Equus and setting out the stage

Equus
By Shaffer, Peter
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This description of the set from the front of the script of Equus really made me think about the specificity of production design and how it enhance the text. I tend to think of plays as collections of dialogue - people waiting their turns to talk. This made me think a lot about what can be achieved within a space to enhance and extend the text. 

THE SETTING

A square of wood set on a circle of wood.

The square resembles a railed boxing ring. The rail, also of wood, encloses three sides. It is perforated on each side by an opening. Under the rail are a few vertical slats, as if in a fence. On the downstage side there is no rail. The whole square is set on ball bearings, so that by slight pressure from actors standing round it on the circle, it can be made to turn round smoothly by hand.

On the square are set three little plain benches, also of wood. They are placed parallel with the rail, against the slats, but can be moved out by the actors to stand at right angles to them.

Set into the floor of the square, and flush with it, is a thin metal pole, about a yard high. This can be raised out of the floor, to stand upright. It acts as a support for the actor playing Nugget, when be is ridden.

In the area outside the circle stand benches. Two downstage left and right are curved to accord with the circle. The left one is used by Dysart as a listening and observing post when he is out of the square, and also by Alan as his hospital bed. The right one is used by Alan's parents, who sit side by side on it. (Viewpoint is from the main body of the audience.)

Further benches stand upstage, and accommodate the other actors.

All the cast of Equuus sits on stage the entire evening. They get up to perform their scenes, and return when they are done to their places around the set. They are witnesses, assistants - and especially a Chorus.

Upstage, forming a backdrop to the whole, are tiers of seats in the fashion of a dissecting theatre, formed into two railed-off blocks, pierced by a central tunnel. In these blocks sit members of the audience, During the play, Dysart addresses them directly from time to time, as he addresses the main body of the theatre. No other actor ever refers to them.

To left and right, downstage, stand two ladders on which are suspended horse masks.

The colour of all benches is olive green.

Above the stage hangs a battery of lights, set in a huge metal ring.

Light cues, in this version, will be only of the most general description.

I don’t love the play as a whole, but as an instruction on how to use a stage, it’s quite something.

The Second Cut and unexpected sequels

I’m getting a bit frustrated with publishing’s ongoing love affair with series. I don’t know why it’s so disappointing to get to the end of a novel only to have a preview of the next installment taking up the last thirty pages. It feels like the ongoing push for ‘content’ and making books more like television, where the point is to always have a next installment.

That said, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by a couple of sequels lately, perhaps because they were so unexpected. Louise Welsh’s The Cutting Room was a book I read about fiteen years ago and its mixture of Glasweigan noir with gay subculture was something I hadn’t seen before. I always meant to check out more of Louise Welsh’s work, but never seemed to quite find the time. Anyway, some twenty years after The Cutting Room was published, there’s a sequel - The Second Cut. The protagonist, Rilke, runs an auction house and gets embroiled in a plot that involves an estate sale. It’s both fun and sad and I’d recommend both books to anyone looking for an offbeat crime novel that isn’t about cops.

I’m interested in what prompts an author to go back to work so many years later. Jonathan Coe did it with late sequels to two of his best novels What a Carve Up! and The Rotters Club, both of which were better than I thought they would be (and I wasn’t a huge fan of The Rotters Club). In a weird piece of imagined history, I felt sure there was a similar late sequel to The House of Sleep, but perhaps that one’s best left alone.

Short story collections (Illuminations / Dolphin Junction / Olive Kitteridge)

‘Illuminations’ (which, let’s be clear, is a wanky title) is a collection of stories that showcases Alan Moore as more than just the Greatest Comics Writer ever. It seems that he’s now in a position to do whatever he wants. I don’t know if that’s necessarily a good thing. I have no idea if his first novel ’Jerusalem’ is any good, because it’s over a 1000 pages and it sounds boring as fuck. But a collection of stories seems like a good way to get into his fiction. If nothing else, his early work writing ‘Future Shocks’ for 2000AD showed that he could do great things in a small amount of space. I would have liked ‘Illuminations’ more if that central tenet had been in place. There’s a lot to like in this collection. The story about fantastic creatures infiltrating the groups formed to catch them was quite nice. There was also a section in one of the stories that made me laugh out loud - hard. The novel-length story about the comics industry could have been published as a book and you wonder if the other stories are just there to give it cover. I don’t know how much of “What We Know About Thunderman” is true (albeit fictionalised), but I’ve read a bit about the two main companies and even I recognised some of the stuff that was in there. It really feels like Alan Moore having The Last Word on the industry that betrayed him. There’s stuff in there that is probably true and other parts that feel mainly like settling scores. If it had been published as a novel, it’s possible it would have caused more of a stink. Or maybe not. Perhaps other people don’t care about it as much as AM does. 

