| A Medeival Spanish Play at the Bridewell, never published and I can't remember what it was now. I can think of so many ways I'd rather have spent my Shrove Tuesday than sitting through an evening of this codswallop. Pancakes would seem to be the obvious alternative, but I'd have settled for a stale rich tea biscuit. At least the stage was round and the production was, in all other respects, as flat as the proverbial. Oh yeah - and there was too much of it and it made me sick. At three hours it was unconscionably long. Why has such a thing been ushered into existence by so many people? We have only the phrase 'collective psychosis' to aid us in our understanding. No other explanation is possible for an undertaking both as mamouth and as dreary as this. |
| Lifeless direction, turgid dialogue, acting that often seemed just plain stupid. Somebody should have said something. Someone, one of the actors or one of the props people or someone should have raised their hand when it was not too late and said, 'We're cooking a turkey.' Then everyone could have walked away sighing with relief. I won't name names - some of these unfortunates may go on to better things and obviously actors must work when they can, poor loves. Still, one or two of them and the director might do well to think about taking up some other profession that doesn't require talent. Without doubt, the worst thing I've seen in any medium in years. Interesting only as a paradigm of badness and dullness. |