he's not a fool, or a Fool, so stop playing him as though that is an acceptable interpretation. He is a creep, and just because no one in the play picks up on it doesn't mean that Richard is likeable, and ought to ingratiate himself with the audience. Buckingham totally made up for that, though; the rest of the Lords were a bit flighty, and Buckingham had nerves of steel, and it was totally believable that Richard would stick close to him, but, to steal from Macbeth, Buckingham has been taught bloody vengeance, and actually did not go quietly, and came across as very imposing.
Now, I will get on my biased horse. I don't like the idea that Richard has to be crippled to be effectively evil; I know it wasn't absurd to Shakespeare's audience, but unlike Frank Kermode, I actually think change is good, and that having Richard humpbacked, and staggering around on a cane, is not a great idea. It does interesting things to the visual dynamic, in placing Richard below everyone else, but that is a useless contrast if it doesn't look like Richard could actually perform any deeds to bring himself up.
The costumes were, and I actually quote, "post-apocalyptic...insects, actually." OKAY. They looked pretty cool, but honestly, the symbolism missed me, and I was actually watching pretty closely. It just served to make the common people even duller, as they looked like ants. And had inexplicable, and very broad, Canadian accents. It worked better on a color level: Richard and those he murdered slowly got redder and redder, but then all disappeared, leaving only Elizabeth, and her naturalistic green mother, to meet Henry.
Speaking of Henry. WHO LOOKED LIKE DAVEY HAVOK. Sure, with short hair, but YES. He even thoughtfully had a pair of tight white trousers on, and a super-hot pair of riding boots on. Other things too, but, oh, nice image.
Okay, okay, I have mentioned how Gabe Saporta and Matt Skiba would be the perfect Northumberland and York, in Richard II, except it'd be a little like West Side Story, because there would be gangs, and dancing and singing, and also, hey, wait, I've noted this before, too. I can see the future; discuss.
I will discuss this in greater depth at some point, but Act Five is the most AMAZING EMOPORN EVER.
So. I will be gone for the next two weeks, and am absently plotting long and involved AU's, so I can write them out longhand, and not completely lose it. The first part of this is only interesting to notthegnomes (still sorry for falling asleep on you!) and molotov-bitch (sorry for spamming you!) the second equally horrifying to you all.
IDEA! Bandom does Slings & Arrows, mostly consisting of John Nolan, the dramaturg, and Gerard Way, the director, (John is sort of a combination of Darren and Oliver, and Gerard is mostly Geoffrey, although, yeah, a little more Oliver, so Adam Lazzara is obviously Ellen) anyway, they are smoking and bitching each other's artistic visions out, and hitting Pete Wentz, their costume designer, when he says that he has an awesome idea, and can he please buy more cellophane, and then having sword fights, and getting locked in the prop closet, by Bob Bryar, who really likes it when intellectual discourse over how important Anne actually is to Richard is resolved somewhere besides his soundbooth, because John and Gerard can get loud. Adam's mostly chainsmoking, and getting kind of pissed at everyone, though especially John, who is totally not sympathetic, and thinks it's hilarious that Adam tripped over a copy of Bloom's "Invention of the Human," and fell offstage; when Adam and John finally get it together, and date, John's still laughing, even though he has permanent bruises along his shins from Adam's cane, right up until Adam tells him that it's nice being right, but John can totally have his copy of "The Western Canon" and and forget about sex forever; John goes out to the liquor store, and buys Adam the nicest vodka, and when he's good and drunk, John tells him that new Historicism makes Anne prettier than anything else. Jon Walker, who's the propmaster, just goes off and smokes more pot, to cope with it all, although he's not quite sure what "it" is, at this point.
