Showing posts with label dramaturged by Elliot Roberts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dramaturged by Elliot Roberts. Show all posts

Sunday, 27 March 2016

Hmm -Art? A good thing? You are kidding, right?

Thanks to some half-baked reading about Diderot and the Quarrel Between the Ancient and the Moderns, I have become suspicious of Art. To continue the ridiculous simile introduced by King Tynan of BDSM, if theatre is my lover, it's like finding out that she has a job in marketing for UKIP.

The QBtAatA revolved around methods to assess art - whether, following Aristotle's guidelines, it was better to imitate classical sources (The Ancients), or strive after contemporary styling. Diderot, editor of the Encyclopedia was a Modern. He won, in the end. His influence on Saint Lessing, who coined the word dramaturgy, and Comrade Brecht, makes Diderot the Man. All that relevant theatre - that's his fault.

However, what the Ancients and Moderns shared was a conviction that theatre had a cultural importance, that the kind of plays that are produced reflect and support the values of society. This ought to be a straight 101 course in the Sociology of Theatre - Marx, for example, identifies the economic base (the political system, more or less) as defining the superstructure (culture and that).



The Ancients did far more than claim Greek Tragedy as the Best Tragedy. They recognised that its order (reduced to Aristotle's Unities) reflected a Universal Order, that respect for tradition discouraged revolutionary thought. Happening just before The Enlightenment  (or, perhaps more accurately, as an early skirmish that kicked the whole thing off).


They were unapologetic about theatre as propaganda: equally, by the time Diderot got around to writing long justifications of his tedious scripts, he realised that a bourgeois theatre, with a new format known latterly as dram, could encourage different ways of thinking. His plays, which have never been satisfactorily integrated into canon, addressed matters like 'the role of the father'. All worthy issue plays owe their genesis to Diderot's dialogues. Plays dealing with wider, existentialist themes could owe as much to Greek Tragedy.

Of course, the two terms of the ruckus have never been that clear: Euripides was dealing with Athenian politics in The Trojan Women, and Beckett's Endgame speaks to cold-war paranoia, yet both are Aristotlean in format. As Diderot was smart enough t notice, theorists make labels after artists make work. Yet The Quarrel did have Racine storming out of the Academie Francaise when Perrault read a paper about how great the modern age is. Lines were drawn. Corneille's Le Cid, for example, was declared naughty by the Acadamie for not following Aristotle in its structure, even if audiences loved it. 




Thursday, 7 August 2014

Avin with Mad Cyril: Vindici @ C Venues

Leave it out, mate. Ahm tryin to ave a shit and aave a read of Sunday Sport when I get anuvva call off some PR. I tell yew this much, yew gonna find out ow I got my name if you don get aht of my grill.

Right. I ad a nice stroll up the Royal, Gawd bless er, Mile. Full of ponces. Perfumed ponces. Singin and dancin like its a oliday. Made me late for a very important meetin with a man abaht a dog wot needed shootin. The Fringe is a right mug's game, no mistake.

I ain't seen so many shows this week, but I ad a butchers at that Jefro Compton's Capone Trilogy. It's tasty. Ends up wiv a geeza geetin his tongue all electrocuted, and I like Compton's attitude a sight more that the attitude Ah've been coppin off the staff at certain venues. Give em a lanyard and they fink they're Special Forces.

Anyway, Compton does a nice line in gangster action. I used to watch them film noirs, picked up a few moves. Plus Jacobean melodrama... makes sense. It's all about the blood, the burds and the bollokins. I would've liked a bit more of the old Newingtons over the walls, but ee got the atmosphere bang to rights: the city going all Stoke and the bottles runnin thins tight and nasty.

Am I Avin It? Avin it like ya mum's hoop, son.