Praise the unlikely triple-goddess, it's over! I cannot believe the sheer volume of time it took me to finish this trilogy. It was by no means due to the quality of its writing, nor its content: life got in the way, and that was the only obstacle.
Though perhaps a tad bit convoluted at times, The Riverrun Trilogy was, in all, an excellent read. The writing is disarming for two reasons, in my mind, however. For one, the first person perspective switches constantly. I wasn't in love with the idea at first, but it made the end of Yestern: it would have been an entirely ineffective literary climax without it. The other factor, which I did not fully acknowledge until the end (go figure) is that it's written in present-tense. I am not a fan of present-tense, so S.P. Somtow, wherever you are, I commend you: you used it effectively and without driving me crazy.
I also must give credit where credit is due: the Whitmoosh Award for knowledge of a little bit of everything in (at least) this universe goes to S.P. Somtow. I have not seen so many mythological, philosophical, and pop-culture elements implemented and referenced in one space. In that court, bravo!
In retrospect, I can think of very little to criticize. There are some themes I thought a tad bit unnecessary - the emphasis on incest could have been less-so, even if the characters tried to justify it with "we were gods at the time" or some variation on "Greek and classical mythology are full of it." But ultimately, this is a rather small complaint in a sea of compliment: the books were marvelously executed, and, for the most part, kept me on the edge of my seat.
A recommended read, but be warned: heere there be were-dragons and a whole lot more. not for the faint of heart.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Ink
I wish I could have captured my first impressions about this glorious and strange film right as they occurred, but alas, fate did not tend that way. Since I do not have my initial impressions and reactions, I will offer first facts and then recollections.
In the facts department, Ink was released in 2009 and appears to be entirely thanks to the handiwork of Jamin Winans. The film is produced by his production company, Double Edge Films with the aid of Kiowa K. Winans. It was written and directed by Jamin Winans, and the score was composed by him as well. It leaves a very distinct "what CAN'T he do?" feeling.
Now the recollections. My first recollection is how sheerly visual the film was. At first I found myself wondering if it were going to be so abstract as to have no dialog at all. Even then I found it had nothing wanting: the aesthetics are incredibly engaging, as are the dynamics of the forces at work. The Storytellers, Incubi, and Ink himself are all terribly fascinating to look at and watch, and thereby they are ideal. My favorite aspect of the movie by far was the design: it had me wanting to run off and make things, which is increasingly the sensation I get when I really, really enjoy something.
The concept was also superb. It was certainly surreal enough for me. In some capacity it reminded me of The Fountain, and in another of Neil Gaiman's Sandman. For fear of spoiling anything, I'll avoid saying much more, but it was, in my experience, one of those stories which only makes sense at the very last moment, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
The actors, too, were remarkably good. The only complaint I lodge on this front is with the Drifters (Steven Brown and Shauna Earp). Though they were described as poorly acted to me, I don't think they were so much poorly done as overdone. I didn't mind them too terribly most of the time. I think I'd have to see the film again to have a real opinion on this front. On the other hand, the rest of the cast was glorious. I especially liked Jeremy Make as Jacob, also known as The Pathfinder. He was excellent. And, though it was a short-lived appearance, Jeffrey Richardson's Incubus Prince was glorious. I would have loved to see more of him. Then again, I love antagonists.
In the end, I was impressed with how poignant and heartfelt this movie was. It kindof blindsided me, and it was a pleasant surprise, indeed.
Links for your convenience and leisure:
See the trailer here at TrailerAddict.com
The film is available to purchase through Amazon, as well as through the Official Ink Website.
IMDb is perfectly thorough, and Wiki is busy discussing it as well (just for you, my wiki-addict reader: you know who you are)
And last but certainly not least, if you're interested in Double Edge, pay them a visit right here on Blogspot!
Stay thirsty, my friends.
