ON THE SPORADIC NATURE OF MY BLOGGING

So, yeah I fell off the blogging bandwagon.

I am ridiculously busy though. Close friends and my mother all agree that I am living the life of roughly three seperate people . Apparently none of them blog. Which is unfortunate.

To be honest, I have barely had time to watch anything. And those I did see, I have barely had the time to review. My writing on other websites have suffered too, although I am clawing my way back...

It is quite obvious to me that this is now more than a minor hiccup and more a reorganisation of my life. I crave your patience as I work out where everything goes in this brave new world.

But in the meanwhile I do hope you enjoy this weeks review... 

Best, 
Essie 

A STUDY OF OBSESSION AND MADNESS... FOXCATCHER...

Oh boy, I have been wanting to catch up with this bad boy for a while. This got chins wagging back in the Oscar season, remember… First it was Steve Carells unbelievable performance as the archetypal (real life ) crazy millionaire John Du Pont. Carell, by and large known for his comic performances shot right to the top of the Oscar nominations list with his performance, and incidentally with his make-up. Or rather his make-up shot to the top of nominations without him, it is after all a different category. Then there was the whole scandal about Channing Tatum getting snubbed in the best supporting actor category. You know shit just got awkward when even Mark Ruffalo who got nominated instead of him openly says Tatum has been snubbed. And then, then there was the whole matter with the real life Mark Schultz who withdrew his support from the film shortly after its release. Having seen the film he was warned that the film could potentially portray him as gay and strongly opposed to any such thing being the case. Though to be honest everyone also noticed that Schultz was rather opportunely pointing towards his own interviews and books he had contributed to as an alternative source… Mmm… Anyway, you will recall it definitely made its own fair share of ripples, not least because it actually is – that old favorite of mine – a true story.  A story of madness and murder – a favorite of the general public too now you mention it! Oh and yeah, there is the odd bit of wrestling thrown in…

David and Mark Schultz are a brother team of great renown in the wrestling world. Both are Olympic gold medal winners but David (Mark Ruffalo) is generally seen as the superior talent and definitely a much better coach and trainer than Mark (Channing Tatum) who is more hot-headed and definitely full of resentment at not being able to escape his brothers shadow. It is for this reason that when, seemingly quite out of the blue, he is approached by eccentric millionaire John du pont (Steve Carell) he sees in his proposition an opportunity to finally strike out on his own and succeed. The stakes are high- du pont wants to be the coach of the American wrestling team that is sent to the 1988 Olympic games. He wants David to be a part of it and to help coach the team. He will spare absolutely no expense in doing so. For David, living alone in a tiny flat and living off the American equivalent of pot noodles, it’s a whole new world… But it is also the beginning of a relationship tinged with drug abuse, obsession and ambition that will prove extremely destructive in more ways than one…

First of all, let us get the most obvious bit out of the way. The wrestling. I cannot stress enough that this is not a sports film. The wrestling is, in fact, almost incidental – although goodness knows du pont himself would be very displeased with that. This is a very insightful and fascinating look at obsession and how it pushes people to react. Carell must have jumped for joy as an actor when he got the part of Du pont – what a character! Basically a real life Norman Bates (only with added millions of dollars and gigantic estate), Du pont – well into middle age – is ruled by his mother Jean (played rather superbly by Vanessa Redgrave) and deep down wants nothing more than to rebel against her. In his quest, he has come up with a sport she would definitely disapprove of, and that would set him apart from her (she breeds prize racehorses) and becomes completely obsessed with becoming the best in the world at it – so he is not only rebelling but in fact overshadowing her as he does it… And he has the resources that enable him to not stop at anything to achieve this goal…

Then of course there is the whole dynamic between Mark and David, the eternal story of sibling rivalry. Both actors do a superb job of their parts. And I really don’t care how much stick you give Tatum about the Magic Mike franchise – the man can act. And boy can he move. I am not just talking about how good looking he is (and let’s face it ladies and gents he is DAMN good looking) he just has a talent of moving fluidly and looking damn good while he does it. The one piece of criticism I will put across however is that the character of David is a little too perfect. He seems to be the archetypal benign older brother, perfect coach and father. I mean, I never knew the guy, maybe he actually was like that. But I have a nasty suspicion that there is some level of whitewashing – so to speak – going on in the light of, not to give out too many spoilers, what happens next…

Foxcatcher sustains a very robust level of tension throughout. It had me on the edge of my seat throughout and the successful way it sustained the psychological tension between this extraordinary and larger than life characters was a large part of it. It is a wonderful study of the human  mind set against one of the most competitive strands of an already competitive industry (professional sport). I personally found it both hair-raising and thought provoking. And I promise you, you will, at the very least, get what all the fuss is about…  

THE EVIL DEAD... OR THE STORY OF HOW IT ALL BEGAN...

