#Scott Le Crass

[unlimited-rice-puddin]

"Merboy" Review: Rich, searingly personal queer storytelling

I had such a wonderful time last night at the Omnibus Theatre, watching Merboy. A brilliant piece of queer theatre, examining the true depths of shame and its pervasive effect within the community, Merboy is cleverly written and stunningly performed. ★★★★

Writer Liam Sesay uses a variety of storytelling modes to craft an affecting, nuanced depiction of the queer experience using The Little Mermaid as a narrative anchor (more…) “”

[literallygeeway]

intro post!!

name: just call me caleb

age: dont wanna disclose but i am a minor so please dont be weird!!

pronouns: he/they idk

gender: kind of just unlabeled rn it hurts my head too much to think about

sexuality: also unlabeled. i kind of just like anyone in any way it doesnt really matter idk (but i have a beautiful beautiful gf :3)

favourite artist: my chemical romance!!!

other favourite artists: bikini kill, mommy long legs, mitski, bratmobile, cat valley, hell baby, dazey and the scouts, wet leg, skinny girl diet, the muslims, voodoo church, crass, chumbawamba

other artists i just generally like (yes i love music): sonic youth, le tigre, the julie ruin, pierce the veil, x-ray spex, pleasure venom, olivia jean, necromancy, catholic spit, picture me broken

hobbies: music (i can play bass, guitar, drums and piano), writing, photography, filmmaking, cinematography, drawing, making bracelets (though i need to do it more often)

some other stuff i like also includes: heathers the musical (off broadway) (its the only musical i really like), studio ghibli, the sims 4, omori, undertale, deltarune, stardew valley, ddlc, mouthwashing, doctor who, the umbrella academy, the owl house, bojack horseman, adventure time and scott pilgrim (the tv show, movie and game - i havent read the graphic novel but want to)

more stuff under the cut - dni, fun facts and some more stuff :3

fun facts!!!

my favourite colour is dark red

my favourite food is sushi

im learning japanese and french

my favourite movies are parasite, everything everywhere all at once and isle of dogs!! my favourite tv shows are i am not okay with this and the end of the f***ing world

i love wes anderson movies!!

i had two fish called flamey and sir bubbles the fishington when i was younger but they both died so i flushed them down the toilet

i collect bottles and cans (mainly ramune bottles and one cool can but still), funko pops (i have two gerard way funko pops - the black parade with the facepaint and revenge red tie) and vinyls (mcr, mitski, bikini kill, the muslims and wet leg)

dni!!!

basic dni like homophobic, transphobic, ableist, racist, pro-isreal, islamophobic, etc

mcr haters!! /hj

shipping irl people unless its a joke

transmeds and terfs

people who think trans men cant present femininely and trans women cant present masculinely (im a trans-ish guy who wears skirts sometimes so suck my toe)

people who unironically think gerard way is a trans woman... guys he's said they use he/they pronouns and if he was a trans woman he would probably say something!!

please interact!!

mcr fans

riot grrrl fans (not problematic)

alternative people!!! (emo, punk, goth, scene, decora, etc)

just cool people in general :3

other stuff:

no need to use tonetags with me, dont worry about it

i use !!! and :3 and stuff like that a lot, and i also swear more than the average human should

im alternative but dont have a specific label as i dress in a mix of ways and listen to many different genres of music :3

on here i'm mainly gonna post about mcr, so if you dont like them you probably wont like most of the stuff i post :<

i will probably edit this as i think of more stuff to add and as my interests change but yeah <3

pinterest: literallygeeway

instagram: killj0ysneverd1e (i only use it to look at mikey way and frank iero's stories)

fav user: @darkermylovex (go follow her rn she is awesome!!)

I DID NOT MAKE THE PNG THAT APPEARED EARLIER!!

fav songs currently:

okay thats all, have a great day, bye bye :3!!!!

[theohonohan]

...and he built a crooked house

Barnabas Calder’s book Raw Concrete deals with the brutalist architecture of substantial British buildings of the 60s and 70s—housing and other institutional buildings, for the most part. But it starts with a description of the author’s pilgrimage to Hermit’s Castle, near Achmelvich on the Atlantic Coast of the Scottish highlands. Built in 1955 by an unknown young architect called David Scott, with his own hands, the so-called castle is a perplexing example with which to start the book. Expressive and irrational, it exists outside of the canon of architecture, and can be seen as a raw exercise of the young architect’s causal powers, uncontaminated by considerations of prestige or professional acceptance. No divine inspiration or sacred purpose appears to have been behind the construction: he built it over a period of six months, and then immediately left the area for good. We don’t know whether he considered the concrete structure to be an achievement or a failure. It seems that he was somehow possessed with a mania for concrete, and built, concerned with the process rather than product, drawing all of his materials (except for Portland cement) and possibly his inspiration from the barren landscape. Solitude, monomania, the monolithic in-situ mixing, pouring, dripping, concrete event: this is closer to fetishistic sculpture than it is to architecture. As Vasari put it, an artist can be distinguished by invention “facile and peculiar to himself”. Scott’s personal folly contained only space for one person; once he departed, it became redundant. There is a crassness to this gesture of leaving behind a pile of useless concrete for others to deal with. 