In the facts department, Ink was released in 2009 and appears to be entirely thanks to the handiwork of Jamin Winans. The film is produced by his production company, Double Edge Films with the aid of Kiowa K. Winans. It was written and directed by Jamin Winans, and the score was composed by him as well. It leaves a very distinct "what CAN'T he do?" feeling.
Now the recollections. My first recollection is how sheerly visual the film was. At first I found myself wondering if it were going to be so abstract as to have no dialog at all. Even then I found it had nothing wanting: the aesthetics are incredibly engaging, as are the dynamics of the forces at work. The Storytellers, Incubi, and Ink himself are all terribly fascinating to look at and watch, and thereby they are ideal. My favorite aspect of the movie by far was the design: it had me wanting to run off and make things, which is increasingly the sensation I get when I really, really enjoy something.
The concept was also superb. It was certainly surreal enough for me. In some capacity it reminded me of The Fountain, and in another of Neil Gaiman's Sandman. For fear of spoiling anything, I'll avoid saying much more, but it was, in my experience, one of those stories which only makes sense at the very last moment, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.
The actors, too, were remarkably good. The only complaint I lodge on this front is with the Drifters (Steven Brown and Shauna Earp). Though they were described as poorly acted to me, I don't think they were so much poorly done as overdone. I didn't mind them too terribly most of the time. I think I'd have to see the film again to have a real opinion on this front. On the other hand, the rest of the cast was glorious. I especially liked Jeremy Make as Jacob, also known as The Pathfinder. He was excellent. And, though it was a short-lived appearance, Jeffrey Richardson's Incubus Prince was glorious. I would have loved to see more of him. Then again, I love antagonists.
In the end, I was impressed with how poignant and heartfelt this movie was. It kindof blindsided me, and it was a pleasant surprise, indeed.
Links for your convenience and leisure:
See the trailer here at TrailerAddict.com
The film is available to purchase through Amazon, as well as through the Official Ink Website.
IMDb is perfectly thorough, and Wiki is busy discussing it as well (just for you, my wiki-addict reader: you know who you are)
And last but certainly not least, if you're interested in Double Edge, pay them a visit right here on Blogspot!
Stay thirsty, my friends.
Toy Story 3
I don't even really know what to say about this film. It was beautiful and heart-wrenchingly sad like a Pixar movie ought to be, and I cried in the theatre, just like I ought to.
I am going to refrain from discussing any details because I absolutely refuse to spoil any of this movie for anyone, so sorry, but this will be incredibly brief and potentially even sparse.
(It helps that it's been a few days between when I saw it and when I wrote this entry. Apologies.)
I think the only issue I had in any sense with the film or its presentation was this: that it was only available in 3D. I mean really. I don't understand the appeal. I'd love to hear people's thoughts on it, because it just doesn't do anything for me. Not for Avatar, not for Alice in Wonderland, and certainly not for this. For me, a movie experience is enhanced by a large screen, good sound, and being able to share it with people I care about, the latter being the most essential. And, while I'm at home, the people I most readily share movies with are my parents: 3D gives my mom headaches and my dad simply can't see 3D films, so in the end it hinders far more than enhances.
But, a la Casanova, I have too long dominated the conversation; what are your thoughts on the matter?
I am going to refrain from discussing any details because I absolutely refuse to spoil any of this movie for anyone, so sorry, but this will be incredibly brief and potentially even sparse.
(It helps that it's been a few days between when I saw it and when I wrote this entry. Apologies.)
I think the only issue I had in any sense with the film or its presentation was this: that it was only available in 3D. I mean really. I don't understand the appeal. I'd love to hear people's thoughts on it, because it just doesn't do anything for me. Not for Avatar, not for Alice in Wonderland, and certainly not for this. For me, a movie experience is enhanced by a large screen, good sound, and being able to share it with people I care about, the latter being the most essential. And, while I'm at home, the people I most readily share movies with are my parents: 3D gives my mom headaches and my dad simply can't see 3D films, so in the end it hinders far more than enhances.
