Hi, guys, I'm back!
Awesome baseball question, bree! Especially since it involved The Giants!
Mac, et al...I'd have to dig up my theater resume to remember the play! It's funny; who can remember 15 years ago?
I was working tons then, all over the Bay Area from Sacramento, Oakland, SF and Concord and Palo Alto!
Now I'm content to work on photography. I recently dug up my old photos I'd shot growing up and when I got my square format camera. What fun to see what my eye was seeing back then!
Book does sound good, bree, but I'm still reading two at once: before bed I'm reading the second book in the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman, The Subtle Knife. These are some of the best children's/young adult books I've ever read. They don't bore the adult at all-fast paced, excellent characters and no easy solutions or young kid potty humor that is so rampant in the early Harry Potter books. Quite something.
Also still working my way through the delightful Without Reservations by Alice Steinbach on my commute! Big fun, good life lessons, excellent travel advice. Great cities.
So, can I try an easy one of this format?
I went to visit my sister in the maternity ward last night. She was a bit old for this, but we saw
Hilary Swank
Mia Farrow
Kate Hepburn and
Bette Davis.
I figured if they could, she could!
lois, did you know that His Dark Materials was turned into a two-part, six-hour-long play that was produced at the National Theatre in London last year? It was a huge hit -- sadly, I somehow managed to miss it on my recent visits.
Philip Pullman wrote an article for the Guardian about adapting novels for the theatre, which you'd probably enjoy. I'll try to paste it in here.
Let's pretend
Cinema may seem more fun than theatre, but as two adaptations of his novels return to the stage, Philip Pullman says he knows where the real magic is
Philip Pullman
Wednesday November 24, 2004
Guardian
I once heard Christopher Hampton make a very interesting point about the novel, the theatre and cinema. He said that the novel and the film have much more in common than either of them does with the stage play, and the main reason for that is the close-up. The narrator of a novel, and the director of a film, can look where they like, and as close as they like, and we have to look with them; but each member of the audience in a theatre is at a fixed distance from the action. There are no close-ups on the stage.
That makes a real difference in telling a story. It makes a difference to adaptations, too. There's a sense in which novels adapt more naturally to the screen than to the stage, especially novels written in the past 100 years, ever since the cinema and its fluent, swift-moving, swift-cutting narrative began to enrich our common understanding of how stories can work.
But should we adapt stories from one medium to another in the first place? Isn't there something a little second-hand about the process?
It's possible to become rather stern about this. Some critics, including the Guardian's Michael Billington, somewhat disapprove of adaptations, and would prefer the theatre to produce new plays rather than rework old books. The trouble with that position is that the theatre itself is much less high-minded than those who keep a watchful eye on its purity; the stage has always cheerfully swiped whatever good stories were going. Dickens, for example, was a favourite source. Six months before the monthly serialisation of Oliver Twist came to an end, two separate adaptations of it were already playing on the London stage. Dickens remarked that: "Nobody can have heard what I mean to do with the different characters, inasmuch as I don't quite know, myself."
Today we take it for granted that if a novel is successful, it must be followed in due course by the film. And various expectations and assumptions about fiction and cinema have now become commonplace - that the best films are often made of the least good books, for example, or that short stories make better films than novels, or that the Merchant-Ivory "heritage" model is the only appropriate way of filming most English classics. In particular, there's the feeling that an adaptation of a well-loved novel will always be disappointing, because she doesn't look like that, and he'd never say that, and they've left out our favourite character, and they've set the story in San Francisco instead of Wolverhampton, and they've changed the ending. So we all know about films and books.
But because of the dominance of the cinema, it's become rather less common for novels to make it to the stage. Consequently, they are more conspicuous when they do, and the process is more closely questioned, especially when it happens in the subsidised theatre. Part of this is no doubt sound social book-keeping: is public money being sensibly spent? Shouldn't the taxpayer be supporting new work rather than recycling old? This is reinforced by the fact that novels are usually adapted for the stage when they are already popular and successful. No one is rushing to adapt stories that the public has clearly decided it doesn't like. The argument against presenting bestsellers on the subsidised stage is that the commercial theatre is the place for that sort of production: the last thing such books need is yet another chance to make their authors rich. The argument for it is that public money ought to be spent on stories the public actually likes, rather than arty stuff that's only of interest to a self-appointed elite. This is such a familiar debate that you could wind it up and it would go by itself, indefinitely.
But the case of children's books is slightly different. A sort of worthiness argument sometimes comes into play here: it's good that children should know classic stories like Treasure Island and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Secret Garden, and so it's OK to adapt them for the stage, because if the children get a taste for the story they might read the books later on - or at least be able to display the sort of superficial familiarity that will help with homework and exams. It's educational. So the play in this case is not a destination, but a road-sign: the real importance and value of the experience is not here but over there.
The worthiness argument also values theatre over film. It costs less to go to the cinema, and we do it more often; visits to the theatre are expensive and infrequent; so, unconsciously, we feel theatre must be more valuable. Manners come into it, too. People tend to behave more decorously in the theatre than in the cinema; they don't usually spread popcorn all over the place, or talk loudly, or sprawl with their legs over the back of the seats in front. If we accustom our children to the theatre, their manners will improve, perhaps.
