Yesterday I wrote about my often repeated views on the question, who am I? I also suggested the value of talking over the answer with your ancestors. Last night I appeared to be the only Goth at an incredible physical performance of what is regarded as one of the great written works of imagination on the concept of a Gothland created in the twentieth century, Gormenghast, recreated by the David Glass Ensemble at the Newcastle Playhouse. Twice a character asks, what does it all mean? My answer is what you know and what you believe.
This was not a planned visit, although when the season programme arrived, I had made a mental note of this as one of the performances not to be missed. Then MySpace and other matters took over, so it was only on Wednesday that I decided to see what was on at the Playhouse this week, and only then discovered that while there had been a performance that night, there was to be an after performance presentation by the company, on Thursday. I rang at .ten am, when the box office opened, and obtained a seat four rows from the front in a central location.
Usually I undertake research on the company and the play before attending a performance, but because of other commitments, I arrived having only the vaguest recollection of the BBC adaptation and of failing to read the trilogy. For my recent research on the Black and the Goth dimension I had come across countless Myspace sites where I speculated on the depth of commitment of individuals to the cause. On Sunday the majority of the fifty bikers who had gathered on the sea front looked over 30, with a number approaching their sixties. Where are the aging Goths? During the interval, over a cup of strong almost black coffee, I determined to write to 101 Myspace Goths to enquire of if they had read the trilogy of Titus Groan, Gormenghast, and Titus alone. This it will be appreciated as Gothic cheek because I am yet to do so. During the earlier post show chat, where at one point I thought that the audience was going to be outnumbered by the entire ensemble company, an actor commented that there had been occasions when they encountered a row of Goths at the front whose make up was better than theirs, and I wondered if the local tribes would attend Friday or Saturday nights, and if he had spotted that I was dressed in my black sleeveless jacket, black shirt, black trousers and back socks and shoes, or as Benny Hill might say "the oldest Goth in town" although as previously admitted the black hides my overweight and the make up is my natural aging!
I was unprepared for the physicality of this production with its black empty stage, apart from a hidden platform area at the back, and a darkened auditorium so it was impossible to read the programme. You are instantly transported in your imagination to the ginormous Gothic city building of endless corroders, of mystery and gloom and doom. For those like me who had forgotten the story, the first act was primarily an abstract performance art fusion of intense voice, movement, lighting and a visceral sound, live and pre-created, composed by John Escott and Musical Direction by Jonathan Cooper. It was only after one became part of the Mervyn Peake dimension that the story unfolded, and what is in many respects, is a traditional tale, of a situation where the young heir to the throne rebels against the requirements of maintaining the dynasty, imposed by his formidable mother following the disappearance, presumed dead, of his father, and a written constitution of ritual imposed at different times throughout his growing up, coming into conflict with the malevolent designs of a young outsider. Is this really a battle of two opposites, or the struggle within each of us? Is this what our lives are all about?
This was not a planned visit, although when the season programme arrived, I had made a mental note of this as one of the performances not to be missed. Then MySpace and other matters took over, so it was only on Wednesday that I decided to see what was on at the Playhouse this week, and only then discovered that while there had been a performance that night, there was to be an after performance presentation by the company, on Thursday. I rang at .ten am, when the box office opened, and obtained a seat four rows from the front in a central location.
Usually I undertake research on the company and the play before attending a performance, but because of other commitments, I arrived having only the vaguest recollection of the BBC adaptation and of failing to read the trilogy. For my recent research on the Black and the Goth dimension I had come across countless Myspace sites where I speculated on the depth of commitment of individuals to the cause. On Sunday the majority of the fifty bikers who had gathered on the sea front looked over 30, with a number approaching their sixties. Where are the aging Goths? During the interval, over a cup of strong almost black coffee, I determined to write to 101 Myspace Goths to enquire of if they had read the trilogy of Titus Groan, Gormenghast, and Titus alone. This it will be appreciated as Gothic cheek because I am yet to do so. During the earlier post show chat, where at one point I thought that the audience was going to be outnumbered by the entire ensemble company, an actor commented that there had been occasions when they encountered a row of Goths at the front whose make up was better than theirs, and I wondered if the local tribes would attend Friday or Saturday nights, and if he had spotted that I was dressed in my black sleeveless jacket, black shirt, black trousers and back socks and shoes, or as Benny Hill might say "the oldest Goth in town" although as previously admitted the black hides my overweight and the make up is my natural aging!