But, a la Casanova, I have too long dominated the conversation; what are your thoughts on the matter?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Just a Thought
You know, I’ve always considered Brom’s The Plucker to be a sort of Toy-Story-Gone-Wrong, but, after watching Toy Story and Toy Story 2 in marathon (gearing up for seeing the new one tomorrow), I can’t help but think that if Woody and Buzz ever met this they’d be scared shitless. I mean really – a Jack in the Box who is infused with the essence of Banshee and armed with a sword and poisoned pin? Seriously. And Jack’s the GOOD guy.
Just sayin’.
Just sayin’.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice
Entry No. 4 in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (OSF) 2010 Recollection Series.
This being the first time I have ever encountered this text in any format, I warn you, dear readers: this may look more like musings and ramblings than a review.
I would like to think that Shakespeare wrote this play is order to spur conversation and debate. In fact, I'd wager the true performance here occurs after the curtain call - in the reactions of those who were of late in attendance and applause.
What struck me most was that there was only one character in the main cast who I found truly likable: Basanio. His only fault that I can see was haste without discretion and foolishness to trust a woman he'd not known previously (we must assume, or at least not to any great extent) to love him simply because he won her in accordance with her father's will. But this is pardonable by comparison.
I feel sorry for Antonio that his (in this production) obviously romantic feelings for Basanio came to nothing at all [what is it with Antonios? First the pirate and now this! And both in trade, of sorts. I wonder. Was one or both Antonios (be they perhaps in reference to an original) comparable to a summer's day?] and I feel sorry he resigned himself to die. However, I do not in the least feel sorry for him in light of his blatant prejudice and harmful, open discrimination, "climate of the times" be damned. Likewise, I feel sorry for Shylock's oppression due to his religion and the pain it causes him, but I can by no means pity his open greed and his lack of grief for the loss of his daughter rather than his duckets. And additionally, of Portia I can pity her predicament at being the grand prize in some shell-game contrivance of her father's, but I cannot help but be appalled by all her other dealings in the play: deceiving her husband on a whim, preaching mercy yet showing none, and being constantly swayed by prejudice and hatred.
I fully understand that this is a work more relevant to our times than many would be comfortable with admitting. I can see that, and I openly acknowledge it. As a text it is something which is timeless and thereby invaluable, and I commend all directors, designers, artists, participants for attempting to drive that point home by anachronistic integration (the costumes, for example, were a blend of Renaissance Italy and present-day Europe: my best example will once again be Basanio, who cut a fine figure in a blue leather doublet with detachable shoulders, black riding boots, a white shirt with a button-down collar, and blue jeans): you did your jobs well.
At last I think I come to my point, in a roundabout kind of fashion, as seems to be usual for me now. I think I am so unsettled by this work because although the aim was to have this piece hang somewhere in the interim where past and present are seem at once like two panes of different colored glass held to light [for blue and yellow do indeed make green] in some brilliant stroke of fantasy, the cruelty in the actions and words was all too human, and all too real. So I beseech not only myself, but others, though to few ears and to the world in general, if it had a mind to hear me: learn from that cruelty. Acknowledge it, and know it can bring no good.
But then again, how precious few look to do things for "good"s sake alone.
In short, my readers, a grim kind of not-quite-fiction, human through and through, and absolutely food for thought.
This being the first time I have ever encountered this text in any format, I warn you, dear readers: this may look more like musings and ramblings than a review.
I would like to think that Shakespeare wrote this play is order to spur conversation and debate. In fact, I'd wager the true performance here occurs after the curtain call - in the reactions of those who were of late in attendance and applause.
What struck me most was that there was only one character in the main cast who I found truly likable: Basanio. His only fault that I can see was haste without discretion and foolishness to trust a woman he'd not known previously (we must assume, or at least not to any great extent) to love him simply because he won her in accordance with her father's will. But this is pardonable by comparison.
