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Tuesday 6th April 2004

I went to the Battersea Arts Centre tonight to see a play called "The Wooden Frock" performed by the Knee High theatre company. I don't go to the theatre enough and especially when I'm writing something it is always inspiring to go and see what other people are up to. If it's a good show it can trigger off fresh ideas and even if it's bad then it can give you clues as what not to do. If it's really good I often find myself drifting off (not to sleep) and thinking about what I'd like to do and end up missing several minutes of the action.
I had no idea what tonight's show was going to be. It was a friend's recommendation and he'd sorted out the tickets, so I hadn't even known what it was called before I got there.
It turned out to be a transporting evening which at times captured the real magic of theatre. This was lucky: theatre can often be terrible. It was a dark fairy tale (not suitable for kids really, which shows it's a great fairy story) about love, loss, death, the discombobulation of grief and incest. It was both heart-warming and creepy which is hard to beat. The cast were reassuringly weird looking, almost like puppets and yet strangely sexy and beautiful.
I want my show to be a bit more thoughtful and theatrical this year and so this was almost the ideal show to see. They made fantastic use of the space and of props, movement and music. The best device was the use of some upturned white umbrellas, places on blocks on the end of the actors' shoes to represent geese. It was extremely effective and by the middle of the second half I was almost forgetting about the artifice and had been drawn into this sourly beautiful world that they had created.
It was truly enchanting, and though not perfect, it is a definite recommend for a good night out in South London.
I believe they are touring it too so look out for it at a theatre near you.
It made me keen to get on with my show and excited about what I might be able to do. I have to remember that just having a title and having arranged for someone to paint me a poster is not quite enough.
It's nearly enough.
But not quite.

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