radiant fracture

I came home at midnight to a house like an oven. It is beautiful, this little house, but it is all wrong. All winter I waited through freezing weeks thinking: at least it will be cool in the summer. No. It will not be cool. It will be like a giant triathlete's sweaty armpit.

I know a giant triathlete, so perhaps that is why the image occurs.

I thought A Streetcar Named Desire would be the perfect play for the first really hot day of the summer, and in a way it was, though I didn't really feel the overpowering heat onstage, despite the smoking and the steam. It was benignly tepid in the seats.

Because I live in Victoria, I have the curious privilege of seeing, with a frequency well above the national average, Thea Gill, late of Queer as Folk, performing on stage. That is, as her husband runs the Blue Bridge Repertory Theatre here, and as I go see the Blue Bridge plays, and as she sometimes performs in them, I not infrequently see Thea Gill. It's not a bad thing; it's quite nice. But it's slightly odd. I don't see anyone else from the QaF cast on a regular basis.

Her Blanche DuBois was good; she's a little young, maybe, a little too radiant yet for the part, but she held the stage. I quite want Blue Bridge to make a go of it, despite their perplexing taste in musicals (The Fantastiks?) They're a real theatre company, and they do real plays, and this seems surprisingly hard to maintain here.

Everyone was solid, in fact. I thought the direction seemed unfocused during the monologues -- soliloquies really -- ( but the person I ended up feeling dubious about was Tennessee Williams. )


{rf}