e_clare | Entries tagged with stoppard

or, My Fantastically Freezing Weekend in Boston.

Fall snuck up on me this year, in a way. The leaves have been changing for weeks, and it's certainly been cooling down, but wow. It's almost November already! It really shouldn't have been a huge surprise when I found that I hadn't packed enough layers for my visit to Beantown but geez -- Saturday morning was a rude awakening. The day before, when I had a two-hour layover between buses in Hartford, it had certainly started to get chilly. But on Saturday, although the sun shone brightly and I wore long sleeves under a sweatshirt under a jacket, I seriously envied Erica's hat and gloves, and wished that I'd packed thicker socks.

Of course, I also spent 80% of my day on Saturday outdoors, and was walking around a windy city for about 75% of that time. I got to wander through Cambridge, trek across part of the Harvard campus, and hike all the way across Boston Common, and all the way up Newbury Street to Massachusetts Ave.

( pumpkins and shopping )

( dinner and a Stoppard play )

Side note: The typing of this post was significantly hindered by Dad's cat Elliot, who misses him when he's on business trips, and who is apprently quite jealous of the laptop. In fact, the second half was written with a purring kitty sitting on my chest and blocking my view of most of the screen, so I blame him for any and all wonky typos.

I haven't had this much to say in a while. Bear with me.

The highlight of my life happened earlier this week (graduation and a whole lot of other things aside): I went to an evening of play readings, and I met Tom Stoppard. Not only did I meet Sir Tom, I shook his hand, thanked him for writing "Rock 'N' Roll," and received his thanks for being a fan and coming to that night's event (not his play). I wrote to my thesis advisor today:

As I walked into the theater, I spotted an older gentleman taking a cigarette break. It was Sir Tom, hunkered down on the low stone wall, having a conversation with a young woman. I dithered for a minute, and then interrupted them as politely as possible to introduce myself, and say how much I'd liked RnR. When I added that I'd written my thesis about him, he responded, "Oh...I'm so sorry."

I refrained from replying that he should be, and that my advisor and I had decided he was one of the most difficult authors about whom to write coherently. Ever. Unfortunately, I didn't get to tell him my witty title -- while I'm sure he'd appreciate the punningly awesome humor of "S. Gone Wilde," at the time he clearly just wanted to finish his cigarette and pre-show conversation. Huge thanks are due to Marty Seeger, without whose prompting I probably would have just walked past him and squee'd quietly to myself. Yay, Marty! Also, if anyone cares, the plays were quite good.

( The part of the post without celebrity knights )

Raaaahhh, LJ! It's not my fault your clocks are two hours ahead! Why won't you just let me post?!

Who wants to come to London with me for a week in September? NYC-London tickets are just under $500 right now on Student Universe.

I PASSED MY THESIS DEFENSE, HUZZAH!

It was all worth it. I'ma have a drink now ~~and work on my finals~~. YAY!

Current Mood: jubilant

It's good to know that even at this point, I'm still able to fangirl my thesis subjects. (Apologies -- I may have posted part of this speech last spring, during finals.)

"Oh - Bosie! I have to go back to him, you know. Robbie will be furious but it can't be helped. The betrayal of one's friends is a bagatelle in the stakes of love, but the betrayal of oneself is lifelong regret. Bosie is what became of me. He is spoiled, vindictive, utterly selfish and not very talented, but these are merely the facts. The truth is he was Hyacinth when Apollo loved him, he is ivory and gold, from his red rose-leaf lips comes music that fills me with joy, he is the only one who understands me.... We would never love anybody if we could see past our invention. Bosie is my creation, my poem. In the mirror of invention, love discovered itself." -- Oscar Wilde, The Invention of Love (94-5).

Why is this play so amazing? Unfortunately, I still can't articulate exactly what makes it all so wonderful. This is problematic, as I'm trying to finish a chapter for tonight. Right-o.

