The Whale Bone, The Theatre and Your Father's Reality.

I was at the Barbican Theatre the other day watching an excellent production of Moby Dick (produced by Plexus Polaire).  Prior to the production commencing, the audience could see what appeared to be a whale bone at the back of the stage.

One row behind me in the audience, a boy asked his Dad (I assumed based on the conversations I overheard and their degree of familiarity that their relationship was father and son) if the whale bone was real.  His Dad responded, "don't assume that anything in the theatre is real".

If you know me at all and even if you don't, let's just say that this statement has acted as a red rag to a bull.  So let's begin...

Reality and realism are two of the most hotly contested philosophical concepts.  Almost as popular and open to debate as existential concepts exploring the meaning of life.  Well, for the purposes of this blog, I am going to summarise reality as any experience of any given moment by either a living, dead or inanimate person, creature or object.

So if we accept my admittedly basic summation of reality as lived or unlived experience, the young man's Dad is attending the theatre and experiencing its possible delights and offerings in a way that may detract from his future memories of the theatrical experience.  This could be his reality.  I am not assuming that will always be the case but for some reason, he has chosen to somehow differentiate his theatrical experience from his walk to work or his experience of a plate of corn flakes.  I don't think that you can.

For me, theatre is as much a part of my lived experience and reality as brushing my hair or reading a book.  In fact, theatre is more of a rewarding experience than many aspects of reality because it is a communal experience, even though as is the case with every other aspect of life, we experience it in our own way.

Let's use the example of Plexus Polaire's production of Moby Dick the other night to explore how if anything, theatre can even heighten our sense of reality.  It can transport us from the mundane to the sublime.

I arrived in the theatre and sat down.  On this occasion, I didn't see the safety curtain/barrier open (the Barbican Theatre's safety curtain/barrier is arguably the most impressive one I have seen.  It's a metal reflective surface that separates, half of it goes to the top of the stage and half of it descends into the front of the stage), but I did get to experience the sensation of gazing at the stage, taking in the details of the 'whale bone' at the back of the stage and the musical instruments to either side of the stage, which included an electric guitar and a double bass etc.

The audience behind me chatted happily and the person alongside me complimented me on the fact that I had the most central ticket in the front row as it offers the most immediate sight line of a production.  It's not always the best position, particularly if the stage is higher, but for most theatres, if you want to feel as though you are engaging with the proceedings on stage, it's a good place to sit.  Just watch our for the actors' saliva if you are watching a play by Shakespeare or even an angry scene from a play by Tennessee Williams.

When the play started, music, movement, puppetry and song were framed by the narration of a character who in many respects served the role of an 'Everyman' style figure; a point of connection between the audience and the future action on stage.

The whale bone in the shape of a horseshoe became the symbolic basis for Captain Ahab's ship and also the central focus for other theatrical devices.  Also Captain Ahab (as represented by a puppet) was alternately huge in size or much smaller depending on his proximity to the audience and his perceived sense of omnipotence.  

Puppetry was an intrinsically important aspect of this production and there were several beautiful and memorable scenes including the scenes involving the whales swimming against a constantly changing backdrop, conveyed by lighting and projection etc.

My favourite scene and I hasten to add not because of its horror but because of its emotional tenderness, involved the visceral image (represented by puppetry) of a whale being stripped of its flesh, whilst a young whale swam around, possibly its mother or father.  The scene depicted the fact that the whaling industry was (and I guess occasionally still is) dependant on processing the whales at the point of the kill.  It's an industry like any other and the sperm oil was very valuable and used in perfumes etc.

When the performance ended essentially after another narration, the audience applauded and the performers came out a couple of times acknowledging the positive engagement from the audience and gesticulating towards the other people involved in the making of the production.

Okay, that was my remembered experience.  There were a lot more details that I have chosen to keep to myself, in case you get to see the show if it tours, but let's return to my original summation of reality as any experience of any given moment, in this case by an individual, me.

For me, theatre at its most rewarding can engage on an emotional, philosophical, physical and visual level.  

By its very nature, theatre is sensory.  It engages all of the senses of perception.  If you experience any issues with your senses, it won't make your experience any less enjoyable but it will change how you engage with the proceedings on stage.  My sister and I once saw a performance in the dark (Tutto Bene, Mamma? at the Print Room in London), where we were led to our seats and were not aware of the physical mise-en-scene until the lights were turned on at the end of the play.  We could hear and even smell the events as they happened on stage (the audience were seated around the performance space) but we could not see them.  Also it made our experience of the actors entirely different as we couldn't see them and they didn't come out at the end.  But we could feel their movement in the air and their vibrations.

Our sensory perceptions are augmented by the lighting on stage, regularly directing your attention to what the director and production team want you to focus on.  Of course, as an audience member, you may be drawn to something else.  This is your experience.  If you want to focus on a detail, as it may bring back a memory of something else, you go ahead and do this.

Emotional engagement is another crucial aspect of the reality of the theatrical moment.  I saw a production of Lorca's Blood Wedding at the Young Vic in 1996 and was held mesmerised by scattered flower petals that covered the stage area at the end of the first half and for the majority of the interval.  For me, they encapsulated the sense of loss and emotional damage that pervades the play and also helped me to explore my own lived experiences around this time.

The theatre can also be highly educational, philosophical or moral.  The theatre troupes or companies are trying to convey a message.  In the case of Moby Dick, the reiterated idea that obsession can be very unhealthy.  To try to conquer or destroy from a position of anger and rage will undoubtedly leave you ruined.  The complexity of the human condition can be represented on stage in a way that allows the audience to feel more or less safe in its engagement with the events unfolding before it.  

As is the case with other artistic forms, the reality we experience when we sit in the dark or light is ultimately, our reality.  We can be shocked if something in the production incites or arouses a reaction from us.  For example, The Years at the Almeida Theatre in London resulted in a number of the audience members experiencing sickness etc throughout the production's run because of certain aspects of the play, most notably, a fairly graphic depiction of the aftermath of an abortion.  Also the highly intelligent, detailed and mature exploration of the emotions and sensations that a woman would experience in the situation could be triggering if anyone has gone through the same experiences.

