Poetry, sunshine and a few under the belt... or 52 euros

Its been a swell day.

A walk in the lovely Humboldthaim Park and lunch, on turkey stew, with Paul …

Then back to Invalidenstrasse for an afternoon with my Victorian Vocalists…

And suddenly it was 6pm.

The sun was gleaming encouragingly, the cellar was bare, and brother John’s newest book was staring invitingly across the table at me ..

Three stones with one bird

I pulled on my harem pants, picked up the book, and headed out into the sunshine. Well, not wholly the sunshine. I headed for the Katz Orange. Not for a meal (thank you Alpenstück lunch!) but for one of Oliver’s cocktails. One. I, who, a couple of months ago, had never tasted a cocktail.

With my delicious ‘Three shades of green’, I opened the book. Well, the first thing anyone does when he opens a book is -- look for himself in the index and credits. Oh blimey! This book has been a wee while in the making … did I translate forty odd poems from the French for this? Well, some I remember – the best (Verhaeren) and the worst (Renée Vivien, Irène Hamoir) – and I know I did Baudelaire and the likes, but some I don’t remember at all!

John’s book, 52 euros, is a remarkable thing. An A to Z of European poetry, one woman and one manpoet for each letter of the alphabet, and the writers chosen from all Continental countries and from all ages. And, one may say, of a range of fame and ability. People like I, and some of my international friends, have literally translated the originals into English, and John has ‘re-poemed’ the result. There is absolutely no doubt that he has vastly improved, by his adaptations, some of the originals!

There are some curious poet-people in his A to Z. An awful lot who lived and died with TB, or in sanatoriums. A lot who were depressives. In life and in politics. A selection of lesbian ladies. Hardly a one who seems to have had a happy life.  But only one who got her head chopped off.

The array of poetic voices, however, is delicious. For not all of them were neurotic, tubercular, sexually inverted and early-dying. For every self-centred, dreary Maeterlinck and Yourcenar (both translated by me, so I know) there is a handful of wonderful poets of whom I have never heard …the fabulous 19th century Giuseppe Giusti with his ‘Mr Snail’, the convival Jens Zetlitz with his 18th century drinking song, Edith Sodergran  with her brief tale of the ‘Three Sisters’  – great stuff!  And there is always the likes of Verhaeren, of course, glorious in any language. But superb in English.

As I made my delighted voyage of discovery through the book’s pages, Oliver exchanged my ‘Three Shades of Green’ for a ‘Mezcal Mule’ and finally an original kind of ‘Margarita’. No wonder two fascinating hours went so quickly …

Poetry, sunshine and a few under the belt…

Hard to beat.

QUATSCH!! or faith renewed

After my disillusion of yesterday, I thought I might give the theatre a break for a bit. But, first, I had a date for tonight. My friend Thomas was presenting an English-language night at his famed Quatsch Comedy Club, and Paul and I were invited.

Ever since I first clapped eyes on the glorious little theatre that houses the Club, three years ago, I’ve longed to see it in action. It is the most perfect little ‘music hall’, complete with a lovely balcony with bar, tables and chairs, all in royal crimson and gold … I wish that I still sang when I see a salle like that! It makes you want to perform.

Well, we surely saw it in action last night! We arrived nicely early, to find a jam at the mini-boxoffice. The room was sold out, there were thirty hopefuls waiting for ‘returns’ and the woman in front of me would not take ‘nothing left’ for an answer! We finally moved her on, and were led to our table to be served by a delightful waitress … why are servers in Germany so much more agreeable than er elsewhere? …  I dared a glass of wine, Paul – in the spirit of the place --  ordered a Shirley Temple cocktail (alkoholfrei!) … shocking pink!

The stage entertainment for the night was Dylan Moran, an evidently well-known Irish comedian (he has telly credits on his poster), and ‘entertainment’ is exactly what he was. Gone – thank goodness -- are the days of Les Dawson and Jim Davidson and the joey joey joke, one punch line a minute. Mr Moran chats to you. Sure, he’s got little set pieces which he slips in when the moment suits, but it is mightily agreeable not be hectored by a stand-up comic. And most agreeable that he performs in nice 30-minute chunks, with a nice 30-minute interval for more drinks and loo stops and friend-meeting. It’s a bit like meeting a fun feller in a pub, and listening to him hold the room. Which he did. The audience were sniggering 5 seconds into his performance and still laughing flat out 90 minutes later.

