As a forewarning, this will probably be one of several post tonight.
I applaud those who can blog on a regular basis. But then again those I have known to blog fall into one of two categories. One, they have nothing to draw of private satisfaction, or two, they have no idea what private means. I have not known many bloggers. And those I have known, it seems I do not have a high regard for. Lo, what a damnable thing situational irony is.
I have not maintained this blog as best I should. Shawn, Casey, forgive me, but writing hurts. Writing takes me to places and emotions I have yet to reconcile from actions and engagements past. The pleasure of the inspiration is marred by the pain. And the pain is…
Manageable.
Saw a version of Marlowe’s Faustus. Great play. Goethe was insane with his version of the script. Marlowe had a more manageable production. This Colin Teevan fellow, created an entertaining adaptation.
I love this story. I will make no pretense in withholding my love for this story. A soul for anything in return. It keeps me up at night. What would I trade my soul for…
I have an answer, but I will not share.
The play itself, I loved it. A Faustus with Elizabethan text, modern text, wit, relevant references, even that Jon Snow actor from Game of Thrones. That’s a treat right? And yet, I am disappointed in this performance. It is not because of the actors, the set, the story. I believe the fault lies with me. I have poured over Marlowe’s script and Goethe’s script for the better part of two years now. It has been the only reliable text I have had since I started at the University of Arkansas.
The history, the oddities of the publication history, the roughly 5oo line discrepancies between the A and B versions of the text. Is there a choice? Is Faustus damned from the beginning? Is man free in his choices? Themes I have dealt with in papers and projects. I have spent too much time with this script. It makes watching any performance difficult.
That was not how I was with this performance. I was forewarned that this was an adaptation. That there was modern elements. And I was excited. There is so much one can do with this script. And they did, surprisingly well. Watching it I could tell what scenes corresponded to the original script, the ones that were altered that is. Some scenes, the first summoning, the deal, you just can’t touch without losing the impact and narrative.
Faustus becoming a world famous rock-star magician, Mephistopheles his every present assistant and reminder of his deal, and Wagner. What a integral character Wagner had become in this version. It’s a much darker, gorier take. All aspects I am not sorry for, nor find any reason for want too. I loved this performance. It’s not for everyone with its nudity, violence, adult themes, gory.
At its heart it is the story I know. Why I feel this sense of disappointment, I don’t know. The best I can liken it to any sort of sensation is like looking upon something from the Uncanny Valley. I can make out the familiar features enough to recognize the being, but it diverts and morphs just enough to put one at edge. And maybe that is the point of the play. It is a discourse of the nature of man when given the chance to play a god? A discourse of man’s confrontation with damnation? It’s a text with enough substance to create any number of readings.
I stare now at an empty coke bottle. the young woman next to me also typing has just sighed, and my eyes are beginning to feel heavy. and no matter what I do next, I may be damned regardless.
Theatre in Britain U of A 