Ahhh. A book. A novel. A...thing...filled with paper and words. Is there anything better in this world?
Well, yes, frankly. Television's pretty good at the moment. Watching a film's nice too. Bit of easily digestible escapism. Can't beat that.
But books are good too...
Actually, food's great. I love food. It doesn't even need to be gourmet...or good really. Just cooked...or raw. Just in front of me.
Yep. Food is awesome.
But books rank pretty high on my list of things that are great.
Well, not pretty high...but it is on the list. Near the middle. Lower-middle.
Let's just say I respect books a lot, and who doesn't? You see a person reading a book and you start thinking to yourself, 'Wow. That's impressive. Someone's reading a book.'
Not exactly awe-inspiring but there's some envy there. I am dreadfully envious of people who read. These people who can distract themselves from all the immediate pleasures that this universe has to offer and bury themselves in words and take a journey to...blah, blah. I can do the same thing watching a television program without the pesky business of over-exerting my eyes 'reading' words and hurting my head using my 'imagination'. Come on. Be realistic.
But I do struggle with reading...not the reading itself...I'm top notch at that...but the actual reading of a book. I get started...I'm loving it...exposition, characters and all that malarkey...but then about halfway through or even a third of the way through...I get bored with the whole endeavour. I lose interest. I lose the motivation to keep trekking through the wonderland of the written word. I put my tissue-bookmark on the page, close the book with a sigh of finality and inevitability and leave it on my bedside table to gather dust for the following weeks as it stares back at me with contempt at my literary impotence, until finally and desperately I put it back with its brothers and sisters in the bookcase where they can gossip to each other about my lack of sensitivity, roughness of touch and short attention span. Screw them all. Books, I mean.
It's funny though...I love books. I do. I love to buy books, especially with nice covers that look good in bookshelves... and give off an impression to visitors or strangers in my home (and even to me) that I am well read, intelligent, etc...and that's crazy...I don't need books to show people that I'm etcetera...I'm etcetera all the friggin' time...it's like my defining characteristic:
'Boy that James Antonas really is etcetera, isn't he?'
'Yeah! Totally! Too much so I'd say!'
'You think?'
'Yeah...a bit...but it's awkward...I can't really bring it up, you know? I mean, how you raise that with someone...'Dude I think you better tone down that etcetera...there's children present.' It just wouldn't work and then he'd get all diva-y and call off our friendship for the 23rd time!'
'He's a douche.'
'Yeah...but at least he's well read.'
*Please note the intentional ironic misspelling of the word 'read' in the title...actually...is it ironic? I sometimes think people use the word ironic without knowing if what they're commenting on is actually ironic...I think some people say 'It's ironic' or 'I'm being ironic!' sarcastically...which then makes me think 'Are they being ironic in saying that they're being ironic?' because if they had said 'I'm being ironic' without the tone of sarcasm I would appreciate that they may in fact have been ironic...not a sarcastic git. Because, come on, outside of blogs...who really drops the i-bomb in casual conversation? No one, that's who...or complete deadbeat beatnik skinny-jean and plaid shirt wearing bespectacled hipsters! **
**I'm being ironic
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Another Opening!?
Well, one week down...and already it's time for reflection....to look back on the week that was the opening of The Underpants.
For some of you who may not be familiar with the glitz and glamour that is 'amateur theatre', or even 'community theatre', the rehearsal process can be daunting. Think about it...you rehearse for six or so weeks (if it's a play) or 3 or so months (if it's a musical) in the back of a scout hall or an abandoned church or even, God forbid, a theatre...with often just the other cast members and a director looking on as you act like a goon...in a dress.
Sure...there were laughs early on from the people involved...there may even be a few remaining chuckles...more reserved, warm...possibly polite...earnt from six weeks of speaking like Hyacinth Bucket imitating Mrs Doubtfire ripping off Eddie (Emily) Howard 'I'm a Lady' from Little Britain...and, of course, wearing a dress and a flaming red 'Lucille Ball' wig.
