Showing posts with label Jack Gordon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jack Gordon. Show all posts

Sunday 12 February 2012

Jack Gordon and Lydia Wilson did an especially good job to-night (2)

More views of - or after - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


12 February

Lost! I am lost! my fates have doom’d my death:
The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope : I see my ruin certain.
What judgment or endeavours could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds,
I thoroughly have examined, but in vain.
O, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god, and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with pray’rs, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starv’d
My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practised; but, alas!
I find all these but dreams, and old men’s tales,
To fright unsteady youth; I am still the same:
Or I must speak, or burst. [...]


Belatedly, an example of the verse (from the first Act) that Jack Gordon delivered so excellently.

A Literary History of England (ed. Baugh) speaks very interestingly of how Ford's four major plays were viewed in his time, and helps to explode the myth that the incest at the heart of 'Tis Pity She's a Whore proved problematic or controversial to that audience (irrespective of what the Commonwealth might have thought of it, and of plays in general).


Friday 27 January 2012

Jack Gordon and Lydia Wilson did an especially good job to-night (1)

More views of - or after - Cambridge Film Festival 2011
(Click here to go directly to the Festival web-site)


28 January

This was in Cheek by Jowl's production of the one that - if at all - we have all heard of, 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, but, having now done a little reading, it seems that there are other plays of John Ford's that not only merit a read (on my part), but being performed (or, if they are, looked out for in production).

I had already been encouraged by Jack's excellent rendering of the verse (and also that of Lydia*, yet though - as is in his case - her diction was impeccable, her approach to the metre was less mellifluous, deliberately, I would guess, and she used her own, more-measured delivery), plus wanting to find out how one continuous show of 110 minutes had been made of the text, to seek it out. Now, I know to find either a collection of Ford's plays, or, at least, editions of the other three mentioned by my source (The Literary History of England (ed. Baugh)). (The programme guides me to two editions of the present play, but I don't want to buy, unless I can do so cheaply**.)

The pace and innovation of this performance were always just about right, my only feeling where it could have been a little tighter - since we moved between scenes near seemlessly, and the blocking and staging were very well worked out - being, as I recollect, the key scene between Hippolita and Soranzo, and just before: it could have been a deliberate point of judgement to let up then (or whenever exactly I am trying to remember was), but, if so, it would not have hurt for being done a fraction less.

All sorts of echoes, from the posters on the wall of what - at times - is Annabella's bedroom to the visual parodies of religious and other scenes, so there will be more postings (soon)...


End-notes

* Whom I have hitherto wrongly called Watson, when she is Lydia Wilson. Apologies!

** A copy has now arrived, so I hope to look out some soaring examples of verse, although that inevitably means my least-favourite thing: transcribing passages from a book that will not lie flat. (Saying that, I can probably cheat by finding a fairly plain text of a suitable passage to cut and paste, and then edit accordingly.)