It intrigues me these days, how trigger warnings are added to the theatre websites to give the audience an idea as to what they can expect to experience when they see a play.

Theatre may be mediated reality at times, but what it does and on many occasions does so well, is to offer an alternative way to view the world.  It can translate memories, imagination and lived experiences into a pure and immediate form.

Your theatrical experience, young father with your child is not mine.  Your experience of reality is your own, but next time your son asks you if the whale bone is real, the answer is yes, someone has made a symbolic representation of a whale bone or jaw as you chose to perceive it.  It may not be an actual bone formed of calcium etc but it stands for a whale, a ship and an industry that resulted in mass extinction.  It symbolises death, yet also in this theatrical experience, a new beginning, a hope that through this theatrical moment, a lesson can be learnt.

I am at the theatre and I am living my best life.

                                                                                                    Barry Watt - 27th January 2025.   

Afterword.

Plexus Polaire are an amazing theatre company.  Please see their website below for photos from their version of Moby Dick and other productions.  It's in French but you can translate using Google etc:

Plexus Polaire

Moby Dick was originally a novel by Herman Melville.  It's available in so many editions.  Any references to characters etc from the novel are copyright and are used for illustrative purposes.

The other productions and plays referenced in this blog are copyright.  The Years has transferred to the West End of London for a short season and is well worth seeing:

The Years | Official Box Office | Harold Pinter Theatre

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Photo (My photo of the whale bone in Plexus Polaire's production of Moby Dick).

Whale bone in Moby Dick.

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'What are veins for?' - A Gentle Appreciation of Nurses & Nursing.

Yesterday, on my way home, I overheard a little boy asking his sister (probably) a question as they clambered up the stairs of my local station.  The question was 'What are veins for?'  She thought about it a bit and he asked her some other questions such as 'Where are the veins in your body?' 

The initial question was of interest to me mainly because I am lucky enough to have met and I continue to know a number of nurses through my work.

Nurses represent to me and I am sure the patients, the humanistic aspects of the health sector.  They are the empathetic life support when people are suffering or concerned with their bodies and minds.  They are both a balm for the illnesses that an individual may be suffering and for their minds.

Significantly, nurses take and they give.  As human beings, we rarely give as much as we do to nurses.  We give our life fluids, our blood and other substances.  They take them and begin to process them, ensuring that doctors etc can perform any future curative or preventative miracles with the aid of pharmacists etc.  Nurses also provide many of the treatments.

Nurses are to me the face of non-judgemental acceptance.  When someone is drunk or stoned, potentially aggressive or seriously upset, they are there for them.  They can be at risk, but they still place themselves potentially in harm's way to help another person.

During the early outbreaks of Covid, as the general public in the United Kingdom were clapping and banging kitchen utensils in honour of the NHS at various points, I was thinking of everyone working in the NHS but particularly the clinicians.  I ended up during Covid being lucky enough to be redeployed to a wellbeing hub where I got to see a number of staff and to talk to them.  Many of the nurses kept their own counsel, preferring to keep their feelings concerning Covid to themselves.

I regularly stand on the sidelines and wonder who cares for the nurses?  Of course, significant others, families and friends but what about within their working environments?  They are regularly underpaid, expected to pay for their own career progression and provide far too many hours of extra work, owing to principles of duty of care and their intrinsic giving natures.

I have seen nurses very stressed and I have wanted to hug them.  All I can do in my capacity within the hierarchical structure of the NHS is to do what I would hopefully do with anyone.  I try to empathise and would definitely gently suggest to the nurse that they give themselves a break.  One cannot continue to give without looking after your own wellbeing.  Human beings do not possess the ability to continue to help others without first satisfying our own needs.

But I also want to add that nurses are as varied as any other member of the healthcare profession.  Their characteristics and approach defined by their humanity, training and situation.  Not all nurses have to demonstratively convey their respect and love for the patients in an obvious way.  Sometimes, detachment is more necessary, providing the care continues.  For example, if a patient is aggressive and must still be treated, the safety of the nurse and/or healthcare professional is paramount.

The side to nurses I have been fortunate enough to see (other than the aforementioned empathy and compassion) is the sense of camaraderie that exists between them.  They can be like a group of friends getting lost together in an unthreatening environment far from home.  Giggling and sharing intimacies to relieve the stresses of their jobs.

Many of the nurses I have met are fiercely creative and I have spent many a quality moment in their companies both inside and outside of work.

This is a celebration of nurses, but it is also a reminder to look out for them.  Nurses are human beings, they live, love and suffer like everyone else.  They are subject to fluctuations of mood, physical ailments and mental illness.

If you see a nurse, ask how they are doing and smile at them if that's how you are feeling.  They grow through compassion and understanding.  We can all grow through feeling more connected and less isolated.

Nurses have helped me to understand myself a bit better.  They provide a metaphorical mirror to my personality and feelings.  They help me to safely explore my sense of self and I will continue to be grateful for everything they do.

So 'What are veins for?'  They help to move the deoxygenated blood back to the heart.  To me, they are a reminder that we are alive and that nurses can find them when they need to.

Nurses are the circulatory system of the NHS, don't hold them back or misuse them.  Their professional and emotional growth enables the treatment and care of others.

If I can be anything to the nursing team in my place of work, I hope that I am like a hug.  A point of human contact, an act of union, an acknowledgment of their qualities.  A mutual smile in an occasionally, dark place.

                                                                                        Barry Watt - 24th November 2024.

Photo.

This rose is for nurses everywhere.


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'The Substance' - A Lesson in Being Yourself with Someone You Half Remember.

The Substance is a film about the choices that we make and their physical and moral repercussions.

Elizabeth Sparkle (played by Demi Moore) is a well known aerobics personality on television who is liked by all.  This love is tempered by the fact that she is fifty years old and her age effectively renders her obsolete within a media industry that prefers their image makers to be young, sexy and pliable to suggestion.

Through a series of unfortunate events, she has an accident then ends up losing her job, she finds the substance of the title or more accurately, it finds her.  The USB stick being the seed for her future transformations (it provides information on how to obtain the substance after playing to the viewer's perceived feelings of inadequacy).

