You know it's true love when husband and wife, unbeknownst to each other, buy exactly the same damn card for their anniversary.
For our anniversary, we went to see The Homecoming at the Almeida Theatre in Islington. The theatre itself is interesting in its own right; depending on where you're seated, you'll need to choose your entrance correctly. The interior is unique; it is the antithesis of grand theatre style, more like a converted house, surrounding you with exposed brick. The play was one of the better things I've seen in recent years on the stage, as I usually hype my own expectations before I even get past the box office. Menacing, dysfunctional and cryptic; what one expects of Harold Pinter really.
Just last week we went to see Vula in the Barbican by New Zealand group The Conch, an attempt to catch something a little different. It was a mixed bag. The entire stage was covered in water and most of the "action" was slow-moving, told through abstract dance. The piece was more impressionistic as opposed to telling a story. This, in itself, is not a bad thing. I think we felt we weren't sure what we were watching from time to time, and the visual spectacle was not as stimulating or stunning as perhaps we were expecting.
There were some involving scenes: the gentle washing of the hair at the very start, the dancing of the fish and birds, the wires whipping in the air. But there were other parts which didn't gel so well, such as the whole comedy chase scene in the middle. I think we kept waiting for innovative use of the water on the stage - and most of the time we were just waiting. Still, the rest of the audience seemed to enjoy it. Why listen to a goat like me go on about it?
I'm not marking it down just because I got soaked at the front, you know.