Bosco continued to think of Vince, as they walked across the Green. Vince who without fail would remind all in the dressing room at the different venture that he had been to the same University as Stephen Spielberg, don't you know, this presumably to serve as a reminder that Vince was of substance, I mean he wasn't just the Duke of Orsino in a God awful tour in a remote part of northern England he had, yes, you guessed had been to the same University as Stephen Spielberg.
Bosco felt that he was more Heathcliffe than any of them, But he would not have the temerity to suggest to this influential person who walked beside him now and who had disclosed her very essence, her most secret of secret desires, to him in their torried passion, For some things you just dont say to a well brought up girl in England, like what about you suggesting me to your father as Heathcliffe. I mean I am more Heathcliffe than any of them. I mean I may have been refomed by the Pissaro woman but I am still, au fond a rake, I still simmer with violence which is this side of gratuitious when goaded, There is sizable element of cruelty in me. At times I can be curt and rude, I like swearing the Norse plosives, like fucking bullets of the tongue, give me great satisfaction. And you have witnessed I can be explosive at times. As to Heathcliffee type murderous revenge, well, I am not a derganed epistemogist, ie I don't assess the knowledge that I have actually been hurt or humilaited and then stealthily enact revenege,The revenger, the person who is determined to get his own back, has to be a skilled (and deranged) epistemologist; for he/she deals in evidence and prediction. Revenge is essentially aesthetic because it has to be composed, staged and performed. For the plot to ‘work’, it has to be thought out, and so it entails both deferring gratification and a certain conscientiousness. And all this makes it a disturbing commentary on – or parody of – many of our most cherished values. I understand that psychology in Heathcliffe, I am not Hamet like 'Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. What I am doing now ito you Letetia is whore like unpacking my herat with words. that I am idelal for Heathcliffe I was brong to play him. Didn't I play Iago at RADA and did with admirable intensity was Robert's and Geoffs view. Iago's lust for revenge is embedded in me.
You gave me th book at that pub in Whitehaven when we were on tour. Do you remember we sat there listenging to Kate Bush singing Wuthering Heights again and again.Yes we wer in the 70s then condemned to look on the 60s it was Paul McCartney and Wings instead of the exotica of the Marshise, Ravi Shankar and sitars All you said to me was 'take it, read it, it is fine' that's what my Dad thinks too
well, it is not fine, every relationship in the Brontes oeuvre is sado mascohcistic. I could help your Dad, the sisters reached back in their fiction to Gothic romance and fairy tale, whose magical devices could be used to unpick problems that resisted realist solutions. If you can’t get Jane back to Rochester in a convincing way, you can always have her hear his plaintive cry on the wind. And if mad Bertha stands in the way of their union, you can topple her from the burning rooftop in an agreeably sadistic Gothic cameo. The rage that makes a character take a poker to a child is also released to maim, blind and disfigure Rochester, who has dared to tempt Jane into a social and moral wilderness. But the disfiguring also evens up the power balance between the two, and even puts the heroine on top. Charlotte’s novels are adept at having things both ways, allowing her heroines to fulfil their desire I really could...with the interpretation
"You have got a fine cheej...you really have, Who do you think you are...and don't mention my Dad again or I will smash yo over the head with that piece of wood."
You see, I have engendered something, haven't I, that threat of violence is very Heathcliffean.
"You are just an upstart...a fucking upstart, to bring my father into the converdation."
"I am not an upstart, I am not arriviste, or a parvenu, but I am like Heathcliffe nouveau riche."
Look Lettiais why don't you just have word with your Dad about me playing Heathcliffe. It could be a novel piece of casting someone totall new to the 'business'
is cast as ...yes...that famous ex athlete will bring his pugnacious ualities to...
aural toilet...
