Post by NeilVHughes on Nov 22, 2019 23:23:22 GMT
Fortunate upgrade tonight, got upgraded from my restricted view to the centre of row K, directly opposite Conleith at his eye level and therefore little or no sightline issues.
A play that coalesces a lot of what I believe are the thematic ideas of Beckett and Pinter.
Our lives are made up of thousands upon thousand of random events which we assign a story (what happened at school today, what happened at the supermarket on the way home...) As these stories coalesce we build OUR own story or the narrative of the self.
When we are young children we have little or no boundaries to our imagination and open to almost an infinite number of stories, as we grow older these stories become impacted by the constraints of education, our environment at home, the local area, our class, our experiences, and other peoples and societies expectations and many more.
When we reach our early twenties most of us settle into a narrow narrative which we call our self or personality, I am not the type of person who...., I don’t do things like that...
What we have done is impose a structure on the random events that occur daily and define our timeline as logical with some purpose whether internal, I was born to do this, or external such as faith (a good Christian would...), a national character trait (I’m British so therefore I would not...) and these provide a foundation to construct our perception of control protecting us from being in a constant existential crisis as we traverse the infinite choices available to us each day, week, year.....
This play considers the macro and micro stories by which we live our lives and I did like how in the end the ennui was broken not by the macro creation myth but the idealistic infantile imagination even though the coming constraints were signalled as the opening phrase coalesced into its expected form.
Beckett takes it further when he starts to destruct language, the greatest constrainer of all, once we tag an item with its name it is that forever as someone once said “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” but then we would not be able to create stories, which could be considered our only human defence against the lack of meaning which consciousness craves.
Stories are the lens that we use to control the world, only once I learnt to remove the lens was I able to appreciate modern art and for that I thank Beckett and now love walking around Tate Modern with my blinkers removed and whenever I feel the need to understand how language creates and defines the world I only have to delve into Beckets How It Is, a multitude of paragraphs without punctuation which morph into different meanings and therefore the development of the story each time I read it.
All in all a great play but maybe not great entertainment.
A play that coalesces a lot of what I believe are the thematic ideas of Beckett and Pinter.
Our lives are made up of thousands upon thousand of random events which we assign a story (what happened at school today, what happened at the supermarket on the way home...) As these stories coalesce we build OUR own story or the narrative of the self.
When we are young children we have little or no boundaries to our imagination and open to almost an infinite number of stories, as we grow older these stories become impacted by the constraints of education, our environment at home, the local area, our class, our experiences, and other peoples and societies expectations and many more.
When we reach our early twenties most of us settle into a narrow narrative which we call our self or personality, I am not the type of person who...., I don’t do things like that...
What we have done is impose a structure on the random events that occur daily and define our timeline as logical with some purpose whether internal, I was born to do this, or external such as faith (a good Christian would...), a national character trait (I’m British so therefore I would not...) and these provide a foundation to construct our perception of control protecting us from being in a constant existential crisis as we traverse the infinite choices available to us each day, week, year.....
This play considers the macro and micro stories by which we live our lives and I did like how in the end the ennui was broken not by the macro creation myth but the idealistic infantile imagination even though the coming constraints were signalled as the opening phrase coalesced into its expected form.
Beckett takes it further when he starts to destruct language, the greatest constrainer of all, once we tag an item with its name it is that forever as someone once said “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” but then we would not be able to create stories, which could be considered our only human defence against the lack of meaning which consciousness craves.
Stories are the lens that we use to control the world, only once I learnt to remove the lens was I able to appreciate modern art and for that I thank Beckett and now love walking around Tate Modern with my blinkers removed and whenever I feel the need to understand how language creates and defines the world I only have to delve into Beckets How It Is, a multitude of paragraphs without punctuation which morph into different meanings and therefore the development of the story each time I read it.
All in all a great play but maybe not great entertainment.