Stuff, including Culture. And cats, of course.
I was lucky enough to find out, via facebook, that a cinema in Vienna was going to screen both versions of "Frankenstein" from the National Theatre. Since I was also lucky enough to find out quite early, there wasn't a problem getting tickets for both.
So, on 14 December, we -- i.e. Janine, Irene, myself and another friend -- went to see the version where Cumberbatch played Frankenstein, and John Mills the Monster, and we saw the other one yesterday.
All things considered, I'd say that I prefer what we saw yesterday, because Cumberbatch playing Frankenstein was so similar to him playing Sherlock that I couldn't help feeling rather disappointed. Mills was fine in both parts (and he's also really, really, dishy -- a more nervy, high-strung version of Colin Firth. Yum).
I think I may also have finally come to understand why on earth anybody would undertake to put Frankenstein on the stage; after the fist viewing, I was completely dumbfounded by the utter lack of any sort of message whatsoever -- I mean, honestly, is there any other story that screams "CLONING!! GENETIC MANIPULATION!!! SCIENTIFIC HUBRIS!!!!" more loudly than this one, even though I concede that it wasn't exactly what Shelley intended. So, not a whiff of that. And I kept wondering why they'd done the piece in the first place.
I'm still not quite sure, to be honest, but at least yesterday there was some sort of epiphany: shortly before Elizabeth is raped and killed by The Monster, Frankenstein confesses to her what he's done, and she says, "If you wanted to create a human being, why didn't you marry me years ago and give me children? This is how we create human beings, Viktor!", and while he doesn't agree with her, neither does he contradict her when she claims that it wasn't about science and progress, but about pride.
And shortly after this scene, when Elizabeth is dead and V.F. claims he can resurrect her, his father breaks down, because he, i.e. the father, has created a monster, i.e. Viktor, and doesn't understand where he went wrong.
So, on the one hand, a human being created "the usual way" and raised according to the highest priciples, who chooses wrong over right in order to further human knowledge; on the other, a monstrous-looking but undeniably human being abandoned at birth, for lack of a better word, hated, mistreated and shunned (except for the old man in the forest, but his perceived betrayal was maybe the worst trauma), who also chooses wrong over right, because it's the only way he can exercise a modicum of control over his life. Which, if considered from the nature-vs-nurture angle, doesn't favour either school of thought. So, duh.
It's been ages since I read the novel (and maybe I only read excerpts back then, not sure), which is why I don't feel 100% justified in doubting whether the many instances of (sometimes quite unintentional) dramatic irony have anything in common with the original. I doubt it, though, and even if I discard the many moments of "defensive laughter", so to speak -- the audience was quite young -- there were funny bits which I felt were just out of place. The plot and character are doubtlessly compelling enough to make a riveting piece of threatre, and the Twiddledum-and-Twiddledee Scotsmen were completely unnecessary. But I'll get the book and re-read it, or rather read it because I have no memory at all of it, and then form an opinion.
In completely different news, my bum muscles are sore because Klaus and I played Badminton after a few weeks' pause, and it uses muscles quite differently than running, so sore they are.
In feline news, The Mother Goddess and Wielder of the Horribly Howling Hoover (it's a Miele or Dyson, but I'm not going to sacrifice a perfectly good alliteration to a mere brand name) is constantly puzzled by her Critters' behaviour.
I carried out my plan re. putting dry food in more than one place, i.e. both kitchen and living room --the aim was a) to reduce stress for everybody, and b) to reduce Lola's weight.
While I may have achieved moderate success in the a-department, b seems doomed to fail.
I suppose I underestimated Lola's willingness to drag herself to the North Pole if there's food to be had there.
So, now the situation is as follows: the centre of activity has shifted to the living room; all three are spending most of the time there. Lola seems to be less stressed about monitoring food access, and she spends more time sitting close to me. Lucius and Rambo are less stressed about eating in peace. There also appears to be something like a cautious détente between Lola and Lucius, while her behaviour towards Rambo hasn't changed so far. I think, though, that spending more incident-free time in the same room as Lucy and Rambo, as well as close to the Mother Goddess, may in the long run reduce her stress levels and thus lead to less eating *and* less aggressive behaviour. Which would be a blessing for all concerned.
