Rock 'n Roll (plus spoilers)
I'd never been exposed a real-life Tom Stoppard play before, having only come across snippets of various others, and I think I'm probably still not well-read enough to fully appreciate the intellectual nuances and subtle undertones of his latest work, The opening scene is of a bearded guy singing to weed-addled Esme, daughter of a Marxist professor in Cambridge who happens to be "as old as the October Revolution" and likens himself to the last white rhino. She believes that he is Pan, the mystical pipe-playing faun, although we later find out that he is actually Syd Barrett from Pink Floyd. Similar slightly bizarre juxtapositions emerge frequently in the play ranging from references to Sappho (right up your alley,
conejito), communist ideology and Czech history, to bands that gained popularity between 1968 and 1990. Lines from the main characters crop up again in various forms and scenes were smash-cut by blasting music from various bands accompanied by back-projections of their names and song titles. In one particularly stark exchange between Max (the prof) and Eleanor, his cancer-stricken Classicist wife, a conversation about love the human emotion versus love the physiological response starts off as an objective discussion during which Max makes a flippant remark that if we knew how the brain worked we would probably be able to make one out of beer-cans - a typical example of his off-handed almost callous attitude but yet unwavering faith in his own ideas, and his wife responds by saying that she didn't want some amazing biological machine at her funeral, only his "grieving soul or nothing". Harsh emotions suddenly lay bare, exposed in slices of razor-sharp dialogue when you least expected it, and for me, those were the best moments of the three hours I spent at the Duke of York's.
One particular sentiment of mine resonated with Jan's words when he was having yet another heated exchange with Max about Western liberalism compared with the communist regime, (paraphrased) that people living in comfort for a thousand years could be confidently different:
"There are no stories in Czechoslovakia. We have an arrangement with ourselves not to disturb the appearances. We aim for inertia. We mass-produce banality. We've had no history since '68, only pseudo-history."
In the final scene, Lenka (Max's new lover) tutors a student who recites "Pan is dead!" while Esme and Jan attend the Rolling Stones concert in Prague 1990 - only capitalism is left. I have to say, the cast were outstanding throughout, and I thought the 'Allo 'allo accent-switching between Jan talking to Max and Jan in Prague was brilliant. So in summary, considering how much of the profundity I probably lost by simply being thick, if Pink Floyd didn't get on my nerves as much I would consider watching it again... but as it is, I'll take my Old Bean to see some good ol' Gershwin when he comes to visit next weekend instead I think. Yet more Trevor Nunn awaits!
conejito), communist ideology and Czech history, to bands that gained popularity between 1968 and 1990. Lines from the main characters crop up again in various forms and scenes were smash-cut by blasting music from various bands accompanied by back-projections of their names and song titles. In one particularly stark exchange between Max (the prof) and Eleanor, his cancer-stricken Classicist wife, a conversation about love the human emotion versus love the physiological response starts off as an objective discussion during which Max makes a flippant remark that if we knew how the brain worked we would probably be able to make one out of beer-cans - a typical example of his off-handed almost callous attitude but yet unwavering faith in his own ideas, and his wife responds by saying that she didn't want some amazing biological machine at her funeral, only his "grieving soul or nothing". Harsh emotions suddenly lay bare, exposed in slices of razor-sharp dialogue when you least expected it, and for me, those were the best moments of the three hours I spent at the Duke of York's.
One particular sentiment of mine resonated with Jan's words when he was having yet another heated exchange with Max about Western liberalism compared with the communist regime, (paraphrased) that people living in comfort for a thousand years could be confidently different:
"There are no stories in Czechoslovakia. We have an arrangement with ourselves not to disturb the appearances. We aim for inertia. We mass-produce banality. We've had no history since '68, only pseudo-history."
In the final scene, Lenka (Max's new lover) tutors a student who recites "Pan is dead!" while Esme and Jan attend the Rolling Stones concert in Prague 1990 - only capitalism is left. I have to say, the cast were outstanding throughout, and I thought the 'Allo 'allo accent-switching between Jan talking to Max and Jan in Prague was brilliant. So in summary, considering how much of the profundity I probably lost by simply being thick, if Pink Floyd didn't get on my nerves as much I would consider watching it again... but as it is, I'll take my Old Bean to see some good ol' Gershwin when he comes to visit next weekend instead I think. Yet more Trevor Nunn awaits!