Look I was born to a very working class family in fairly abject poverty in Dublin, I am not as was Heathcliffe one of the 'gens de voyage' tribes but because of my impoverished upbringing it would be very easy to assimilate someone from an early age who was that deprivd and was hounded from 'home' to home in their brightly paimted Caravan. Indeed my mothers 'lost' me one day in O Connel Street in Dulbin andforever since the thought has pinged my brain, liek some flight recorder, what if? what if ? she had never found me. I too could have been a Heathcliffe, an orphan.
"Well, thank you for that. Interesting, Look, we will let you know. Thank for coming along."
"Oh fuck it. Fuck it. I didn't get it!
So I have all the attributes, so wouldnt Bosco suggest it to her? She looked wonderful. She wasn't as classically beautiful as others and was well aware of it too.
Last night he had taken her to a fashionable restaurant near Harrods in Knighstbridge. across the room were a duo of American golfing icons accompanied by a young woman of exuisite beauty. Latetia was full of it afterwards, "..look I could never match up to someone like that, "..but you have all these adoring fans from the televison thing,"
"I know my looks I am realistic about them."
They had come to the end of the Green. "What do you want to do till seven?"
"Where's you car?"
"Over there."
"We could go back to your place."
They were stalled in traffic at Hammersmith and their acting riffs in American accents, continued. Bosco was a very talented mimic.
"You, what you. You, you."
When their laughter subsided
Bosco reclled now standing in that flat in Clapham where he gone to negotiate with the two of the acitng company who were carpet fitters when not 'in work' which ran into years rather than months since those three years of preperation at the Guidlhall school of Drama and Speech;' So he stood bemused with a wan smile on his face as Vince ranted and railed in his Healthliffe moment.
"You , she chose you, what you, you! you!" Bosco who had been discretion itself about the affair had now thought after a month since the tour ended that it was time to tell the other actors, This had brought about the Duke's rage, his stupified incomprehension that she would choose any one but him, and 'him' just starting out in the business with his two or three lines as Curio. The prevailing view is that actors are regarded, en general, as being a sensitive bunch, but this sensiivigy like most is splayed mostly onto their own feelings and not onto others, but even this band of merry players were embarrassed in the extreme by this outburst by one of their fellows.
"You! You! she chose you!" This was Heathcliffe par excellence, if he could only do this in front of the television cameras, but he couldn't for 'real' life was different
than stading in that mocked up studio in that precious University, where he had majored in drama and minored in eh... drama and being discouraged and hissed at by epicene nonenties had left its mark. Vincent Moizeralla was not Marlon Brando on a hot tin roof.
Vince's hell hath no fury like tirade, subsided to a general embarrassment
and Bosco thought it diplomatically best to continue with the Carpet Company part of the acting troupe to arrange for them to come over to Barnes to give him a price for the carpeting. Like Heaathcliffe, Bosco was monied. But the family money would soon run out for he had made his choice to forego it. In another one of his graniose naive decisions he had sold his shares in the family business for a knockdown price
and set of to sail new waters on HMS naive
By the time Vince, came round to thinking that he should apologise to that very self contained person who had stolen from under his ducal now, Bosco was roaring across Clapham Common heading to exclusive Barnes, the domicile of axctor who had really 'made it'. You would have to have been the star of many television series to buy a house in Barnes. She woud be waitng there for him with her young brother and his girlfriend. "Can they" she discretly tugged at his sleeve urging him. So he said, 'yes' your wish is my command, she sulked a bit at his response, till Bosco, driven to magnamity by her said to the teenage couple, "We are just going for a walk down to the river make yourself at home, we will be back in an hour or so."
They shortcutted down an alleyway to get to the river, that dirty old river must you keep rolling? Thames where you could watch the river meander by in all its knowingness and certainty. and also have the annual privilege of a prime position for the annyual Oxford Cambrdige Boat Race. Boso was silent thinking of the young couple, ah well, let them enjoy themselves better than a lampsot or up against a wall
in a Streatham alley way as was my teenage experience.