In any case, this isn’t a novel, it’s a collection of stories. Some of them are quite good. Most of them are awfully clever, at least in parts. A few of them had endings I didn’t really get, but this didn’t really bother me that much as I felt the main point of the story had come across. One of them felt very much like The First Good Short Story I Ever Wrote, to the point where you can almost read the tutor’s notes in the margins (“Excellent characterisation, Alan!”, “Nice twist!”, “Good use of call-backs”). It’s fine. Like all the stories, though, it goes on a bit. I got it in hardback because it was in the January sale, but it’s an unwieldy volume and I’d recommend getting it as an ebook.

Mick Herron’s collection is more focussed than ‘Illuminations’ and I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not. Almost all of the stories are about couples, particularly white middle-class couples, dealing with infidelities of one sort or another. There is a story featuring Jackson Lamb, the recalcitrant farter at the heart of ‘Slow Horses’ (which I am watching on Apple TV+ but have not read). That, too, is about relationships. There are also several stories featuring a pair of married private detectives. All of the stories seem to run on the premise that men are idiots and women are cynical schemers. There’s conscious call-outs to Philip Marlow and the ongoing sense of dames and saps runs through everything. It’s OK, but it starts to feel predictable.

There’s also the reliance on twists that, while I didn’t guess exactly, I could sort of see coming. Things didn’t pan out quite how I guessed from the beginning, but the over sense wasn’t that I was having the rug pulled out from under me so much as shifted slightly underfoot. It felt weirdly unsatisfying, like revealing an answer on the quick crossword and thinking ‘Oh, yes, OK, technically that is that, but still…’.

I suppose I’ve been wondering lately how to go about collecting short stories into coherent volumes. I’m not even convinced it’s a good idea. An individual short story feels like a treat, whereas a bunch of them lumped together somehow adds up to less than the sum of its parts. Perhaps that’s just how I read. I tend to chew through them quite quickly and that works for novels but tends to make short work feel a bit insubstantial.

Although collecting stories on a theme seems like a smart move, the danger is that it seems repetitive. The Herron collection feels like this. I don’t know. Maybe if you write a series of novels with the same characters in the same organisation, you’ve found your groove and there’s no sense moving out of it. This isn’t meant as a criticism, by the way. It’s probably healthy and rewarding to know yourself, what you like and what you’re capable of. I wish I had more of that. But, as a reader, ‘Dolphin Junction’ felt strangely flat.

‘Illuminations’ is the more typical approach to the short story collection, showcasing a range of techniques and talents. It’s fine, but it being Alan Moore, it does go on a bit and everything in it feels a bit flabby. This is possibly just my own preference for short stories. In any case, the Afterword indicates that these stories were written at various different points, for various different outlets and maybe that’s why these two collections feel underwhelming - because they are, essentially, bowls of scraps. Top quality scraps, but they weren’t ever meant to be presented together.

I keep thinking about albums (an increasingly old-fashioned concept in the age of streaming and music-as-content) and wondering if that can be applied to writing and stories. The best albums aren’t just collections of songs, but they cohere in a way that is pleasing and right. Each song has its own identity, but it also exists in a context. I’m wondering how to accomplish that with stories. Is it enough for the stories to be written in the same period of one’s life? Musicians record an album and then tour/publicise it. Can you do that as a writer? I’m sure there are examples of this, but I need to expand my reading to try and find ‘albums’ of writing that work in that way. Or perhaps make them. They must exist, though.

‘Olive Kitteridge’, which I read over several sleepless nights on holiday, had been recommended to me as an example of stories combining to tell a larger narrative. It’s definitely a novel, but a novel of short stories, and it’s really good. I’d be interested to go back to it and see if you can read the stories individually, but as a whole it works really well. It seems so simple, but that’s the trick of good writing, isn’t it? Anyway, that would definitely be my recommendation as to what to read out of the three books mentioned here. 

Or maybe short stories should remain just that - little things that stand independently. I can’t shake the suspicion that they’re collected only so they fit the publishing paradigm of bookshops and shelves full of 250-500 page volumes (which, to be honest, is how I still think of books a lot of the time). I can see that there are economic factors which lead to that working, but we can expand beyond that, surely? I’m not convinced that stories are meant to live together, unless there’s a very good reason for it. That said, I still haven’t come up with one of those very good reasons. Not yet, anyway, but I keep trying and I live in hope.