But that's part of the trouble...it's so insular...you appreciate each other's performance because you've seen it develop over the six weeks. You've seen people grow and nuance their character to perfection or work out a bit of business that is solid gold...champagne comedy. But you've seen it from the beginning...you've seen what it was...it's had the time to grow in the safe, warm, cosy cocoon that is the rehearsal process...filled with shared laughter, in-jokes, and an honest desire to see each other succeed in the best possible way. It's juicy with positivity.
But, to paraphrase a line from another show is it better living it than looking at it?
So that's where the audience comes into the equation...particularly the opening night or preview audience. Sure an audience wants to have a good time...but they're also paying for the privilege...so they may also be more discerning, more critical...suddenly something in the show that you've been pissing yourself with laughter about falls like lead balloon...there are pauses for laughter that never arrive...nerves catch up with you and suddenly you're racing through your dialogue, garbling every word you can and ruining the end of sentences...cues are missed...entrances are delayed...silences the size of my padded bra start emerging and you stare blankly at the other performer on stage staring blankly at you and you both realise you have no idea who's line is it anyway and no idea how the f**k you are going to get out of it...props are forgotten...doors fall apart...lollies are eaten...and it's not even interval...
An audience has the power to change a show that's running like a well-oiled machine to a big hot mess...that's suddenly very oily.
So the reaction from that opening night crowd really is important...it gives the cast and director an opportunity to hear the dialogue in a space that is no longer a vacuum...hearing people laugh gives us confidence that we are actually performing a comedy...the attentiveness of the audience, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and what not show that the actors are doing something that people are actually following and getting drawn into, and that it's not, to put it bluntly, a turd.
Turds can come in many shapes and sizes. They can be a person on stage...that no matter how hard they and others try...they are just a turd. Shows themselves can be turds. Flaming turds. And if the truth be known...you can't polish a turd. However, I am a firm believer that a person can shine in sh*t. So...basically...it all comes down to faeces of some form or another.
Anyway, that opening night audience can be crucial...if they don't laugh at all and it's supposed to be a comedy...you're f*cked...if they laugh throughout and it's a drama...you're f*cked...so there's a fine line of fornication here.
And so it came to the preview audience last Thursday for The Underpants...I don't think I really knew what to expect from the whole shebang...it was clearly a comedy...but how much of a comedy...an amused smile comedy? A slight chuckle to yourself comedy? A laugh to your friend on your left comedy? Or a laugh out loud 'I don't care who hears me' comedy?
And...apparently...it's all of the above. Reacti0ns ranged from barely a twitter (or a tweet) all the way to stopping the show for a good solid three or four seconds so the audience can stop apparently wetting themselves...and, I think...as a cast we're all bloody happy with that...
At least we're not faeces.
For some of you who may not be familiar with the glitz and glamour that is 'amateur theatre', or even 'community theatre', the rehearsal process can be daunting. Think about it...you rehearse for six or so weeks (if it's a play) or 3 or so months (if it's a musical) in the back of a scout hall or an abandoned church or even, God forbid, a theatre...with often just the other cast members and a director looking on as you act like a goon...in a dress.
Sure...there were laughs early on from the people involved...there may even be a few remaining chuckles...more reserved, warm...possibly polite...earnt from six weeks of speaking like Hyacinth Bucket imitating Mrs Doubtfire ripping off Eddie (Emily) Howard 'I'm a Lady' from Little Britain...and, of course, wearing a dress and a flaming red 'Lucille Ball' wig.
But that's part of the trouble...it's so insular...you appreciate each other's performance because you've seen it develop over the six weeks. You've seen people grow and nuance their character to perfection or work out a bit of business that is solid gold...champagne comedy. But you've seen it from the beginning...you've seen what it was...it's had the time to grow in the safe, warm, cosy cocoon that is the rehearsal process...filled with shared laughter, in-jokes, and an honest desire to see each other succeed in the best possible way. It's juicy with positivity.
But, to paraphrase a line from another show is it better living it than looking at it?
So that's where the audience comes into the equation...particularly the opening night or preview audience. Sure an audience wants to have a good time...but they're also paying for the privilege...so they may also be more discerning, more critical...suddenly something in the show that you've been pissing yourself with laughter about falls like lead balloon...there are pauses for laughter that never arrive...nerves catch up with you and suddenly you're racing through your dialogue, garbling every word you can and ruining the end of sentences...cues are missed...entrances are delayed...silences the size of my padded bra start emerging and you stare blankly at the other performer on stage staring blankly at you and you both realise you have no idea who's line is it anyway and no idea how the f**k you are going to get out of it...props are forgotten...doors fall apart...lollies are eaten...and it's not even interval...
