mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

come to naught

Well, at least that production of Macbeth was ticking all the boxes of my bad production bingo: bare black stage, a wooden chair, a fall of glitter. Check, check and check.

What a pity, and Hugo Weaving was so good, damn good, a magnificent Macbeth, full of sound and fury. If only we could have seen his Macbeth in a more tradtional production, and, hell, a traditional staging really would be radical in this town.

I can see now why our best actors go overseas. They have to. This was...woesome. It was like watching Gandalf bestride Ramsay Street, with glitter. (Yes, I know he played Elrond, but you get the idea, he was playing it big, the others, not so much).

Let down by the production. The whole putting the audience on the stage in the world's most awful plastic chairs just made us gaze yearningly at the comfy chairs that now formed the backdrop. The whole thing was a gimmick, and I've seen it done much better, at Traflagar's Macbeth, fer starters.

Not to say it was all dreadful. The weird sisters using the abandoned banquet as props for their spells was actually really, realy hair tingly creepy, and the glitter fall was non-contextual but pretty (Was it meant to be rain? Something more metaphysical?) and I liked the Banquo banquet (at home with the Macbeths - just try to quietly sidle to the exit, mumbling apologies).

Hugo was also let down by the cast, who just weren't up to his standard. Lady Macbeth teapotted around like Tim Brooke-Taylor on meth, and the others played, and I use the term loosely, a succession of roles, each dull and flat and, if we were lucky, indicated by the amount of jam or cream smeared in their faces. Honestly, a couple of them need to realise they'd be better suited to calling for price checks over the tannoy of the local supermarket than trying to mix it with the likes of Hugo Weaving. Seriously. Ever seen a man trying to drag the whole production with him? It was exhausting to watch.

And of course I was tired, cold, wet, and had a seat kicking never shutting up child behind me with a chip packet even louder and crunchier than the one last week. Gott im Himmel, did he have microphones in there to amplify the sound? Arrgh.

Damn, but I had been looking forward to that. Well, until I found out the play would be staged sans props, sets, costumes, etc and I had to imagine it. I could point out that I could do that at home with the book, in a far comfier chair, but whatever. I've seen Hugo do Macbeth, sitting at what looked like an old school desk. Rather too much like sitting through a school reading, rather too little like the production I'd hoped to see (wanting to make up for those awful school desk readings).

So, Hugo is the best Macbeth I've seen yet, but the Trafalgar/McAvoy is the best production, and that was post-apolcalypic Shakespeare (my most loathed genre), so there you go. Honourable mention to Sir Ken's version though. The muddy Macbeth. Not bad, but still not quite there. My quest to see Macbeth done well continues...

In other news, the possums have been temporarily, and humanely (I paid $$$ to get a certified possum handler), evicted from the house, but they didn't go quietly and I give 'em a week at best to punch another hole in the house and get back in. You're not allowed to remove them properly, so they're still in the backyard, and pissed. Sometimes I think this whole can't move a possum more than 20m thing is a rort and that the possum handler splits the fee with the possums, pocketing the bills in their little furry pouches, every time he gets a call out.

So, you'd think I'd have the first proper sleep in ages, right? Nope. Tossed and turned all night and enough of a feverish stream of nightmares to make Freddy Kruger piss himself. Sigh.

Maybe it was the duck. We had takeaway ducjk in plum sauce last night as I was late and busy and Himself was shattered overseeing the business of possum wrangling (he doesn't do that stuff happily, but he was the only one who could get the day off).


So I finally caught up on Agents of SHIELD, thank you Google Play. It was ok, had it's moments, took a helluva long time to get rolling - the big plot didn't really kick in until after I'd given up on it (or at least given up on trying to watch it via Channel 7). One episode bemused, it looked like the writer has misunderstood which Avengers he was writing for, because man, it was ticking all the Avengers boxes. Which tickled me no end, and made me long for the proper Avengers, John Steed and associates.

Nevertheless I did sit through the Captain America flick, too. That it's come to this, Redford recreating a pastiche of his greatest roles in a comic book gilm. Ah, well.

Why I was catching up on my playlist, well, only I could come down with tonsillitus and whooping cough (and me wotsits) at the same time. Hence the curled up in a nest of soggy tissues clutching tablet, which at least I could wipe down. Way too unhappy for a book, certainly the actually heavy books I've been reading lately, though I have been working my way through a very light Phryne book which is little more than an excuse to write some shameless Holmes/Watson, but, shrug, whatever (You know you're sick when you shrug and go whatever over Sherlock slash).

So yeah, didn't get to go see Tartuffe, which I'd been looking forward to, nothing else going on (except the STC launch last night, oh my), very unhappy.

Work is unhappy. Projects I've worked on for five hard years are being taken out the back paddock, and bitches most unsympathetic.

Home is unhappy. Developers are going to raze every stick of everything I've ever known, from place of birth to schools to shops to parks to home to everything, just a huge zone of red to be bulldozed. To add insult to injury, this all happened after I dropped the equivalent $$$ of a trip to Paris on re-housing the possums.

