Archive for the ‘Stage’ Tag

Cobb’s Jolt

     – Cobb’s hurting!

    – What happened?  

   – He got struck by her wallet!

  – Was it full?

  – Yes, or he wouldn’t have been struck by it!

(fragment from my play, see literary site)

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The Death Of Stanislavsky!

Taciturn they ain’t. In fact if there’s anything wrong with French or Spanish TV, Theatre and Cinema it’s the verbose and torrential way of speaking. Actors exploding into rapid-fire pseudo-grandiloquence without tripping up and making one want to mockingly stand up in the middle of a performance applauding not what was said, always predictable, repetitive overstatement, shopping-listing what’s wrong with the other guy, but the ridiculous way in which time and again it was delivered. Seemingly no one ever thinking, silence neither bond nor nemesis, everything up-front and verbalized from and by Jean Gabin or Gérard Phillipe to Belmondo or Depardieu and nothing to do with period pieces like Cyrano de Bergerac or French crime-speak by the likes of Eddie Constantine. In Spain things much the same, people and their dramas apparently never having worked out matters beforehand, reactive to a fault, everything imprevisto , out of sight out of mind, zero preparation or for that matter follow-through, both in life and on stage, therefore everything forgettable. Not that the dogged, methodical near-numerical Teutonic approach is the road the follow, or the mute crypto-mystical Nordic path. With British actors perhaps the only ones able to under-play in the Alec Guinness or John Geilgud way, humour, silent anger or suffering so much more powerful than all the screaming, yelling, theatrics in the world though in the XXIst century sadly still in works mainly celebrating elevated Class. And what happened to America, since decades unable to produce decent character or wit without a cream-pie, a crashing helicopter or an Italo-Sicilo Colt 45, with mono-syllables as street signs: Left-Right-Stop-Yield-Park-Green-Red-Screech-Crash-Blast-Park-One Way-Ramp-Exit accompanied by surround-sound ripping one’s ear drums, bringing one to tears. Like Ferlinghetti puts it, works for Coney Island minds.

No, evenings in front of Cable in 6 languages from as many cultures a definite turn-off: back to real entertainment and wisdom and kindness, back to the bars. Where genuine surprise reigns and creative chaos… sans theory, reason or rhyme.

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