I felt a bit guilty going to Wilton's Music Hall on Sunday eve as two friends are getting married there in the summer, and i sort of wanted the glory of their wedding to be the first time i saw it, but the lure of tickets to see Fiona Shaw performing T.S Eliot's Modernist poem The Waste Land proved too much temptation to resist, plus i saw The Beatles to Bowie earlier in the day which i thought was total shit, so i god-damn needed a snifter of a cultural pick-me-up.
The poem is being staged to raise money for Wilton's, which is semi-derelict - if any building deserves to be saved from the vagaries of the elements and the perils of vandalism, it is this magnificent Victorian edifice, which puffs out its chest with the indefatigable pride of a great man fallen on harsh times, showing statuesque pomp and presence despite his shabby clothes. Its faded elegance is the perfect setting for Shaw's performance, for which she simply wears jeans and a top and wanders about a bleak stage, the exposed brick walls unadorned, the space stark except for several naked bulbs hanging down at different levels; she's lit by unforgiving spotlights which cast shadows from different angles for each stanza. It's a remarkably powerful staging - bold and strong and intense. As is her performance which is vigorous, passionate, playful, and aggressive and which she metaphorically skips around and through, literally transforming herself with slipery ease into the kaleidoscope of characters whose voices are heard throughout - from bolshy barmen to gossipy old women. It was completely incredible - vital and alive and pulsating with energy.
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