Persuasion

There are two reviews of Persuasion at the Royal Exchange. In one, I say that while a bit of melodrama is all very well and good every now and again, in the wake of a show like An Octoroon, which turns it up to max levels in order to ask urgent questions of current race relations, it kinda feels like an unnecessary bit of fluff.

In the second, I say that while the EDL are being fucking menaces just a few streets away and, in the other direction, a thousand flowers lie in tribute to victims of a terrorist attack, sitting in a theatre watching actors slide about in foam does feel like a political statement of a sort.

Both reviews mention:

• the old lady in front of me who was finger dancing to 212 (I guess that cunt’s gettin eaten)
• the beautifully-observed costume decision that had Mr Elliott in loafers with no socks (no man wearing shoes with no socks can ever be sympathetic, FACT)
• that perfect glitchy Instagram Boomerang dancing, frozen-but-not-quite
• how pleased I am that the Catherine Pistachio look is being (deservedly) ripped off by big theatres
• the fact that I can’t believe they did that foam party scene without proper haze and lasers