So, on 14 December, we -- i.e. Janine, Irene, myself and another friend -- went to see the version where Cumberbatch played Frankenstein, and John Mills the Monster, and we saw the other one yesterday.
All things considered, I'd say that I prefer what we saw yesterday, because Cumberbatch playing Frankenstein was so similar to him playing Sherlock that I couldn't help feeling rather disappointed. Mills was fine in both parts (and he's also really, really, dishy -- a more nervy, high-strung version of Colin Firth. Yum).
I think I may also have finally come to understand why on earth anybody would undertake to put Frankenstein on the stage; after the fist viewing, I was completely dumbfounded by the utter lack of any sort of message whatsoever -- I mean, honestly, is there any other story that screams "CLONING!! GENETIC MANIPULATION!!! SCIENTIFIC HUBRIS!!!!" more loudly than this one, even though I concede that it wasn't exactly what Shelley intended. So, not a whiff of that. And I kept wondering why they'd done the piece in the first place.
I'm still not quite sure, to be honest, but at least yesterday there was some sort of epiphany: shortly before Elizabeth is raped and killed by The Monster, Frankenstein confesses to her what he's done, and she says, "If you wanted to create a human being, why didn't you marry me years ago and give me children? This is how we create human beings, Viktor!", and while he doesn't agree with her, neither does he contradict her when she claims that it wasn't about science and progress, but about pride.
And shortly after this scene, when Elizabeth is dead and V.F. claims he can resurrect her, his father breaks down, because he, i.e. the father, has created a monster, i.e. Viktor, and doesn't understand where he went wrong.
So, on the one hand, a human being created "the usual way" and raised according to the highest priciples, who chooses wrong over right in order to further human knowledge; on the other, a monstrous-looking but undeniably human being abandoned at birth, for lack of a better word, hated, mistreated and shunned (except for the old man in the forest, but his perceived betrayal was maybe the worst trauma), who also chooses wrong over right, because it's the only way he can exercise a modicum of control over his life. Which, if considered from the nature-vs-nurture angle, doesn't favour either school of thought. So, duh.
It's been ages since I read the novel (and maybe I only read excerpts back then, not sure), which is why I don't feel 100% justified in doubting whether the many instances of (sometimes quite unintentional) dramatic irony have anything in common with the original. I doubt it, though, and even if I discard the many moments of "defensive laughter", so to speak -- the audience was quite young -- there were funny bits which I felt were just out of place. The plot and character are doubtlessly compelling enough to make a riveting piece of threatre, and the Twiddledum-and-Twiddledee Scotsmen were completely unnecessary. But I'll get the book and re-read it, or rather read it because I have no memory at all of it, and then form an opinion.
In completely different news, my bum muscles are sore because Klaus and I played Badminton after a few weeks' pause, and it uses muscles quite differently than running, so sore they are.
In feline news, The Mother Goddess and Wielder of the Horribly Howling Hoover (it's a Miele or Dyson, but I'm not going to sacrifice a perfectly good alliteration to a mere brand name) is constantly puzzled by her Critters' behaviour.
I carried out my plan re. putting dry food in more than one place, i.e. both kitchen and living room --the aim was a) to reduce stress for everybody, and b) to reduce Lola's weight.
While I may have achieved moderate success in the a-department, b seems doomed to fail.
I suppose I underestimated Lola's willingness to drag herself to the North Pole if there's food to be had there.
So, now the situation is as follows: the centre of activity has shifted to the living room; all three are spending most of the time there. Lola seems to be less stressed about monitoring food access, and she spends more time sitting close to me. Lucius and Rambo are less stressed about eating in peace. There also appears to be something like a cautious détente between Lola and Lucius, while her behaviour towards Rambo hasn't changed so far. I think, though, that spending more incident-free time in the same room as Lucy and Rambo, as well as close to the Mother Goddess, may in the long run reduce her stress levels and thus lead to less eating *and* less aggressive behaviour. Which would be a blessing for all concerned.