I try to stick to the tradition of watching a horror film or two on Halloween. Even if I am busy, or ill (or both) that is my way of celebrating the holiday. In my native Turkey we do very little to celebrate this holiday so that is where it stops for me. I mean, I can always do with an excuse for watching horror films and eating candy. The Evil Dead was my second film this Halloween. I actually checked out the trailer at around 2.00 in the morning, in the dark. It gave me the willies so I left it to the morning. Now those of you who know me in real life will know I do not scare that easily so I was surprised at feeling nervy at a trailer. But hey, I had already watched one really spooky film so I cut myself some slack.

I watched this big boy the next day, in broad daylight, with cats and people milling around noisily outside my door. I was TERRIFIED. I am a grown woman and we are talking cringing, pausing the film multiple times, hiding from the screen behind my fingers, the whole nine yards… Sam Raimi, you sick, sick puppy…

Of course horror fans will know that The Evil Dead is now officially one of the archetypes of a specific type of horror film. You know, a group of young people end up in a remote spot in the woods (more often than not they are renting a cabin though God only knows why you would choose to vacation bang in the middle of a weird forest all by yourselves but hey… Suspension of disbelief and all that. ) So yeah, our group of young people come to a remote cabin that they are renting as a relaxing vacation. But the whole thing goes south very quickly when they discover a sinister looking study on demonology left by the previous occupant. Nobody takes the study very seriously and it is read out loud to much hilarity, however…  Unbeknown to them, they have woken a curse… And it is coming straight for them…

The Evil Dead was one of those infamous films that was banned for years in some countries, edited heavily in others and definitely became the stuff of legend very quickly in all. What gets you in the gut is the absolutely brutal savagery of the film combined with a rather masterfully created atmosphere.  And the absolutely savage violence is unrelenting, no holds barred and in a word, not tastefully done at all. It is a complete battery on your senses and after a while you are just reduced to staring at the screen in terror, unable to turn away – pretty much like watching a train crash. The fact that the film was made in 1980 and that some of the effects were very patently achieved with stop motion and play dough is neither here nor there. Raimi seems to know exactly where all your primal fears are and how best to abuse them. You literally have no escape…

And yet, the overkill (literally) on violence does not make you glaze over after a while. The film is intelligent and humorous throughout and keeps you oddly engaged, which is not good news for your nerves if you are basically engaged with a cabin full of murderous and bloodthirsty demons.   Several tropes are noted and turned on their heads as they go along – there is, for example a typical character who would be the –last girl – in normal films. You know how it goes, the couples get plucked off one by one, the last, pure (often white and single) girl survives, thus making the film a hidden ode to the patriarcle system. Well we start off with two couples and the sister of one of the boys –familiar enough. But then the potential last girl is actually the first to be cursed, shortly after being raped by a tree (no that was not a typo) I might add. The film studies student in me wants to also make something of the fact that she gets trapped under the cabin in the cellar for a good part of the film after she is transformed into a demon, you know, repressed female sexuality and all that jazz. Especially since our last boys girlfriend is used quite openly to tempt him into the demonic fold. I did tell you that the film hits you at your most primal – and sex is, as we all know, a large part of all that.

This is not one of those horror films you put on just to giggle at the monsters and the general lack of common sense prevalent in slashers and B – movies. It’s a good, old fashioned corner stone. It’s an actual source. Its future incarnations have diluted it on the way, this is true, but even all these decades later when you re-visit the source, you find that electrifying and truly demonic energy present in all its glory, ready to inspire your dreams – and nightmares…   

ESSIE AND GATHERING CLOUDS...

The clouds are gathering... In so many ways...

In our play this week Andre, our hero, struggles with his own mind as it plays trick after trick on him.

I personally have one heck of a week coming. I am no longer doing office work, I am back on the shift work so I now once again have multiple 6.00 a.m. starts looming on my horizo. Oy vey...