The substance effectively allows the creation of another perfect you, noticibly younger, but the one important lesson is that you and the other you are one.  Also you take it in turns to look after the other you as you are each allowed seven days to live your life, the other you ends up effectively unconscious for a week and has to be kept fed.

Now the first thing that the viewer notices is the location where the substance is picked up (refills also have to be picked up from there too).  On the outside, it is an alley which has seen far better days, but once the key card activates the entrance, the buyer enters an incredibly white and modern room with essentially lots of P.O. Boxes.  These are again accessed with the key card.  You take the box and follow the instructions when you get home but importantly, with one later exception, you go and pick up the drug (the later occasion involves a home delivery, the reason for this, I won't spoil).  It's always your choice.  Thinking back again on the crucial juxtaposition of the poverty and grime of the alley and the purity of the pick up point, the film is possibly reiterating the paradox of everyday life, we are always one step away from an infection, virus or disease of one sort or another, despite the rituals of cleanliness that we undertake.

Anyway, once Elizabeth begins the process after losing her job etc, Sue (played by Margaret Qualley) is born.

The birth of Sue is probably the most shocking sequence in the film.  She effectively emerges from Elizabeth's back.  An earlier sequence in the film involves a doctor after Elizabeth's accident effectively checking her flesh around the spinal area in the same way that you may assess the suitability of cattle or a piece of meat by pinching/massaging the flesh.  This act is clearly to ascertain her viability for the substance but we are not aware of this fact at that point.

I was curious by the decision to use the back for the birth.  Obviously, most regularly, births are vaginal with the exception of Caesarean and other births that may require surgery.  But from a narrative perspective, the speed of the metabolic growth of the perfect you results in the need for a large enough orifice to facilitate the emergence of an adult human being into the world.  I am sure that there is a symbolic significance to this idea.  From a religious perspective, Eve was apparently created out of one of Adam's ribs, but I strongly feel that the back marks the part of the body that you are least familiar with, the unseen (except in reflection).

Another idea that struck me is how similar the casting off of Elizabeth's body for Sue to be born resembles the imago stage when an insect metamorphosis into its final adult form (although, in this case, Elizabeth remains alive and it's not the final stage in Elizabeth's development as we shall later see).

Once Sue is 'born', Elizabeth who provides the matrix body in their symbiotic relationship at this point, is then effectively rendered semi-unconscious for seven days, so Sue has to suture the birth wound and then perform other clinical processes (lots of injections to make sure that Elizabeth doesn't die).  The same is true after seven days when the two switch (Sue becomes semi-unconscious and Elizabeth is responsible for caring for Sue). 

From a psychological perspective, it is interesting how the first time, Elizabeth in her semi-unconscious state sees Sue, is in a mirror.  In Lacan's psychoanalytic theory, the first time a child identifies that it is different from the world outside it and from its parents etc rather than maintaining the narcissitic belief that everything is part of the child's life revolves around the so-called 'mirror stage' in a child's development.  In this film, it's a literal mirror.

Sue is the perfect version of Elizabeth and effectively ends up replacing her in her television slot.  A new and intriguingly, even more sexualised version of Elizabeth's previous aerobics show.

Without giving everything away and returning this blog to the themes that interested me, the use of the substance goes very badly wrong.  The message, 'You are one' goes unheeded.

At its most pertinent, this is a film that questions societal assumptions about beauty and even more crucially, how we co-exist with our perceived notions of our past selves.  Throughout the film, Elizabeth is assailed by images of her past self looking beautiful and younger.  Even Sue, the new version of her is simply an idealised version of who Elizabeth once perceived herself to be.  The links between this film and 'The Portrait Of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde are being liberally explored everywhere but let's return to one of the  underlying themes of the film, is it possible to integrate perceived memories of the younger you with the present you.  Are you the same person, despite the physical changes?  Do we ever really change psychologically?

I suspect that the lesson provided by the film is that the changes are possibly not as huge as we may believe them to be.  Our childhood needs still inform our adult desires.  Those attributes of Sue that the viewer may find despicable, such as the need to be the centre of attention even if Elizabeth has to suffer for the vanity, is probably no different to Elizabeth's past behaviour patterns.  After all, Elizabeth is 'one' with Sue.

The final transformation of Elizabeth and Sue into something so-called 'monstrous' becomes a metaphor for the importance of consolidating our understanding of our past sense of self with our current self.  The merged form is potentially the most beautiful because it has the greatest capacity for becoming something new.  A point of acceptance.  Reaching desperately for the past rather than allowing for the fact that our younger selves are still part of us, helps to instigate many a mid-life crisis (unfortunately, it doesn't work out in this film.  Elizabeth becomes something else).

Ultimately, like Elizabeth Sparkle, what will remain of us will be signs, signifiers and memories in other peoples' minds.  The star on the Walk of Fame may soon become an inscription on a piece of stone.

If this film has one coherent moral, it is to live your life freely without the need for external agents or objects of change.  Your mind is the focal point for learning and change; your body, a transient, ever mutating extension of the unknowable forces that drive us.  Respect your body but more crucially, nurture your mind.

If 'you are one', let one matter.

                                                                                                Barry Watt - 27th September 2024. 

Afterword. 

The Substance is currently screening in a number of cinemas and is definitely worth seeing.  It was directed by Coralie Fargeat.  This blog only touches the surface of the many subjects I could have explored in relation to the film.  Intriguingly, when I stumbled on the idea of the imago, in connection with the metamorphosis of insects, I also learnt that there is a form of relationship therapy called Imago Relationship Therapy developed by Harville Hendrix and Helen LaKelly Hunt, which explores the notion that we may select partners based on childhood needs and views etc.  As such, this form of therapy explores present issues in relation to past memories and events etc.  In many respects, using this psychoanalytic model also opens up this beautifully constructed film, so off you go!

The quotes from the film and the ideas/plot elements are copyright to the individuals and companies connected with the film.

Lacan's 'mirror stage' is like many psychoanalytic concepts subject to continual debate.  Jacques Lacan first posited his theory at the Fourteenth International Psychoanalytical Congress at Marienbad in 1936.  He developed the theory throughout his life.  I am not an expert and I apologise if my distillation of the theory has simplified it.  Lacan is quite a difficult writer to understand, so possibly, get yourself an introductory book to his life and works.  I am working from memory and a brief scan of Wikipedia (Thanks, Wikipedia).  