An audience has the power to change a show that's running like a well-oiled machine to a big hot mess...that's suddenly very oily.
So the reaction from that opening night crowd really is important...it gives the cast and director an opportunity to hear the dialogue in a space that is no longer a vacuum...hearing people laugh gives us confidence that we are actually performing a comedy...the attentiveness of the audience, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and what not show that the actors are doing something that people are actually following and getting drawn into, and that it's not, to put it bluntly, a turd.
Turds can come in many shapes and sizes. They can be a person on stage...that no matter how hard they and others try...they are just a turd. Shows themselves can be turds. Flaming turds. And if the truth be known...you can't polish a turd. However, I am a firm believer that a person can shine in sh*t. So...basically...it all comes down to faeces of some form or another.
Anyway, that opening night audience can be crucial...if they don't laugh at all and it's supposed to be a comedy...you're f*cked...if they laugh throughout and it's a drama...you're f*cked...so there's a fine line of fornication here.
And so it came to the preview audience last Thursday for The Underpants...I don't think I really knew what to expect from the whole shebang...it was clearly a comedy...but how much of a comedy...an amused smile comedy? A slight chuckle to yourself comedy? A laugh to your friend on your left comedy? Or a laugh out loud 'I don't care who hears me' comedy?
And...apparently...it's all of the above. Reacti0ns ranged from barely a twitter (or a tweet) all the way to stopping the show for a good solid three or four seconds so the audience can stop apparently wetting themselves...and, I think...as a cast we're all bloody happy with that...
At least we're not faeces.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wow...that's some opening...
Yes it is, Ricky...yes it is.
Opening.
Like a gaping hole.
An abyss.
Something through which people may enter.
And, gosh darn it...they sure are super special.
Unless you missed it on the news and the round the clock coverage the event has received today...The Underpants is opening tonight.
Well, technically it opens tomorrow night and tonight is merely a preview, but for all intents and purposes* tonight is the night we have an audience.
Ahhh...it's been a hell of a ride...well, actually...it's been pretty non-eventful really.
Not that I haven't enjoyed myself...I have...but the time has flown so quickly with this play...like sand through an hourglass...actually no...that's pretty damn fast...more like molasses through an hourglass...hmmm, that's pretty quick too...more like a clock ticking and the time passing gradually as the days end and the nights begin and the whole process repeats for two months...that's about right.
And what a bunch of characters, eh? There's...um...whatshisface...with his crazy eyes...and...um...you know, the guy who's always wearing a tie...yes! That's the one...he's a barrel of laughs...whatever his name is...
But seriously...a great bunch of people...the Man with the Irish Brogue, the Diva with the Back of Discontent, ol' Ramblin' Rose, the Vapadrop, the 'I'm going to take my shirt off in the middle of an important point'...guy, and of course, who can forget old Jewish stereotype.
I kid.
Adrian, Aimee, Tom, Vicki, Steve and Adrian are there names. Great people, each one.
They are all individuals and are all worthy of my praise and admiration. Hard workers. Bakers. Vanilla Slice Makers. We've come together and created something that...hopefully...is vaguely funny...and I'm sure we'd all agree that not one person...not one piece of this puzzle we call theatre is more important than another...
Except for James Antonas...
He's pretty freaking amazing...
Particularly if he's wearing a dress.
*is this even right!? I get confused...is it this the correct phrase or is it 'for all intensive purposes'? I don't know...that sounds pretty...well, intense. Correct me if I'm wrong...or go f**k yourself. It's win-win.
Opening.
Like a gaping hole.
An abyss.
Something through which people may enter.
And, gosh darn it...they sure are super special.
Unless you missed it on the news and the round the clock coverage the event has received today...The Underpants is opening tonight.
Well, technically it opens tomorrow night and tonight is merely a preview, but for all intents and purposes* tonight is the night we have an audience.
