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xiphiasMom and Sibling came over around noon, and we hung out around the house for a bit and marveled at just how messed up Dave's cat is. She's so adorable and so messed up.
Then we went to Sepal in Watertown for lunch. Lis had a lamb maklouba, Leila and I had felafel sandwiches, and Mom had a fatoush salad. Then Leila, Lis, and I drove out to Lenox to Shakespeare and Co.
The free lecture was given by a woman who published a cookbook called Shakespeare's Kitchen, which is a book of late Elizabethan cuisine. (She's got two other books -- one on menus to watch movies by, and one, just published, on Classical period Greek and Roman cuisine.) We've owned a copy of this book since last Arisia, and were very excited to see this lecture -- especially since there would be free food afterwards.
The lecture was very funny, as she explained how a psychologist came to write a Shakespearian cookbook. (It all starts with when she took her kids to see a Reduced Shakespeare Company production at Shakespeare and Company. . . ) I hadn't been aware, for instance, that some period cookbooks include a chapter of funny jokes to tell to your dining companions. (#66. A ship was caught in a terrible storm at sea. The captain asked the passengers if anyone had any baggage they could throw overboard to lighten the ship. One passenger says, "Taketh my wife, please." Seriously. That was actually, literally, in one of the period cookbooks she found. The Rare Books librarian at the New York Public Library had to come over to see why she was laughing so hard.)
Yes, we got our book signed. Before the lecture, actually. After the lecture, we trooped back up the hill to the Founder's Theater building, where they'd set up some snacks: a salad with a lemon vinegarette, figs, apricots, nuts, and capers, and a sort of sandwich cookie, like an oreo, except the cookies weren't chocolate, and the filling was sweetened spinach. They were both really, really good.
I started developing a dehydration headache, and we had at least half an hour to kill, so we drove into town, about a mile away, and bought some sodas and more cookies. Because cookies are good. We then headed back, and sat down to eat cookies, just about in time for the pre-show. Someone played period lute music that was somehow related to Shakespeare -- stuff written by a guy who did incidental music for him, a jig written in commemoration of the time that Will Kemp did his nine-day Morris Dance across England, and so forth.
The seats we got were pretty good: center balcony, but with a very slightly obstructed view -- were were high enough up that a catwalk blocked our view of the very top of the stage balcony. Since there weren't any eight-foot tall actors in the play, we didn't actually miss anything by this.
Comedy of Errors is basically a really good I Love Lucy type of premise.
Thirty-three years ago, a merchant and his wife had a set of identical twin boys. At the same time, a lower-class woman ALSO had a set of identical twin boys, who the merchant and his wife bought as slaves and raised as body-servants to their sons. Both of the sons were named Antipholous, and both of the servants were named Dromeo.
Unfortunately, there was a shipwreck, and the mother and one set of master-and-servant, and the father and the other set of master-and-servant were separated, and haven't seen each other ever since.
One Antiholous/Dromeo set is well-established in the town of Ephesus. Where the other set, not knowing of the first set's existence, has just shown up on vacation.
The rest of the play can be summed up with "hilarity ensues." Except, see, it DOES. My stomach still hurts from laughing so hard. In order to make this play work, you need a whole cast who actually GET the jokes, and are playing it as slapstick comedy. Really, Lucy Ricardo is not a bad role model for the attitude of this play. There was a cute kid and a fair number of scantily-clad women. There were groanworthy puns, dirty jokes, general wackiness and all sorts of fun.
Unfortunately, the person sitting in front of us didn't seem to get it. He actually turned around early on and asked me to keep it down.
The only noise I was making was laughing. And only at the same times as everyone else.
I kept an eye on the guy. At no time during the play did he OR his wife laugh. I did try to laugh quieter after that -- the poor fellow clearly had problems enough in his life.
Other interesting audience bits. . . right at the end, when they had the Courtesan head off the stage hand-in-hand with the Duke, we heard the eight-year-old girl behind us ask her mother, "Mommy, what is that lady doing with the Duke?" Leila, Lis, and I just looked at each other, thinking how glad we were that wasn't OUR question to answer.
(I reiterate: I don't understand why people seem to think that Shakespeare is appropriate for young audiences -- he is SO not G-rated.)