On a completely different note, this is London so we have officially said goodby to the sun until next spring.

Much clouds. Wow.

Anyway, I have to dash now, but I hope your week has fewer clouds than mine and much sun.

Oh I am not complaining. I am just a little chilly...

much love,
Essie

THE MOMENT THE FATHER BECOMES THE SON...

I love going to the theatre. Movies have always been another matter, I don’t particularly mind if I watch them in the cinema or in the living room. Well, possibly except when the experience is better served by 3D and IMAX, you actually NEED to go to the cinema for that. But all that aside, you might even say I prefer watching films in my own living room, in my pajamas and munching as many noisy snacks as my gut will hold. The magic of the theatre is completely different for me. London is a great and wonderful place and if cheap theatre tickets are your thing, there are a million and one different websites you can use to come by them. You have to use your noggin a little bit, but with a minimal amount of triage you can end up paying pretty much Band 3 prices for Band 1 tickets. I tend to avoid Band 3 tickets, but for this play, the price was very good. So I risked it. I ended up in literally the last row in the house, riiight up in the rafters. I was kicking myself as I took my seat – never again such false economies, I vowed – and my inner Middle Eastern started scanning the grand circle below to see if there were empty seats I could sneak into during the interval.

I am not going to say that I will now sit in Band 3 for always and always, I will probably still very much go for Band 2 at the very worst. But nor do I regret having got these seats up in the rafters in this particular case. It reminds one how truly powerful a live performance has to be. Especially as I now have pretentions at crossing the curtain to the other side of the stage, it is awesome and quite frightening that I, in a seat where I could comfortably touch the roof of the building (or would be able to if I was only about a foot taller) I was actually bowled over by the performances and the emotions. I cannot begin to conceive how you would go about actually giving such a performance (I can’t yet, anyway).

The Father is the story of Andre (Kenneth Cranham). He is getting on a bit, but by and large he is managing fine – or so he tells himself. His daughter Anne (Claire Skinner) would tell a different story. Andre doesn’t understand why she insists on finding him carers. Or why he frequently ends up still wearing his pajamas at the end of the day. Or where his watch is. Some days strange men and women come into his house (or is it is daughters?) and claim to be his daughter and son in law, Andre just doesn’t understand. But surely it’ll all come to him… He’s fine… Right?

Translated from the original Moliere award winning French play by Christopher Hampton, The Father gives us a toe-curlingly realistic portrayal of a decaying mind. The truly fascinating thing is the way the play shows us both sides of the argument. Kenneth Cranham’s Andre – who, in case you needed it spelled out for you,  is clearly suffering from some form of dementia – is a larger than life character who is painfully realistic. And the play is structured in a way that brings his disease and confusion right to you with hair raising (in a good way) reality. But although the disease is swallowing Andre whole, it does not swallow the story. In the midst of this confusion we see Anne and her husband Antoine desperately trying to cope with the effects of this disease. All characters are unflinchingly human. One vacillates between wanting to strangle them and wanting to comfort them… And this makes the story that little bit harder to watch if, for whatever reason, the topic is close to your heart.

The Father is definitely not your average evenings light entertainment. This is the kind of show that makes you stop, shake yourself and seriously think about life. You’ll go to the pub badly in need of a stiff drink and be a little too boisterous and loud as you try to expulse the dark clouds that gathered in you throughout the show. And as someone who has dementia in her family, I can testify to the fact that you will get a powerful insight into what life with dementia truly is like. I described the play in some detail to my mother and she reckons she wouldn’t be able to watch the play. And for all her eccentric tastes in film (I am yet to be able to discern a pattern with your viewing Mom, and this is from someone who has known you for 32 years) Mom is a tough cookie. Sensitive souls beware.

So how would I summarize The Father ? Strong, beautiful and dark. Very dark. I would also point out that it is in London’s Wyndham Theatre for a very limited run, so I would strongly advise you catch it before it is gone. Go on. Get out of the pajamas and put the popcorn to one side for two minutes. Life really does begin outside of your comfort zone and it is worth getting a little uncomfortable to really learn something about life. 

ESSIE'S WEEK

Hi guys!

So, week two (give or take) in my office life. It still feels like a suit of clothes that doesn't fit very well. But I am getting my own stuff in as well, so for now all is well.

