Wednesday, June 15, 2022

Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

That's Mia's call sheet for yesterday at Central on the right. She is opening as Lady Anne in Richard III tonight. We can't go and see it though. She's in the second year and productions aren't open to the public until the third. It is probably for the best. I would be very surprised if I could listen to her saying "Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load," without laughing and lowering the tone around Henry VI's funeral.

I've never seen a call-sheet before. She sent it when she was starting to wonder if she would be able to make it to see Jerusalem with us at the Apollo last night. I had offered her the spare ticket when Carol dropped out a couple of weeks ago. I told her not to worry. There were two intervals so she would manage to get to see at least some of it. She made it for the whole thing in the end after persuading her director to give her her "notes" the next day. It is a keepsake for me now. I imagine she passed it over to reassure us she wasn't messing us about. Tickets for Mark Rylance in Jerusalem's revival being like hen's teeth. (Had to toss a coin to see which drama school niece got the spare. This time Beth lost, but I am sure there will be next times.)

As for Jerusalem itself, what to say? Helen messaged me this morning as follows: "I thought it probably one of the best plays I’ve ever seen." I concur.

As I was watching it I could imagine, drinking, laughing, moaning, lying and suffering with the cast's waifs and strays, ne'er-do-wells and naïfs in the pub John used to drink in when he lived in Skewen, as opposed to a caravan in the Wiltshire woods. No greater tribute can be paid to its larger than life authenticity.

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