On Politicians rather than Politics (Perhaps)

There are lots of sayings about politicians. I googled and quickly found 'Politicians are like sperm; one in a million turns out to be a human being' (I haven't found the origin of that one yet). Or from Nikita Kruschev, 'Politicians are the same all over. They promise to build a bridge even where there is no river.' I don't know how it was phrased in Russian, but evidently it translates to 'politicians are globally useless'.

General thoughts along the lines of 'Those who want to govern shouldn't be allowed to' pervade my understanding of politicians. The behaviour of the Republican party in the US, and Donald Trump in particular, would have most of the Founding Fathers spinning in their graves, should there be any substance there left to spin. When elected representatives have to resort to a sit-in to have an important topic discussed, and are then threatened with arrest, something is badly wrong.

Our own Esteemed Leaders aren't a whole lot better. Promises that are rarely kept, 'facts' that turn out to have rather a lot of small print that undermines them completely, and statements that could be interpreted as incitement to violence as a legitimate next step for the dissatisfied. It's enough to make one weep. Or at the very least, become extremely cynical.

I could never be a politician myself. Hopeless at confrontation, I don't take rejection well (I've even stopped sending out Facebook friend requests in case they're turned down!) and I couldn't put up with the boorish behaviour that appears to be all too common these days.  I know deep down there must be some decent politicians, but they are few and far between. The death of Jo Cox is a great loss to British politics, as she appears to have been principled and with the mental strength to put up with the metaphorical crap that flies around, but I can only hope that others step forward to take her place defending the weak and standing up to corporate bullies.

Fingers crossed for good results (from my perspective) of both the key political events going on today. The young people of the USA desperately need gun reform laws and the young people of the UK need a future unblighted by belligerent neighbours. The politicians seem to have little to do with either outcome, caught up as they appear to be in personalities rather than democracy.

To Change or not To Change, that is the question

The first play I ever directed was a school production of Macbeth. Luckily, there are very few stage directions in Shakespeare, so directors don't have a little voice telling them how they should be doing the play. We staged it in a way that worked for us, cut out a large section of Act 4 that was more for the benefit of the 17th century audience anyway, and the kids did a stonking good version of a well-known piece. (A number of the cast had an exam the following term in which they had to write an essay on a play they'd studied; they did brilliantly because, having performed it, they now understood the play very thoroughly.)

I've looked at scripts that specify 'no cuts or alterations' (this included Oliver!, in which some of the chorus numbers are, frankly, a little long, especially for a cast entirely of pre-teens; is it possible we forgot to do a verse or two? But we didn't specifically make any cuts). From an amateur director's point of view, they're annoying. The chance of ending up with anything more than a clone or a pale shadow of a professional production is pretty slim. I know in cinema there are homage films that recreate their subjects frame by frame, but generally movie remakes try to do something a little different with the initial topic.

On stage, it's more fun for a director and cast, and better for an audience too, if there is room for interpretation that can throw an interesting light on the key points of a dramatic piece. Carmen set in 1936 instead of 1820 emphasises the unchanged attitudes to women in 20th century Spain, for example. A reinterpretation of a dramatic piece is just a different form of textual intervention.

Most writers know that once a piece of writing has been handed over for performance, it is likely to change, and it's something they just have to deal with. I've had a few pieces performed, most close to the text, one radically different that I personally felt spoiled it, but once a cast has it, it's the property of the cast and audience - because of course they also influence the performance. And it may end up being nothing like it was on the page.

So I was bemused by the reviewer on IMDb who didn't like the recent Midsummer Night's Dream on BBC because the text had been changed. He had studied it at school, loved the play, had seen many versions of it over the years, but took exception to a couple of the changes (I won't specify in case you haven't seen it yet!), on the grounds that "this wondrous play has all the magical ingredients in its original form which already provides plenty of scope for a variety of interpretations; so this work need no updating or unexpected twists to bring it to a new audience." (Given how little Shakespeare is actually studied in schools nowadays, I think it *precisely* needed updating to bring it to a new audience. And jolly good updating it was too - really, if you haven't seen it yet, you should. Whether you're a Dr Who fan or not.) I find it hard to believe that the reviewer hadn't encountered other changes in all the multiple versions he claimed to have seen.

Let's face it, if you know anything about Shakespeare, or even if you've just been watching Upstart Crow on TV, you'll be aware that Shakespeare originally wrote Titania to be played by a man. Everything on the page can be transformed by the time it reaches the stage - just do it for a reason. If it's a good one, the audience will get it. And if they don't - maybe you weren't bold enough with your changes.

Carmen - The Musical

Today is the first day of the week we've been working towards since at least January - though behind the scenes, work has been going on much longer than that. Rehearsals began in January, though, so for the majority, that was when it all started.

Carmen - the Musical: all your favourite tunes from the opera with none of the tedious recitative. And it's in English. Audiences have been slow to commit, but finally ticket sales have reached an almost acceptable level (though we will still make a loss).

