Monthly Archives: April 2006

History Theatre

An old Hamlet

My retroblogger Frances Williams Wynn (whose site hasn’t moved) is today commenting on watching Charles Kemble – an elderly Charles Kemble – performing Hamlet.

This site says that by the time Miss Williams Wynn was watching, he had been saved from bankruptcy by his daughter Fanny going on the stage. He was the sister of Sarah Siddons, on whom Miss Williams Wynn has also delivered her verdict.
Some links: Images of Kemble at the National Portrait Gallery; a playbill of a Macbeth production in which he played Malcolm.

Today, of course, Hamlets are getting younger all the time.

Feminism

Being paid is better than not being paid

Zoe Williams in the Guardian this morning is rightly scathing about a survey that finds many women think “cleaning is better than sex”. All that proves is that if you ask the right question you can get any result you like from a survey. (And I bet it was done for a cleaning products company or similar.)

But she’s wrong, I think, on the subject of paid cleaners. She suggests everyone should just clean up after themselves, but the problem of course is that small children can’t, or the disabled, or many of the elderly, and there are still plenty of able-bodied adults around who just won’t.

That this is now paid work – albeit often badly paid – is an advance, for at least it puts some value on it, in the way our societies judge value. And since it is still overwhelmingly women who do the cleaning, that is a good thing.

Better than unpaid housework by women dismissed as “just housewives”.

Now you’re going to ask if I’ve ever had a cleaner. Only in Bangkok, where not to do so would be very odd. Left to my own devices, I’ve in the past been famous for the dustballs under my dining table. Now, I’ve got a dishwasher (life is too short to wash dishes), and when the dustballs build up I’ll sweep them up with the dirty clothes before they go in the washing machine…

Blogging/IT

Welcome to the new Philobiblon

Yes, the move is now finally complete (even if all of the rough edges haven’t yet been smoothed off), and this is the new site, where all new posting will occur.

There were the usual hiccups and odd happenings getting to this point. The process of importing content from Blogger to WordPress is theoretically extraordinarily simple – little more than pressing a button, but for reasons I am utterly unable to explain, the first two times I did it, only posts from 2004 were imported. The third time that I did exactly the same thing – more in exasperation than hope – all of the posts arrived. And they say computers are logical.

There are still some issues to be ironed out here; if anyone can tell me why as it is loading the righthand sidebar is the right width (180), but it then suddenly pops out much wider, I would be extremely grateful! UPDATE: it was one of the blogring codes that was causing the problem. I’ve just cut several of them out, but will try to work out a final solution eventually.

If anything else about the site really annoys you – or you’ve got some helpful suggestions – please leave them on this or any other post. (I’m also looking for recommendations for a WordPress plug-in for preventing spam comments, if anyone has a recommendation.)

One of the advantages of this move has been the addition of categories to the site. You can now look at all of the Femmes Fatales in a row just by clicking on that category in the right-hand sidebar. I’m gradually going to go back to recategorise other posts – so you will for example be able to look at just the feminism posts, or just those relating to early modern history. (Although I haven’t got very far back on those yet.)

Enjoy!

Theatre

Fine play based on obvious ideas

There are some interesting characters in 15 Minutes, which has just opened at The Arcola,. Maggie (Moira Brooker) is a veteran television documentary-maker battling to come to terms with the “reality TV” age. Her married (to someone else) boyfriend Robin (Tim Block), is a cynical old Fleet Street hack – a type I recognise all too well. Maggie’s “subject” is Toni (Carly Hillman), a rebellious youngster who after a stretch in Holloway is trying, sort of, to get her life into line, not helped by her angry young man Mason (Ashley Rolfe).

These are familiar – perhaps too familiar – characters, but a combination of solid writing and excellent acting take them beyond the stereotypes. The problem with the play is clear, however, in its title. 15 Minutes refers – the programme explains – to the Andy Warhol quote about fame, something that has gone beyond cliche to the point of joke. The story here is of the exploitative and partial nature of “reality” TV. Yes? And it is about how subjects can sometimes turn the tables and become (for their “managers”) all too active agents. Yes?

These ideas are simply too familiar, too obvious, to make an entirely satisfying evening. The writer, Christine Harmar-Brown, has a real ear for dialogue and an eye for dramatic movement, but she needs to find some bigger themes, bigger ideas, to explore.

That doesn’t mean you won’t have an entertaining evening at the Arcola. The acting is top class, and director Paul Jepson does interesting things with giant television screens that shift uncertainly around the stage. But don’t expect to spend a delicious after-show dinner at the many excellent restaurants around the Arcola fervently arguing the issues it raises. You’ll have said and heard it all before.
The production continues until May 13.

Miscellaneous

What to do with a swede…

My organic delivery box has held them for weeks, and they’ve been sitting at the back of the fridge, looking reproachfully at me whenever I opened it. I’ve tried straight boiling them, but they really don’t taste great.

But I did find this recipe and while it is a bit fiddly for my taste, it does produce seriously yummy soup, and the sort of thing that is ideal for using the scraps around the place. (I skipped the celery and added sweet potato, and am using yoghurt instead of cream, although really it could do without a creaming agent.)

No this isn’t going to turn into a cookery blog, but this was a real discovery!

Books

How not to travel (and not to write about it)

After one brief, disastrous journey (to Bali as a green young Australian, with the sister of my boyfriend, who insisted I do the bargaining for her, then complained about the results), I’ve always travelled alone. Sure there are times when it is tough, but mostly it is wonderful – you talk to waiters, to people on buses, to passing strollers. You get enmeshed in the local world in the way that a couple – that self-contained unit – never do.

If I ever set out on a journey with the specific aim of writing a book, I’ll certainly do the same thing. That intention was only confirmed by reading Frances Mayes’ A Year in the World. The book is subtitled “Journeys of a Passionate Traveller”, yet the only passion she seems to feel is for the husband with whom she travels. As a self-contained unit they sweep (not around the world, as the title misleadingly proclaims), but around the Mediterranean, like a couple cuddling in their living room watching a video.

The result is a book that reads like a school report of “what I did on my holidays”. Well, that’s a little unfair; there is a reasonably sophisticated account of the culture of the destinations – although the sophisticated habit of tossing in local words when English would do perfectly well does become irritating. And it seems every meal, even every instance of window-shopping, is recounted in agonising detail:

“We stop to gaze at a window arranged with trays of candied fruits, gleaming like jewels. The prince perhaps partook of cedro candito, those huge gnarly lemons, almost all peel, as well as the whole candied oranges and lemons, and the array of marzipan fruits, and piles of torrone bianco con fighi secchi, white candy with nuts, and dried figs.”

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