'The Portrait of Dorian Gray' was written by Oscar Wilde and is well worth reading but does not offer very much in connection with this film.

                                                                                                                                               BW.

Photograph.

.

The Substance promotional poster.  

Used to illustrate the blog but used

without permission).

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The Importance of Being Belligerent?

The other day, a work colleague and friend, posted an image of a jar on Facebook with the instruction to imaging placing a positive word beginning with the first letter of your first name (typing the word in the comments section of Facebook).  I thought about this for a little while and came up with 'Belligerence'.

Now I don't know where the word came from but I do know that I liked the word's phonetic qualities.  For some reason, I had forgotten its meaning (basically, a belligerent person is someone who is prone to being argumentative and aggressive).

So why did I choose this word?  Was it really an accident?

Sigmund Freud talks about how a lot of things we perceive as slips of the tongue actually warrant exploration.  I certainly remember at secondary school replying, 'Yes, Mum' as my name was out out to my embarrassment on one occasion.

In which case, nothing is truly arbitrary and meaning can be ascribed to everything.

This has led me to wonder whether my seemingly random remembrance of this word is my unconscious trying to tell me something.

As children, we are mainly encouraged not to argue, be aggressive or to be angry.  I was bullied at various points throughout my school life, so I can see the problems inherent within that notion.  In very real terms, sublimating your feelings of frustration, fear and uncertainty can cause lifelong issues.  The only time I retaliated at school was after a prolonged period of being bullied.  I ended up getting the boy in a headlock when I just couldn't take anymore.  From then on, him and his mate left me alone.  Also interestingly, when the bell rang at the end of the break time, I retaliated I went straight to my next class.  Conditioning and structure are very important.

By nature, I am not a fighter, although at its most focused, I can see the value of argument and debate but it does need to be controlled in some way.  For example, a child having a temper tantrum every time they want something, probably shouldn't be rewarded with a gift.  Behaviours are learnt or are they?

The writer, psychiatrist, psychotherapist and psychologist, Carl Jung was very interested in archetypes and how as human beings, it is necessary to come to terms with the less palatable aspects of our characters, our 'shadow selves', the bits we consider unacceptable and to try to incorporate them into our more society friendly personas.

I have always been fascinated by the idea of Freud's topography of the psyche, particularly the unconscious and later, the Id.  Those primary energy channels that probably tie up with the most extreme emotions (or help to generate them).  When we experience, love, hate, rage etc, we can probably thank the unconscious for the emotions.

I am currently undergoing a period of intensive self exploration, a confrontation of who I am and who I hope to become.  As such, looking at my moods and the triggers for said moods is imperative for my future progression.  I have learnt that sometimes anger provides a useful release for pent up frustrations.  Being single and mentally going rounds in circles at times (OCD etc), whilst trying to structure and understand a chaotic world does lead to moments where I wish to scream at the moon.

Anger, if channelled correctly, can generate tremendous amounts of positive change and indeed, creativity.  If you don't believe me, just listen to any number of songs such as Bob Dylan's Idiot Wind or Elvis Costello's Tramp The Dirt Down for examples of how the worst life events, relationship break-ups and loss etc can produce incendiary works.

But left untethered, anger can cause physical problems and lead to addictions to try to conceal the more unpleasant aspects of character and rage can produce.

Over the years, I have got most angry inside when I have felt most frustrated, exploited or hurt.  Seeing people angry or argumentative terrifies me as the 'fight or flight' imperative may be useful in a warzone, but serves minimal use in day to day living.

So what word did I find after I finally discarded 'belligerence'?  Benefaction.

But although, I prefer the act of giving, somewhere inside I sense that it goes hand in hand with those primal energies and drives that we live with throughout our lives.  If the human condition is essentially to be born and then to die, at my most withdrawn and/or depressed, I see myself mirrored in the subject of Edvard Munch's The Scream.  

Where there is anger and frustration, there can be hope for change.

                                                                                                     Barry Watt - 17th August 2024.

Afterword.

Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud were both very prolific.  Their ideas can either be read in more condensed forms via other writers or in their own words translated for interested parties.  I can probably guide you in the right directions but you can read more if you want.  Needless to say, my summaries of their ideas are my interpretations of their theories etc as they apply to me.

Bob Dylan's Idiot Wind originally appeared on his album, Blood on the Tracks and in its live 1976 incarnation could well win the award for the angriest and also paradoxically, most life affirming songs of all time.  As part of the indirect lessons suggested by this blog, go and see the performance from Fort Collins in 1976 on You Tube that also appears in an audio form on the album, Hard Rain.

Elvis Costello's Tramp The Dirt Down featured on his album, Spike.  It's an extremely angry song exploring his feelings surrounding Margaret Thatcher and the Conservative Party during the 80s.  One of the most articulate and beautiful songs that you will ever hope to hear.

Edvard Munch's The Scream is a painting that continues to resonate within Western societies.

                                                                                                                                  BW.

Photo.

If you know, you know.

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A Prescription of Bubbles - On Gifts and Other Surprises.

For your current state of mind, I would like to offer you a prescription of bubbles...

In human civilisation, the act and indeed, art of gifting exists hand in hand with other needs such as a survival and companionship.

We gift to connect.

These connections may assume different forms.  Historically, a sacrifice or votive offering to a God or deities to ensure a good harvest, fertility or abundance was a form of gifting, albeit a symbolic or superstitious act of giving.  In these cases, a bloody carcass or a basket of fruit would be given in praise with the hopes of reciprocation for good or better times to come.  Depending upon the straits and preoccupations of the individual or tribes or simply groups of people, these acts of gifting were often accompanied by dance and song which may have augured positive change.

For a moment, just ponder how you have been gifted at various points in your life?

This week at work, I have been given two very different gifts.  I hasten to add that both gifts were precious to me for a number of reasons.

