Posted by Jeni in | 26 July 2009
Rebecca Lenkiewicz’s adaptation of GHOSTS by IBSEN is intense, to say the least. The five actors perform in one little drawing room. The atmosphere oppressive and dark. The candles and gaslight that illuminates the last quarter of the play is claustrophobic.
I cried when the mother broke, B cried when the son broke. Siddhi didn't cry but was moved by the evening. The old man was as good as ever. His costume perfectly fitting for his part. He looked like the Hovis advert. Jim says that Ibsen clearly hated the working man as all the parts that are created for the likes of the 'oosbind, are nasty amnd wheedling.
I drove the roomie back to Battersea and set off for the cottage at 11.30. Jim set off an hour before me on his motorbike. The gear lever jammed so he ended up doing the last 20 mibnutes stuck in 6th gear. I arrived back at the house by 1.15.
Jim walked up the drive to meet me and I jumped out of my skin, I didn't recognise him in the dark. I had fotgotten quite how dark it gets here in East Sussex, having not been home for two weeks. I'm not complaining mind, I love it.
As the time edged towards 2.30 we talked over the play, ate toast drunk tea then collapsed into our big, cool bed.
The sound of silence was so welcome. I lay listening for foxes, owls, badgers, but before you could sta towhitt towhooooooooooooo I was gone.
I re-set the alarm for 9.00 - BH one of my favourite radio programmes - woke me. The death of Harry pATCH
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