(While I'm here: Aaaaaaagggghh tour groups. How the f*ck are we supposed to be able to work in the bloody library on a Sunday if there are tour groups walking through literally EVERY TWO MINUTES?! Not that I'm not happy to know that there is a student::computer ratio of 4 to 1; and 70/30 PC to Mac; and that the couches in the IC were kept because students especially requested they be saved during remodeling as they are the comfiest sofas on campus -- which is true. I have to move. Otherwise, like Barbara Bush in that one episode of The Simpsons, I'll have to start giving the goddamn tour speech every time people stop at my table.)

EDIT: Okay, we're down to less than a minute between groups. I give up. My death glares are going to start driving the prospies away.

EDITED AGAIN: Wow. That cup of coffee I had for breakfast made me really hostile. Note to self: consider switching to tea?

Guess what I'm supposed to be working on.

Instead, I'm wishing I had several thousand dollars to throw around on things like this. Proceeds are going to charity, so I totally need the broken bracelet, some quills. or a new dress.

Mostly I just think it's cool to be able to see the magnificent detail on some of these costumes -- bloodstained relics from Scary Movie aside.

Full list of eBay items is here (because I know I've always wanted to own an original costume from The Faculty); also listed here, with scarier prices. Originally linked by

cleolinda.

I succeeded in my goal of having fun with Valentines Day this year by spending the entire evening yesterday making valentines and watching the Olympics. We finally found a use for all the old man-wall photos and various odd pictures I've been hoarding for four years: turn them into valentines! I made cheesy movie valentines for a bunch of people, and came up with far more clever one-liners for banannagoats' efforts than my own.

My personal favorite was the Eddie Izzard one: "Cake, death, or me? / Ciaaoo, Valentine!" I'm also pretty proud of the Gone With The Wind effort ("Give a damn, my dear -- be my Valentine!").

Ultimately, 'Goats wins at life for my valentine: essentially a pocket-sized man-wall, she took all my favorite tiny photos and put them into a flipbook. It's kind of amazing, and I'll love it forever -- it's four years'-worth of in-jokes, attractive men, friendship and love, all rolled into one 3x5 package. ♥ ♥ ♥

So now I spent the afternoon running around, handing out cards and generally spreading the love. On tonight's agenda: an extended film screening/make-up class for Documentaries; the men's skating short program; and probably more lounging around and eating chocolate. Hopefully there will also be wine. This could be a very good day indeed.

"I don't know how to write love. I try to write it properly, and it just comes out embarassing...Perhaps I should write it completely artificial. Blank verse. Poetic imagery. Not so much of the 'Will you still love me when my tits are droopy?' 'Of course I will darling, it's your bum I'm mad for', and more of the 'By my troth, thy beauty makest the moon hide her radiance.' Loving and being loved is unliterary. It's happiness expressed in banality and lust." - Stoppard, The Real Thing.

June 3 - July 15, 2006. Royal Court Theater, London. Starring Rufus Sewell as "a young man caught between political and cultural upheavals in Czechoslovakia and Britain in the 1950s and 1960s,"* and directed by Trevor Nunn (the man who brought the world Cats, among other things).

The play "spans the recent history of Czechoslovakia between the Prague Spring and the Velvet Revolution - but from the double perspective [thesis topic!] of Prague, where a rock 'n' roll band came to symbolise resistance to the regime, and the British left, represented by a Communist philosopher at Cambridge."**

WOOOO! I'm more pumped to find a way to get me to England in June than I am to find a job. Heh.

ETA: Now with links and a human-sized picture. This is what happens when banannagoats calls halfway through composing my post. Happy birthday, wifey!

Current Mood: kinda bouncy

Invention panel w/ Stoppard @ Wilma Theater, Philadelphia - transcript +

NewsHour w/ Jim Lehrer - background report (Indian Ink, Shakespeare in Love) +

NewsHour - interview (transcript &/or audio) +

Invention of Love:
Lincoln Center Platform Series - audience Q&A w/ Stoppard +

Lincoln Center info page +

Lincoln Center Platform Series - audience Q&A w/ Bob Crowley, lighting designer +

General info page +

Shakespeare in Love

"How They Imagined SiL." Gloria Goodale, Christian Science Monitor. +

Real Thing play notes - Court Theatre, 1999 +

...by the combined powers of the end of Arcadia and the Garden State soundtrack.