It seems fair to disqualify Hermit’s Castle from the category of architecture because it lacks organisation; perhaps it is inhabitable (though I am not sure how well the fireplace functions) but it lacks the coherence and consistency that are essential to all architecture. It was neither consecrated as some kind of hermitage nor sanctioned as a real dwelling; although, as Calder observes, its function is absolutely fixed by the solidity of its concrete walls, it is not dedicated to any purpose. In the history of brutalist architecture, the problematic adjective “bloody-minded” recurs. The notion that the architect is being awkward, obdurate, and producing buildings that reflect the same mood, has never seemed accurate to me. Though the (in my opinion bad) brutalist architect Owen Luder claimed to believe that his buildings could speak, they would say “sod you”, this seems to compound the misunderstanding that the term brutalism caused. As Calder records, Denys Lasdun (a much better architect) was unhappy with the label brutalist. His buildings seem to me instead to reflect a cosmopolitan broadmindedness—hardwearing, perhaps, but cultured and democratic. Brutalism names a felt desire to épater les bourgeois, 'a brick-bat flung in the public's face’ (Reyner Banham) but the intention was to open minds and make an architecture worthy of the circumstances in which it was created. It is difficult to look at the Hermit’s Castle and detect any political affiliation inscribed in its constructional details. It is painterly, perhaps casual, “informal” like the art of the time, but ultimately just one man’s self-expression.

T.H. White wrote a book for children called The Master, which was  published in 1957. It describes the operations of the titular proto-Bond-supervillain, who has hollowed out the islet of Rockall, far out in the Atlantic. His plan for world domination is to use sci-fi vibrator units pointing outward from Rockall to incapacitate the whole of Europe and America. It’s not a particularly good book, but it comes to mind for its combination of megalomania, remoteness, and the basic problem of creating inhabitable space in extremely inhospitable conditions. As in the case of Bond villains, the scale of the operation, and how it has been built up, is not fully explained. Did the Master have an architect?

The quiet, clean, warm and dry interior of his Rockall is an intriguing image. The rock has been crammed with equipment and accommodation, but remains disguised, like Tracy Island or any other classic Volcano Lair.

David Scott was not a villain, though he built a crooked house for himself. His labour in building the Hermit’s Castle was presumably not alienated from his own objective—he was working for himself on a project of his own devising. It must have been hard work, much more akin (obviously) to a building site than to the quiet cleanliness of an architect’s office. The brutalist impulse to build in an unsoftened, direct way must have something to do with the founding trauma of architecture. As soon as the profession of architect emerged, the two key places of the construction process, the building site and the drawing table, started to drift apart. The exaggeratedly rough and tough credentials of brutalism can be seen as attempt by architects to reclaim the immediacy of the building site—which is not so far away from what happened at Hermit’s Castle. But Hermit’s Castle is not a success story, and there is good reason to doubt the authenticity of the brutalist impulse. Calder describes the corruption and greed of developers the 70s. Brutalism claimed at first to be concerned with truth to materials, but evolved into a style like any other—a wasteful style and one that was imposed thoughtlessly. 

Perhaps the way to think about this is to consider whether it matters that David Scott’s concrete folly is robust; whether it is sincere. It may genuinely be these things, while still being an eyesore. It maybe an unimpeachably “straight shot” at elemental architecture that still misses its target. Like the brutalist buildings of the 60s and 70s, it falls into the category of relics, some beautiful, some grim, some adaptable, some unusable.

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, February 15 -- 2 of 6

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Page 6: Natalie Portman has smeared the line in the sand of her once-tight friendship with Julia Roberts by competing with her own range of lipsticks -- Julia looked upon her former Closer co-star as a younger sister and protege but now she's seeing her more as a crass copycat -- Natalie has always looked up to Julia and tried to emulate her but many see her new Dior line as a total copycat move -- Julia who has long been an brand ambassador for Lancome turned heads at the 2019 Oscars when her lips rocked the company's Le Lip Liner in Sheer Raspberry topped with Le Mademoiselle Shine gloss -- now Natalie is trying to outshine her pal by coating her kisses with Rouge Dior lipstick and various shades of red-hot scarlet and Natalie has watched how massive Julia's association with Lancome has been over the years with a focus on Julia's favorite lipstick shades and that's what they're trying to recreate at Dior and Natalie was willing to ditch the friendship by copying Julia then tell all their mutual friends to buy her Dior makeup products -- the direct affront to Julia is how they're selling this with Natalie smiling and laughing and approachable; they're stealing a page out of Julia's playbook and timing it to awards season and Natalie would love all her celebrity friends to wear her Dior makeup at these events like the Oscars and word has gotten back to Julia who stepping up her own selling game

