All quiet on the western front… again.

My apologies to all for dragging my feet to update the blog. I am currently juggling the beginnings of a new contract as well as trying to still find moments to sneak off to the theatre.

Consequently the blog, my poor blog has suffered.

Mentally, I am also gearing up for the Sydney Festival. One of my favourite, favourite events. There is something about a festival that makes the air smell sweet. And whether you are in Sydney, Melbourne, Berlin, London or even my dear Ljubljana, a festival is always a magical experience.

I think it’s the feeling of an international focus, it’s the people on the streets, it’s the fiesta, it’s the summer time.

The launch last Thursday evening at the Opera House gave an insight into what a great festival it will be again this year. There is something about the combination of Artistic Director Fergus Linehan and General Manager Josephine Ridge that creates a great synergy for the festival. They are probably the most friendly and approachable in the game.

The whole festival atmosphere certainly took the arts journo’s from all the major outlets with it, as we all ended up drinking late night cocktails at some Circular Quay bar to the sound of salsa music. And on a school night too.

I was even luckier to have captured some of the festival spirit only the week before. As you may know, I managed to pop down to Melbourne and catch the last gasps of MIAF. Due to some enormous Singapore Airlines plane taking off and an associated publicity stunt coupled with a few thunder storms in Sydney, I managed to miss a show on the Friday evening. But I did catch the fiesta at the Spiegeltent later that evening, befriending an ensemble of Catalan artists from Teatre Lliure who were performing in the show European House.

Coincidentally, their show was the one I was attending the following evening at the Arts Centre. And I have to disagree with Alison Croggon’s review to say that I absolutely adored the show.

European House is boldly advertised as a prologue to Hamlet from the moment the show begins. Facing us is a three story dolls house view of a contemporary home. The kitchen, the lounge, the study, bedrooms, bathroom and garden. It is a voyeur’s view that harks back to something out of Rear Window.

From the moment that the family arrive home from the funeral (of King Hamlet) the beautiful depth of this production digs out a movie-like contemporary tragedy as the fathers death grips the household. The maid quietly goes about her business without making a sound, young Hamlet breaks down while his dear friend Horatio gives him a shoulder to cry on and Gertrude sits silently in her room overwhelmed by sorrow. Until, slightly into the play the house blacks out and King Hamlet’s shadow appears in a red light of the master bedroom.

Purists will dislike European House, but for this audience member it showed the way Shakespeare can be transcend so many forms. It is like discovering Kurosawa, Kozintzev or West Side Story.

This moment dawned on me as the cast stopped in their tracks to the domestic drama and as one faced the audience and starting mouthing the words to ‘No surprises’ by Radiohead.

This is my final fit, my final bellyache with

No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises please

Such a pretty house, such a pretty garden

No alarms and no surprises (let me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises (let me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises please (let me out of here)

It was a beautiful anthem for Hamlet and it was supported by the quintessential video clip image that should have made this compulsory viewing for every high school student in the country.

Bring on the Sydney Festival. But I, sure as hell, want as many alarms and surprises as I can get.