I feel sorry for Antonio that his (in this production) obviously romantic feelings for Basanio came to nothing at all [what is it with Antonios? First the pirate and now this! And both in trade, of sorts. I wonder. Was one or both Antonios (be they perhaps in reference to an original) comparable to a summer's day?] and I feel sorry he resigned himself to die. However, I do not in the least feel sorry for him in light of his blatant prejudice and harmful, open discrimination, "climate of the times" be damned. Likewise, I feel sorry for Shylock's oppression due to his religion and the pain it causes him, but I can by no means pity his open greed and his lack of grief for the loss of his daughter rather than his duckets. And additionally, of Portia I can pity her predicament at being the grand prize in some shell-game contrivance of her father's, but I cannot help but be appalled by all her other dealings in the play: deceiving her husband on a whim, preaching mercy yet showing none, and being constantly swayed by prejudice and hatred.
I fully understand that this is a work more relevant to our times than many would be comfortable with admitting. I can see that, and I openly acknowledge it. As a text it is something which is timeless and thereby invaluable, and I commend all directors, designers, artists, participants for attempting to drive that point home by anachronistic integration (the costumes, for example, were a blend of Renaissance Italy and present-day Europe: my best example will once again be Basanio, who cut a fine figure in a blue leather doublet with detachable shoulders, black riding boots, a white shirt with a button-down collar, and blue jeans): you did your jobs well.
At last I think I come to my point, in a roundabout kind of fashion, as seems to be usual for me now. I think I am so unsettled by this work because although the aim was to have this piece hang somewhere in the interim where past and present are seem at once like two panes of different colored glass held to light [for blue and yellow do indeed make green] in some brilliant stroke of fantasy, the cruelty in the actions and words was all too human, and all too real. So I beseech not only myself, but others, though to few ears and to the world in general, if it had a mind to hear me: learn from that cruelty. Acknowledge it, and know it can bring no good.
But then again, how precious few look to do things for "good"s sake alone.
In short, my readers, a grim kind of not-quite-fiction, human through and through, and absolutely food for thought.
Shakespeare's Hamlet
Entry No. 3 in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (OSF) 2010 Recollection Series.
There is always a certain dubiousness one encounters upon realizing a shakespeare is done out of its time. It is never, for me, a question of "purity" of the work, rather, "is it done well?"
Well. In the case of OSF 2010's production of Hamlet, yes, yes it is done very well indeed. In fact, out of all the years I've attended OSF, this year's Hamlet has certainly been one of their best shows, and one of the best shows I've seen in my life.
This is owed in part to Dan Donohue, who played the title role with skill, grace, and above all else, passion. In 2007 I saw him play opposite John Tufts' Romeo as a motorcycle jacket-clad Mercutio. I've admired his style and ability ever since. I could go on about Donohue all day, but suffice it to say he played an intense and intensely convincing Hamlet.
The rest of the cast was likewise brilliant. Susannah Flood as Ophelia, especially, was impressive. In the end, it was the integrity of the actors which made this play what it was. All else I will discuss later, but the actors, their passion, and skill where what gave me chills and ultimately what moved me to tears. (I will admit to losing it when Horatio spoke: "Goodnight, sweet prince. Angels sing thee to thy rest," as well as in the end, where Old Hamlet's ghost appeared to hold his dead son in his arms under a single, stark spotlight. Oh, and of course when Horatio tries to poison himself to follow his closest friend to the grave.)
But enough of that: there's a lot of ground to cover with this one.
Hamlet had my second favorite Ashland set ever (second only to the aforementioned 2006 performance of Jekyll and Hyde). Its diversity and changeability left nothing at all to be desired. Nor, on the subject, did the costumes. It was admittedly disarming at first to imagine and then see Hamlet in a perfectly modern black suit and sunglasses, but in the end it suited him marvelously. The portrayal of Horatio as a sort of roadside scholar and sometime hitchhiker was equally disarming and then endearing (the glasses were a great touch).