Ahhh...it's been a hell of a ride...well, actually...it's been pretty non-eventful really.
Not that I haven't enjoyed myself...I have...but the time has flown so quickly with this play...like sand through an hourglass...actually no...that's pretty damn fast...more like molasses through an hourglass...hmmm, that's pretty quick too...more like a clock ticking and the time passing gradually as the days end and the nights begin and the whole process repeats for two months...that's about right.
And what a bunch of characters, eh? There's...um...whatshisface...with his crazy eyes...and...um...you know, the guy who's always wearing a tie...yes! That's the one...he's a barrel of laughs...whatever his name is...
But seriously...a great bunch of people...the Man with the Irish Brogue, the Diva with the Back of Discontent, ol' Ramblin' Rose, the Vapadrop, the 'I'm going to take my shirt off in the middle of an important point'...guy, and of course, who can forget old Jewish stereotype.
I kid.
Adrian, Aimee, Tom, Vicki, Steve and Adrian are there names. Great people, each one.
They are all individuals and are all worthy of my praise and admiration. Hard workers. Bakers. Vanilla Slice Makers. We've come together and created something that...hopefully...is vaguely funny...and I'm sure we'd all agree that not one person...not one piece of this puzzle we call theatre is more important than another...
Except for James Antonas...
He's pretty freaking amazing...
Particularly if he's wearing a dress.
*is this even right!? I get confused...is it this the correct phrase or is it 'for all intensive purposes'? I don't know...that sounds pretty...well, intense. Correct me if I'm wrong...or go f**k yourself. It's win-win.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Size matters...
I've lost an inch! Almost 3 cms...
...in sideburns.
To adequately pull off the transformation from James to Gertrude...it has been deemed necessary to raise my sideburns and thereby lower my self-confidence.
And I...the committed artiste that I am...shaved off my gingersnaps...and lo and behold...my cheeks are now barren...lots of skin and surface area...like big white Wagon Wheels...only less dimpled...and more jam...less biscuit crunch.
It will take some getting used to, readers. And I am sure you will all struggle along with me in my plight...donations can be made at Sideburns for All at their website http://www.sideburnsforall.com.au/.
Lend a hand...or a chop.
...in sideburns.
To adequately pull off the transformation from James to Gertrude...it has been deemed necessary to raise my sideburns and thereby lower my self-confidence.
And I...the committed artiste that I am...shaved off my gingersnaps...and lo and behold...my cheeks are now barren...lots of skin and surface area...like big white Wagon Wheels...only less dimpled...and more jam...less biscuit crunch.
It will take some getting used to, readers. And I am sure you will all struggle along with me in my plight...donations can be made at Sideburns for All at their website http://www.sideburnsforall.com.au/.
Lend a hand...or a chop.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Petty Grudge #47
I was recalling my list of intended or perceived slights earlier today and one sling...or arrow...I can't tell which...that sticks in my craw is the following that occurred around October last year...read on, dear reader...and remember...I am a petty petty man...
Well...I'm not really...but it's a good charade to keep up for blogging purposes...but don't tell anyone, okay?
Are we cool?
I know I am...
Not metaphorically cool...I'm not...although I am literally cool...it's been awful chilly these last couple of days...I mean cool in the sense of understanding our agreement that was offered three sentences ago...
And by you continuing to read...you hereby agree to the offer made four sentences ago therein...and agree to be bound by the said condition of confidentiality of the nature of the author's true nature of un-pettiness...
Comprende?
Of course.
...
So I went to a pub one night in October and upon entering I see a friend that I haven't seen in over a year.
Now this person knows me and I know this person and we acknowledged each other with a hug etc. It was all very pleasant.
This person asked how I was and I replied.
I asked this person how they were and they replied.
Simple pleasantries.
I make the mistake of looking at the group of people sitting with this person prompting this person to offer introductions.
This person gestured to her compadres and said 'This is Jacinta and Ricky.'
This person then gestured towards me and said 'And this is... (slightly hushed tone)...Anthony...?'
Her voice raised on the sometime vowel...hesitant.
I looked at this person quizzically.
This person looked back at me and said 'Is it Anthony?'
'No.' I said with a smile. 'It's James.'
