A night of Blithe Spirit

[smokingboot]

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, tis why I am,
Goddamm.
So 'gainst the winter's balm
Sing Goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm
Sing Goddamm, sing Goddamm,
DAMM.

Thank you Ezra.

But we do not let these trifling snows and sleets stop us, no! Are we supine fools to hide under duvets on sofas and watch yet more Simpsons on TV while the chimney shudders in the wind and the fire blows fitfully? Never! Mainly because larians won't let us. No, when the weather turns tempestuous and all the land is white, the appropriate behaviour is to don duffle and scarf and head off down to Macclesfield town to watch the latest offering from MADS, Macclesfield Am Dram Society. Earlier offerings have included 'Anna Karenina' 'Twelth Night' 'Popcorn' 'Dangerous Liaisons' and 'Dracula', the latter production notable for its singular disposal of the count by having his head kicked in*. MADS' latest offering is Noel Coward's 'Blithe Spirit.'


Now, there are many amdram societies closer to us, but this one is rather special. For a start, it's weird to think that this little society is at least a decade, maybe more like two, older than Coward's play. This week, half way through the run, we have a full house; the little theatre is packed with old and young, perhaps as a result of the lack of local cinema. I am always terrified of 'Community Theatre' with its conjured images of table tennis halls and plays about yoof, but MADS defies that stereotype. It is genuinely supported by the community around it, punters, local businesses et al. It is something to be proud of.

Last night's production was something to be proud of too. Coward doesn't always sit well with modern audiences, but it's hard to object to this absurd story of a man who inadvertantly calls back his dead wife, and it was well directed, with excellent sets and lighting.

Best of all, the actors clearly loved what they were doing; they were all good** though the star had to be the lady who stepped in to rescue them all from disaster. The play relies heavily on the rendition of Madame Arcarte, spiritualist, psychic and embarrassment to new-agers everywhere. The lady playing her was ill; there was no understudy as such, but a replacement who stepped in at the last moment reading (usually imperceptibly) from a script in her hand, and giving a performance that would have been magnificent if she'd been learning lines for a month before. I watched her and wanted to play the part, though Larians assured me I was a straight fit for Elvira, the dead first wife, charming, mercurial, delicious and malicious!

Next year's batch of plays will include 'The Talented Mr Ripley.' I thought the film was interesting but far too long. If we're still around, I'll be interested to see what they make of it.


Then we made our way home, along the pretty lanes around Wilmslow and Mottram St Andrew; the mist was spectral, coming in at us through the windscreen, the snow had disneyfied every roof from church to car sales room, and the roads were thick with black ice. Pretty. Freezing. Goddamn.

*This is generally acknowledged by MADS cognoscenti to be the society's darkest hour.

** Except the doctor's wife. We don't talk about her.

Comments

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Thank you, it's very pretty but rather limited - no links or anything. Still, I shouldn't feel the need to change it for at least a week:-)