My theatre glut continues apace - friend and I went to Kennington's White Bear Theatre Club for the first time last week. It's a 'space' at the back of a large old-fashioned Irish pub; you know the sort - framed collections of Irish county arms: Armagh to Wicklow. I always look up Mayo, then Cork. It was never the sort of pub I'd have drunk in. I didn't do pubs. My Da preferred the smaller Irish pubs, with portraits of Collins et al on the wall / yet not knowing those of Joyce, Beckett, Yeats. I felt a bit apprehensive in this pub - like I had to be on my guard. Ironic. My friend comes from the landed gentry and she declared in her perfectly posh voice 'I feel so at home in these places!' And put down her motorbike helmet. She grew up in Hammersmith, when it was really Irish. I needed a pen - and chances upon one of those small bookie pens, that my Da always had a few of in each jacket pocket. I pocketed this one. Anyway, the play, Can't Stand Up For Falling Down, which has won awards, had a bit of a hammy start. A trio of three young women began to tell us their story - passing the narrative baton to each other without a missed beat. I thought 'oh god - we're gonna be told this story, like it's JackaNory; but then it changed and we were shown the story. Not shown as in set - the words were the real set - and the common denominator of their woes was one man. As the play progressed so too the power of the growing unity and empowerment of each woman. I left feeling that it was quite remarkable. I'm also currently in the habit of gauging each space for my own play in progress. It couldn't be done there, that I know.
Tomorrow we're going to watch Lee Hall's Pitmen Painters, which I've been meaning to see for ages. We've also got Ibsen's The Doll's House in the diary, which will be a sell out. And Kinnear's debut at the Bush, which will attract a lot of attention. Onwards! I'll upload the cover and acknowledgements page of Miss Nobody separately.