It really is turning into a sort of high-stakes juggling act though. I don't find the work itself that tiring, it's the fitting my own life around it bit that is complicated.  It is a valuable time-management lesson for when I return to the wierd and wonderful world of shift work. I mean, if I can actually manage my escalating acting world, household responsibilities and blog going with this sale of 9 hours of my day every day (though technically more because it takes me over an hour to get to work every day) imagine what will happe when I am back to making my own schedule! I can't wait!

In the meanwhile here's a slightly tardy review. Tardy as in the show closed two weeks ago. Oh well, it doesn't stop me thinking about it and talking about it.

Onwards and upwards my dears!
Essie

FUTURE CONDITIONAL - A REMINDER THAT THE FUTURE IS UNWRITTEN...

Well this is messy. This is precisely what I was talking about last week. The whole point of my writing about plays I go to was to shine a tiny candle onto the theatre scene. Sort of asking you to accompany me as I sneak slowly (and on a budget) into London’s theatre scene. I saw this play absolutely ages go. I finally was able to put some time aside to catch up on my writing. One search on Google shows that it closed the day before I wrote this. FFS.

Never mind. It may reopen. And there is no harm in being retrospective. And this is MY blog God-darn it, if I want to write about a play that closed two weeks ago, I will, so there. Boo to anyone who criticizes me.

Future Conditional is the story of what is wrong with the British educational system. Sporting a cast of talented young actors and starring Rob Brydon, we take a look into the lives of those on all sides of the system. The families, the teachers, the law-makers… In the thick of all of this, we have one young and very talented Pakistani refugee who has an extraordinary idea about how we can make the whole thing a lot fairer. The question is, can she get past the preconceptions and bad habits to actually change the world…

I will start off by assuring you that while the play really and truly IS about “what is wrong with the educational system”, it is neither as serious or as dry as that sentence makes it sound. There is a lot of laughter, on big topics and small, and while we are definitely pushed to think while we watch this play – and it clearly has its political message well and truly at the forefront of its mind – it is not didactic at all.

That said, it does work a lot better if you actually know a bit about the British educational system. My knowledge, it must be admitted, is patchy. And I did find bits of the play – it is quite heavy on very serious political discussion – a tad hard to follow as far as the topic went. I mean don’t get me wrong you can follow it. I am just quite sure I would enjoy it more if I knew more about the topic.

The other surprise for me was Rob Brydon. His role is basically that of John Keating in Dead poets society. The only thing is, he is a very toned down version of him. Yes his scenes are good and striking but to be that “extraordinary teacher” who “changes his pupils’ lives” as the posters for the play professes he needed that extra bit of “umph”. As it is, he is good and portrays his part more than ably, but , I do wish there was more of him doing more.

I mean I can sort of see why that artistic choice was made. Rob Brydon is the big name of the play, but the spotlight of it stays on the topic and the young, talented and energetic cast. He is an integral part of the process, but not the centerpiece of the affair. This means we the audience can give a fair share of attention and limelight to all the parts and hopefully give some thought to the message.  And  good theatre is all about teamwork, at the end of the day. I have more of a problem with the fact that the whole part of the “life saving teacher” lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. I don’t really have a problem with whether Rob Brydon was playing the part or not.  The part needed something more, something bigger. I mean either that, or the play really should stop using the line “who is the teacher who saved your life” (or something to that effect) in its advertising. But the other point is that Alia, who is based largely on Malala Yousufazi the Pakistani schoolgirl who fought for the right to female education, does not  necessarily need “saving” in the first place. She is perfectly capable of doing it herself.

 But this is not a play about teaching any side “a lesson”. It is neither that serious nor that glum. On the contrary, it brims with hope for the future and the new generation. Yes, it points out the flaws in the current system clearly and concisely. Ruthlessly even. But the overwhelming message, I felt, was one of hope. We have many bright and beautiful young men and women growing up in this country right now. Give them half a chance and they can fix it. All you need to do is not get stuck in your old ways and cling to old methods that clearly don’t work. Just open your mind to the possibility that there is a whole different way of doing things that would make us all a lot happier.

I went to see the play on a matinee. I counted no less than three different school uniforms in the auditorium. This gives me hope. Young people are  not just “constantly staring at their phones” as the older gener ations would have us believe. They are interested, and  engaged.They just do things differently – as does every new generation.