(<-- sad sap)

( *wibbles* )

Yay! Preliminary thesis angst was all in vain. I'm good to go now: ENG 395: Stoppard Independent Study w/ MJSalter.

*dances*

Also, I totally told David Sedaris about my thesis. *dies*

I can't write coherently about Mr. Sedaris. It was a long, amusing evening. Chapin was totally packed, which rocks for sponsors WFCR (yeah, public radio!). I stood in line for about 45 minutes to get my copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day signed, trying to come up with something witty or interesting to say.

I didn't just bust out "OMG, TOM STOPPARD!!!1" -- he asked. No, really, I swear. My side of the conversation: Yes, I'm a student here; junior; English major; no, not so much with the writing; well, papers, yes -- but not about Emily Dickinson, since I'm actually really into Tom Stoppard right now, and probably doing a thesis; 75-100 pages, yeah, it does kind of suck - thanks! Have a great night!

(My brilliant opener was, "Hi! How are you holding up," since he looked totally exhausted and wanting to get out of there. "I just really need a cigarette," he replied. "You?")
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So I finally decide that I really would like to write a thesis. No, really: it's clear that I can talk and think about Stoppard's plays for hours on end, and it's simply too good an opportunity to pass up. During the first half of my seminar this afternoon, I'm seized by inspiration: write about Wilde in Stoppard (or Wildean Stoppard, and a bit of Stoppardian Wilde). God knows there's enough of a running theme, with references to Earnest (for starters) in everything from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern up through Oscar's actual appearance in The Invention of Love.

I even start brainstorming secondary art sources -- all right, films, mostly -- about Wilde, that could serve this exploration of the purpose and meaning of art in society. There's the obvious Wilde, for which I made a fool of myself today ("...and Jude Law as Bosie! Thumbs up!" *gestures*), Gilbert and Sullivan's Patience (which I've never seen, but wanted to), that Lord Alfred Douglas one-man show that was at Stratford several seasons back ... hell, I could even make an argument for Velvet Goldmine (although that one's more about fame and celebrity than art and Aetheticism).

I bravely approach the prof on our halfway-mark break, and pop the question (as it were): "Oh...it's funny you should ask me that, because I just agreed to advise somebody on her thesis on Stoppard."

Ouch. There goes my academic enthusiasm.

**I do still have until Wednesday, technically, to hear the official yea or nay from this professor; said she'd try to work something out, but DAMMIT, not fair.
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For once, I'm being serious: the past two days of reading have been utterly wonderful and downright exciting.

( Yeah, you heard me. )

"Theater is indeed a physical event, and the words are not enough without everything else, but everything else is nothing without the words, and in the extravagant complex equation of sound and light, it’s certain words in a certain order that – often mysteriously – turn our hearts over."
-- Tom Stoppard, "Pragmatic Theater," New York Review of Books, September 23, 1999

( And the English major rambled on... )
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Oh dear. We all know how simple this Tom Stoppard paper is supposed to be: choose a passage from Hamlet, discuss how Stoppard uses it in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Easy-peasy.

Of course, nothing is ever that simple. So I've spent the better part of the afternoon rereading bits of each play, struggling to narrow my focus to a manageable chunk of Shakespeare. There's fodder for a bloody thesis paper in this question; I only need five pages. Trying not to think about how they have to be five Really Good pages, unlike the four pages of film paper I ended up with yesterday.

I know it'll happen. I know I can do this. I just know, too, that I'm booked tonight from 6:30 onwards (because yes, I do need to go to Drag Ball), and that tomorrow I won't be good for much until after lunch.

*catches breath and sanity*

Woe is I. The life of an English major is a difficult one, indeed.
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