A surprisingly warm day, the warmth, however, tempered with stong 90-120 km wind gusts.
The boy and I have our unfixed plans, driving for lunch we decide to try and get rush tickets to Blithe Spirit, a Noel Coward play at the Vertigo. Now I've seen some press for it, but not particularly paid any attention to it, not my sort of think, nonetheless Noel Coward does have a certain reputation and I shouldn't perhaps be so judgmental, at least not until I've seen it.
We talk about his week, my week, no news to report, more details about the Nephew's drunken night out - Nephew and the 7 Samurai, apparently caught groping a rather large girl in another dire NE bar, was confronted by her boyfriend who attempted to pick a fight, Nephew, however, had been treating a group of 7 Japanese business people to shots and so when the boyfriend started a scene the Nephew erupted into a rage, wherein the Japanese businessmen felt obliged to defend their most drunken and magnanimous host, more surreal stories from the crypt, I miss out on an awful lot of fodder by going home sober...
I ask the boy if he's seen "Into the wild" yet, my film recommendation for him, he makes excuses, he knows he's in the shit...
I ask him what he's reading, nothing at the moment, he's been wanting my advice...
Out of the shit.
We stop at Fair's probably not even slightly fair, I mean to get him a copy of Celine's "Death on the Installment Plan" if they have it. They don't. But - and here's the highlight of the day - a first edition of "Lolita". This is a great book, Nabokov, that I've noticed principally in it's absence from bookshelves in Calgary. A find, $15.00, and a copy of Moby Dick for the boy.
This will be my reading day tomorrow, kicked from the house at 8:00 for the car servicing and by the contractors, I can pass the day reliving one of the greatest books I've ever read....
Lunch we take at WURST - somewhat fashionable new restaurant in Mission - on 4 ST SW. Bright, summery inside with giant silk trees and an attractive staff, we eat quietly and eavesdrop on the table next to us. A large, obese in fact, 40 something man with his slender 40 something Japanese wife, their 5 year old child, and her aged parents. The man is a boor, talking loudly at them as if they don't speak any English, their English is perfect, they're probably 3rd or 4th generation Canadian. He repeats things, louder, he tells them about himself, about what he doesn't like at their house, what he does like, he has a surprisingly small vocabulary for someone with such a well trimmed goatee....
It's painful, eavesdropping on this, and we're too close to comment but I catch the boy's eye and he's thinking the same thing, "Meet the Parents" I whisper, and he turns his head, doesn't want to discuss it, refuses to acknowledge that possibly I might not be as bad as all that....
"A special case" he assures me when we walk to the car...
From here to Cafe Beano, we have an hour to kill, Sunday at Cafe Beano is people watching paradise, they're all here, the hipsters, granolas, Academics, hippies, courier bike riders, women on guitars singing bravely in the face of 100 km wind gusts that threatens to topple trees upon them, Bollywood film directors, it's great.
Then the play.
The Play. This is the play Homer Simpson was thinking of when he said "A Play, A Play, what could be more boring than a play?".
The audience should have been a big clue.
Now, it was well done, and the abundant grey heads and woolen shawls all laughed merrily at the jokes. I got the jokes, they weren't particularly funny. Maybe in 1941, but not now. But it's well staged, acted, the Vertigo does polished productions, but everything else about it was simply not even slightly amusing. The boy sat through it numb as well. Someone should go back in time and kill Noel Coward.
It takes stuff like this, once in a while, to make you appreciate The Grand, appreciate the fact that they're at least taking risks, presenting theater that's relevant, novel, this play, it was everything that everyone who's never returned to the theatre expects. Generic, awful, mind-numbing....
Even the boy struggles to find something positive to say, finally he just agrees that we need this to appreciate the great theatre we sometimes stumble into....
The day ends on this note, the downtown core blocked off due to high winds, empty inside, driving home to a house filled with dust...
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Sunday with the boy and we're going to try and get rush tickets to see Ronnie Burkett's "Penny Plain" - a new production, commissioned by the Citadel Theatre in Edmonton.
Now I'm a pretty big fan of Ronnie Burkett, and I've seen most of his productions going back 25 odd years.
He's a genius.
But this time I'd kind of reconciled myself to the thought that I'd have to miss it - schedule, finance didn't particularly fit.
Until I found out about the Sunday Matinees.
Which fit perfectly, and so I'm at the theatre hoping against hope to get rush tickets.
It's this or we'll end up at Weibo's War at the Plaza.
And we get them.
Now the play, it's everything I've come to expect from Ronnie Burkett, Brilliant, entirely off the wall (and it seems he's getting more and more off the wall as he gets older), a dazzling array of puppets and great work doing the voices. This noted, his vocal range is going, and many of the puppets are starting to sound an awful lot alike....
