Book Clubs and Oedipus

Had a very good Sunday today. First I leapt out of bed at 10.40am and realized I was late for the book club meet. Hurriedly dressed and ran out the door. It was raining, naturally. Fortunately Southbank isn't so far and providence provided a bus 172 just as I crossed the street to the bus stop. Played hide and seek looking for the Giraffe in the South bank centre - finally found it after walking round the Royal Festival Hall twice.

The meeting had already kicked off amid the cafe-bustle, brazilian music and coffee blending machines. Reminded me of the time I had mine in La Bodega in Bangsar - can't believe it was 3 years ago. It was a little hard to hear what the group was saying while being interrupted by the 'Vegetarian salad? Large Cappucino? English Breakfast??' yelled out insistently on occasion. Otherwise, the discussion was interesting covering culture, India, politics and ethics - heavy stuff on a Sunday afternoon but the company was great too.

There were a couple of keen theatre-goers amongst us and one of them wanted to check out 'Oedipus', currently playing a hop and skip away *literally next door* in the National Theatre. The plus was that Ralph Fiennes was in the title role. I invited myself to come along and we tried our luck for the standby tickets for about half an hour when finally we had three very good seats - smack in the centre of the hall, right up front.


The play was superb - Ralph Fiennes was larger than life. He appeared through the large bronze door right in the centre of the stage - stared at the audience and uttered 'You come here weeping and crying. You, you old man get up and speak!' lifted a finger and slowly stared accusingly. It was scary. The cast was no less brilliant ....all of them terribly accomplished in their role. And I liked the stage layout - a circular conference with the large ominous bronze door in the centre almost signifying the wheel of fate with the doorway of tragedy like a gaping hole on the stage.

OK I have to be an ignoramus now and say this: there is a lot of spit emitted in plays. I saw actors spitting when talking, spitting when singing, or spit while standing and putting fingers in their mouths (look at Ralph's picture) I'm sure there's a criteria that one must be able to spit while acting to become truly an actor. I could almost spot which ones were the 'wannabe-spitters' - it had to be the guy at the end of the play - the filler delivering the bad news while Ralph had time to put on some bloody make up. The sanitary team must disinfect the stage every day I'll bet - nice job. Collect some famous spit and sell em.

All in all, a nice Sunday well spent.