Tuesday, August 07, 2007
7th August (2)
Tonight I went to see another play at the Traverse.
THE WALWORTH FARCE by Enda Walsh. Druid Theatre Company.
A beautiful company. Clearly an important writer.
"Enda Walsh's extended day-glo nightmare of The Walworth Farce, about as brilliant and savage a final comment on the inner life of a defeated nation as Irish theatre in all its magnificence could have hoped to produce." (The Scotsman)
http://www.traverse.co.uk/show_detail.php?id=453
A full house. Who laughed a lot.
It is disquieting, this feeling of utterly going against the flow of things.
For I could see nothing in it but cruelty and self-loathing.
And could not begin to see the point of it.
Perhaps all that has happened to me in the past few years has taken me so far outside normal experience that I cannot engage with it at all.
I can understand how it would make me utterly incapable of appreciating the macabre humour based on 2 sons losing their mother. And a widower losing his wife.
Perhaps that's all there is to it.
Or perhaps I'm getting old.
Whatever. Here I am: going my own way.
In uncertainty and some great excitement.
Tonight I went to see another play at the Traverse.
THE WALWORTH FARCE by Enda Walsh. Druid Theatre Company.
A beautiful company. Clearly an important writer.
"Enda Walsh's extended day-glo nightmare of The Walworth Farce, about as brilliant and savage a final comment on the inner life of a defeated nation as Irish theatre in all its magnificence could have hoped to produce." (The Scotsman)
http://www.traverse.co.uk/show_detail.php?id=453
A full house. Who laughed a lot.
It is disquieting, this feeling of utterly going against the flow of things.
For I could see nothing in it but cruelty and self-loathing.
And could not begin to see the point of it.
Perhaps all that has happened to me in the past few years has taken me so far outside normal experience that I cannot engage with it at all.
I can understand how it would make me utterly incapable of appreciating the macabre humour based on 2 sons losing their mother. And a widower losing his wife.
Perhaps that's all there is to it.
Or perhaps I'm getting old.
Whatever. Here I am: going my own way.
In uncertainty and some great excitement.
Labels: The Walworth Farce
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