Well, I'm all for improving children's manners, and I do think that they ought to be thoroughly educated. But the trouble with getting the theatre to bring these things about is that it isn't actually the theatre's job. I think the theatre should do what it does best, the thing that only it can do. To get to what that is, we have to touch on another point of difference between the stage and the screen, which is this: the screen is literal, the stage metaphorical. It may sound paradoxical in an age of computer-generated wizardry and special effects, but the cinema is essentially a realistic medium. When it comes to representing something with literal accuracy, the cinema will always trump the stage. To take an example from His Dark Materials, if I describe in the novel a daemon changing shape from a cat to a snake, or a gigantic bear wearing armour, or 10,000 witches flying through the Arctic skies, the cinema can show us that, exactly that, that complete in every detail. The theatre can't.
But where the theatre scores over the cinema is in the power of metaphor and its engagement with the audience's own imagination. A puppet with a light inside it represents a daemon that's alive: with imagination, we understand that the light fading and going out represents the daemon's death. A puppet moves not by itself but because an operator moves it: but dress the operator in black and hide their face behind a black mask, and with imagination we accept that the operator is not invisible but "invisible". A boat emerges from the darkness on a platform that slowly sinks towards the stage, turning as it does so we can see the boatman's face: with imagination, we accept that it's moving across a dark body of water towards us.
We have to pretend, and furthermore all of us have to pretend together. With video and DVD the experience of film is often, these days, not so much a joint experience in a big public space as a private experience in a small one. But there is no way of packaging the theatre up and taking it home; we have to go there, and share it with others. And once there, we have to agree to sit in the dark and be quiet at the same time and all imagine together.
In short, the thing that the theatre does best and most potently is to tell stories in a way that partakes of magic, of ritual, of enchantment. It doesn't always happen: sometimes a play just doesn't work; sometimes it might work in a smaller space, or a different space, but not the one it happens to be occupying; sometimes a cast is tired or discouraged, and performances are perfunctory; sometimes the audience doesn't play its part, and sits there radiating sullen hostility and giving nothing back to the performers.
But when everything is working well, something mysterious happens between an audience and a play that isn't just the sum of the component parts. It can spring from the obviously fantastical and from the most minutely described realism: Rostand makes it happen, and so does Shaw. It happens with original plays, and it happens with adaptations. But something happens, and everything is transformed. We could use a scientific term like emergence for this process, or we could use an older word and call it sorcery; but whatever we call it, there's no point in trying to explain it to those who insist on a functional justification for everything, those who can only see value in an activity if it brings in money from tourists, or helps children with their GCSEs. They'll never understand. You have to find some other sort of language if you want to convince them.
But that strange and inexplicable thing is what the theatre is for. That's why we need it.
Interesting article - thanks bree.
Yes, thanks Bree. Very interesting.
As for Loislane's question:
We went to visit my sister in the maternity ward last night. She was a bit old for this, but we saw
Million Dollar Baby - Hilary Swank
Rosemary's Baby - Mia Farrow
Bringing Up Baby - Kate Hepburn
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane - Bette Davis
I was just thinking about Loislane as I'm listening to "Do I Hear A Waltz"
B'way original cast. It takes place in Italy and there's a cute song about the language and shopping in Italy. I bought the CD because I loved Sergio Franchi, but after playing it a few times, I filed it away. I'm really enjoying it now. (Carol Bruce, Elizabeth Allen, Madeleine Sherwood and Stuart Damon are also in the cast)
I had no idea that the musical, and Hepburn's "Summertime", were based on "Time of the Cuckoo". Neither had I noticed that it was written by Richard Rodgers (music) and Stephen Sondheim (lyricist). The show opened in 1965 and only lasted 220 performances. Critics commented that it had an unpleasant story line and was a slack production. It was the only time that Rodgers and Sondheim collaborated. It was said that "the show lacked "excitement". That it was a workmanlike, professional show. Period." (I like it, but then again, I like almost all B'Way Shows. (lol))
Let me know if my answer is right, Lois. I've got one for today.
About five years ago, Lincoln Center Theater did a revival of The Time of the Cuckoo. The ever-reliable Debra Monk was wonderful in the Hepburn role, the set was beautiful, and the play itself seemed very dated.
I'm sure you're right about lois's question, Raggedy. Why don't you go ahead and post yours?
I wonder, Bree, if we'll be hearing about a revival of "Do I Hear a Waltz" in the near future. It wouldn't take too much updating to make it a good musical.
OK. New question.
It's
Piper Laurie
With a bit of
Tyrone Power
the Boss won't mind if you all take the day off and join me at:
William Bendix
If Bree would be kind enough to play the piano, we could all sing when:
June Haver
Give
Thomas Mitchell
and drink to
Olivia DeHavilland
all.
Wo!
Great question, I shall ponder!
You were completely correct Aggie, as expected
Thanks for the article, Bree. I had read the reviews but not this! It's a wonderful take on adaptation. Although, I think it needs to be madeinto a 9 part mini series. There's some completely dark and interesting stuff going on in these books and they might be great fun with today's technology!
