Time out
Ms TN is taking a few days off. Usually "time out" is code for something work-related, but this time she's doing as normal people do and having a real (albeit brief) holiday. If it's in tomorrow's paper, I'll post my Australian review of Bell Shakespeare's Just Macbeth; if not, be on notice that every 10-year-old in town ought to be dragged along by the scruff of the neck for this irresistible introduction to Shakespeare, courtesy of Andy Griffiths (of Bumageddon: The Final Pongflict fame). I enjoyed it hugely, as did my nephew, a paid-up Griffiths fan; but maybe not as much as the small boy behind me who kept on screaming "Kill the king! Kill the king!" as Macbeth contemplated his ghostly dagger. Ah, theatre...
6 comments:
Is this the place of theatre, to be advocating regicide to school children? A chicken pox on 'em, I say!
We have been discussing spots on Lady MacBeth's hands, the woods to Dunsinane and The Witches with our nine year old since.
Pretty good I reckon.
Maddie and Tim
Hee Hee Hee
I have been discussing eggs with my nine year old, because he likes eggs.
Obviously the king had to go. And nice to be in an audience which so enthusiastically participated in the event. There was a mooning moment which practically caused a riot. Wonderful vulgar theatre. And give me Griffiths over the Wiggles any day...
Given half a chance, children love Shakespeare: it's about the play in the textures of the language, which they don't need to understand to enjoy (remember Raymond Briggs' Fungus the Bogeyman, which was full of impossible words?) When my older two were around six or seven, they insisted on having a recording of Hamlet played at bedtime. It was Branagh's BBC radio version, which featured John Gielgud at his most sepulchral. They thought it was something like the Goons, only a bit scarier, and called it the Ghost play. I got a bit sick of it, truth be told, but they loved it.
Once King Duncan had been shown singin' Pussycat Dolls at Macca's Castle Karaoke night, well, he had to go.
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