And the lighting! I could go on for pages. An example: the low, dim lighting of the scene following the play within the play, Hamlet vowing to use words only and not weapons when he goes to speak with his mother, then suddenly seizing the dagger anyway and plunging offstage with an almost animal cry of "MOTHER," and, just as suddenly, the low lights on stage extinguish at the same instant that the house is plunged into light! (I gasped aloud and jumped, neither of which happen very often with live theatre.) And what, instant intermission? it was great. As was the introduction of hip-hop for the players (don't worry, I frowned when I first read it, too: trust me, it worked), but that's another matter entirely.
In short, everything was fabulous, but a few more tidbits and things I want to remember, before I go:
One. Old Hamlet was portrayed as deaf. He and Hamlet conversed in sign-language, Hamlet only relaying bits and pieces of what his father told him to the audience. He also had a habit of occasionally punctuating his conversations with other characters with a sign or two, placing special emphasis and usually anger on certain words and moments. This even deeper connection between father and son - this absolute fluency that not even the audience was privy to - was powerful.
Two. Hamelt's antics with scissors when feigning madness. It went something like this: Hamlet's repeated line of "except my life" (suggesting self-slaughter, see Act 2) was accompanied with a slow advance on Polonius. Hamlet held a pair of scissors at eye level as though ready to kill him then and there and have done with it. After he stopped and fell silent, rather than strike, he abruptly cut off Polonius' necktie and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world (but not without a hint of thoughtfulness), used it as a bookmark.
I also enjoyed later that all Hamlet had to do to make Polonius back off was to snip his scissors at him once.
Three. The choice of casting Rosencrantz and Guildenstern not only as women, but as a lesbian couple. It was a take I had never thought of and certainly have never seen before: the innovation was refreshing.
Four. Everything else.
Do You know me, sir?
I do, sir.
Do you?
Aye: you are a fish-monger.
There is always a certain dubiousness one encounters upon realizing a shakespeare is done out of its time. It is never, for me, a question of "purity" of the work, rather, "is it done well?"
Well. In the case of OSF 2010's production of Hamlet, yes, yes it is done very well indeed. In fact, out of all the years I've attended OSF, this year's Hamlet has certainly been one of their best shows, and one of the best shows I've seen in my life.
This is owed in part to Dan Donohue, who played the title role with skill, grace, and above all else, passion. In 2007 I saw him play opposite John Tufts' Romeo as a motorcycle jacket-clad Mercutio. I've admired his style and ability ever since. I could go on about Donohue all day, but suffice it to say he played an intense and intensely convincing Hamlet.
The rest of the cast was likewise brilliant. Susannah Flood as Ophelia, especially, was impressive. In the end, it was the integrity of the actors which made this play what it was. All else I will discuss later, but the actors, their passion, and skill where what gave me chills and ultimately what moved me to tears. (I will admit to losing it when Horatio spoke: "Goodnight, sweet prince. Angels sing thee to thy rest," as well as in the end, where Old Hamlet's ghost appeared to hold his dead son in his arms under a single, stark spotlight. Oh, and of course when Horatio tries to poison himself to follow his closest friend to the grave.)
But enough of that: there's a lot of ground to cover with this one.
Hamlet had my second favorite Ashland set ever (second only to the aforementioned 2006 performance of Jekyll and Hyde). Its diversity and changeability left nothing at all to be desired. Nor, on the subject, did the costumes. It was admittedly disarming at first to imagine and then see Hamlet in a perfectly modern black suit and sunglasses, but in the end it suited him marvelously. The portrayal of Horatio as a sort of roadside scholar and sometime hitchhiker was equally disarming and then endearing (the glasses were a great touch).
And the lighting! I could go on for pages. An example: the low, dim lighting of the scene following the play within the play, Hamlet vowing to use words only and not weapons when he goes to speak with his mother, then suddenly seizing the dagger anyway and plunging offstage with an almost animal cry of "MOTHER," and, just as suddenly, the low lights on stage extinguish at the same instant that the house is plunged into light! (I gasped aloud and jumped, neither of which happen very often with live theatre.) And what, instant intermission? it was great. As was the introduction of hip-hop for the players (don't worry, I frowned when I first read it, too: trust me, it worked), but that's another matter entirely.