This person giggled it off and attempted some further conversation in an attempt to wrap up our interaction but I simply said, rather jovially considering the insult, 'Well I'll leave you to it. Talk soon,' and walked to another part of the pub...quietly seething.
The nerve. The audacity. To forget my name. I remember this person's name. I remembered their partner's name. The fact is, now I can't even be sure they knew who I really was! They could have seen me do the whole smile, wave and approach and internally shit themselves as they had no idea who I was...but still...it's me! Who forgets me...let alone my name? My name is entirely wrapped up in my personality. If you know me, you know my name.
Like a slap in the face.
I'm reminded of the time at a wedding where I stood next to someone I'd met on three previous occasions over the course of a year or two. I remember his name, his wife's name, what he does, even his religion...and he comes back with 'Have we met?'
Have we met??
I'M JAMES ANTONAS!
This is how petty grudges are formed people. Watch out.
Well...I'm not really...but it's a good charade to keep up for blogging purposes...but don't tell anyone, okay?
Are we cool?
I know I am...
Not metaphorically cool...I'm not...although I am literally cool...it's been awful chilly these last couple of days...I mean cool in the sense of understanding our agreement that was offered three sentences ago...
And by you continuing to read...you hereby agree to the offer made four sentences ago therein...and agree to be bound by the said condition of confidentiality of the nature of the author's true nature of un-pettiness...
Comprende?
Of course.
...
So I went to a pub one night in October and upon entering I see a friend that I haven't seen in over a year.
Now this person knows me and I know this person and we acknowledged each other with a hug etc. It was all very pleasant.
This person asked how I was and I replied.
I asked this person how they were and they replied.
Simple pleasantries.
I make the mistake of looking at the group of people sitting with this person prompting this person to offer introductions.
This person gestured to her compadres and said 'This is Jacinta and Ricky.'
This person then gestured towards me and said 'And this is... (slightly hushed tone)...Anthony...?'
Her voice raised on the sometime vowel...hesitant.
I looked at this person quizzically.
This person looked back at me and said 'Is it Anthony?'
'No.' I said with a smile. 'It's James.'
This person giggled it off and attempted some further conversation in an attempt to wrap up our interaction but I simply said, rather jovially considering the insult, 'Well I'll leave you to it. Talk soon,' and walked to another part of the pub...quietly seething.
The nerve. The audacity. To forget my name. I remember this person's name. I remembered their partner's name. The fact is, now I can't even be sure they knew who I really was! They could have seen me do the whole smile, wave and approach and internally shit themselves as they had no idea who I was...but still...it's me! Who forgets me...let alone my name? My name is entirely wrapped up in my personality. If you know me, you know my name.
Like a slap in the face.
I'm reminded of the time at a wedding where I stood next to someone I'd met on three previous occasions over the course of a year or two. I remember his name, his wife's name, what he does, even his religion...and he comes back with 'Have we met?'
Have we met??
I'M JAMES ANTONAS!
This is how petty grudges are formed people. Watch out.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Under. Under. Underpants!
One's life is full of regrets...
The lottery ticket you should have bought...that girl you wish you'd asked out......the son you should have put up for adoption...
Bitter regrets.
James Antonas is in a play...
'It's been done!' you say, 'Sure, it was fantastic and I've never had a better time in my life...every time he was on stage it was like I was transported to some kind of heaven where handsome men pitched woo at me...but I've seen it before...and I'd love to see it again...but still...what's new, pussycat?'
James Antonas is in a play...in drag...
'...'
Exactly...
'...'
Speechless...
Yes, it's true. That most virile of men...Mr Rugged...John Wayne Jr...will be donning the garments of a lady in a production of The Underpants by some German guy adapted by funny man Steve Martin (well, not currently funny man...but we all know he was funny...and you don't ever really stop being funny...I think it just went on hiatus, the funny I mean...in absentia) being performed by Mordialloc Theatre Company.
