Do you see Comedy as a Realist or Escapist Genre (or both)?

Do you see Comedy as a Realist or Escapist Genre (or both)?

IMG_1412
Ooh. Divan Beds.

Wow, English Literature questions at Glasgow University make the shittest blog titles. Hmm. They’ve just underlined ‘shittest’ in red. Is it not a word? I would have thought that it is more of a word than any other due to it being a verb (to shit); an adjective (it was shit), and a noun (it was the shit) all at the same time! But apparently it doesn’t exist in superlative form. Shame.

(I’ve just realised that ‘shit’ probably isn’t a noun, but if I take that bit out, my argument doesn’t look as good, so can we all just pretend that it is? Thanks).

ANYWAY. This is the essay I’m trying to write at the minute – whether comedy is an escapist or realist genre – and as with all English questions, I wish I could just write: I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. It sort of is and it sort of isn’t. It depends on what you mean by ‘realist’, ‘escapist’, ‘comedy’, and ‘genre’ and guess what, I’ve looked them all up and EVERYONE HAS A DIFFERENT DEFINITION. But WOOOO, that’s the point of English so I guess I’ll just have to embrace it and answer that’s it both (sort of). Although, are you asking whether it is realist/escapist as an actual text or for the audience? Because comedies tends to mock society and ways of life, but surely, all laughter is escapist so…can comedies as a text be realist (and a little bit escapist), but the effect for the audience be escapist (and a little bit realist)? WHO THE HELL EVEN KNOWS?

To be honest, I probably have the skeleton of my essay right here. I’ll just have to flesh it out and remove the expletives and aggressive capitals. And sarcasm.

THUS, I shall venture forth into Essaydom. Hmm. They’ve underlined ‘Essaydom’ in a red as well, but this time, I’m SURE this isn’t a word.

At least my degree has taught me something.

The Pre-Show Jitter Bug

The Pre-Show Jitter Bug

IMG_1528

I should probably clarify that this is not the theatre that I will be in tonight; this is the Kings Theatre in Glasgow and I will be performing in some dingy, cellar bar. Although, it is small and cosy. Although, that actually scares me when I’m on stage. It’s like, BACK OFF audience and give us some room. I just don’t like it when I can see their faces:

audience
Is it just me or is this one creepy ass audience?

But alas, there’s always the hope that the lights will be bright enough to blind you.

So yes, today is the day that I will most likely make a massive fool of myself. Every time I do a show (which hasn’t been that often) I think to myself, No more. I’ve had my fun. It’s been a wild ride, but enough is enough; then right before the lights go up on stage I think, What the hell is wrong with me?! WHY did I think that this would fun? Never, ever, EVER, again will I do this, but then after the show I’m all, Wooo!!!! That was Awesome!!!! When are the next auditions?!?!?!?!

So yeah, I’m a bit messed up.

This play is called ‘Love Potion No. 9′ and it’s a comedy about how drinking a love potion can have disastrous effects. For example, my character, Boof (what the hell kind of name is Boof, anyway?) accidentally drinks the love potion, kisses a coffee table and falls madly in love with it. Yes, that’s right: tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to have to declare my undying love to a coffee table.

*Cue Tumble Weed*

But that’s not all: I’m also going to have to french kiss, man handle, AND straddle this coffee table. The smell of Mr Sheen just drives me wild with excitement, apparently. And then, even when I drink the anti-love potion (the one that will cure my infatuation), I’m still friggin’ in love with it! The play ends with me asking, ‘Why do I always fall for the strong, silent type? If only the table could show me that she loves me, things would be different. Then someone pulls a string and the table turns towards me, thus declaring her love. Bla bla bla, happy ending, blackout to ‘Unchained Melody’.

OH THE NERVES. MY NEEEEEEERVES.

Och, it’ll be grand I’m sure. It won’t be the end of the world if I do make a massive fool of myself (lord knows I’ve done it before) and there’s a new episode of The Fall on tonight so that’ll be good – it’s like Mrs Hudson says to Sherlock, “Ooh, a nice murder; that’ll cheer you up, won’t it?”

Yep.

I’ll let you know how tonight goes. Thinking of my blog always makes me feel better about things: like, if something shit happens, at least it will make a good story.

Lights Down.

Freshers

Freshers

IMG_0220

Is it strange that I am enjoying Freshers a lot more now that I am not a Fresher? I don’t think so. There will be others who think of Freshers as one of the best weeks of their lives, but if I could turn back time…well, I wouldn’t. Although, I’d happily take the first year work load.