In short, everything was fabulous, but a few more tidbits and things I want to remember, before I go:
One. Old Hamlet was portrayed as deaf. He and Hamlet conversed in sign-language, Hamlet only relaying bits and pieces of what his father told him to the audience. He also had a habit of occasionally punctuating his conversations with other characters with a sign or two, placing special emphasis and usually anger on certain words and moments. This even deeper connection between father and son - this absolute fluency that not even the audience was privy to - was powerful.
Two. Hamelt's antics with scissors when feigning madness. It went something like this: Hamlet's repeated line of "except my life" (suggesting self-slaughter, see Act 2) was accompanied with a slow advance on Polonius. Hamlet held a pair of scissors at eye level as though ready to kill him then and there and have done with it. After he stopped and fell silent, rather than strike, he abruptly cut off Polonius' necktie and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world (but not without a hint of thoughtfulness), used it as a bookmark.
I also enjoyed later that all Hamlet had to do to make Polonius back off was to snip his scissors at him once.
Three. The choice of casting Rosencrantz and Guildenstern not only as women, but as a lesbian couple. It was a take I had never thought of and certainly have never seen before: the innovation was refreshing.
Four. Everything else.
Do You know me, sir?
I do, sir.
Do you?
Aye: you are a fish-monger.
Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
Entry No. 2 in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (OSF) 2010 Recollection Series.
May I begin this critique with praise for the set: the stage was gloriously adorned. The chandeliers, backdrops, and use of both doors and windows was overall very aesthetically pleasing. Though it's not quite as out there as 2008's Midsummer Night's Dream, also performed in the Bowmer Theatre, and not as overall engaging or impressive as the same theatre's set of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of 2006, it was in its way delicate and very appropriate for Pride and Prejudice. I realize that I have not previously noted that the Elizabethan stage is by far my favorite (complete with live bats!), even if the Bowmer offers certain technical advantages and innovations. Now that all that's over with, moving on.
I must give credit where it is due to the propsmaster (or perhaps the director) for the maintenance and use of an actual harpsichord. I have not as of yet had the pleasure of playing an harpsichord, but in my understanding they are famously finnicky instruments, especially in the realm of keeping it tuned.
Also in the realm of music, the show opened with a lovely rendition of O Mistress Mine arranged for soprano voice, while it appeared the previously in Twelfth Night as sung by Feste. Another common trend between these first two productions is that Twelfth Night was set before the French Revolution, Pride and Prejudice (as per usual) after it. I thought it appropriate, but I digress.
I think my only real criticism for this rendition is the portrayal of Elizabeth. Though I fully understand that part of the point of the story is that both Darcy and Elizabeth are proud and conceited, this production, in my mind, over-emphasized Elizabeth's pride, so much so that it overshadowed Darcy's. It seemed almost incongruous for the Bennets to criticize his arrogance when Elizabeth's rivaled his so well. However, in the end it opened up more interplay for Darcy and Elizabeth, and upon the advent of the second act, everything I thought to criticize in the first act improved. In fact, the whole production turned positively squee-worthy after the first half was over and done with. But again, I digress.
The costumes throughout were marvelous. I have always been keen on Empire sensibilities, and this production was no exception. After seeing the production I was determined not only to watch the ever-beloved BBC miniseries with Colin Ferrel, I was about ready to break out the sewing machine.
What has struck me as truly exquisite so far this season is the blocking and timing. In both shows thus far, there have been moments - the slightest of gestures - that add the perfect touch, whether it be of comedy or heartbreak, to the scene.