One gift was a week's worth of tea bags that had been collected and wrapped in a ribbon from a friend who had been in Ireland for a wedding.  The tea bags were Barry's Tea and were in sachets.  The kinds of tea bags you get in hotels and bed and breakfast establishments.  She had seen them and thought of me.  I was very touched with the gift.  The decision to give me seven tea bags for a week's worth of oral sustenance and to satiate my hydration needs was very moving.  The friend, because ultimately everybody who gives you a gift is a friend, regardless of their connection to you (family, spouse or work colleague) has bothered to think of you and has chosen to carry a handful of tea across an ocean to hand it to you in a ribbon.  A present of the moment, born of a feeling of positivity generated by the currents of optimism and hope surrounding the wedding.  The marriage of two people and the nice nature of my friend had seen both the humour and use value of Barry's Tea.  I loved this gift.

Another gift I was directly given came about after a random comment to another friend, in connection to the act of creativity.  I had mentioned origami to be told that a friend could only make swans.  Being the inquisitive person that I am, I asked to see the swan.  A little while later, I was given a perfectly folded simulacrum of a swan.  The intricate details of the wings etc astounded me and again, I was touched by the gift.  I was also told that the swan was called 'Barry'.  

Both of these gifts were very different but they both served to make me feel special or elated in some way.  They were both creative gifts.  To me, valuable gifts because of their emotional impact and the positivity that surrounded the acts of giving.

What are the other gifts that you remember from your life?

Personally, I remember lots of books, money and vouchers (I give them as much as I receive them).  A well chosen book can initiate a series of memories and or a sense of space.  Money and vouchers are in many respects an open-ended invitation to change a moment, an opening to experience a transitory feeling.  Possibly, to see something different or to put an object on a shelf or on your body that may bring someone to mind.

I really like receiving creative gifts, although I am grateful for everything I am given.

Also and rather mysteriously, there are indirect gifts.  For me, these are works of art or creativity that were created for the world outside my home such as street art.  Seemingly 'out of place' engagements with the world outside.  Visual messages or the warm hue when something tranquil and meaningful is needed.  The works are not always to everyone's liking but they serve a purpose.

Also the current trend for leaving poetry and prose on lampposts etc can be inspiring.  These can be messages such as the 'Dear Stranger' positive affirmations and reminders that despite your state of mind, you are never truly alone, even if you can't or won't connect at that moment.

Nature provides gifts too, if you are open to receiving them.  Depression often shuts people down but the sudden appearance of an insect or flower may breach the darkening skies and provide light.  After all, who can look at a moth or butterfly or bumble bee and not be truly astounded by their sense of purpose or possibly, joy of existence?  I doubt there are many card carrying union members among the birds in the sky as they tunefully herald in the dawn of a new day?

I am thankful for everything that has been given to me from a place and state of positivity, regardless of how I have felt in myself at the time of receiving.  For example, the poem I was given as a young man by a friend on about a butterfly, handwritten in pencil on a card.  I still have the card somewhere, the pencil is probably fading but the sentiment of happiness still shines.

Dear Reader, what can I give you?  You who have loyally read to the end of this blog.  I can give you a prescription of bubbles.  You can exchange them whenever you want to see something moving in a different direction.  They will be transient, but they will exhibit multiple colours and elicit a succession of emotions in you.  They will rise and burst.  They will change, just as you will change.  Please ride the watery spherical trail with my love and to those who continue to give, my eternal thanks.

P.S. A smile can be a gift in the right moment too.

                                                                                            Barry Watt - 4th August 2024.

Photos.

Barry's Tea.  They really are.

Barry the Swan looking resplendent.

I really like Nathan Bowen's street art.  It's often 

located outside building sites or closed businesses.

Dear Stranger...  Making connections.

A moth or butterfly came to say hello.

A friend's envelope design.

Embroidery on a card.  Again, it moved me. 
A gift from a friend.

I saw this yesterday.  Something about the positive 

affirmation and the little house.

                                                                                                                                  BW.

The Matchseller Remembers - An Interview with James Haddrell, Artistic Director of the Greenwich Theatre.

James Haddrell is the Artistic Director of the Greenwich Theatre.  His creative choices have helped to diversify the productions staged within the venue.  On one day, you may see a touring production of a satire of a classic novel and on another, a singer performing the works of Piaf.  I was recently lucky enough to see his productions of the two Pinter plays, A Slight Ache and The Dumb Waiter.  His directorial work and support of both fringe and new plays in general have helped to rejuvenate the Greenwich Theatre.  This is the third time I have interviewed James Haddrell and each time I have learnt something new about the processes of theatrical production.  I interviewed him just prior to the end of the run of the Pinter plays, so without further delay… 

You are currently staging two of Harold Pinter’s plays in the Greenwich Theatre, A Slight Ache and The Dumb Waiter. When did you first become interested in Pinter’s work and what informed your choice of plays?

I have been interested in Pinter’s work for years, with some key productions informing that – Malcolm Storry in English Touring Theatre’s production of The Caretaker here in Greenwich and Keith Allen in The Homecoming come to mind. I have always wanted to tackle The Dumb Waiter. I’m a huge fan of Beckett too, and the links between The Dumb Waiter and Waiting for Godot are clear. I love the evocation of old comedy double-acts that sits within The Dumb Waiter, the blend of absurd comedy and the surreal. And of course, the final tableau is unforgettable. In seeking a suitable pairing for that, I wanted to find a piece that contrasted as strongly as possible, and when I read A Slight Ache I was immediately convinced. Set in a different class, replacing the real-time boredom of The Dumb Waiter with an existential treatment of time, replacing the psychological impact of casual violence with the psychological impact of anxiety, agoraphobia and class-riddled social convention, the play nevertheless does end with an astonishing, unforgettable reversal, and in that regard it partners with The Dumb Waiter perfectly.

I have seen many of Pinter’s plays before (several more than once) and I found your production of A Slight Ache to be revelatory. Your production subtly revealed to me a subtext involving class relations, which I had not really considered before when seeing the play. The rather insidious way that the couple feel the need to dictate the work of the match seller. Do you agree that this is one way of exploring the play? Also the play was originally a radio play, did this hold you back in any way or did it liberate you, in terms of set design etc?

