Richard III

I just went upstairs. It was when Lou and Minnie started talking about the Upanishads and yeah, I’ve got a blog to write here dammit. I’m sure I could benefit greatly as I do every day from the combined yogic wisdom of these two humans. But… Bedtime. I also figure it’s gotta be bedtime for mummyminnie too. She’s got two remarkable tiny humans growing under her wing. I thought by going upstairs the two of them could have the yogic conversation they seem to be craving before morning comes.

She was marvelous tonight. The McGuffin that brought us up to Stratford tonight was Richard III. Min is finishing her journey as Margaret, the only character who consistently plays through four plays in the canon. Margaret in Richard III is a shuffling remembrance of all that failed and bloody ambition that pushed the action of the Henry VI plays. She’s a reminder that all that kingly ambition is death. Physically echoing Japanese horror, and with the specificity and confidence she has always carried, she was again – as always – a master of her art. I’m so fucking proud of her. And of Rhys, who has been holding space for her across the way, looking after those two small girls and keeping his own practices alive within it.

Watching the play with Lou was a joy for me. It’s complicated. All those lords. I toured it with Love and Madness back forever ago as a last minute replacement for a lost Buckingham. Buckingham is a bugger of a part – all the lines and none of the glory. He’s the kingmaker and he makes a bad king. I was channeling Mandelson but that’s how long ago it was. But my working experience of how it runs helped me sketch out the basics for her to follow it. She has taught me opera. These histories are like opera but without the opportunity to look at the orchestra when you clock out of the action.

She really seemed to get it. It was a solid company, as you might perhaps expect up here. It was easy to get lost in the politics, and the direction was so smart towards keeping the momentum going through the bits that sometimes drag. Arthur was a great Richard. I liked revisiting it as a spectator, and thinking about the nuance and the audience experience. It’s a mischief, that play. So dark, but so full of jokes. We all have a different moment where we can’t be charmed any longer by that poisonous bunch-backed toad.

It’s so late. They are still talking about yoga downstairs. I’m off to sleep. But yeah… Dick the bad, right now, up at the RSC – It’s a great show… Watchywatchy. Nighty night. In a satisfying way, this is the first time in my life I’ve been asleep before Lou. That’s my good friend. Yay. Yoga. Zzzzzzzz

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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