The Comedy of Errors: Part I did not appear on this blog. In fact, I don't believe it appeared anywhere, but it did happen. It happened in London. After reading and studying The Comedy of Errors I was honored to see it performed before my virginal eyes at Shakespeare's The Globe Theatre. Although some bowdlerizing would have been appropriate, I found it gut-tighteningly hilarious. The plot is bizarre and befuddling for one who is not familiar with the farcical nature of the text, but enjoyment may still be gleaned by any sophomoric audience.
This week, The Comedy of Errors was being performed on Boston Common free of charge. Seeing a warm evening unfold before me and an eleventh-hour opportunity on Friday, I chose to carpe diem and mosey on downtown to see the Commonwealth Shakespeare Company's rendition of the nonsensical production. This version was established in a 1930's Miami/South Beach locale, complete with a sandy beach, neon lights, greyhounds, and a lifeguard chair. (Of all the cues, the greyhounds were what gave the setting away.) The play was nothing I would call brilliant, though I would classify it as charming and merry. Something strangely staggering seems to have sublimely taken over my id (of late) because ever since I was in London I like going to see shows, and I understand them. I know what themes to look for, and what to notice in the lightening, although I still have no explanation why. Perhaps a genetic injection while I slept? Maybe an osmotic 'theatre loving' micro-wave emitted from a microwave? Was it that strange odor in my sixth floor flat that changed me?
The real highlight of the evening was lounging in a beach chair on The Common with a picnic dinner, catching up with a good friend and listening to the pre-show show (jazz music provided by the New England Conservatory). The jazz music set the stage for the play, which featured some tremendous samba music. I wanted to get up an dance, but then I remembered I had a sandwich in my bag, and eating usually takes preference over dancing in my life.
Whenever I write a blog entry I think to myself, "If I were to comment on this post, what would I write that would be meaningful for the author?" Upon wrapping this post up, I really don't know what comment I would write, which is a signal to me that it's not a very good entry. Darn; I'll seek repentance.