The Last of Us

I haven’t played the games, but judging from the first episode, HBO’s TV The Last of Us is a really well-made, well-realised world. Unfortunately, it’s a really grim one and not one I’m particuarly keen to inhabit for any length of time. But I really liked the talk show section at the beginning.

[I did have a Youtube embed here, but it seems to have been taken down.]

Plastikman / Alessandro Cortini / Sonoio

Very into Plastikman’s 1998 album Consumed at the moment, which is very deep, very minimal techno, steeped in reverb and delay. It came to my attention via the new release of Consumed In Key, which is Gonzalez improving piano over the top of the original album. This is all well and good in concept, but it made me just want the unadulterated original. Turns out one of the tracks from Consumed (Ekko) is featured on Alessandro Cortini’s FACT mix from a few years ago, which I also recommend if you like this sort of stuff.

On that subject, I’ve also been reacquainting myself with Sonoio, which is AC’s modular synth-pop project from the 2010s. He gave away half of each of the first two albums as free downloads and they were on heavy rotation for me when I was skint and couldn’t afford much music. I now think of them as belonging together.

ten.wav

Headphones / stereo speakers required.

Well, I wasn't expecting that

The reviews for the Freddie Mercury biopic Bohemian Rhapsody were not good, but I had a vague sense that I should watch it because an old friend of mine has a role in it (hello Dickie). The first half of it was fairly pedestrian, with the rise to fame and all that stuff. I already knew that the last half an hour was an almost exact recreation of Queen’s Live Aid set and I thought I would probably skip that.

Something about the last third of the film absolutely floored me, though, and by the time fake Queen came off their obviously shot on a greenscreen version of the Wembley stage, I was in tears. I knew I was being manipulated, but god it really worked on me. Freddie Mercury was just so good and what they did there was so big and it was so shit that he died so young. It was such a gut punch to watch it and afterwards I couldn’t believe it had affected me so much.

Even bad films still have the power to move.

Invincible by Amy Lawrence

Well, I’m trying to keep track of all the books I’m reading because I’ll do anything to escape the incessant emails from Goodreads (which I have somehow managed to sign up to twice, despite not really understanding what it’s for or how it works) and it helps me to write things in a blog post because it’s such a disposible format. That said, I found myself wanting to self-censor a little bit because this isn’t literary or experimental. But I read it cover to cover, pretty quickly as it turns out.

I am an Arsenal fan, but a pretty weak-sauce one. As a child, my allegiences switched around depending on which shirts I liked. My best friends were Spurs fans and I sort of vaguely followed their lead. Almost everyone in my secondary school was an Arsenal fan and my university years coincided with the arrival of Wenger and I was quite happy to chase that glory, particularly as I was in Manchester at the time and defensive of my Londoner status. Watching Arsenal games was also a way to bond with my youngest sister, who was a bigger fan than me by some stretch. I still don’t know much about the game, but I had eyes and I knew that when Arsenal were on form, they were aesthetically pleasurable to watch.

Truth be told, my favourite way to follow football was by reading about it in the Guardian, both the newspaper and their daily email newsletter The Fiver. The running battles between Arsenal and Man United were an ongoing saga that spanned many years, with untold twists and turns.

The undoubted high was the Invincibles season, when the team went through the league without being beaten. This book looks at how that was done, talking to players and coaches involved in this unprecedented feat of modern football. It doesn’t go game by game or player by player, but instead tries to unlock the philosophy of how it was done. Arsene Wenger became something of a divisive figure at the club in his latter years because he stayed at Arsenal too long, but this was a good reminder of what made him remarkable. Reading about his coaching methods and attitude to player development gave me perspective on what it is to undertake a task, whether that’s winning a trophy or writing a book. Rather than being a harsh taskmaster, Wenger preferred to nourish the whole human, not just the bit that kicked the ball around. It’s tempting to think that it’s all about knucking down and not accepting failure and that’s sort of true, but that comes about through positive reinforcement, repetition of your craft and trust in those around you. Not by locking yourself in a cellar and punching the walls until your knuckles bleed.

There’s also the idea that it’s about calm, which is a stark contrast the Ferguson hairdryer school of management. I don’t know. Maybe winning the Treble and the league all those times is better than going undefeated one season. Logically it probably is. But there’s something classier about the Invincibles that appeals to me more. I guess that’s why I’m an Arsenal fan.

I just developed my first roll of film

Honestly, it was a bit of a faff and I’m not entirely convinced that it’s worth the effort. If all you want is pictures on your computer, there are much easier ways of doing it (the shot above was taken with my phone and transferred to my sharerd folder in seconds).

