It
is difficult not to term the Conservative Government’s U-Turn on the migrant
workers health surcharge ‘humiliating’, but I suppose it is better to consider
it a ‘fitting’ recognition of the essential service that such workers do, often
on minimum wage and to ‘welcome’ any sign from the discredited third-raters
that form the cabinet of humanity. One
can only hope that such grace is now applied to the self-harm of Brexit! Fond hope – and that two-word expression of
despair doesn’t merit an exclamation mark, just a weary sigh.
At every step in the management of this
crisis the government has come up short.
They have blustered, prevaricated, lied – but why go on, I have been
writing the same sort of verbs about the Tories for the last decade, why,
especially after the catastrophic debacle of the Brexit vote and its on-going
car crash implementation should I be surprised that an even worse tragedy
produces a signature catalogue of crass ineptitude?
The
more I think about the production of A
Streetcar Named Desire last night, the less satisfied I am with it. Although it did give me shivers and almost
reduce me to tears, I am left feeling that the production was slightly
superficial, I was using my knowledge of the piece to flesh out my response;
part of my involvement was recognition of the revisiting of the most effective
parts of the play and a remembered delight in the structure and emotional
complexity of the action.
I was also struck by the artificiality of
much of the dialogue, especially from Stanley, where he says things, and in
such a way that he seems to step outside of his character and become a too
eloquent part of the Tragedy with a capital T rather than the rough character
in a gritty drama.
Blanche is a role to kill for: camp,
grotesque, twisted, vicious and unbearably vulnerable. Salacious lush she might be, but she has
lines of almost unendurable pathos – and truth.
At the height of her self-pitying drunkenness she shows a self-awareness
of the essential strength and worth of her character that takes the breath away.
At the end of the play as Blanche is led
away and the card game recommences and the old life goes on, we get the same
feeling as at the end of Death of a Salesman
when Linda says of her dead husband and failed salesman, “Attention, attention must finally be
paid to such a person.” But, it’s too
late, that’s the tragedy; it’s always too late.
Thursday nights at 8.00pm have become a
fixture in my week, and I am grateful to the National Theatre for making their
films of productions available to the public.
If you have not yet see the productions on Facebook then I do urge you
to experience the productions – and donate to the organizations as well of
course!
The next production (free streaming on Facebook
from the 28th of May for one week) is This House by James Graham, set in the House of Commons in the
period from the General Election of 1974 to the Vote of Confidence in James
Callaghan in 1979. The major political figures
are characters off-stage while the main action of the play is centred on the
Whips offices of the Labour and Conservative parties.
This is one of those plays that I
regretted not being able to see, so I am delighted to have the opportunity to
experience it via Facebook.
There
was little increase in the wearing of facemasks as far as I could see today,
though they are not mandatory for exercise.
On Monday of next week we move to level 1
from level 0 here in the province of Barcelona.
This means that restaurants will open with service on sparse terraces;
churches with be open up to 30%; groups of no more than 10 and various other loosening’s
of the regulations. There seems to be a
belief that the mere passing of days will mark progress towards the mastering
of the virus. This is a false
assumption. The only way to cope with
the virus is through testing, contact tracing and lockdown. None of this is securely in place, neither in
Catalonia nor in the UK. Everything
about this virus and its management is worrying. Frightening.
Just
to make things that little bit more difficult, a filling fell out yesterday
evening. I have been punctilious about
brushing and looking after my teeth exactly because of my fear of what dental
treatment might be in lockdown. It was
therefore with a certain amount of trepidation that we contacted the dentist
this morning. I was delighted (well, you
know what I mean in relation to dentists) to find that not only was the dentist
open, but they were making appointments and amazingly, I was fitting in at
lunchtime next Tuesday. That is what I
call service!
I do feel a certain trepidation about the appointment;
it is difficult to be physically distanced when you are sitting in a dentist’s
chair! Another experience to add to the
lockdown life!