So that’s me back in Glasgow. For good. And I’m loving it! Maybe it’s because I know it’s my last year here so I’m all filled up with love – I love my squeaky, taped up bed; I love my crazy carpet that clashes with everything; I love the mice – actually, no, I will never love the mice. They look weird and scary and are getting too cocky for their own good. But I do love everything else and really will miss it come next year. I don’t even want to think about next year – I think I accidentally told the Spar I could work for them, but I’m hoping I passed it off as a joke. I mean, it’s a nice job and everything, but I would like to work somewhere else – got to keep Better Together happy as well. Oh God, I wish I was there for the referendum – Better Together must be absolutely shitting himself right now and I’d love to see what stops he’s pulling to persuade people to vote NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! He’s probably manically burning every single copy of Braveheart.

So now that I’m back in Glasgow, I should get back to the tourist-in-my-own-city blog, although it might just be a bunch of theatre this year – RADA’s made me a tad obsessed. I saw A Streetcar Named Desire last night and holy fucking cow, was it INCREDIBLE. Gillian Anderson was Blanche from her very core and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. On our first day at RADA, they asked us what “good” theatre was and I still don’t know – I mean, I know when I see good theatre, but I can’t analyse WHY it’s good apart from the fact that you get that nice feeling in your tummy. And goosebumps. I almost what to get a bus to London tonight so I can see it in the theatre. There’s a debate in the Theatre World right now about streaming plays in cinemas. Some think it’ll stop people from going to the theatre and that once again, the modern world is taking something personal and making it impersonal, but I am so happy they do it – I would never have seen this play if they didn’t. And I don’t think it’ll make less people go to the theatre as I think theatre lovers will always choose seeing it in the flesh if they can and it just gives those who can’t afford the time and money to travel to London, the chance to see these amazing plays. If you haven’t seen Streetcar, GO BOOK TICKETS. The whole cast was good, but Gillian Anderson was something special – I don’t know how she gets on the stage and does that every night. It’s one of the most haunting plays I’ve ever seen.

GUSH, GUSH, GUSH.

I’m going to see The Full Monty next week, which is meant to be hilarious. Also, I think there might be naked men on stage – woop, woop! Jokes. This doesn’t make me excited. Nudity on the stage actually makes me very uncomfortable (AAARRRGHH A PENIS, AAARRRGHH A VAGINA; WHERE DO I LOOK; WHERE DO I LOOK?!?!?!?!), but at least I’m not sitting at the front. I really don’t understand the people who sit at the front. A play is so raw, personal, and in the moment – who the hell wants a moment staring them in the face? I like to be a least 50 feet away from any moment.

But as for now, I should really, really, REALLY do some work on my dissertation. I have the scariest supervisor in the whole University and if I don’t have any work to show after FOUR MONTHS, he will kill me, stuff me, and then pin me up in his office like a stag head as a warning to all students.

But maybe I can fob him off with some milk chocolate hobnobs…

Blogging on a Boat: Day 1

Blogging on a Boat: Day 1

I woke today feeling slightly nauseous after all the red wine I drank last night and so I have decided that from now on I shall just stick to vodka. Definitely the healthier choice. I also had quite a fitful sleep – any time the boat lurched I’d sit bolt upright and claw at the walls until I realised that I was perfectly safe and not locked up in a mental asylum. They – whoever “they” are – have not come for me as of yet. I did, however, wake up to a policeman banging on the door and demanding to see our papers. Oh joys, I thought, Dad is going to be arrested again. But thankfully, everything was in order and after TWO AND A HALF HOURS, we were allowed to be on our way.

So yes, one thing that I have observed about Italians is that they sure take their time. I remember reading about this in Eat, Pray Love and thinking that it would be lovely to live in Italy, away from all the hustle and bustle and busy nothings in Britain, but since arriving, I have found out that I just cannot hack their laidback attitude. I am trying – a lovely German girl I befriended at RADA kept telling me to “stop being so bloody British”, but alas, I cannot.

What I can hack, however, is their food and scenery. The menus have all been in Italian so far (I know, shocking) and so it’s been quite fun not knowing what on earth we’ve ordered. You certainly learn things about yourself – for instance, I thought I hated anchovies, but that’s what I got for my starter last night and they were delicious! I also thought that clams in spaghetti just wouldn’t go, but turns out they do. And so the food may be slow in getting to you, but it sure is delicious when it arrives.

As for today, we have anchored up near Isola Ventoten, which looks very pretty. The journey here was bliss. I sat at the bow of the boat, revelling in the brisk sea breeze and thinking that sailing is perhaps the only thing that I am not scared of. A rather big wave, however, shooed me right back into the safety of the cockpit from which I was not to venture out again.

Maybe tomorrow.

As for now, I am away for a swim as my face is melting and my thighs may have to be surgically removed from this chair.

Over and out, folks!

P.s. I tried to write about RADA, but it was so gushy and emotional that it has been confined to my diary. Far too many feels for this blog.