After the show, we headed out to the car, and noticed just how many other cars were trying to get out of the parking lot, and decided to get back OUT of the car and wait for other cars to go away before driving off. We headed back into the building, where the opening night party had started.
We stood around a bit awkwardly for a couple minutes, until I remembered: "Hey! We paid an extra premium on these tickets because it was opening night! That means that we PAID to attend this party!" So we grabbed glasses of wine, and MORE cookies, and wandered around the party, feeling a bit to shy to go up to the actors and tell them how much we loved the show. But we did hear the actor who'd played the father of Antipholous and Antipholous talk about how his son was the little kid who'd been on stage and this was the first time they'd acted together. KAWAII!!!!
Then we drove home, dropping Leila off at Mom and Dad's, and stopping in to say hi to Mom, and then we came home, and then I wrote this entry.
Then we went to Sepal in Watertown for lunch. Lis had a lamb maklouba, Leila and I had felafel sandwiches, and Mom had a fatoush salad. Then Leila, Lis, and I drove out to Lenox to Shakespeare and Co.
The free lecture was given by a woman who published a cookbook called Shakespeare's Kitchen, which is a book of late Elizabethan cuisine. (She's got two other books -- one on menus to watch movies by, and one, just published, on Classical period Greek and Roman cuisine.) We've owned a copy of this book since last Arisia, and were very excited to see this lecture -- especially since there would be free food afterwards.
The lecture was very funny, as she explained how a psychologist came to write a Shakespearian cookbook. (It all starts with when she took her kids to see a Reduced Shakespeare Company production at Shakespeare and Company. . . ) I hadn't been aware, for instance, that some period cookbooks include a chapter of funny jokes to tell to your dining companions. (#66. A ship was caught in a terrible storm at sea. The captain asked the passengers if anyone had any baggage they could throw overboard to lighten the ship. One passenger says, "Taketh my wife, please." Seriously. That was actually, literally, in one of the period cookbooks she found. The Rare Books librarian at the New York Public Library had to come over to see why she was laughing so hard.)
Yes, we got our book signed. Before the lecture, actually. After the lecture, we trooped back up the hill to the Founder's Theater building, where they'd set up some snacks: a salad with a lemon vinegarette, figs, apricots, nuts, and capers, and a sort of sandwich cookie, like an oreo, except the cookies weren't chocolate, and the filling was sweetened spinach. They were both really, really good.
I started developing a dehydration headache, and we had at least half an hour to kill, so we drove into town, about a mile away, and bought some sodas and more cookies. Because cookies are good. We then headed back, and sat down to eat cookies, just about in time for the pre-show. Someone played period lute music that was somehow related to Shakespeare -- stuff written by a guy who did incidental music for him, a jig written in commemoration of the time that Will Kemp did his nine-day Morris Dance across England, and so forth.
The seats we got were pretty good: center balcony, but with a very slightly obstructed view -- were were high enough up that a catwalk blocked our view of the very top of the stage balcony. Since there weren't any eight-foot tall actors in the play, we didn't actually miss anything by this.
Comedy of Errors is basically a really good I Love Lucy type of premise.
Thirty-three years ago, a merchant and his wife had a set of identical twin boys. At the same time, a lower-class woman ALSO had a set of identical twin boys, who the merchant and his wife bought as slaves and raised as body-servants to their sons. Both of the sons were named Antipholous, and both of the servants were named Dromeo.
Unfortunately, there was a shipwreck, and the mother and one set of master-and-servant, and the father and the other set of master-and-servant were separated, and haven't seen each other ever since.
One Antiholous/Dromeo set is well-established in the town of Ephesus. Where the other set, not knowing of the first set's existence, has just shown up on vacation.
The rest of the play can be summed up with "hilarity ensues." Except, see, it DOES. My stomach still hurts from laughing so hard. In order to make this play work, you need a whole cast who actually GET the jokes, and are playing it as slapstick comedy. Really, Lucy Ricardo is not a bad role model for the attitude of this play. There was a cute kid and a fair number of scantily-clad women. There were groanworthy puns, dirty jokes, general wackiness and all sorts of fun.
Unfortunately, the person sitting in front of us didn't seem to get it. He actually turned around early on and asked me to keep it down.
