Wow!

I’ll say it again: wow!!

Went to see Yerma last night. Issa play, innit. Something I try to avoid at all times, normally. But these aren’t normal times. Generally, if the tabloid press give a production ‘rave reviews’, it means there’s nudity, probably a lot of farce and tons of swearing. If the broadsheet press ‘rave’ about a play its generally going to be dull and often very opaque. They love a ‘hidden meaning’ and ‘undercurrents’. Most times so ‘hidden’ and ‘under’ that I give up even looking long before the intermission, along with the will to live and the desire for sobriety.

Then along came Yerma. It means: barren, in case your Spanish is as poor as your English. And it was actually written in 1934 by a geezer called Yorca. No relation to Orca, who came later to movie screens. And its the story of a woman’s total decline during her inability to conceive the child she so desperately wants, over about a 4 year period. No pun intended.

That synopsis would normally have me running for the tv sports channels. Another post-feminist cry of sympathy for another woman in crisis. Shoot me now. Except the reviews for Yerma were unequivocal. “It is brilliant”, they said. All of them. No ifs, ands or buts, just plain fucking brilliant. Oooooh, that’s unusual. Except I don’t trust critics. Who all suffer from Emperor’s New Clothes syndrome and if one decides that some boring shit-fest of nothingness ‘speaks’ to him/her, the rest all worry that they’ve missed something essential and join in with the praise-heaping for fear of being thought stupid.

So this play is supposedly brilliant. Well ain’t they all. Its on at the ‘Fringe’, the Young Vic in Waterloo, so its not eye-wateringly, West End theatrical, Michael fucking Ball type expensive. And it stars Billie Piper. The deciding factor. WE SHALL GO!!!!

I’ve always had a thing about Billie Piper. She has a face made of the oddest of parts, any of which would individually cause the bearer to inspire sympathy. She should look like a footballer from the Serbian 2nd division, the village team where they’re all cousins. But on her it works. She has a mouth 6 miles wide, yet manages to cram 7 miles of teeth into it. Ok, she married uber-tosser Chris Evans, loud-mouthed northern ginger Top Gear reject, but we all make mistakes. She was only 9 at the time. I forgave her when she made the ‘Diary of a call-girl’ tv series in which she spent half an hour each week writhing around in frilly underwear and leather. Apparently.

And she is simply, fantastically, believably, heart-crushingly magnificent in the lead. As the inconceivable woman who descends from witty, charming, clever, has-it-all fiesty chick, to total shipwreck in 100 minutes. The set too is spectacular. All set in a glass box in the middle of the theatre. Quite remarkable.

I found a hidden message. That all women are in fact dangerous to the point of insanity and almost any event can trigger the psychopath within. I’m just sayin’; its one way to see it.

I would say ‘go see it NOW’ but (please read very smugly and sneeringly) its sold out. The entire run. It’ll be back though. Its fantastic.

Happy Friday

A xxxx