He looked at her walking ahed of him the sway of her hips. She had a hold of him
she had grabbed his heart, he didn't like his new house being used as a cat house but she ruled now. After all h was in Barnes becuase of her. "Every one at the 'Beeb' lives in Barnes' she would attest. Why live here in Battersea, it's dirty and grimy."
Bosco felt that he was more Heathcliffe than any of them, But he would not have the temerity to suggest to this influential person who walked beside him now and who had disclosed her very essence, her most secret of secret desires, to him in their torried passion, For some things you just dont say to a well brought up girl in England, like what about you suggesting me to your father as Heathcliffe. I mean I am more Heathcliffe than any of them. I mean I may have been refomed by the Pissaro woman but I am still, au fond a rake, I still simmer with violence which is this side of gratuitious when goaded, There is sizable element of cruelty in me. At times I can be curt and rude, I like swearing the Norse plosives, like fucking bullets of the tongue, give me great satisfaction. And you have witnessed I can be explosive at times. As to Heathcliffee type murderous revenge, well, I am not a derganed epistemogist, ie I don't assess the knowledge that I have actually been hurt or humilaited and then stealthily enact revenege,The revenger, the person who is determined to get his own back, has to be a skilled (and deranged) epistemologist; for he/she deals in evidence and prediction. Revenge is essentially aesthetic because it has to be composed, staged and performed. For the plot to ‘work’, it has to be thought out, and so it entails both deferring gratification and a certain conscientiousness. And all this makes it a disturbing commentary on – or parody of – many of our most cherished values. I understand that psychology in Heathcliffe, I am not Hamet like 'Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. What I am doing now ito you Letetia is whore like unpacking my herat with words. that I am idelal for Heathcliffe I was brong to play him. Didn't I play Iago at RADA and did with admirable intensity was Robert's and Geoffs view. Iago's lust for revenge is embedded in me.
You gave me th book at that pub in Whitehaven when we were on tour. Do you remember we sat there listenging to Kate Bush singing Wuthering Heights again and again.Yes we wer in the 70s then condemned to look on the 60s it was Paul McCartney and Wings instead of the exotica of the Marshise, Ravi Shankar and sitars All you said to me was 'take it, read it, it is fine' that's what my Dad thinks too
well, it is not fine, every relationship in the Brontes oeuvre is sado mascohcistic. I could help your Dad, the sisters reached back in their fiction to Gothic romance and fairy tale, whose magical devices could be used to unpick problems that resisted realist solutions. If you can’t get Jane back to Rochester in a convincing way, you can always have her hear his plaintive cry on the wind. And if mad Bertha stands in the way of their union, you can topple her from the burning rooftop in an agreeably sadistic Gothic cameo. The rage that makes a character take a poker to a child is also released to maim, blind and disfigure Rochester, who has dared to tempt Jane into a social and moral wilderness. But the disfiguring also evens up the power balance between the two, and even puts the heroine on top. Charlotte’s novels are adept at having things both ways, allowing her heroines to fulfil their desire I really could...with the interpretation
"You have got a fine cheej...you really have, Who do you think you are...and don't mention my Dad again or I will smash yo over the head with that piece of wood."
You see, I have engendered something, haven't I, that threat of violence is very Heathcliffean.
"You are just an upstart...a fucking upstart, to bring my father into the converdation."
"I am not an upstart, I am not arriviste, or a parvenu, but I am like Heathcliffe nouveau riche."
Look Lettiais why don't you just have word with your Dad about me playing Heathcliffe. It could be a novel piece of casting someone totall new to the 'business'
is cast as ...yes...that famous ex athlete will bring his pugnacious ualities to...
aural toilet...
Look I was born to a very working class family in fairly abject poverty in Dublin, I am not as was Heathcliffe one of the 'gens de voyage' tribes but because of my impoverished upbringing it would be very easy to assimilate someone from an early age who was that deprivd and was hounded from 'home' to home in their brightly paimted Caravan. Indeed my mothers 'lost' me one day in O Connel Street in Dulbin andforever since the thought has pinged my brain, liek some flight recorder, what if? what if ? she had never found me. I too could have been a Heathcliffe, an orphan.
