Mojo

Yesterday I saw Mojo at the Harold Pinter Theatre.  Also known as one of those theatres where you're not sure you'll be able to stand up afterwards because your knees have been so cramped during the play.

I know some people thought it was wonderful, so I suspect that the following won't be quite what they would have written.  It was what I would have called "interesting" until SM called me out on it.  I suppose it didn't really work for me.  Six actors, all but one (Tom Rhys Harries) well known names - although I've written elsewhere that just because someone's well-known doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy their performance.  It's described as a black comedy, but it didn't make me laugh and that may be the key.  When I go to the theatre I want to be emotionally involved; that doesn't mean that I want to actually cry at a tragedy (very little has that effect on me) but I want to leave feeling affected.  I saw the musical Top Hat in the summer and that's froth and music and dancing and I left feeling happy and with the songs buzzing round in my head.  This play did nothing for me.

I'd gone to see it because a friend organised a group of us to go and I wanted to see Ben Whishaw.  It was great seeing my friend again and meeting two new people.  And yes, I liked Ben Whishaw.  I would like to see him again in possibly a more conventional part.  He brought more to his character than just the words.

And after the play we went to an Italian restaurant and ate pasta and drank red wine and talked.  And it was good.