I think you’re absolutely right. The couple’s casual disregard for the humanity of the Matchseller (whether he’s there or not – he’s there for them so their conduct towards him is telling in any case), the belief that they can buy him (Flora’s “can I buy your tray of matches?” devalues his trade in such a dismissive way), their colonial view of the world, whether talking about villages or continents – all of these come from the disregard of others and the sense of self-importance held by those in a position of economic strength.

The translation from radio to stage is something we tackled before when we staged four of Caryl Churchill’s short plays. There is an inherent challenge in the shift – radio drama needs a script that describes everything, which delivered on stage can seem over-written, dense and wordy. However, the biggest shift in this case is the presentation of the match-seller on stage. On the radio there is no presence, but I was adamant, whether the interloper proved to be real or not, that the audience should see what Edward and Flora see. Whilst that may seem to limit the audience’s interpretation of the nature of the figure, making a decision for them, for me the match-seller is absolutely there – whether in the flesh or as fantasy, Edward and Flora feel his presence so an audience should be invited to share in that.

Pinter’s plays offer a variety of challenges for actors. Personally, despite the fact that they loosely inhabit the so-called ‘Theatre of the Absurd’, I have always felt that they capture the routine practices and regular mundanity of the human condition in an often realistic fashion. Human conversations are often uncomfortably punctuated with moments of silence.  How do you as a director work with the actors to inhabit characters who quite often have back stories that are not fully developed?

I agree – mundanity, and the sinister overtones that can exist within that mundanity, sits at the heart of Pinter’s work. The question about back stories is an interesting one. Different actors like to tackle that in different ways, but I always invite actors first to draw out whatever is offered in the script and then to improvise and devise a back story from that. For The Dumb Waiter, the time it was set and the age of our characters meant that they had probably both fought in the war. For Edward and Flora we had to make decisions about family – there are no children mentioned but could they have had children? Could Flora have wanted them and been let down by Edward? I do think back story creation is an important exercise. Actors need to know what is driving their characters and what associations their characters are making in every statement, but as director I always make the creation of those stories a collective exercise. All of the actors along with the creative team in the rehearsal room have a place in devising each character’s story.

I have noticed that you often work with the same actors. For example, you have worked with Kerrie Taylor on a few occasions. Does the practice of working with someone whose methods you respect and understand add to the development of the shows? How much input would you allow an actor in creative decisions outside of the development of their character? If they offered suggestions based on mise-en-scene etc, have you in the past or currently, integrated such ideas into your productions?

Absolutely – working with the same actor on a number of occasions is valuable for a range of reasons. It creates a shorthand in rehearsal. It develops a deep sense of trust so if I need to push actors to explore difficult emotional ideas they are prepared to do that with me (Kerrie is tackling something very different with me now, moving from Pinter to Philip Ridley’s Vincent River in which she plays a mother whose son has been murdered). And yes, absolutely – I always take suggestions on all aspects of a show from cast members – particularly, I have to say, with costume, which can contribute to a character and to an actor’s ability to embody that character.

Additionally, you seem to have a strong supportive team working with you. How has working with the same Stage Manager, Cora Parkinson helped you in the development of your shows?

Cora is a fantastic young stage manager who I first worked with in 2021 when she was a first year technical theatre student. I immediately hired her to work with me on a professional basis, and Vincent River will be our tenth show together. When you have someone in rehearsals that you’ve collaborated with so many times, they become far more important than their job title would suggest. Cora understands the aesthetic that I’m looking for, the exercises I favour with actors, my sense of humour – and I always look to her to validate decisions I’m making – does this work, is this funny, impactful, appropriate? Those kind of collaborations are incredibly important for me, and I’ve never been a believer in the auteur approach. I always make theatre with a team.

You are shortly going to produce a new version of Philip Ridley’s Vincent River. I remember seeing the play some time ago with Louise Jameson in the role of Anita. I have noticed that you are pairing Kerrie Taylor in the role of Anita with a recently graduated actor called Brandon Kimaryo as Davey. I feel that the pairing will help to bring out the nuances of the play, the nature of experience and how perceptions of any event differ based upon time and involvement. From your past experience of working with actors at different points of their careers within the same production, do you find that a very special energy and rapport manifests as a result of the combination? Do both parties come away from the experience with new insights into the art of creating characters?

Working with actors at different stages of their careers is always exciting. It happened last year when we presented Mike Bartlett’s An Intervention with Lauren Drennan playing opposite newcomer Helen Ramsay, and as you say we’re doing it again this year with Kerrie Taylor and Brandon Kimaryo. It’s always challenging to work with actors who don’t share many cultural references – I’m always referencing films, plays, music, directors, performance styles etc in rehearsal, and often it means nothing to one of the two actors in the room – but that’s exciting. I love the discoveries that everyone makes along the way, and it’s definitely the case that all of the performers learn from each other. I always encourage that in any rehearsal room. No actor is a complete master of their craft, and clearly neither am I, and there is nobody with nothing to share.

Philip Ridley is one of those playwrights that I have noticed more as I have explored the productions of fringe theatre. As is the case with Harold Pinter, I have seen a number of his plays. His plays also cover an eclectic range of themes, relationships and their inevitable ups and downs, violence, drugs and their repercussions. Sometimes, they are shocking and at other moments, extremely tender. A number of his plays feature a small number of characters, which allows him to focus on character development. What attracted you to Philip Ridley and his works? There is definitely a continuing resurgence of interest in his work. What do you feel is contributing to his current popularity?

It’s such an interesting question. I’ve loved Philip Ridley’s writing for years, but he’s certainly in the ascendancy again. I think a lot of the things that his work deals with are of particular importance to young audiences – identity, sexuality, coming-of-age narratives, inter-generational power (which is not to say that those things don’t impact on all ages, but they feel particularly live for younger theatregoers) – and I think those audiences have become more important to producers in the wake of the pandemic. Younger audiences have returned to theatres, and to live performance, earlier than others, so venues need to present work that appeals to that audience. Also, I think that Philip’s work is fundamentally left-wing, and we’re living in a moment where the rise of the right is being felt ever more painfully – so many of the issues that he addresses have a renewed potency.

When you are producing the works of living playwrights, do you ever approach them if there are ever any textual or content issues that you wish to address that may be hindering certain aspects of the production of a play? Alternatively, do you prefer to see the play text as the starting point and that your job as a director is both to celebrate it but also to mould it into something that is uniquely the work of yourself, the actors and your production team?