From a director's point of view (or, at least, co-director), that's not my problem. My/our problem has been making the show fantastic. Which it should be. However, once the orchestra starts and the curtain goes up, it's pretty much out of our control. We can only hope.... So here is a poem I wrote back in March, that sort of sums it up. For those who don't understand the final stanza, you must have missed all the BCOS Lego-oriented publicity posts on Facebook. And get a ticket. It will be fab.


Unspoken rehearsal fears from a director

Our Carmen is a voluptuous Sevillano siren,
coy looks from the corner of her eye
leading every soldier on
and several women.

Don Jose is debonair; he dithers between
home goodness and luscious temptation,
his high notes rivalling theirs,
his despair palpable.

Gorgeous Escamillo flirts with the entire cast,
trailing them all in his bloody wake.
He acts the bar-room braggart,
a disguised gentleman.

Even the cigarette girls are assigned characters,
gang membership to feed their later fight,
backgrounds they can animate,
gossip silently shared.

PR on Facebook, though, is full of Lego figures,
their features frozen, a yellow grimace
for comic effect. For now.
Stage-fright can do strange things.


© Nikki Fine
March 2016

Shopping military-fashion

It's the second half of May. It's raining. It's the UK. And I'm wondering if I should switch the heating back on....

Unseasonal weather is becoming the norm these days. Unless summer was the three days of warmth and sunshine we had a fortnight ago, and autumn has just started early. Either way, I'm beginning to regret chucking out all the overly large winter clothes I had in the wardrobe.

Yes, they were too big for me. Yes, I am in the fortunate position of being able to afford to buy replacements in more suitable sizes. But are there any warm clothes in the shops? Retailers seem locked, despite the weather, in the traditional seasonal cycle. By the time they finally get round to putting more autumnal clothes out on the racks, I could have knitted myself a jumper (and I'm a very slow knitter). It doesn't help that I am restricted somewhat in the local shops available, and risking the traffic complications of the nearest city fills me with dread.

However, I have a shopping trip to a mega-metropolis planned, going on the train. The operative word here is 'planned'. I am already looking online at which shops will available, trying to work out what to look for where, based largely on their web-presence. But this seems terribly clinical. It's not the same as the browsing round the shops I used to do years and years ago, when I had little or no money and it was nearly all window-shopping. This is more like a military campaign, although my shopping partner-in-crime and I have not yet worked out where we're going for lunch, or even at what time. Perhaps she has already decided that we won't stop for lunch.

At least if I compile a list of requirements and expectations before heading out, I may actually acquire some of them. Though I shall be surprised if I manage to find some decent winter clothing...

What your musical tastes say about your personality

A recent item on BBC Breakfast looked at how our tastes in music reflect our personality. The guest, who was promoting his book, had asked the four presenters (two on the sofa, the weather and the business) to make a list of their top 10 favourite tracks. He then commented on their personalities, based on the songs chosen, without knowing who had given which list. The presenters didn't seem unhappy about it.

Now, it may just be me, but I would have thought that one's taste in music must obviously reflect one's personality to some extent, so the initial premise was not of much interest to me. The harder thing to contemplate was my top 10 favourite tracks. So much depends on my mood! However, I've given it some thought, and I present, in no particular order and sometimes with illuminating comment, my current top 10 (ask me again when it's cold and pouring with rain and the list will probably be different)....

1. Eurythmics - Right By Your Side. Upbeat song, almost impossible not to sing along with it, and the steel drum instrumentation just brings in a warm Caribbean feeling as well.

2. Pharrell Williams - Happy. Daft lyrics, but almost contagious upbeat rhythm; waiting at traffic lights, I'm pretty certain adjacent drivers have wondered what on earth I'm doing as I clap and click along with it in addition to the singing. Sedentary dancing almost (and you all know I don't dance).

3. Peter Gabriel - Signal to Noise. The first part, with the lyrics, is fairly unremarkable, but once the instrumental starts, with the strings gradually getting higher, the volume needs to be turned up full so that the sound can completely envelop you. Just fabulous!

4. Arvo Part - Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten. This is grief in an audible form, physically heart-wrenching. The funereal bell, the slow cascading strings, this is another one for full volume, though possibly not appropriate party music....

5. Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody. The first Queen song I got to know was 'Killer Queen', which I also love, but this one has great lyrics *and* some musical complexity. 

6. Genesis - Mad Man Moon. It was around when I discovered this song that I realised that for me, good lyrics were important as well as good music. 

7. Durufle - Agnus Dei. This was first time I had come across a really good alto solo line in a requiem, so much so that I've already told people I want it playing at my funeral. Planning ahead, folks!

8. Stephen Schwarz - For Good. This duet from Wicked is not only a beautiful song, but has achieved a personal resonance for me, listening to it on the way back from the funeral of an old friend and hearing the lyric "you'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart." I've got past the tears now, but I think of him every time I hear the song still, with one of those good pains.

