knights_say_nih: (Default)
YES! MWAHAHAHA! This is my Oral Assessment (sounds half dirty) for English this term. A monologue from the perspective of the Player from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. It still needs some polishing, but here it is so far, hot off the press.

Warning. Deeply, deeply morbid. And long.

Read more... )
knights_say_nih: (Default)
So.

La Malade Imaginaire. What to say?

Well, for one thing, I have never clapped so loud in my LIFE. Even the dancing from Cameroon thing didn’t compare, and that was all about making a beat. Man. If I hadn’t been in essentially the nose bleed section of the theatre I would have leapt to my feet so fast no one’d know what hit them. But if I had I might have toppled off the edge of the balcony and landed on someone, which is just never good.

The star of the show was definitely Toinette, for sheer sauciness and spunk. The Columbina of Commedia, and an absolute gem of an actress, she practically made the production. Argan was something else too.

Beline had the whole LOOK! BREASTS!!!!! Type neckline thing happening. Oh my god, the was so much cleavage I’d be scared I’d block my nose and suffocate. They played it well, though. Not a single male character in the play (‘cept Cleante) ever looked above her throat.

Cleante was an absolute dish. Curly brown hair and a slim build and a whole bunch of leaping about and wow. Attractive also was the male fawn (wtf?) who wore little to no clothing and had a loincloth type thing going (secured in the front, not in the back) and who leapt about balletically. That there was one confident man.

The set was elegant, very Italian which was cool to see with the commedia roots. There was a weird amount of African type drumming, and two random, half unclothed fawns (again, wtf?) who seemed to have rather a lot of fun gamboling.

But in all, I loved it! Eight pairs of Tom Cruise’s tighty whities.

Rhetoric

Apr. 18th, 2006 06:37 pm
knights_say_nih: (sunshine)
I play this game all the time in drama. God Bless Tom Stoppard for writing out the crack.

ROS: We could play at questions.
GUIL: What good would that do?
ROS: Practice!
GUIL: Statement! One-love.
ROS: Cheating!
GUIL: How?
ROS: I hadn't started yet.
GUIL: Statement. Two-love.
ROS: Are you counting that?
GUIL: What?
ROS: Are you counting that?
GUIL: Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to...
ROS: I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.
GUIL: Whose serve?
ROS: Hah?
GUIL: Foul! No grunts. Love-one.
ROS: Whose go?
GUIL: Why?
ROS: Why not?
GUIL: What for?
ROS: Foul! No synonyms! One-all.
GUIL: What in God's name is going all?
ROS: Foul! No rhetoric. Two-one.
GUIL: What does it all add up to?
ROS: Can't you guess?
GUIL: Were you addressing me?
ROS: Is there anyone else?
GUIL: Who?
ROS: How would I know?
GUIL: Why do you ask?
ROS: Are you serious?
GUIL: Was that rhetoric?
ROS: No.
GUIL: Statement! Two-all. Game point.
ROS: What's the matter with you today?
GUIL: When?
ROS: What?
GUIL: Are you deaf?
ROS: Am I dead?
GUIL: Yes or no?
ROS: Is there a choice?
GUIL: Is there a God?
ROS: Foul! No non sequiturs, three-two, one game all.
GUIL: What's your name?
ROS: What's yours?
GUIL: I asked you first.
ROS: Statement. One-love.
GUIL: What's your name when you're at home?
ROS: What's yours?
GUIL: When I'm at home?
ROS: Is it different at home?
GUIL: What home?
ROS: Haven't you got one?
GUIL: Why do you ask?
ROS: What are you driving at?
GUIL: What's your name?!
ROS: Repetition. Two-love. Match point to me.
GUIL: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
ROS: Rhetoric! Game and match! (Pause.) Where's it going to end?
GUIL: That's the question.
ROS: It's all questions.
GUIL: Do you think it matters?
ROS: Doesn't it matter to you?
GUIL: Why should it matter?
ROS: What does it matter why?
GUIL (teasing gently): Doesn't it matter why it matters?
ROS (rounding on him): What's the matter with you?
(Pause.)
GUIL: It doesn't matter.
ROS (voice in the wilderness): ... What's the game?
GUIL: What are the rules?

A Scene

Apr. 18th, 2006 06:21 pm
knights_say_nih: (kabuki)
Absurd Theatre, as it were:
Two men on a train. One, J, a clean young man upright in his seat. The second, C, filthy and covered in soot, dressed in black, gloves on his hands, sprawled and gesturing wildly, not quite making eye contact with J.

C- Look out the window, and doesn’t this remind you of when you were in the boat and then later that night you were lying looking up at the ceiling and the water in your head is not dissimilar from the landscape and you think to yourself ‘why is it the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?’ And also, where is it that you’re from?
J- Cleveland.
C- Cleveland?
J-Lake Eerie.
C- Do you have any parents back in Eerie.
J- They passed on recently.
C- And, uh, do you have, uh, wife? In Eerie?
J- No.
C- Fiancée?
J- Well, I had one of those. She changed her mind.
C- She found herself somebody else.
J- No.
C- Yes she did.
Well, that doesn’t explain why you’ve come all the way out here. All the way out here to Hell.
J- I have a job. Um. In Machine.
C- Machine. That’s the end of the line.
J- Is it?
C- Yes.
J- Well, I received a letter. People at Dickinsons Metal Works assuring me of a job.
C- Is that so.
J- Yes. I’m an accountant.
C- I wouldn’t know because I don’t read, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure. I wouldn’t trust no words written down on no piece of paper, especially not from no Dickinson out in the town of Machine. You’re just as likely to find your own grave.
Look. They’re shooting buffaloe. Government says they killed a million of them last year alone.

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