Interesting experience the other night. I went to see ‘Warhorse’.

Oh, I hear you enquire, the play? Or the movie??

Well that’s an interesting question… what did I see…

I saw the plovie. Or the plilm. Maybe the Flay.

The play was on at the National and they had a live link to various cinemas across the land (and other parts of Europe too, probably ones where they speak English) so we watched the play ‘live’ on the screen at the Phoenix Cinema in East Finchley.

Well then, that’s the best of all possible worlds then, surely?

Hmmmm…

The problem is that plays and movies, even when both tell the same story, are totally different things. Doh. Like, one’s a, errrrrr, play and the other… hmmmm.

But its not just about a story; its about the experience. And at the theatre, what (generally) captivates is the live performance aspect, the subtle but definite interaction between cast and audience. And for that high degree of captivation the ‘action’ is understandably less important. Which is good. You wouldn’t put Top Gun on as a play. Movies ‘move’. Nor would you make a movie of ‘The Vagina Monologues’ starring Arnold Schwartzenegger. Therefore the lack of direct link between cast and audience is not there in films but there’s so much shit happening in fast and furious manner that its all fine.

We had the worst of all possible worlds. No interaction with the actors and a film that didn’t move.

But Warhorse. Ahhhh, Warhorse. We mustn’t let the cross-media failure affect the most talked about/ watched/ sold out play since the Bible. Or was it Mouse Trap? Anyway, Warhorse.

Its a brilliant story of a retarded boy… what? he’s not retarded? Oh, sorry, well he’s from Dorset, same difference. Anyway, its a love story between this boy and a pantomime horse. In rural circles this is not just acceptable but quite common. All those cold nights in the hay, blah, blah, blah. And then it goes on… and on… and he trains his young horsey, and then it gets bigger and goes to war and on, and on, and on… and then they meet up again and ride off into the sunset once more, back in Dorset where men are men. Unless they are half of a pantomime horse.

Fab play. Or film. Whatever.

Not an experience to repeat. Unless its a really good looking pantomime horse.

Happy thursday

A xxxx