They obviously have to do Richard II, with obviously, Adam as Anne, Matt Skiba as York and Gabe Saporta as Northumberland, but ooh, now it gets fun. I *think* that Mikey is Bolingbroke, and Patrick's Richard (Pete, is, metaphorically, England, which gives a whole new meaning to that phrase about lying back and thinking of her,) because Mikey's devious and popular, and Patrick's basically decent, and he's really confused when things start going downhill, because it's not like he was paying attention in the first place. John of Gaunt is Jesse Lacey, if only because he's the only one old enough to pull it off, and he can really annoy John with how much actors pull, as opposed to dramturgs, who really aren't a real class of people at all; John somehow manges to not strangle Jesse, although mostly because he smokes with Jon before rehearsal.
Mowbray would be Quinn Allman, and he and Mikey would totally lose the definition between "reality" and "play" and actually fight during the joust scene. Aumerle could be, oh, this is hard, finding people who are devious enough, hmm, maybe Bert McCracken, who's lusting after Gerard, still, even though Gerard totally sometimes manages to hang up the phone before Bert can actually ask if they can have sex, when he drunkenly calls, late at night, and Mikey storms around looking angry, and when the conspiracy is revealed, Mikey totally bitchslaps Bert, and hisses at him, mid-line, "Get the fuck out of my brother's life, you dick." Bert totally doesn't, though, although he lays off calling all the time when Spencer Smith, their fight choreographer, starts making noises about the way that Bert and all the other Lords are totally ready for the gauntlet throw-down scene, because Spencer is scary, and really weirdly protective of Gerard, even though Gerard's in graduate school, and Spencer is just doing this for the summer, before he goes off to college; no one questions it though, and Gerard even starts not being horrible to people, sometimes, when Spencer's there, because he wants to impress him. It's pretty obvious to everyone but Gerard that Spencer is already totally impressed, and likes the bitchy comments, but they'll figure it out their own, even if it might take a trip down to the bar, and a convenient discovery that they're the only sober ones to actually get them to do anything, because everyone else sacrifices their livers to the cause of Spencer/Gerard.
Um.
I should be well-supplied with that idea. Here is another ficbit for something totally other;
"Fuck you all!" Andy is really done with this shit, she tells herself. She leaves the practice space, zipping up her hoodie, and stepping out into the cold afternoon. She used to be subtle about being angry, but she’s given up on that: it’s not like anyone cares that she’s nice, or will bother with helping her out. She moved here from Milwaukee with her mother over the summer, and it’s already October, and no one wants to even practice with a girl in their band. She’s fucking pissed, because it’s not like her boobs stop her from drumming, or anything. Andy knows she’s a good drummer, she practices until she can hardly feel her arms, she fucking knows it, but these stupid fucking boys think that they’re just fine with crappy drummers. Crappy drummers who have dicks, to be sure, but it’s not like you need a fucking third stick, or whatever.
She’s so angry, because she had to take the bus way out here, and as she checks the schedule, it’s another fucking thing gone wrong, and she has to wait half an hour for the next bus. It’s another rotten fucking thing. She kicks the pole, trying to not break her toes; her Converse are cool-looking, but aren’t much good for that. She promises herself that one day, she will buy a pair of steel-tipped boots, and kick all the sign posts she likes. And probably boys, too. She feels cheated; it took her mother five years of a dead relationship to figure out that men were deadbeats, and Andy’s only sixteen, and hasn’t even had one real boyfriend, and she already knows that.
I was, uh, feeling kind of angry at the male portion of the population, this evening. This ends with Joe being actually really sweet, and crushing so hard on Andy, and she's a little amazed, because he totally doesn't say anything about it at all, for years.
One day my posts will stop being "books! porn! genderswap! me!" but, not like, anytime soon.
This was at Boscobel, which is this lovely house, Federal-era and restored up all prettily. I dreaded the company we went with. Before we drove up, my mother pulled me aside, and said, "Now, we're not trying to stick you and this boy together, but he's really very nice..." Ravers could learn subtlety from my mother. So that was hugely awkward. It's an outdoor theater, and actually, midway though, there was a most torrential downpour, and the actors, who were trying very hard, were just completely drowned out. At the Q&A that followed, though, we heard that apparently, there's been a skunk lurking around during some of the performances. I am not feeling particularly one with nature this week, and this just displeased me more.