I love having access to a playwright – Philip has been into rehearsals already and we have been in regular contact – but that said every new production has an obligation to recreate a play for the time, the venue and the audience for which it exists. Similarly when I take on a script I always strip out all of the stage directions and start again with the words spoken by the characters. Also, although I certainly don’t consider myself a writer, I often work with actors to write interior monologues or conversations, to bring those charged theatrical silences to life. In that way the script is just a starting point for the final production.

Returning briefly to the subject of your current Pinter productions, who designs your promotional images? The advertisement for The Dumb Waiter and A Slight Ache consisting of a gun and a wasp being forced backwards against a yellow background is one of the most powerful images I have seen in a while and it also succinctly captures the themes of the plays. The Vincent River promotional image is also strikingly indicative of the contents of the play. Do you offer input into the images that are used to promote the shows at the Greenwich Theatre?

Most of the posters for our in-house productions are designed by a company called Dragonfly Design. I have worked with them since about 2005 when I was the marketing manager for the venue. Their main designer, Malcolm Reid, also did all of the editing and production design for our online pandemic productions of Berkoff’s The Secret Love Life Of Ophelia and Caryl Churchill’s The After-Dinner Joke. With the posters, I always have an input but the final image is very much a collaboration between Dragonfly and Greenwich Theatre.

I have noticed through your articles in the South London Press that you often highlight and celebrate the works of other theatres. I feel a tremendous degree of respect for you for your support of other theatres. How often do you get to see productions outside of the Greenwich Theatre? Do you feel that in the current economic climate that theatre visits are often sacrificed owing to ticket costs? To me as an audience member and avid attendee of many productions, I feel that theatre is even more relevant during times of turmoil. Would you agree with that sentiment?

My theatregoing has reduced a bit in the past few years as I now have a young family, but I’m starting to rebuild that. I’ve had great visits to the Unicorn Theatre and the Park Theatre recently and I’m at Hampstead Theatre next week, and I obviously see a lot here at Greenwich Theatre. Once my routine is back to its usual rhythm I’ll be seeing 3-4 shows a week. I’m also planning to get back to the Edinburgh Fringe this year or next, and I would usually catch 50-100 shows at the festival each year. I do think that audience sizes are reduced at the moment, partly as a hangover from the pandemic and partly because of the cost of living crisis – and we’re also all finding that the audiences that are coming to see our shows are booking far later than they used to. Younger audiences make later decisions anyway I think, and more traditional audiences got so used to last minute cancellations or illness, and then train strikes and even horrendous weather, that I think they have been reconditioned to make later decisions.

And yes, I’d completely agree. Theatre is at its strongest, as all the arts are, in times of turmoil. Stories offer either escapism or intellectual challenge, taking audiences away from difficult situations or helping to confront them – I feel privileged to be a part of an industry with storytelling at its heart.

What are your future plans with the Greenwich Theatre? Will your theatre continue to offer a creative space for students and also continue to stage an eclectic range of productions for both adults and children?

Absolutely. We’re planning to maintain our recent run of in-house productions of work by important playwrights – the work is attracting attention across the industry and beyond, and at a time when the availability of touring theatre has reduced it is vital for us to fill the gaps with quality shows. At the same time, Greenwich Theatre occupies a really important position in the national theatre ecology. We are a mid-scale venue where young companies can step up from the fringe and try out new work without risking huge amounts of money, but where they can earn a good return if their show does well. We will continue to support and nurture those early career artists, in both the main house and the studio, and to present work for a wide audience. Our work for families and children also remains important to us. The 2023 Greenwich Children’s Theatre Festival was the biggest ever, and plans are well underway for this year’s pantomime, as well as a host of other family shows in between. It may sound like a cliché, but we really do strive to offer something for everyone at Greenwich Theatre…

Thanks to James for allowing me to interview him again and I recommend that you go to see Vincent River at the Greenwich Theatre (23^rd June 2023-15^th July 2023) if you can.

Afterword.

The Greenwich Theatre continues to offer an eclectic range of productions for all ages.  Please see the link to their website below:

Greenwich Theatre, London Off-West End Theatre

Any references to Harold Pinter’s plays are used to illuminate this blog and the Greenwich Theatre’s recent productions.  They are copyright to their respective copyright holders.  If you ever get the chance to see Pinter’s plays, please go and see them as his works are still amongst the most vital and important plays in modern UK theatre.

Also the works of Stephen Berkoff, Caryl Churchill, Samuel Beckett and Mike Bartlett are also worthy of your attention, if you like to see eclectic plays that touch on a myriad of themes and ideas.

Dragonfly Design have their own website, if you would like to see further examples of their work:

 Dragonfly (dragonfly-design.co.uk) 

James Haddrell is a regular columnist in the South London Press newspaper, which can also be read online:

South London News – South London Press & Mercury (londonnewsonline.co.uk)

Additionally, the Unicorn Theatre, Park Theatre and Hampstead Theatre are all theatres who produce essential works:

What's on | The Unicorn Theatre

Park Theatre

Hampstead Theatre | London

The term 'The Theatre of the Absurd' was coined by the writer, Martin Esslin in relation to the works of a number of significant playwrights writing during the 50s and 60s including Pinter, Beckett, Ionesco and Pirandello.  He wrote an excellent book on the subject entitled The Theatre of the Absurd which is still available and offers a good way in to Absurdist writings.  An edition is currently available from Bloomsbury Publishing.  Although, it can also be bought second hand too.

Photos and promotional images (Used with the permission of James Haddrell & the Greenwich Theatre).

James Haddrell directing at the Greenwich Theatre.

                                 

Flora and the Matchseller embracing a moment of possibility
and change in 'A Slight Ache'.
(Flora played by Kerrie Taylor and the Matchseller 
by Tony Mooney)

The Matchseller and Edward wishing for another moment
in 'A Slight Ache'.
(The Matchseller played by Tony Mooney and
Edward played by Jude Akuwudike)  

Gus and Ben waiting for their job in 'The Dumb Waiter'.  
(Gus played by Jude Akuwudike and Ben by Tony Mooney)

The brilliant promotional image for 'The Dumb Waiter'
and 'A Slight Ache'.