After the show, we adjourned to the balcony bar, to join mein Host … and to give him a jolly good hug!  My entertainment-metre was back on ‘high’. My faith in the theatre restored. All it takes is a packed house of pleased people, enjoying a pleasant unpretentious evening … that’s entertainment!, as someone once said. And my gosh, was that somebody right!

THE CROCODILE WHO ROARED and gave birth to a mess of pottage

Peter Pan! Magical words. Bringing back wonderful childhood memories of J M Barrie’s unforgettable book and play. I acted in it sixty years ago. And again, fifty years ago, in a pre-allowed musical version. Such class, such style, such a classic. Peter Pan: words that mean so much…

Which is doubtless why the re-makers of today like to get their hands on it. And its hallowed title.

I’ve seen Peter Pan ‘adapted’, usually with music and songs, a good few times, especially since Parliament let the copyright run out. Most notably, there was an American musical version, which did well on Broadway, with Mary Martin and later Sandy Duncan, but was distinctly for Americans only (‘Oh Peeader..’). The animated film was better, and had the memorable ‘Never Smile at a Crocodile’ to offer.

The play had an original score of music, too, by John Crook, so it is not unfriendly to musicalisation. And I remember fondly our New Zealand amateur musical version… with the tunes taken from Tschaikowsky et al.

But. But but but. And here goes the rant. Today I went to the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm (Berliner Ensemble) to see a show entitled Peter Pan. OK, at that theatre (what a lovely building!) I know not to expect kosher work. So I didn’t flinch when I saw the director and a composer or songwriter with their names in above-the-title size. I flinched a bit, when I saw that the show was to be ‘nach J M Barrie’. But competent professionals can do something interesting with ‘nach’.

Right. I’m theorizing here. And anyone can correct me. WHY was this done. Why? I can live with director Robert Wilson doing his ‘take’ on Peter Pan. Apparently he’s famous for that sort of thing. What I can absolutely NOT live with is having his deconstructed version of the play decorated by loads and loads and sickening loads of muzak and semi-songs of the most amateurish kind. But involving Cocorosie (billed big) – the ‘composers’ -- in the production seems to have been its raison d’ëtre. Did they pay to get in?  No-one would pay them.

Cocorosie (who is apparently two women) can’t compose. And if they are responsible for the English (yes!) lyrics, they can’t write either. Oh God, they aren’t hoping to sell this trash to the US market!!! Haha!  Hahahahahahaha!  I can’t describe it: pastiches of everything that might be deemed fashionable,  … ohhhhhh! Back to the amdrams, girls!

OK. You get the picture. It’s the bones of Barrie’s story and lines, camped up, and with this really awful amateurish music and singing shoved in. It’s execrable.

What nice bits there were came solely from Mr Wilson. The triple Nana was fun, the roaring croc (ever heard a croc roar?) was fun, the triple Mermaid was great – I laughed outright for the only time when Mermaid 1 opened her mouth and out came, not ‘Non piu mesta’ but ariooigh!

The cast? Well, you can’t evaluate the cast. They would have done OK at the Christchurch amateurs. But they were totally submerged by their awful material and the direction. My pet hates were Mr Darling with his country (!) solo, Tinkerbell with his/her old-fashioned St Vitus Dance routine, and Wendy with her silly makeup and attitude.

To make up for my theatrically unpleasant afternoon, I was seated next to a very beautiful woman. I wanted to invite her to dinner, but she fled for a plane (argh! she was probably Cocorosie’s agent!). But I said to her: isn’t this production anti-women? And she agreed. One more unpleasantness.

There was something disagreeable, even nasty in the portrayal of the characters. Especially the women. Oh yawn, they’d probably say that’s what they were trying to do. Anyway, it wasn’t the real Peter Pan and Cocorosie are an amateurish joke.

So now I’m opening a bottle, because after one of the worst and most amateurish – oh! I said that before - shows I’ve ever seen in Germany, I need it!