burntcopper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burntcopper) wrote2008-09-08 12:30 pm
burntcopper) wrote2008-09-08 12:30 pm
Dorian Gray
:swallows:
Dear Matthew Bourne, please stop doing that. Stop it. Stop it NOW.
Dark as hell. All about self-obsession, beauty, fame, how it fucks you up, etc, etc. It's dark and obsessive all the way through. Starting with the photographer photographing all the models, then when he encounters Dorian at a party, and the process where he starts taking photos and Dorian trying to shrink from that at the beginning as it becomes a dance of desire and full-body contact and shagging. Echoed in the second act where they're doing it *again* but this time Dorian's actively hiding his face from the camera. Then see the image obsessiveness, and um... Fucking hell. There is no way I can get a coherent review or description of this.
There's the bit where the spoilt little ballet dancer turns up at a party, acting like a brat, Dorian shoves him into the bedroom, rejects him in disgust as he tries to crawl all over him (coked out of his head) and then watches as he starts overdosing. The bit where the photographer and him start shagging again, which is just obsessiveness and despair personified. Then comes the orgy which... yeah. You wouldn't think an orgy could feel that empty and despairing and sexy at the same time. You can feel the black hole through the entire second act. The doppelgänger that represents his dark side in the second act, where he's mirroring or going off and shagging or killing, or appearing in his place in the club while the photographer can't seem to tell the difference and you get Dorian's disbelief at this.
It being Matthew Bourne, there's some really fucking funny bits too. Special mention going to the opening scene - Dorian (though you don't know it's Dorian then, just some cute bloke) in bed, and pure dramatic classical music blaring (Swan Lake, echoing the prince waking up in that production)... and it turns out to be his alarm clock. They did it in the opening to the second act, too, but made far funnier by the fact that after the two bedmates get out of bed, it's revealed there's another three people in there. Another moment for the second act? Dorian goes on a chat show. Specifically Jonathan Ross. You know this because they have Four Poofs and a Piano. Doing a perfect, perfect silent imitation. With the damn t-shirts. Dorian even gets presented with his own action figure. We were calling this the 'Matthew Bourne, you *bastard*' moment.
Pretty, pretty imagery - all black and white (everyone wearing black aside from Dorian and his doppelgänger), with added black and white photos projected or as posters everywhere.
Michela Meazza's on fine fabulous arrogant form as Lady H, who runs the model agency, Richard Winsor as Dorian is just... :gibber: as Dorian, Aaron Sillis as the photographer, and lots of pretty people for the ensemble. Very few of the usual suspects. Taz, was it Sam Archer we saw as Edward Scissorhands and Angelo in Car Man? Richard was apparently playing those roles recently, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen him. But he's very sweet and adorable.
Met up with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clanwilliam and gmh (with added three hours in the pub after) and Jen kept trying to break my brain with tales of Adam Cooper and Scott Ambler learning the other role in Swan Lake to see if they could swap, the Terence Higgins performance when they pulled out all the stops, swapping convention stories, impromptu dancing lessons in the middle of the pub, and tales of Paul Bettany crawling into her bed when she was at drama school. Rants on fandom and fuckwits. Logistics of building Cair Paravel. And Jen, Alan Vincent is the one in all the Car Man images. If you think Adam can prowl and menace, it's nothing compared to Alan.
Also : Dear British rail, drop dead. Had originally planned it so I'd get to Sadlers Wells by 2pm at the latest, curtain going up at 2:30. Due to the wonderful delays of rail and underground, I've now discovered the joys of running from Kings Cross Station to Sadlers'. I skidded into the theatre at 2:33, managed to get into my seat one minute before the lights went down, almost killing myself in the process. At least I have the muscles from jogging, though these are not conditioned for running flat-out.
Dear Matthew Bourne, please stop doing that. Stop it. Stop it NOW.
Dark as hell. All about self-obsession, beauty, fame, how it fucks you up, etc, etc. It's dark and obsessive all the way through. Starting with the photographer photographing all the models, then when he encounters Dorian at a party, and the process where he starts taking photos and Dorian trying to shrink from that at the beginning as it becomes a dance of desire and full-body contact and shagging. Echoed in the second act where they're doing it *again* but this time Dorian's actively hiding his face from the camera. Then see the image obsessiveness, and um... Fucking hell. There is no way I can get a coherent review or description of this.
There's the bit where the spoilt little ballet dancer turns up at a party, acting like a brat, Dorian shoves him into the bedroom, rejects him in disgust as he tries to crawl all over him (coked out of his head) and then watches as he starts overdosing. The bit where the photographer and him start shagging again, which is just obsessiveness and despair personified. Then comes the orgy which... yeah. You wouldn't think an orgy could feel that empty and despairing and sexy at the same time. You can feel the black hole through the entire second act. The doppelgänger that represents his dark side in the second act, where he's mirroring or going off and shagging or killing, or appearing in his place in the club while the photographer can't seem to tell the difference and you get Dorian's disbelief at this.
It being Matthew Bourne, there's some really fucking funny bits too. Special mention going to the opening scene - Dorian (though you don't know it's Dorian then, just some cute bloke) in bed, and pure dramatic classical music blaring (Swan Lake, echoing the prince waking up in that production)... and it turns out to be his alarm clock. They did it in the opening to the second act, too, but made far funnier by the fact that after the two bedmates get out of bed, it's revealed there's another three people in there. Another moment for the second act? Dorian goes on a chat show. Specifically Jonathan Ross. You know this because they have Four Poofs and a Piano. Doing a perfect, perfect silent imitation. With the damn t-shirts. Dorian even gets presented with his own action figure. We were calling this the 'Matthew Bourne, you *bastard*' moment.
Pretty, pretty imagery - all black and white (everyone wearing black aside from Dorian and his doppelgänger), with added black and white photos projected or as posters everywhere.
Michela Meazza's on fine fabulous arrogant form as Lady H, who runs the model agency, Richard Winsor as Dorian is just... :gibber: as Dorian, Aaron Sillis as the photographer, and lots of pretty people for the ensemble. Very few of the usual suspects. Taz, was it Sam Archer we saw as Edward Scissorhands and Angelo in Car Man? Richard was apparently playing those roles recently, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen him. But he's very sweet and adorable.
Met up with
clanwilliam and gmh (with added three hours in the pub after) and Jen kept trying to break my brain with tales of Adam Cooper and Scott Ambler learning the other role in Swan Lake to see if they could swap, the Terence Higgins performance when they pulled out all the stops, swapping convention stories, impromptu dancing lessons in the middle of the pub, and tales of Paul Bettany crawling into her bed when she was at drama school. Rants on fandom and fuckwits. Logistics of building Cair Paravel. And Jen, Alan Vincent is the one in all the Car Man images. If you think Adam can prowl and menace, it's nothing compared to Alan. Also : Dear British rail, drop dead. Had originally planned it so I'd get to Sadlers Wells by 2pm at the latest, curtain going up at 2:30. Due to the wonderful delays of rail and underground, I've now discovered the joys of running from Kings Cross Station to Sadlers'. I skidded into the theatre at 2:33, managed to get into my seat one minute before the lights went down, almost killing myself in the process. At least I have the muscles from jogging, though these are not conditioned for running flat-out.