Richard was played really well, but wow, the concept behind it was truly bad. Richard is not an antic, he's not a fool, or a Fool, so stop playing him as though that is an acceptable interpretation. He is a creep, and just because no one in the play picks up on it doesn't mean that Richard is likeable, and ought to ingratiate himself with the audience. Buckingham totally made up for that, though; the rest of the Lords were a bit flighty, and Buckingham had nerves of steel, and it was totally believable that Richard would stick close to him, but, to steal from Macbeth, Buckingham has been taught bloody vengeance, and actually did not go quietly, and came across as very imposing.
Now, I will get on my biased horse. I don't like the idea that Richard has to be crippled to be effectively evil; I know it wasn't absurd to Shakespeare's audience, but unlike Frank Kermode, I actually think change is good, and that having Richard humpbacked, and staggering around on a cane, is not a great idea. It does interesting things to the visual dynamic, in placing Richard below everyone else, but that is a useless contrast if it doesn't look like Richard could actually perform any deeds to bring himself up.
The costumes were, and I actually quote, "post-apocalyptic...insects, actually." OKAY. They looked pretty cool, but honestly, the symbolism missed me, and I was actually watching pretty closely. It just served to make the common people even duller, as they looked like ants. And had inexplicable, and very broad, Canadian accents. It worked better on a color level: Richard and those he murdered slowly got redder and redder, but then all disappeared, leaving only Elizabeth, and her naturalistic green mother, to meet Henry.
Speaking of Henry. WHO LOOKED LIKE DAVEY HAVOK. Sure, with short hair, but YES. He even thoughtfully had a pair of tight white trousers on, and a super-hot pair of riding boots on. Other things too, but, oh, nice image.
Okay, okay, I have mentioned how Gabe Saporta and Matt Skiba would be the perfect Northumberland and York, in Richard II, except it'd be a little like West Side Story, because there would be gangs, and dancing and singing, and also, hey, wait, I've noted this before, too. I can see the future; discuss.
I will discuss this in greater depth at some point, but Act Five is the most AMAZING EMOPORN EVER.
So. I will be gone for the next two weeks, and am absently plotting long and involved AU's, so I can write them out longhand, and not completely lose it. The first part of this is only interesting to notthegnomes (still sorry for falling asleep on you!) and molotov-bitch (sorry for spamming you!) the second equally horrifying to you all.
IDEA! Bandom does Slings & Arrows, mostly consisting of John Nolan, the dramaturg, and Gerard Way, the director, (John is sort of a combination of Darren and Oliver, and Gerard is mostly Geoffrey, although, yeah, a little more Oliver, so Adam Lazzara is obviously Ellen) anyway, they are smoking and bitching each other's artistic visions out, and hitting Pete Wentz, their costume designer, when he says that he has an awesome idea, and can he please buy more cellophane, and then having sword fights, and getting locked in the prop closet, by Bob Bryar, who really likes it when intellectual discourse over how important Anne actually is to Richard is resolved somewhere besides his soundbooth, because John and Gerard can get loud. Adam's mostly chainsmoking, and getting kind of pissed at everyone, though especially John, who is totally not sympathetic, and thinks it's hilarious that Adam tripped over a copy of Bloom's "Invention of the Human," and fell offstage; when Adam and John finally get it together, and date, John's still laughing, even though he has permanent bruises along his shins from Adam's cane, right up until Adam tells him that it's nice being right, but John can totally have his copy of "The Western Canon" and and forget about sex forever; John goes out to the liquor store, and buys Adam the nicest vodka, and when he's good and drunk, John tells him that new Historicism makes Anne prettier than anything else. Jon Walker, who's the propmaster, just goes off and smokes more pot, to cope with it all, although he's not quite sure what "it" is, at this point.