"Well, thank you for that. Interesting, Look, we will let you know. Thank for coming along."
"Oh fuck it. Fuck it. I didn't get it!
So I have all the attributes, so wouldnt Bosco suggest it to her? She looked wonderful. She wasn't as classically beautiful as others and was well aware of it too.
Last night he had taken her to a fashionable restaurant near Harrods in Knighstbridge. across the room were a duo of American golfing icons accompanied by a young woman of exuisite beauty. Latetia was full of it afterwards, "..look I could never match up to someone like that, "..but you have all these adoring fans from the televison thing,"
"I know my looks I am realistic about them."
They had come to the end of the Green. "What do you want to do till seven?"
"Where's you car?"
"Over there."
"We could go back to your place."
They were stalled in traffic at Hammersmith and their acting riffs in American accents, continued. Bosco was a very talented mimic.
"You, what you. You, you."
When their laughter subsided
Bosco reclled now standing in that flat in Clapham where he gone to negotiate with the two of the acitng company who were carpet fitters when not 'in work' which ran into years rather than months since those three years of preperation at the Guidlhall school of Drama and Speech;' So he stood bemused with a wan smile on his face as Vince ranted and railed in his Healthliffe moment.
"You , she chose you, what you, you! you!" Bosco who had been discretion itself about the affair had now thought after a month since the tour ended that it was time to tell the other actors, This had brought about the Duke's rage, his stupified incomprehension that she would choose any one but him, and 'him' just starting out in the business with his two or three lines as Curio. The prevailing view is that actors are regarded, en general, as being a sensitive bunch, but this sensiivigy like most is splayed mostly onto their own feelings and not onto others, but even this band of merry players were embarrassed in the extreme by this outburst by one of their fellows.
"You! You! she chose you!" This was Heathcliffe par excellence, if he could only do this in front of the television cameras, but he couldn't for 'real' life was different
than stading in that mocked up studio in that precious University, where he had majored in drama and minored in eh... drama and being discouraged and hissed at by epicene nonenties had left its mark. Vincent Moizeralla was not Marlon Brando on a hot tin roof.
Vince's hell hath no fury like tirade, subsided to a general embarrassment
and Bosco thought it diplomatically best to continue with the Carpet Company part of the acting troupe to arrange for them to come over to Barnes to give him a price for the carpeting. Like Heaathcliffe, Bosco was monied. But the family money would soon run out for he had made his choice to forego it. In another one of his graniose naive decisions he had sold his shares in the family business for a knockdown price
and set of to sail new waters on HMS naive
By the time Vince, came round to thinking that he should apologise to that very self contained person who had stolen from under his ducal now, Bosco was roaring across Clapham Common heading to exclusive Barnes, the domicile of axctor who had really 'made it'. You would have to have been the star of many television series to buy a house in Barnes. She woud be waitng there for him with her young brother and his girlfriend. "Can they" she discretly tugged at his sleeve urging him. So he said, 'yes' your wish is my command, she sulked a bit at his response, till Bosco, driven to magnamity by her said to the teenage couple, "We are just going for a walk down to the river make yourself at home, we will be back in an hour or so."
They shortcutted down an alleyway to get to the river, that dirty old river must you keep rolling? Thames where you could watch the river meander by in all its knowingness and certainty. and also have the annual privilege of a prime position for the annyual Oxford Cambrdige Boat Race. Boso was silent thinking of the young couple, ah well, let them enjoy themselves better than a lampsot or up against a wall
in a Streatham alley way as was my teenage experience.
He looked at her walking ahed of him the sway of her hips. She had a hold of him
she had grabbed his heart, he didn't like his new house being used as a cat house but she ruled now. After all h was in Barnes becuase of her. "Every one at the 'Beeb' lives in Barnes' she would attest. Why live here in Battersea, it's dirty and grimy."
No comments:
Post a Comment