Sweet Bird of Youth

Back the Old Vic last Saturday afternoon to do their version of this play by Tennessee Williams.

Started off at the stalls underneath the Festival Hall and made the main course of our lunch two more of the Moroccan rolls first mentioned on 14th June. Desert was a pierogi containing what was described as apple but which also contained the odd orange lump, possibly tinned peach. It appeared to have been deep fried with the wrapper made of some sort of sponge. The interior of the sponge was light enough but the exterior was quite chewy. Overall, not unlike the sort of apple sponge pudding that BH might make on a larger scale at home but rather unlike the sort of pierogi illustrated in Wikipedia. Perhaps pierogi is a broad church, containing great variety, like our own Church of England. The pierogi seller also sold sausage and we took four thin & dry looking cabanos, certified both chicken meat and cheese free. It then came on to rain, so we arrived rather wet at the Old Vic, luckily sufficiently early to dry out a bit before sitting.

The Guardian had told us that 'Sweet Bird of Youth' was a second rate play which had been given the benefit of first rate production. Further preparation in the form of a DVD of the 1962 Paul Newman version (Paul Newman also having been the star of the original, smash hit play in 1959).

The staging was indeed first rate, with a clever and handsome set. But at three hours including interval the show was rather too long, with the result that I nodded a bit during the long first half, perhaps nodded on a bit by the glass of pre-show wine that I had taken. But the second half was much better, rising to a powerful crescendo. So despite having liked the DVD, I thought that Seth Numrich was better suited to the male lead than Paul Newman, Newman not caring to act or exhibit the various weaknesses which make the part believable. I liked Michael Begley as the heckler. I was also struck by the crudity of the boss and his assistants and by the rather humiliating uniforms that adult males working in hotels were made to wear (which reminded me of the skimpy outfits that mature ladies have to wear in Las Vegas casinos, humiliating in a rather different way. Maybe they don't see it that way). For the crudity, which I dare say was true enough to life, it is a wonder that Williams did not get lynched himself.

Good programme, with a good balance between advertisements, stuff about the Old Vic generally and stuff about this particular play. But not where the title came from: it sounds like a quote, perhaps because it reminds me of 'Bird of Dawning' which is (see December 22nd 2010 in the other place).

Next stop was the Carluccio's on the handsome new mezzanine at Waterloo Station. Quite noisy, but a lot more cheerful and interesting than anything we can manage in Epsom, a place curiously dull in the eating and drinking out department. Good bruschetta, moist rather than hard and dry with tendencies to do in one's fillings. Adequate pasta and wine, rounded off with a nice Amaretto. Entertained during our meal by conversation with another Sweet Birder who happened to be sitting next to us.

Finished the evening with bread and cabanos at home. Cabanos turned out to be rather good, although it has to be said that I prefer them moister. We shall visit the stall again, but in the meantime there is always http://thepolishdelilondon.com/.

PS: how do you get to have a first name like Tennessee? It sounds better in full than Thames Williams or Severn Williams, but what do you shorten it to for day-to-day practical purposes? Tenny? Tunny? Nessy?