Now before you freak out...there are still tickets available...just calm yourself...breathe...it's not too late...you haven't yet missed the theatrical event of this century...but to avoid disappoint and the inevitable social isolation that will come from not witnessing Lady Antonas in all her glory...get on the dog and bone and rustle yourself up some tickets...they're cheap as chips...well...not really...chips are pretty damn cheap...minimum chips is like $2.50 and that's usually enough to feed two people...you can't really beat that value...so...um...they're cheaper than seeing those amateur professional shows...come on...Ian McKellen for $125 or James Antonas for $20...I think it's pretty clear which one is more awesome...
It's me...
James Antonas...
I'm more awesome...
And cheaper...
But not cheap as in a hooker...cheap as in 'affordable'...
Big difference...
Anyway...details...
The lottery ticket you should have bought...that girl you wish you'd asked out......the son you should have put up for adoption...
Bitter regrets.
James Antonas is in a play...
'It's been done!' you say, 'Sure, it was fantastic and I've never had a better time in my life...every time he was on stage it was like I was transported to some kind of heaven where handsome men pitched woo at me...but I've seen it before...and I'd love to see it again...but still...what's new, pussycat?'
James Antonas is in a play...in drag...
'...'
Exactly...
'...'
Speechless...
Yes, it's true. That most virile of men...Mr Rugged...John Wayne Jr...will be donning the garments of a lady in a production of The Underpants by some German guy adapted by funny man Steve Martin (well, not currently funny man...but we all know he was funny...and you don't ever really stop being funny...I think it just went on hiatus, the funny I mean...in absentia) being performed by Mordialloc Theatre Company.
Now before you freak out...there are still tickets available...just calm yourself...breathe...it's not too late...you haven't yet missed the theatrical event of this century...but to avoid disappoint and the inevitable social isolation that will come from not witnessing Lady Antonas in all her glory...get on the dog and bone and rustle yourself up some tickets...they're cheap as chips...well...not really...chips are pretty damn cheap...minimum chips is like $2.50 and that's usually enough to feed two people...you can't really beat that value...so...um...they're cheaper than seeing those amateur professional shows...come on...Ian McKellen for $125 or James Antonas for $20...I think it's pretty clear which one is more awesome...
It's me...
James Antonas...
I'm more awesome...
And cheaper...
But not cheap as in a hooker...cheap as in 'affordable'...
Big difference...
Anyway...details...
The Underpants is a hilarious look at the chaos and commotion caused by a simple act of fate, and a flash of a lady's undergarments. Adapted for modern audiences by Steve Martin, it is an outrageous, over-the-top, and utterly believable look at feminism, politics, sexism, and sex in general. A rollicking good night at the theatre.
25-Jun-2010 to 10-Jul-2010 - Performances: 8.15pm nightly and 2.30pm Sunday matinee.
Theatre: Shirley Burke Theatre, 64 Parkers Road, Parkdale.
Melways Reference: 87C9
Prices: Adults $20.00 Concessions $18.00 Groups (20 or more) $16.00
Bookings: 9587.5141
Get on board the James Antonas train...
Get on board dammit!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Today is the day...well, tomorrow, really...
Oh-kay...first time I've done something like this...but here it goes...
Here is a picture recently taken of me...
Brace yourself people...this is not going to be pretty...
...
Seriously...prepare yourself...
Here is a picture recently taken of me...
Brace yourself people...this is not going to be pretty...
...
Seriously...prepare yourself...
Bbbbbbbbbbbblllllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggh!!
Vomit...all over my desk...
I should have taken my own advice and braced myself...or skipped lunch.
Who's the lard ball in the suit, right?
There's lines on the side of my face where it looks like my face should be...and then there's this layer of fat around it...
Maybe I should grow a beard...of course; with my genetic structure...it's a ginger beard...so...
Yeah...that's hot.
Anyway...as a friend of mine is prone to saying...long story short...from tomorrow (the 2nd of June) until my birthday (the 7th of July...remember people! Remember, remember!) not one piece of junk food, chocolate, chip, chocolate chip, deep fried chicken, mentos, burger, steak sandwich, lolly, biscuit, soft drink, alcohol, dessert will pass these sweet supple lips...nothing of this nature will gain entry to the abyss that is my gastrointestinal system...only normal food...even if I go to a restaurant...nothing debauched or dripping...just the norm.
I'll keep you posted...
.
As I'm sure you care...
.
Don't worry...I know you do.
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