National Theatre
Komor Marcell u. 1 [map]
Pest South, IX Millenniumi Kulturális Központ (T2) 3 min
Sunday night and a foray to the National Theatre to see a performance of an English-language comedy, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.The concept: every one of Shakespeare's plays performed by three players in two hours. As you might imagine, some of the bard's larger themes get glossed over in this format. This play was written by some prog-rock sounding trio called Long-Singer-Borgeson and is performed at the Nemzeti by a dramatic troupe called the Madhouse Theater Company.
Mike Kelly, Matt Devere and Andrew Hefler make up the cast. And, as you also might have imagined by now - it's a comedic spoof.
I had heard about this play and its long Budapest run many times. But the main circumstance that put me in the seats was not a review or knowledge of the text. It was a chance encounter with cast member Matt Devere in a Budapest watering hole - 6tus - a few weeks ago that brought me there. After he'd bought me my fifth Unicum, I pledged to see his show within the month.
On Sunday I was good as my word. Navigating a convoluted system of Metro, trams and buses brought us to the National Theater (Nemzeti Szinház), part of a relatively new complex that also includes the Palace of Arts (Művészetek Palotája or MUPA). The Palace of Arts building is quite handsome. I can't say the same for the theater building - a marriage of late-19th century neo-Hungarian excess and 21st century XIII district condominum.But it's what goes on inside that counts. And the inside of the theater was packed, mostly with what I assumed to be rich Hungarian teens and their chaperones. A full house for a play that is not new on a Sunday night - very impressive.
And the play did not disappoint the packed house. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare is not so much a theatrical piece but an elaborate comedy sketch. The script is loose and unfocused, but the production is amply held together by the charisma of the three players. There are a few moments (a few too few, perhaps) where the true dramatic talents of the players are juxtaposed against the slapstick of the material: certainly the most entertaining bits of the evening.
For the record, the play ends with Hamlet being done in 90 seconds - backwards. What a piece of work is a man! How infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable! Especially when cross-dressing as Ophelia with buck teeth or running about the stage in reverse gear with a rubber knife through thine own cursed head!
SF.
This article originally appeared on sfinbudapest.com. Read more from SF here.
A while ago, we covered the debut play from Equus productions: Equus, the story of one boy's love affair with a horse (to put it crassly.) Review here.
We'd been pretty skeptical about English theatre in Budapest, but were actually very impressed with what Equus managed to put together. Now they're starting a new project and you, who never got the breaks, you, who could have been a contender, might want to audition.
"Equus Productions is seeking artistic minded people both creative and performing for its Spring Production. Three Male actors - playing ages 20's, 30's & 40's; One Female playing age 40 + ... (Nationality irrelevant)
Auditions to be held in early December. Interested ???
Telephone Rhett on 06 30 955 5882 or email equusproductions@gmail.com for more details."
"I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it."
Don't miss your chance.
Andy Sz.
We'd been pretty skeptical about English theatre in Budapest, but were actually very impressed with what Equus managed to put together. Now they're starting a new project and you, who never got the breaks, you, who could have been a contender, might want to audition.
"Equus Productions is seeking artistic minded people both creative and performing for its Spring Production. Three Male actors - playing ages 20's, 30's & 40's; One Female playing age 40 + ... (Nationality irrelevant)
Auditions to be held in early December. Interested ???
Telephone Rhett on 06 30 955 5882 or email equusproductions@gmail.com for more details."
"I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it."
Don't miss your chance.
Andy Sz.
I have a theory about James Bond which might prove unpopular with hardcore fans. This is that for a long time, the Broccolis have been quietly pulling off one of the boldest scams in motion picture history. By simply switching things around, they’ve managed to get away with remaking the same movie over and over again, for forty-six years. It’s a singular achievement, put into perspective by imagining how tiresome twenty-two versions of any other film would be. Jaws, for example. The Neverending Story, Part 22. By now, these film sagas wouldn't be playing to packed houses, they'd be direct-to-video bombs, featuring Z-list stars and occasional cameos from people who should know better. Like Malcolm McDowell or Mick Jagger.
Personally, I gave up on Bond a long time ago, so it was a pleasant surprise that 2006’s Casino Royale turned out to be really rather good. Inspired by the Bourne movies, the franchise looked to have taken a big step forward. Casino Royale was lean and tough, the story was engaging, and in Daniel Craig, we had the best Bond in decades.
It’s unfortunate then, that Quantum of Solace has undone pretty much all of this excellent work. I wish I could summarise the story but I had absolutely no idea what was going on - apart from the fact it had something to do with Bond’s dead girlfriend, the shadowy but boring Quantum organisation, and an environmental terrorist.
There’s a traditional formula for Bond films - a breathtaking pre-credits stunt, followed by thirty to forty dull minutes of plot exposition, after which Bond hooks up with a babe and chases people all over the globe (and sometimes into space). Obviously aware that Bond stories are stymied by this template, the writers of Quantum of Solace have departed from it by dispensing with the initial plot development section altogether. Instead, they spend the first third of the film whipping Craig around the world at breakneck speed, which has the unfortunate effect of making Quantum of Solace seem like the Holiday programme, but with fighting.
All of this isn’t very interesting, and it’s easy to slip into a soporific state during the copious action set-pieces. In fact, I was far more taken with the dazzlingly surreal universe this film dreams up - one where a beautiful female secret agent can meet Bond at a Haitian airport wearing nothing but a brown trenchcoat and boots. Immediately, the two British government employees check into a hotel and get busy, before receiving an invitation to a party…. that evening! She hasn’t a thing to wear! Leave it with me, says Bond, and arranges for her to get some clothes and have her hair done.