They obviously have to do Richard II, with obviously, Adam as Anne, Matt Skiba as York and Gabe Saporta as Northumberland, but ooh, now it gets fun. I *think* that Mikey is Bolingbroke, and Patrick's Richard (Pete, is, metaphorically, England, which gives a whole new meaning to that phrase about lying back and thinking of her,) because Mikey's devious and popular, and Patrick's basically decent, and he's really confused when things start going downhill, because it's not like he was paying attention in the first place. John of Gaunt is Jesse Lacey, if only because he's the only one old enough to pull it off, and he can really annoy John with how much actors pull, as opposed to dramturgs, who really aren't a real class of people at all; John somehow manges to not strangle Jesse, although mostly because he smokes with Jon before rehearsal.
Mowbray would be Quinn Allman, and he and Mikey would totally lose the definition between "reality" and "play" and actually fight during the joust scene. Aumerle could be, oh, this is hard, finding people who are devious enough, hmm, maybe Bert McCracken, who's lusting after Gerard, still, even though Gerard totally sometimes manages to hang up the phone before Bert can actually ask if they can have sex, when he drunkenly calls, late at night, and Mikey storms around looking angry, and when the conspiracy is revealed, Mikey totally bitchslaps Bert, and hisses at him, mid-line, "Get the fuck out of my brother's life, you dick." Bert totally doesn't, though, although he lays off calling all the time when Spencer Smith, their fight choreographer, starts making noises about the way that Bert and all the other Lords are totally ready for the gauntlet throw-down scene, because Spencer is scary, and really weirdly protective of Gerard, even though Gerard's in graduate school, and Spencer is just doing this for the summer, before he goes off to college; no one questions it though, and Gerard even starts not being horrible to people, sometimes, when Spencer's there, because he wants to impress him. It's pretty obvious to everyone but Gerard that Spencer is already totally impressed, and likes the bitchy comments, but they'll figure it out their own, even if it might take a trip down to the bar, and a convenient discovery that they're the only sober ones to actually get them to do anything, because everyone else sacrifices their livers to the cause of Spencer/Gerard.
Um.
I should be well-supplied with that idea. Here is another ficbit for something totally other;
"Fuck you all!" Andy is really done with this shit, she tells herself. She leaves the practice space, zipping up her hoodie, and stepping out into the cold afternoon. She used to be subtle about being angry, but she’s given up on that: it’s not like anyone cares that she’s nice, or will bother with helping her out. She moved here from Milwaukee with her mother over the summer, and it’s already October, and no one wants to even practice with a girl in their band. She’s fucking pissed, because it’s not like her boobs stop her from drumming, or anything. Andy knows she’s a good drummer, she practices until she can hardly feel her arms, she fucking knows it, but these stupid fucking boys think that they’re just fine with crappy drummers. Crappy drummers who have dicks, to be sure, but it’s not like you need a fucking third stick, or whatever.
She’s so angry, because she had to take the bus way out here, and as she checks the schedule, it’s another fucking thing gone wrong, and she has to wait half an hour for the next bus. It’s another rotten fucking thing. She kicks the pole, trying to not break her toes; her Converse are cool-looking, but aren’t much good for that. She promises herself that one day, she will buy a pair of steel-tipped boots, and kick all the sign posts she likes. And probably boys, too. She feels cheated; it took her mother five years of a dead relationship to figure out that men were deadbeats, and Andy’s only sixteen, and hasn’t even had one real boyfriend, and she already knows that.
I was, uh, feeling kind of angry at the male portion of the population, this evening. This ends with Joe being actually really sweet, and crushing so hard on Andy, and she's a little amazed, because he totally doesn't say anything about it at all, for years.
One day my posts will stop being "books! porn! genderswap! me!" but, not like, anytime soon.