I was unprepared for the physicality of this production with its black empty stage, apart from a hidden platform area at the back, and a darkened auditorium so it was impossible to read the programme. You are instantly transported in your imagination to the ginormous Gothic city building of endless corroders, of mystery and gloom and doom. For those like me who had forgotten the story, the first act was primarily an abstract performance art fusion of intense voice, movement, lighting and a visceral sound, live and pre-created, composed by John Escott and Musical Direction by Jonathan Cooper. It was only after one became part of the Mervyn Peake dimension that the story unfolded, and what is in many respects, is a traditional tale, of a situation where the young heir to the throne rebels against the requirements of maintaining the dynasty, imposed by his formidable mother following the disappearance, presumed dead, of his father, and a written constitution of ritual imposed at different times throughout his growing up, coming into conflict with the malevolent designs of a young outsider. Is this really a battle of two opposites, or the struggle within each of us? Is this what our lives are all about?
The characters of the young rebel against his destiny, Titus, is made consistently believable by James Woodbridge, who also plays his father, Sepulchrave, and the bad to his core Steerpike by an equally believable Adam Sunderland, but no one outshines another, except when each is given centre stage, and the others provide support. One way in which Titus rebels is to be drawn to the deliciously ethereal, 'the thing' Played by Elizabeth Collier, whose training as a dancer enabled her to float, while Gertrude Countess of Groan, Sally Mortemore, was convincing, as my mother, in dictating the life of her son, and the protection of the family inheritance, and as one of the damaged identical twin aunts. Elisa de Grey was also convincing as the vulnerable sister Fuchsia who cries out to be savaged by a predator and who switched amazingly into the other identical sister. However she is undone in switching by Eric MacLennan as the grotesque Swelter and the eccentric sympathetic Dr Prunesquallor, and where it was only afterwards I realised it was the same actor. For me the lasting memory will be of Phillip Pellew who as Flay walked the endless corridors in his inimitable and disturbing manner, and who was also the hunchback Master of Ritual, Barguetine, the agent for the rebellion of Titus an also his protector, as is the situation oft in real life. Do not the young always rebel against those with their best intentions at heart? I have mentioned all the cast and by name because of how they fitted into the Ensemble production teams democratic structure, but which only works as well as this when the structure is predetermined by an individual with a singular vision of the script adaptation by John Constable and the overall direction of David Glass. Because I always have found that most live theatre outlives most film experience, and I have spent a lifetime watching most films of substance in the English Language, I am probably being unfair to the BBC drama production, in saying that I suspect this production came closer to communicating the language and intent of the original work. I say this admitting as I have that I am yet to read the text, but will immediately purchase and add to the list of things I need to do before I die.
I read the programme notes when the lights went up for the after show discussion, and rarely, if ever, have I read notes which precisely and comprehensively described the experience I had participated in. Of the ten on stage there was also Associate Director Luke Kernaghan. Others who may have been there but should be mentioned anyway are Rae Smith the designer who drew on the stylised opera of China and Kabuki, Lieustke Visser for the memorable costumes, Spike Mosley for the Original Lighting Direction and Steve Taylor who presumably carried the conception out, Matt Spencer for the technical tricks and Tom Cotterall in addition to holding everything together, along with Marie White made the props, which included a playful monkey whose death caused the young child in the audience to cry out, other parents beware.
I now I turn to the uncanny aspect of this experience. My main reason for always wanting to read the trilogy and also the work on his father by Sebastian Peake, is that as a young man, full of having read the official accounts of the Nuremburg War Crimes trials but before I entered fully into Direct Action and the Committee of 100, I had joined the Local United Nations Associations Association, and was convinced that I had visited the home of Mervyn Peake, in my childhood town of Wallington, when his wife had opened their house for a charity art show. Did I get my idea for ArtmansArthouse then? I had been envious of a full set of drums which I think was in the entrance Hall. I also recollected that the brothers, Sebastian and Fabian went to the St John Fisher School, although I had no recollection of ever having met them.
Before commencing to write these notes as I have done for every theatrical, cinema and entertainment experience since becoming Artman, I did the homework I should done before the performance and on the official Peake family site (see below), I noted that Sebastian had given an e mail address so in the early hours I explained my memory and enquired if could have been accurate. Yesterday I explained that through MySpace I was able to write to departed souls such as Lord Russell and Freda Kathlo, and it was a little scary when they wrote back. This morning only a few hours after sending the e mail, I received an email from Sebastian who confirmed my recollection and asked if he could mention my experience in a work about our mutual childhood town. Now aren't that something and a clue to what it all means?
http://www.mervynpeake.org/gormenghast/
http://www.davidglassensemble.com/
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