Oh yes, can't buy possum houses here. Have to order them from interstate, build 'em, paint 'em, set 'em up with all mod cons and I've had two attempts to get them installed in the trees so far. Third time's the charm? The possums are already using them so they'll probably complain when they get moved from under the carport. Shrug.

And we've only got the possums here because, yes, their parks have been bulldozed by evil greedy developers. Last refuge of scoundrels.

So not happy, very not happy, probably why I'm down with everything, ever (please tell me this red rash is just from the food dye in the jellies I insisted upon, because, you know, tonsillitis, and not measles as well, that would be silly).

So here I am, trying to meet deadlines when I'm not throwing up. I am seriously not happy.


Oh yeah. The whole tonsillitis/whooping cough thing is the least of my problems (even if breathing and swallowing remain difficult). Oh yeah, after all that slog they just deleted the whole unit, so that's me out on the street, after they've brought in all those punitive no payout, no dole rules. Just got called to a meeting and bang, no job. The way it was done, too, like we were working to a meeting next week and they knew, they knew, but never let on. Evil. Pure nasty.

So I can't afford to feed the birds any more and that's cruel and why you're not supposed to feed 'em but hey, I was rather used to being fed myself. So not going to be able to get another job, being the three F's of Failure: Fat, female and over forty. Got my first reject letter a good twenty minutes after I submitted my application so you know they just checked the DOB and hit the delete key. Oh, fuck, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???

I can sell my shit, but that's not going to bring in much. What will I live on then? Oh, fuck, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???

And, to make things even more stupid and surreal, I still had tickets to the King and I, and the after party, that very night. I got them from Opera Australia, they were pitching woo, thinking they had a live one, and they might have had, but no more ticket sales from me. That goes for the Belvoir, too. The STC only got my $$ because I subscrbed the day before I got the sack, so that was a done deal. See, no more money for the arts from me, no more buying dvds or music or magazines or coffee. Not that anyone cares, but they should.

So I went to the Opera. I'd been so looking forward to it, but I wasn't really into it, and the woman sitting next to me had a fur coat that set off the cough (despite me drugging myself to my eyeballs) and the more she glared the more I coughed and so it went. Pretty much ruined it for me and everyone else. Sat in the corner of the after party with free champagne, supplied by sympathetic waiters, the only real joy of the night was watching Himself stalk the food trays like something out of a wildlife documentary. Me, I never got a look-in twixt Himself and this tuxed up dude who looked like George Lazenby (as he does now) who kept elbowing me out of the way. Nobody was getting between those boys and their king prawns. Ah well.

Damn though, because yes, offensively orientalist opera, but it still has the tunes and I liked it, I did, just wish I could have settled down to enjoy it, you know?

Then there was Oz Comic Con. again, had bought my tickets months ago, like back in May, maybe, and I already had my weekly bus ticket so I decided to go, so long as I said no to autographs, photographs or merchandise. Sigh. Mind you, hard to get to. Only Sydney could build an exhibition centre with no pedestrian, public transport or main traffic access, you could only get there by special shuttle ferry or special shuttle bus. Yeah, right, evacuate that.

Still, the panels I went to were fun. The first Warehouse 13 one was a delight, pretty much what you see is what you get (the latter one less so due to a rather sleazy gag reel and Joanne was quite right to be furious with Eddie for screening it). Ah well.

There were three, yes, three Veronica Mars panels, went to all of them. The last one was the best by far, with Percy taking charge and not letting Jason get away with monosyllable answers and teasing poor Michael Muhney mercilessly. Very entertaining and is there another VM movie in the works? Himself thought the hints Jason was dropping were heavy enough to be recorded on a seismograph in Melbourne.

Went to both Mark Sheppard panels, because it's just such an experience, as he wanders through the crowd insulting one and all. Wickedly entertaining, in a way only he could get away with. King of Hell, baby. (Refused to drop spoilers but did any way, or we'll see if they were spoilers).

Then there was the experience that is the one and only William Shatner. It's just stream of consciousness with Bill, but I didn't mind. He's very amusing and wickedly funny. Captain of the Enterprise, baby.

Also did a Stargate panel, just for nostalgia, and that was fun (Chris Judge ran off stage when someone dressed as Slenderman started stalking through the audience) and the Buffy panel with Nick and Emma which was another trainwreck, much like the Warehouse 13 ones, with the boys being purile and the girls rolling their eyes. Funny at the time, but really, boys, not the done thing, eh, chaps? Still, a comic con is hardly the place to tell someone to grow up, but still.

Which brings me to the last panel, Orlando Bloom himself. No longer young Mr Bloom was quite good, quite chatty, nothing controversial, all very polished. It's hard not to like Orlando, as there's still something sweetly naive about the boy, but I had Statler and Waldorf sitting behind me, loudly pretending to ask if acting was the best choice of career for him and which of his films sucked the most. Cruel. Funny, and true, but cruel in the face of the Orlando earnestness.

And that was it. Ok as a way of delaying shock, but now... Oh, fuck, WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???


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Tags: buffy the vampire slayer, hugo weaving, opera, star trek, supernatural, theatre, veronica mars, warehouse 13, william shakespeare, william shatner

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