Sometimes I feel guilty about not writing anything in my bløg for several days. After all, I think that the people on my bløgroll who don't update regularly are Class A Ass-Pirates. Anyway, between this discomfort and my earlier promise at the end of the NYE entry, I present my thoughts on the aforementioned play, by Michael Frayn, performed at the Brooks Atkinson in New York.
One might reasonably wonder how interesting a 3 hour play about Willy Brandt could possibly be, but they managed to pull it off. It was a little "talky" as one of my friends who saw it said; the show consisted almost entirely of guys in suits standing around talking to each other. This was never something that bothered me, though, and my own writing often suffered from a similarly recumbent attitude.
In fact, I don't have a hell of a lot to say about the play itself. It's well written, as is everything I've seen or read by Frayn. The acting was mostly very solid (one or two of the smaller roles were fairly bland, but I doubt there was much meat to work with). It was just nice to be in a theatre again. It's funny how powerful certain staged moments can be that would absolutely fall flat on film. Or maybe not; I should realize, after all, how vast the gulf is between film and theatre.
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