However, that particular scene has nothing on the bizarre ten minute sequence in which Bond steals a plane and crash-lands in the middle of the Bolivian desert. Eventually, he climbs out of a crater then walks for hours in the midday sun, dressed in a tuxedo, before rocking up to a dusty, ramshackle, one-horse town. There, he hops straight onto a public bus (the kind that comes along once every three days) and doesn‘t even bat an eyelid.
The whole film feels like a missed opportunity, especially after the efficient and exciting Casino Royale. Craig is good, but the problem with creating a grittier Bond is that if it isn't backed up by an interesting or partially believable story, it's difficult to know why you should care. Bond doesn't instantly become a deeper character just because he's mourning his girlfriend. Either way, it'll be interesting to see what happens next. Will Ms. Broccoli follow this up with yet another money-spinning, predictable action flick, or will she attempt to find some better source material (Sebastian Faulks, perhaps)? Wasting Daniel Craig would certainly be a shame.
Finally, a word about that title, which has been widely dismissed as the worst ever. I’ve been mulling it over for a while, and I think to some extent I know what it's trying to say. ‘Bond 22 - An Amount of Comfort'. Whatever that means. It’s as pointless and daft as the film itself.
Andy T.
Petőfi Csarnok, Városliget,
19th December, 3490Ft
Pest, XIV, Széchenyi Fürdő, (M1) 5 min
Oh my Lord! Look who've cropped up in Budapest: Deliriou5? Yes. (It wasn't a question.)
A long time ago, in a town far away - Bedford, England, to be specific - I found myself at a Deliriou5? gig. It was held in a small church hall. There was a guy we knew called Sam whose family were members of a small, groovy kind of church that may or may not have been a cult. (I don't know where the distinction is drawn.) His mum argued with us about how the eye evolved.
When Sam invited us to the gig, I was a little suspicious. "They're not going to be really Goddy, are they? I'm not coming if they're Goddy." "No, they're not Goddy," he lied. My friend Stephen was angling for Sam's sister, so I think I had some kind of fluffer duty, especially as I was the one with the car.
The little hall was packed, and Sam went over to Deliriou5? (I can't help saying it like that), who hugged him, patted him on the shoulders and the like, and looked all chummy. I looked around at the audience; not a very rock 'n' roll audience, in truth. The gig began and they had some kind of projector, like the ones you get at school, displaying the lyrics: "Father God, you heard the prayer; From deep within my spirit cried; If there's a God, come rescue me; Now here I stand, I'm saved by grace." That's quite Goddy, I thought.
Not as Goddy as it got just before the interval. A song ended in clouds of feedback... feedback that just kept feeding back. And as it fed and fed and fed, the singer raised his arms out straight on each side and began to mutter... "Thank you Jesus... thank you Jesus..." To my horror, the people around me began to raise their arms too, all murmuring "Thank you Jesus... Thank you Jesus." I looked across at Stephen. He wasn't murmering. "Thank you Jesus!", I thought.
The interval arrived and I was out of there like an atheist. A slightly shaken atheist at that. Stephen stayed. It got weirder. I think someone was cured of Leukemia or something like that. [I invite him to elaborate in the comments.]
Fast forward 14 years and they're playing Petőfi Csarnok. I don't know if it's likely to be quite as intense but, if someone suggests that you go, and you're not a religious nutcase, don't say that you haven't been warned. On the other hand, it is their farewell tour, so if you're looking for God in the form of mediocre rock, it might be a while before the chance comes again. Tickets here.
delirious; delerious, delirius, delerius
Andy Sz.
When Sam invited us to the gig, I was a little suspicious. "They're not going to be really Goddy, are they? I'm not coming if they're Goddy." "No, they're not Goddy," he lied. My friend Stephen was angling for Sam's sister, so I think I had some kind of fluffer duty, especially as I was the one with the car.
The little hall was packed, and Sam went over to Deliriou5? (I can't help saying it like that), who hugged him, patted him on the shoulders and the like, and looked all chummy. I looked around at the audience; not a very rock 'n' roll audience, in truth. The gig began and they had some kind of projector, like the ones you get at school, displaying the lyrics: "Father God, you heard the prayer; From deep within my spirit cried; If there's a God, come rescue me; Now here I stand, I'm saved by grace." That's quite Goddy, I thought.
Not as Goddy as it got just before the interval. A song ended in clouds of feedback... feedback that just kept feeding back. And as it fed and fed and fed, the singer raised his arms out straight on each side and began to mutter... "Thank you Jesus... thank you Jesus..." To my horror, the people around me began to raise their arms too, all murmuring "Thank you Jesus... Thank you Jesus." I looked across at Stephen. He wasn't murmering. "Thank you Jesus!", I thought.
The interval arrived and I was out of there like an atheist. A slightly shaken atheist at that. Stephen stayed. It got weirder. I think someone was cured of Leukemia or something like that. [I invite him to elaborate in the comments.]
Fast forward 14 years and they're playing Petőfi Csarnok. I don't know if it's likely to be quite as intense but, if someone suggests that you go, and you're not a religious nutcase, don't say that you haven't been warned. On the other hand, it is their farewell tour, so if you're looking for God in the form of mediocre rock, it might be a while before the chance comes again. Tickets here.
delirious; delerious, delirius, delerius
Andy Sz.
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