Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Just home from seeing the dress rehearsal of my version of THE SEAGULL.
It was as chaotic as dress rehearsals often are, and with the rain coming on and the midges biting and the cold setting in.
But out there on the edge of Duddingston Loch is quite amazingly perfect for the play.
With the slight slowly fading, the swallows and seagulls swooping down in the gathering darkness.
Chekhov's writing is so beautiful: so full of a kind of ruthless compassion no-one else can equal.
The cast perform it with such empathy and power; to music of huge tenderness and melancholy.
It made me laugh, and it made me cry.
And as I cycled home through the darkness, round the edge of Arthur's seat, my heart was singing.


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