But – there are other reasons to shoot film that I’m exploring. I snaffled a developer tank from my partner’s dad (thanks Bob) and used Cinestill df96 to make the process as simple as possible. It turns out that getting distilled water was the hardest part of the prep.

Things went… ok. The dev came as a powder which took a long time to dissolve. I think I did something wrong with the dev tank (or it’s broken) because it was a bit leaky. Also, loading the film resulted in a broken sprocket hole which meant I had to use two reels in the tank. Despite all the setbacks, there was a small feeling of triumph when I opened up the tank and saw that there were actually pictures there. Whether they’re properly developed or not is a matter for another time. For the moment, I’m calling this a victory. I’ll have a go at scanning the pics, possibly with one of those cameraphone apps which makes this all seem utterly redundant. As I said before, the aim of this isn’t to get pictures on my computer, it’s to have developed films as a physical object irl.

Laserwriter II by Tamara Shopsin

This is a lovely little book for a very specific kind of reader. I never properly owned a Mac pre-Intel, but always admired them from afar. This fictionalised account of real-world New Mork Mac repair shop TekServe is written with real affection. It reminded me of Douglas Coupland’s Microserfs in that it’s about an eclectic bunch of nerds, but without quite so much archness and irony and a lot more details on printer repair.

A brief note on typesetting: It’s laid out with ragged paragraphs, each with space above and below. This gives each one an individuality and gave me the impression that it had been precisely crafted. Pages often had only a couple of paragraphs on them and sections rarely carry overleaf. I’m guessing that this goes beyond just typesetting and perhaps was how the author wrote the text. It feels very much like a collection of pages. I can imagine a folder on the author’s desktop containing 001.doc, 002.doc and so on.

Some sections of the book are written from the point of view of printer components - laser, fuser, paper feeder, etc - which I didn’t think worked as well as the human characters, but whatever. I liked it. It hasn’t been published in the UK as far as I can tell, but copies are available on eBay and Amazon (use eBay).

Kraftwerk: Future Music from Germany

A problem with music books is that they tend to be written by fans. This Kraftwerk biography is probably pretty good if you’re into the music. I’m not really, so I’m not entirely clear why Iread the whole thing. Probably just interest in their processes. Anyway, I wonder what a music bio written by a non-fan would look like. Probably not a commercially good idea, but it would be refreshing to have passages explaining why a particular album wasn’t very good or why the guitar sound so crap. If anyone wants to commission a book from me about all the things wrong with the Manic Street Preachers, then they should get in touch. I reckon I could bash that out in a couple of months.

Shantaram

There’s many things wrong with AppleTV’s adaptation of Shantaram, but whoever decided to cast Charlie Hunnan as a master of accents was taking the piss.

'Vera' and the sheer terror of tea, toast and buttered bread

Honestly, I found the opening 80 or so pages of Vera to be a real slog. The pace is so slow and mannered that it makes it difficult to get through. While the interaction between the middle aged man Wemyss, twenty-something (but much younger looking) Lucy and her maiden aunt is sort of interesting, the amount of detail is laborious.

But.

Without it, the latter half of the book wouldn’t be nearly as effective. Without wanting to exaggerate, the tension I felt during Wemyss’s dictatorial approach to elevenses was unlike anything I’ve ever read. It drags out painfully. There are other sections of the book that are more explicit in their portrayal of abusive power dynamics, but the sheer domesticity of this section was the most effective.

It’s difficult to pick out an extract but the whole thing just builds and builds in such a horrible way. I gather from the Wikipedia article that it’s based on von Armin’s own second marriage and that the book is a marked contrast in tone to her other works.

'Shall I pour out the tea?' she asked presently, preparing, then, to take the bull by the horns; for he remained standing in front of the fire smoking in silence. 'Just think,' she went on, making an effort to be gay, 'this is the first time I shall pour out tea in my——'

She was going to say 'My own home,' but the words wouldn't come off her tongue. Wemyss had repeatedly during the day spoken of his home, but not once had he said 'our' or 'your'; and if ever a house didn't feel as if it in the very least belonged, too, to her, it was this one.

'Not yet,' he said briefly.

She wondered. 'Not yet?' she repeated.

'I'm waiting for the bread and butter.'

'But won't the tea get cold?'

'No doubt. And it'll be entirely that fool's fault.'

'But——' began Lucy, after a silence.

'Buts again?'

'I was only thinking that if we had it now it wouldn't be cold.'

'She must be taught her lesson.'

Again she wondered. 'Won't it rather be a lesson to us?' she asked.

Vera by Elizabeth von Arnim. Available from Vintage or as a public domain ebook from Project Gutenberg.