Kerrie Taylor and Brandon Kimaryo.  Also promotional image
for 'Vincent River'.

A promotional image for the forthcoming production of 
'Vincent River' at the Greenwich Theatre.

Barry Watt - 21st May 2023 and 7th June 2023.

                                           

Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles - The Aesthetics of Banality.

Last night, I went to the BFI to see Sight and Sound's choice of 'Greatest film of all time' based on their 2022 list.  The list is chosen by critics, so any surprise at the choice, is rapidly forgotten.  Critics are rarely likely to pick the conventional choices, in the midst of political and cultural changes, both positive and negative.

Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles was made in 1975 by the director Chantal Akerman, who also wrote the screenplay.  Now before I discuss the film and how it made me feel, I want to suggest that it is not a unique film thematically, Luis Bunuel's film, Belle de Jour (1967) explores the idea of a married woman who works as a prostitute in the afternoon and Agnes Varda's film, Cleo from 5 to 7 (1962) offers a very memorable female protagonist who awaits the results of medical tests to find out whether she has cancer.  I mention these two films, not to denigrate the impact of Akerman's film, but to reiterate that there are other films that feature strong female protagonists, which are also worth seeing.

The first thing that anyone ever mentions about Jeanne Dielman is the length of the film.  Its running time is 201 minutes.  Now historically, the longer films tend to be more action based (for better or worse) and the key to their appreciation lies in immersing yourself in their sense of spectacle and their character development, where it is apparent.  The actions in this film are primarily focused on a small apartment with occasional excursions into the environs around the abode of the mother and her son, Sylvain.  The static camera is set up and long takes of the minutiae of life are offered to the viewer.  The editing is minimal.

Now from my brief description of the cinematography, you could be mislead into believing that the film would be slow paced.  Well, the events of the film depict three days in the life of a mother and a woman who primarily lives and breathes in her apartment alone (her son comes in each evening after school or college and basically ignores her, but their companionship is apparent from the moment he first appears.  They are not enemies to each other, merely separate in terms of their needs and desires, although Jeanne is clearly interested in her son's academic work.  They also both have an interest in music and song).  

Jeanne Dielman spends the majority of her days doing housework and preparing meals.  Everything about her life is ritualistic, even the monetary transactions with her afternoon clients before they leave.  The director focuses exhaustively on the tiny details, the seemingly endless shot of Jeanne as she peels a handful of potatoes.  Also one particularly horrific shot of Jeanne kneading meat that I am sure would repulse most vegans and vegetarians (I eat meat and even I found it hard to watch).  She takes pride in her work and all of her daily rituals, provide her with some kind of security.  They never explicitly state it but her behaviour is largely resemblent of sufferers of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  Personally, I recognised the non-stop pattern of turning light switches on and off.  Also her life is so determined by an order of her own creation, it becomes painful to watch at times.

By the time, the viewer gets to day 3 of what eventually transpires to be her mental breakdown, all of the comforting rituals break down (she drops an item of cutlery whilst drying up, loses her grip on a brush as she polishes her son's shoes and arrives far too early for the opening of certain shops she regularly frequents).  In a film where many daily routines are shot in real time, it is telling that the most saddening sequence on day 3 involves Jeanne going to her regular cafe/bar, only to discover that her table has been taken.  She ends up shifting to the table adjacent to her usual one but is very uncomfortable seeing another person spread over her territory.  

Despite my descriptions of the events of the film, there are moments of humour in the film, particularly a scene involving a child Jeanne momentary looks after whilst a neighbour goes out and gets shopping.  Jeanne's maternal instincts are negligible to say the least as she picks up the child from the carry cot and the baby howls an almost primal scream.  Also a short discussion that Sylvain has with Jeanne about sex (Sylvain believes in an almost ideal notion of relationships.  You should only have sex with someone you love and also the act of sex seems to horrify him in some respects).

My enduring memories of the film will be informed by the diegetic use of sound.  The sound although regularly heightened or exaggerated is, as it would be in your daily life.  The viewer can hear the traffic noises from outside and the other sounds associated with the routines of life.  The boiling kettle reaches a high pitched note on the gas oven and the light switches click on and off audibly, whilst Jeanne's shoes tap repetitively across her apartment.  There is also an interesting use of light throughout the film.  The main living room has a wall that is rendered visually unstable by the neon lights from a building opposite and the lift from the ground floor to Jeanne's apartment is surrounded by a light show that helps to oppress her character, even more than the tight confines of the life.

By the end of the film, the viewer genuinely cares about Jeanne Dielman's plight, although we have only been privy to scant details about her personal life but have an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of her daily routines.  Her final act and its aftermath leave you wondering what next for the character.  Will the serving dish continue to act as a receptacle for money?  Will her son discover what has happened?  Also I left the cinema thinking, did it happen or did she imagine it?  To find out what I mean, you will have to see the film or read a synopsis of the plot but I do recommend you see the film.  I certainly don't think it warrants being number one in any list of 'Greatest films of all time' but it has an energy and fundamentally, if you view it as a film in which 'nothing much happens', I beg to differ.  Where 'nothing much happens', everything matters.  I think that is the most important lesson of all.  Sometimes, the big picture is so much less significant than the activities of the daily grind.  Life is in the detail.

                                                                                                 Barry Watt - 12th March 2023. 

Afterword.

The film Jeanne Dielman, 23, Qual du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles is available on DVD and Blu Ray.  Although, my blog entry has explored various aspects of the film, it's definitely worth seeing and significantly, I think it warrants seeing with an audience too.  As such, if it ever gets shown at a cinema near you, please go and see it.

The BFI (British Film Institute) has a website and as an organisation are very supportive of film making and film in general:

https://www.bfi.org.uk/

Sight and Sound is a magazine produced by the BFI:

https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound

Belle de Jour and Cleo from 5 to 7 can also be purchased on DVD and other formats.  They are both worth seeing for their intelligent and strong female protagonists.

                                                                                                                                 BW.

Photo.

A potato.  If you focus on the commonplace, it becomes extraordinary.

                                                                                                       BW.