I never saw Do I Hear a Waltz, and I had no idea it was of the Summertime/Time of the Cuckoo movie/play/book world!! Well, now I relaly have to listen.
Last time I was in Venice, I made a special pilgimage to Campo San Barnaba and photographed the shop that RB owned, near where Kate fell in the canal (and was cursed with a recurring eye infection for the rest of her life!). I like that Campo because there's a great veggie/fruit barge pulled up alongside the canal, and a lovely woodworking and toy shop!
SO I went to the Guardian and read the article, mostly to check out the pictures! The staging looks awesome--very Lion King-ish with puppets and wild costumes! Darn, wish I'd seen it!
HELLO Loislane.
Quote: "Last time I was in Venice, I made a special pilgimage to Campo San Barnaba and photographed the shop that RB owned, near where Kate fell in the canal (and was cursed with a recurring eye infection for the rest of her life!). I like that Campo because there's a great veggie/fruit barge pulled up alongside the canal, and a lovely woodworking and toy shop!"
Who's RB? 
If someone doesn't guess the answer to my question
TODAY, I'll have to withdraw it.
Don't withdraw your question, please -- I'm just about to work on it! The prospect of being able to work on it this evening was a carrot that I dangled before myself all day, to help me get through the day at work. So I just popped a CD of Irish music (The Lark in the Clear Air, by violinist Geraldine O'Grady) into the CD player, and sat down to work on your question.
I think that, when loislane referred to "RB" in the context of Summertime, she must have meant Rosanno Brazzi. But don't feel bad about not getting it right away -- I've known her for over 40 years, and I still sometimes have trouble understanding her!
Oh, I see. Rossano owned it in the movie. I never did see that movie from the beginning to the end. When I saw RB, the first person that came to mind was Richard Burton. So, I googled for Campo San Barnaba. I didn't find an owner, but I did see a gorgeous picture.
Thank you Bree.
Well, now I understand why you would have had to withdraw your question if it hadn't been answered TODAY! Good one.
It's
St. Patrick's Day
With a bit of
The Luck of the Irish
the Boss won't mind if you all take the day off and join me at:
Duffy's Tavern
If Bree would be kind enough to play the piano, we could all sing when:
Irish Eyes Are Smiling
Give
Three Cheers for the Irish
and drink to
The Irish in Us
all.
Hooray! A little too late to join me at Duffy's Tavern, though.
My daughter brought home a box of Irish Potatoes (candy) which I can't keep my fingers out of. She went to bed so I think I'll snitch one more. (lol)
Violin sounds nice. I hope Galway Bay is one of the selections. That's my favorite.
No Galway Bay -- it's a lovely tune, but I think it's an Irish-American song about being homesick for Ireland, and the songs on this CD are mostly Irish folk songs. The CD just ended, and I think just have time to listen to John McCormack before I head off to bed. See you tomorrow -- and don't eat all the Irish Potatoes!
No. I'll leave a few of the potatoes. I'm going to try a pastry. Our bakery has them every S.P. Day. They look like frogs. All green with big eyes and a pink tongue. That's the best part. All sugary icing.
Haven't heard John McCormack in years.
See you tomorrow.
Well, now that St. Patrick's Day has come and gone I'm feeling a wee bit sad that it's all over. It was truly
1. Michelle Pfeiffer
I made a special trip into town just to watch
2. John Gilbert
It was great. I can still hear the blare of the
3. Troy Donahoe
and the rhythmic beat of
4. Gary Cooper
I had so much fun, I definitely intend to make that trip into town again
5. Alan Alda
P. S. : (I really have a ball joining in on the hooting and hollering when
Robert Taylor )
Back to the story format, I see! You're better at coming up with them than I am.
1. One Fine Day
I made a special trip into town just to watch
2. The Big Parade
It was great. I can still hear the blare of
3. A Distant Trumpet
and the rhythmic beat of
4. Distant Drums
I had so much fun, I definitely intend to make that trip into town again
5. Same Time Next Year
P. S. : (I really have a ball joining in on the hooting and hollering when The Crowd Roars)
I'm about to finish Big Project #1 that landed on my desk this week, and I see no point in starting Big Project #2 on a Friday afternoon, so maybe I can devote some time to coming up with a new question to repay part of my debt.
Sorry for the delay. Was recording some music with the computer.
All correct.
I am, in desperation, using any format that pops into my head.
No problem - it took me all this time to think of a new question! I'm going to go back to the "one title each" format. One movie title for each of these performers will tell you why they were stamped with greatness.
Robert Cummings
Jeanne Crain
Meryl Streep
Tom Hanks
This is going to be interesting.
I might have a very different opinion of "stamped with greatness". (lol)
My thoughts would be:
Robert Cummings - For Heaven's Sake, but - he was on Kings Row (that's a tough one)
Jeanne Crain - Since I wouldn't want to be the "Second" Greatest Sex, I'm going to say Leave Her to Heaven (can't make up my mind about that one)
Meryl Streep - Death Becomes Her in lieu of The French Lieutenant's Wife, because the Fr. Lieut. doesn't impress me
Tom Hanks - A League of Their Own