As quirky and offbeat as it is it's par for the course, and there is the feeling that I should be challenging myself with slightly more - ?? - how to put it? More surprising theatre. It's a little like seeing 12 Angry Men, or Shakespeare, you know exactly what you're getting.
But I look at the boy, catch his reaction, and it is gold. He is impressed, he's never seen anything like this, and for me it's become a bit routine, for him it's all fresh and new, and that's why we go to the theatre. If you've only seen a couple of his, go and see it. If you've seen a dozen or so by him, take a friend and try and see it through their eyes.
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Saturday night and I've planned something a little different for staff and the boy. I've gotten tickets to the midnight playing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show (the play, not the movie) at the Pumphouse Theatre.
So I've picked up the boy and we're at the Pumphouse, I've introduced him to my colleagues, he's met the Nephew last year at the Rocky Horror (the Movie), but G, the salad chef, new hostess, these are all new to him.
G's concerned that "it better not be some sort of gay show", he's getting that vibe from the costumed patrons, but there are enough females present to keep his attention. And the Nephew is telling the boy about how last weekend G and him were on their way to a party after the bar when they walked into the wrong house, they call out for someone, it hasn't dawned on them and this older woman comes out, she tells them they've got the right house, if they'll just stay put she'll change and they can party with her....
And G has somehow taken over the story and is explaining it, translating from the nephew's heavy accent what happened and verifying what happened, the only difference in his telling is that the nephew wanted to stay and party with the woman....
They excuse themselves and leave, finding the real party....
The boy is laughing, these are stories that lose an awful lot during my retelling to get them directly from the source, independent corroboration, it's hilarious, and he's gotten out his iPod to film G telling the story...
***The first half of the play passes, it's exactly what you'd expect from the Pumphouse, a "glee" styled production with modest audience participation, the Nephew and G are not so into it, the Nephew checking his texts, G staring with his jaw-down and a slack, glazed expression on his face.
*** In the intermission G and the Nephew inquire if it would be rude to leave, I assure them that yes, yes it would, they consent to stay if I agree to buy them a couple of beer.
I give in.
Meanwhile the salad and hostess are having the time of their life, this is their cup of tea. Happy now with beer in hand, the boy with his iPod on record, I bait the Nephew "Tell the boy about the transsexual prostitutes...."
He's too happy to oblige. And once again the boy is in paroxysms of laughter, unable to hold the camera straight..."transsexuals, they are the best and the cheapest...", boy bent double, iPod in general direction of nephew, "...and my friends say 'hey, look, she has balls'" and I look...."
Around this point I realize I've just discovered the next Karl Pilkington, that I need to follow him around with a video camera and record his witticisms and observations and my fortune will be made, I ban the boy from posting these things onto the internet, for personal amusement and proof to his friends what an insane world it is, fine, ....
The Rocky Horror, it was what it was, OK, intermittent sound and occasionally monotone lyrics. Exactly what I would have expected. The company, on the other hand, was admirable and just the proof I needed...
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The trick, of course, is to invite the boy to a play, confirm a time to pick him up and then disconnect the call.
Don't answer when he calls back. He's just looking for more information, and the more information you provide, the less likely he'll be to attend.
And so you build suspense.
The play, tonight, was "L'EFFET DE SERGE" at the Grand, the last on my season tickets. I'll be renewing....
Now the Grand has lost it's partner, The Velvet Lounge, who handled the food/drink side of the theater. It was hard, really, to see how they made it, the before and after theatre crowd aren't enough to support a business that has bills 365 days a year and shows perhaps only 50. And the position of the bar, well, chances are if you weren't seeing a play you weren't popping in for a drink. Add to these handicaps the fact that if you think restaurants are bitchy and political atmospheres, what with all the out of work actors and writers and such, imagine what it's like when the restaurant opens next to the theater, with it's employed and presumably successful actors and writers and such.
It boggles the mind.
And so the boy and I are there, in the lonely empty space occupied formerly occupied by the velvet lounge, now subcontracted to some anonymous catering company that takes the liberty of charging me $8.50 for a 3 oz. glass of wine.
All the bitchiness and politics aside, I miss the Velvet.
It's a good space, this, and I hope they find a way to make some sort of restaurant/theater partnership work. But it won't be easy...
The play, "Experimental Theatre" - well, it leaves us at a loss. Not good or bad at a loss, just taking some time to digest. It's the sum of ordinary and peculiar events in the life of Serge, part of an ongoing look into people's lives as conceived by Philippe Quesne of Vivarium Studio. It's curious, thought provoking, unconventional, these are good things.
Links: La mélancolie des dragons & La mélancolie des dragons - his next production.
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