I realize I have not touched upon the performances of the other actors. John Tufts as Wickham was marvelous. Though I would have liked to see him as Bingley or even (I confess) Mr. Darcy, he played the universally sleazy Mr. Wickham wonderfully. Darcy was fabulous. Elijah Alexander put a touch of enjoyable quirk into his mannerisms, especially in the second act, and Christian Barillas' Bingley was appropriately adorable. All the Bennets were great, but Mr. Collins was more than worth a mention. James Newcomb played the creepiest creeper I've seen in a while and his vocal tics were terrifying. All in all, a beautiful cast.
Ah, and as a parting shot: they put in a bit of a spoof at the very beginning. Before the show technically began the cast came out to mill about on the stage as though at a party. When the god mic came on to tell us all to silence our cell phones, etc, Kitty and Lydia screamed and then promptly chattered to each other trying to figure out what it was: they were the only characters able to hear it. Nice touch, if you ask me.
May I begin this critique with praise for the set: the stage was gloriously adorned. The chandeliers, backdrops, and use of both doors and windows was overall very aesthetically pleasing. Though it's not quite as out there as 2008's Midsummer Night's Dream, also performed in the Bowmer Theatre, and not as overall engaging or impressive as the same theatre's set of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of 2006, it was in its way delicate and very appropriate for Pride and Prejudice. I realize that I have not previously noted that the Elizabethan stage is by far my favorite (complete with live bats!), even if the Bowmer offers certain technical advantages and innovations. Now that all that's over with, moving on.
I must give credit where it is due to the propsmaster (or perhaps the director) for the maintenance and use of an actual harpsichord. I have not as of yet had the pleasure of playing an harpsichord, but in my understanding they are famously finnicky instruments, especially in the realm of keeping it tuned.
Also in the realm of music, the show opened with a lovely rendition of O Mistress Mine arranged for soprano voice, while it appeared the previously in Twelfth Night as sung by Feste. Another common trend between these first two productions is that Twelfth Night was set before the French Revolution, Pride and Prejudice (as per usual) after it. I thought it appropriate, but I digress.
I think my only real criticism for this rendition is the portrayal of Elizabeth. Though I fully understand that part of the point of the story is that both Darcy and Elizabeth are proud and conceited, this production, in my mind, over-emphasized Elizabeth's pride, so much so that it overshadowed Darcy's. It seemed almost incongruous for the Bennets to criticize his arrogance when Elizabeth's rivaled his so well. However, in the end it opened up more interplay for Darcy and Elizabeth, and upon the advent of the second act, everything I thought to criticize in the first act improved. In fact, the whole production turned positively squee-worthy after the first half was over and done with. But again, I digress.
The costumes throughout were marvelous. I have always been keen on Empire sensibilities, and this production was no exception. After seeing the production I was determined not only to watch the ever-beloved BBC miniseries with Colin Ferrel, I was about ready to break out the sewing machine.
What has struck me as truly exquisite so far this season is the blocking and timing. In both shows thus far, there have been moments - the slightest of gestures - that add the perfect touch, whether it be of comedy or heartbreak, to the scene.
I realize I have not touched upon the performances of the other actors. John Tufts as Wickham was marvelous. Though I would have liked to see him as Bingley or even (I confess) Mr. Darcy, he played the universally sleazy Mr. Wickham wonderfully. Darcy was fabulous. Elijah Alexander put a touch of enjoyable quirk into his mannerisms, especially in the second act, and Christian Barillas' Bingley was appropriately adorable. All the Bennets were great, but Mr. Collins was more than worth a mention. James Newcomb played the creepiest creeper I've seen in a while and his vocal tics were terrifying. All in all, a beautiful cast.
Ah, and as a parting shot: they put in a bit of a spoof at the very beginning. Before the show technically began the cast came out to mill about on the stage as though at a party. When the god mic came on to tell us all to silence our cell phones, etc, Kitty and Lydia screamed and then promptly chattered to each other trying to figure out what it was: they were the only characters able to hear it. Nice touch, if you ask me.
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