The only noise I was making was laughing. And only at the same times as everyone else.
I kept an eye on the guy. At no time during the play did he OR his wife laugh. I did try to laugh quieter after that -- the poor fellow clearly had problems enough in his life.
Other interesting audience bits. . . right at the end, when they had the Courtesan head off the stage hand-in-hand with the Duke, we heard the eight-year-old girl behind us ask her mother, "Mommy, what is that lady doing with the Duke?" Leila, Lis, and I just looked at each other, thinking how glad we were that wasn't OUR question to answer.
(I reiterate: I don't understand why people seem to think that Shakespeare is appropriate for young audiences -- he is SO not G-rated.)
After the show, we headed out to the car, and noticed just how many other cars were trying to get out of the parking lot, and decided to get back OUT of the car and wait for other cars to go away before driving off. We headed back into the building, where the opening night party had started.
We stood around a bit awkwardly for a couple minutes, until I remembered: "Hey! We paid an extra premium on these tickets because it was opening night! That means that we PAID to attend this party!" So we grabbed glasses of wine, and MORE cookies, and wandered around the party, feeling a bit to shy to go up to the actors and tell them how much we loved the show. But we did hear the actor who'd played the father of Antipholous and Antipholous talk about how his son was the little kid who'd been on stage and this was the first time they'd acted together. KAWAII!!!!
Then we drove home, dropping Leila off at Mom and Dad's, and stopping in to say hi to Mom, and then we came home, and then I wrote this entry.
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Re: Why Shakespeare is appropriate for young audiences.
Date: 2004-08-14 06:17 am (UTC)- Because kids who are old enough to understand the jokes will and won't, therefore, find Shakespeare dull later in life. (High school Shakespeare classes are much more fun if you already know how baudy the stuff is.)
- Corallary to that last one: Kids who aren't old enough to get the jokes will have them sail right over their heads. It's not as overt as a lot of the stuff in, say, beer ads on TV, so a little kid won't get the sexual puns.
- Because exposing kids to sex in a healthy way is good for them. See above comment re: beer ads. Shakespeare's innuendo, puns, jokes, and plain old dirty language tends to be a celebration of sex, rather than otherwise.
Of course, you have to understand here- if I had been that little girl, my mother would have told me where the Duke and the Courtesan were going. Which tends to mean I'm biased.
Also, I was in Taming of the Shrew when I was 14, and Shakespeare loses much of his other-worldy glamour when you go through that play line by line with a bunch of high schoolers, explaining every joke, pun, and innuendo that.. er.. happens along.
so yeah. Just my 2 cents.
cheers!
~annie
Re: Why Shakespeare is appropriate for young audiences.
Date: 2004-08-14 05:02 pm (UTC)When I was eight or so, my parents took me (because I asked to go) to see Romeo & Juliet at the Folger Shakespeare Theatre. My parents had season tickets to the Folger, and a year or two later, after going to a few more plays with them, I asked for a season ticket of my own. My parents got it for me, and after that I saw many, many excellent productions of Shakespeare.
And, when I was ten or eleven, I don't remember exactly, I started sitting down with my mother's Riverside Shakespeare and reading the plays. It took me a while, but I read the whole thing cover to cover, including the not-so-great plays like Timon of Athens, and all the Sonnets.
Basically, I think it boils down to the question: What is the child ready for? Not all children will enjoy Shakespeare, I'm sure, but most eight-plus-year-olds will enjoy the comedies at least. I'm not sure I'd take a seven-year-old to see King Lear, for instance, but I might--it would depend on the seven-year-old.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-14 05:03 pm (UTC)Re: Why Shakespeare is appropriate for young audiences.
Date: 2004-08-15 06:30 pm (UTC)there are high school students that i would hestitate to introduce to the bawdy pleasures of the Bard, simply because they would see only the sex, and not the universal truth.
and there are very young children who can see the universal truth, and don't care, yet, about the sex.
Shakespeare's plays fall, perhaps, somewhere in between.
cheers!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-14 04:29 pm (UTC)Dad says it was well done, but derivitive of the Flying Karamazov Brothers production of it, substituting dance where the Karamazovs used juggling.