9. Fats Waller (and others) - Ain't Misbehavin'. Another song with personal resonance, I surprise- serenaded Rod at our renewal of vows with this song, complete with harp accompaniment (kudos to the harpist, all those accidentals were a pain for her!). He's away again at the moment, so check out those lyrics, dear: No one to talk with, all by myself, No one to walk with, I'm happy on the shelf, Ain't misbehavin', savin' my love for you. (I'm not including the cats in this.)

10. David Bowie - Life on Mars. Nearly anything by David Bowie would make the list, and some days I could easily compile a list entirely of David Bowie, but today, I'm picking this one. 

So that's the current list. What does that say about my personality, I wonder. Probably that I should be on medication, but maybe tomorrow's list would be ok.... 

Cuba: Is it going well?

Cuba has been in the news this morning: lots about the recent visit by President Obama and then, last night, a performance by the Rolling Stones. Everyone was very excited, though possibly more by the latter than the former.

I'm pleased for the Cubans that their isolation appears to be coming to an end. Having visited last month, I have seen for myself the effects of both the embargo and their self-imposed exile from most of the rest of the world. But it is a beautiful country, with willing people who are proud, justifiably so, of what they have achieved in spite of such a lengthy quarantine. I hope their transition to the 21st century goes smoothly, but I worry that they risk losing much of value in the process. This poem, written while I was still in Cuba in February, tries to express a little of my concern, recognise what the revolution achieved, yet acknowledge the existing problems their poverty in a modern world has caused.

Portrait of Che Guevara on the side of the Interior Ministry building in Havana

Hasta la victoria, siempre (A Love Song to Cuba)

¿Vas bien, Cuba?

Homes for all, beggars included

(even the street artist, tourist photo opportunity,

is a government employee)

Children birthed, jabbed, educated at state expense

(yet want an easy life, Coke and Nikes, 

overseas)

Land now loaned, no lien, just dues

(you sell the obligatory 90% back, 

keep the other 20% for your own)

Cigars still drawn from hand-picked leaves

(the double-bent men octagenarians, 

no up-and-coming successors)

Vitamin R permeates 

(a joke? Rum is cheaper 

than clean water)

Is this the victory Che wanted?

And if it's still socialismo o muerte, 

be warned:

The Americans are coming.

© Nikki Fine

February 2016

Being forced offline in Cuba

Last week, having a fantastic holiday in Cuba, on an excellent tour with Explore and part of a lovely group of people, I discovered that once we had left the airport, I was effectively offline. I had posted that we had arrived (though possibly not the suitcases, as they took rather a long time to come through) and then that was it. There was no 3G on Cuba that I ever found and the wifi offered by the hotel was at best erratic (and not free!).

Initially it was almost liberating. There was no need to post photos of the hotel room or to check in at each mojito-stop. There was no point wondering if there had been a reply to any of the numerous emails sent out the previous week, or any fresh issues. No BBC news website to haunt (although, to be fair, we did once accidentally find BBC World news on the TV in the room). No weather forecast to check. We concentrated on the others in the group and the sights and experiences around us - a sort of group mindfulness, I suppose.

But as the week went on, I began to develop a mild anxiety. What if something serious happened and no-one realised that I didn't know about it? (I regularly worry that something serious might happen, so that aspect of it was not unusual.) What if one of the things I had delegated while away was forgotten because I hadn't reminded them nearer the time? What if the lovely people looking after our pussycats had had a catastrophe and the cats were starving, unattended? I had a phone signal so sent a text about one of the issues  - it took a while, as normally it was an imessage number, so the phone had to realise that it couldn't send an imessage before offering me the option of a text. There was no response, and I didn't know if the message hadn't actually been sent after all (despite the phone assuring me to the contrary), hadn't been received, hadn't been replied to, or I just couldn't get the reply. I tried to put it out of my mind; I had done what I could. (I went through the same rigmarole again later in the week. Slow learner, perhaps.)

But beyond my over-actively imagined worries, I did begin to feel a little cut off. I have a few friends. I may not see them every day, or even every week, but I stay in touch with them via Facebook and email and it means that even though my work as a writer is fairly solitary, I still feel part of a global community. Suddenly, that entire community had been torn away from me. I was no longer sharing in my friends' lives, seeing the motivational comments that we often post, or the photos and jokes that have made us all click on the like button. It was a very strange feeling. It has made me wonder how I would have coped as a writer in the days before the internet, amongst other things.

It also makes me wonder how the younger generation, who are even more connected than I am (to generalise splendidly!) will cope in Cuba until access to the internet is improved. And that, of course, along with the imminent arrival of many more American tourists and their expectations, raises a whole load of other issues for the Cuban government to consider.

Meanwhile, I'm just glad to be back in touch with everyone. Though I could do without the wind and the sleet.