It’s going to be a swift one this evening as I’ve only just got back from watching an absolutely incredible piece of theatre and I am soaked through. I look rakishly handsome, a swarthy and dwarfish Hugh Grant if you like, but I said I’d blog every day, and I’m going to stick to that.
But as I said, short one, teaching again at ten tomorrow a mile down the road.
That being said, Twelfth Night by the Propeller Company was an absolute triumph, and comprehension of the lines delivered beautifully by the ensemble can only have been improved by
- The fantastic lighting, “chorus” who were clearly Hellenically inspired, and costumes that were perfection and
- The fact that there was a whole load of cross-dressing and a huge playing-up of anything lewder than “Good day!”
It was subtitled in French, and I don’t doubt that aided, but the cast were absolutely marvellous, every single one. Joseph Chance and Dan Wheeler as the twins were wonderful, John Dougall as Aguecheek was the very epitome of ridiculous, overblown pomposity and Gary Shelford, balancing six foot of manhood on some startling heels (and at one point on point in tap shoes) as Maria, absolutely stole every scene he was in.
Physical comedy almost precisely as the Bard would have wanted it, I suspect. They are absolutely brilliant, I cannot recommend them enough, and if you don’t click on this link and find out when they’re playing next then you and I shall fall out.
The only other thing I did today was tutor a young man who has some natural aptitude in mathematics, which he still insists on calling “math” (hideous boy) but has an incredible and startling talent for animation. For example: we are working on a presentation on volcanoes.
When I was young, this meant spending hours playing with fonts and colours and the animations, agonising over “fly from top-right” and “fly from bottom-left.”
He’s created a freaking simulation of Mount Vesuvius erupting.
And he plays tennis professionally.
It cannot be healthy to be this jealous of anyone.
It’s also very bizarre to be teaching someone who reminds me so much of myself, especially in Mathematics, where he races through questions at a thousand miles an hour and inevitably gets it wrong because of some detail he hasn’t noticed because of the aforementioned vitesse.
To a certain extent I’m still that guy, but man. Now I can see why my teachers/mother got so frustrated. Seeing that he can do it and knowing he’s making errors because he’s rushing is seriously, seriously frustrating.
I hate realising I wasn’t perfect.Still. At least I am now. Right?