This evening, self caught a performance of Titus Andronicus at the Globe. She snagged the greatest seat: middle gallery, first row, center section. She had a completely unrestricted view of the stage and the audience in the pit.
What is it about British stage actors? They can make the grandest of gestures feel so intimate. Of the play itself, could anything equal the horror of seeing the beautiful Lavinia turned into a twitching horror, stumps for hands? Self knew the play would be violent; she didn’t know it would also be so moving. And darn if the production didn’t have two brilliant actresses tearing up the scenery: because of them, self actually forgot that the play was called Titus Andronicus. And — talk about melodrama! Talk about angst! Both actresses were beautiful, lithe, and perfectly emblematic. The men were adequate, but after the scene where Lavinia, still bruised and bleeding, picks up her father’s hand with her teeth — her teeth, dear blog readers! — self was completely overwhelmed with horror and pity. What an outrageous sight. It might interest dear blog readers to know that the play was directed by a woman. (The only criticism self could make about the production is: they used way too much bloody incense. What was the point? To emphasize the ritual aspects of sacrifice? Phew!)
It’s strange how her London sojourn has ended up being about the brilliance of women: poets Jenny Lewis and Joan McGavin; filmmaker Sally Potter; and now the director of Titus Andronicus.
Moving on to the ostensible reason for this post: here’s another set of photographs on this week’s WordPress Photo Challenge, LETTERS.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.