Moints are everywhere.
They/We invade practically every niche of human existence.
Do not fail to detect my melancholy when I inform you of another sighting. This time in the arts. Not just anywhere, I hasten to add – the theatre. In fact, not just any theatre, but the ruddy RSC!
Are you sitting comfortably? Well, never mind. I shall begin nonetheless.
Off to Stratford! *Hurrah*
With my best moint @williamstafford (see his blog here)! *Hurrah*
Tickets for FREE! *Hu-bloody-rrah*
Duly, we make our way to Stratford on the train, and barring some minor flooding that launched an attack on my shoes and then feet, we arrive fairly incident free. A beer, some crisps, then over to the wonderful Swan Theatre to take our seats for the opening of King John.
The play opens with the usually very good, if somewhat “spitty” Pippa Nixon as ‘The Bastard’. I remembered seeing her before, literally dribbling down her chin as Titania (no giggling), the Queen of the fairies, in ‘A midsummer Night’s Stream’… I mean ‘Dream’. Behind her is a great wall of huge balloons, held back behind a net… hmm, interesting…
Anyhow, to open the play, she launches into a rendition of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, as she picks the melody on the strings of a ukulele, and drools the melody with her face. It is quite amusing, actually.
So, is Pippa the Spitter the moint of whom I speak? Not at all. Her performance was great, and the spitting provided some hilarity (especially as, towards the end, she has to spit in the face of King John as part of the play – the only time the poor actor can react to the face-full of drool she has bestowed upon him for over 2 and half hours beforehand!).
The moint, my dear readers, is Maria Aberg: the director.
Her casting of ‘The Bastard’ and ‘The Pope’s Legate’ as women didn’t really work. Especially considering she left the line in for The Bastard, “I am no woman”. Hmm… Moint. However, far worse was where she placed the actors on the stage. During the interval, I didn’t see it coming… that is, the umbrella that cascaded down upon the back of my head, practically braining me. What I also didn’t see, during the play, was most of the acting. Such was the mointish direction of Aberg, that she had placed the actors right in front of the audience, backs to them, watching the action themselves. Had they been hollographic, this would have been acceptable. However, for those that actually paid for their tickets (muhaha, fools), I am sure they weren’t too happy at looking at arse for the majority of the play.
Granted, looking at an arse can be a pleasurable experience, but not usually in the context of a Shakespeare play. Especially when there is action taking place that I would quite liked to have seen.. in the scene. Obscene.
Ah yes! The balloons! As if Aberg had made a big enough case to be included in the Moint Annals (not a pun about the arse thing), at the beginning of the second act she had the wall of balloons released onto the stage. Where they remained for the rest of the play. Whether we were in England, France, anywhere in the world, both inside and outside, there were these bloody balloons, which the cast had to literally shove and kick their way through in order to do their real job of acting (and spitting). Such a bizarre idea, were we to think that the universe had been invaded by giant coloured balloons? Bloody moint.
All in all, a true moint-up. Which is a great shame for a play that is rarely put on. I imagine that Aberg was trying to cause a bit of a stir with her modernised presentation of King John, but I like my ‘Speare as I like my Martini. Shaken, not stirred.
Except, I don’t like Martini.
Moint.
themointblog 