Page 7: Winona Ryder is trying to save ex Johnny Depp's career by pushing a sequel to their cult hit Edward Scissorhands -- Winona feels Johnny was mercilessly dragged over the coals in his domestic abuse trial against former wife Amber Heard and Winona is not at all happy about where Johnny has found himself lately and the treatment he's gotten -- after being raked over the coals for her shoplifting arrest nearly 20 years ago she knows what he's going through but she fought her way back and now she's starring in a hugely popular TV show and making more money than she did in her movie heydey -- she wants the same for Johnny and unlike a lot of people in his life her caring for him doesn't come with strings attached -- Johnny and Winona began dating during the filming of Edward Scissorhands in 1990 and were engaged for several years before splitting up and she would do a sequel to Edward Scissorhands in a millisecond if Johnny was willing

* Lovestruck Kourtney Kardashian is playing with fire by hooking up with combustible musician Travis Barker and baby daddy Scott Disick is leading the parade of naysayers -- Travis is a sweet and talented guy but everybody is concerned because he's also a love 'em and leave 'em type and Scott doesn't want his ex to become another notch on Travis' belt -- Travis has broken a string of hearts since his marriage to Shanna Moakler ended in 2008 and since then he's run through relationships with Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Rihanna and Rita Ora -- Kourtney's started to fall for him in a big way but hearing Travis talk to his friends he seems to think of it as more of a friends-with-benefits situation

Page 8: Larry King went to his grave raging over his divorce payoff to his estranged wife Shawn but she'll get a huge chunk of his $50 million estate -- Shawn had negotiated to receive $33,000 a month in spousal support and a lump sum payment of $20,000 though their split wasn't finalized before Larry passed due to COVID-related complications -- Larry was not happy he had to pay Shawn so much money because he didn't come from money so it was important to him and money was a measure of success so he felt it was his own

Page 9: Radio shock jock Howard Stern claims a lusty Larry King once tried on move in on his then-girlfriend Beth Ostrosky -- the unsettling scene unfolded before the couple wed in 2008 and Howard was a guest on Larry's late-night CNN show -- Beth was left alone with Larry after his staff moved Howard to another room and Larry was being very flirtatious

(continued)

[snicole5087]

Kicked in the Sh*tter, Hope Theatre

#review of @thehopetheatre 's Kicked in the Sh*tter

5 Pounds Theatre’s presentation of Leon Fleming’s drama about two siblings manoeuvring the benefits system is a story that needs to be told but Fleming’s poor story means the issues get lost.

As someone who grew up with a single parent on benefits I am naturally cynical towards art telling this story. It is never my story and I get frustrated of how the system is presented, or more often than not…

[pubtheatres1]

London Pub Theatres Critics pick of best show 2016

Every December senior London Pub Theatre Critics choose their favourite shows of the year  

  Heather Jeffery, Editor

 Puccini’s LA BOHEME,

 Libretto by Adam Spreadbury-Maher & Becca Marriott - King’s Head Theatre (September)

 THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 adapted by Steven Canny & John Nicholson – Jack Studio Theatre (December)

 It’s a close call between these two:  

 La Boheme is directed by Adam Spreadbury-Maher whose work I thoroughly enjoy.  One of the things I love about the in-house productions at King’s Head is that they really have got the hang of using this smaller space to advantage.  The up-close and personal, is used to great effect.  It was rather special to enjoy an Opera brought into the 21st century and the performance put me on a real high.  

 The Hound of the Baskervilles at Jack Studio was directed impeccably by Kate Bannister.  It’s hilarious without ever going over the top.   Christmas shows masterminded by Kate Bannister and Karl Swinyard are to die for.  Karl designs amazing sets and the technical gizmos throughout really make it something special.  

 On this occasion, I choose La Boheme as my best show of 2016.

    Richard Braine

   ANTIGONE by Sophocles – The Hope Theatre (February)

 GERTRUDE – THE CRY by Howard Barker – Theatre N16 (June)

 I’ve been lucky enough to see some absolutely smashing productions in 2016. It would seem churlish to choose a favourite.  (“Richard, will you just stop waffling and choose”, said my Editor).

 In the end it was a very close call between Chris Hislop’s very fine production of “Gertrude- The Cry”, by Howard Barker, at the N16 in Balham and Matthew Parker’s equally mesmeric take on “Antigone”, by Sophocles, at the Hope Theatre in Islington. In the end I went for the latter.

 “Antigone” was written some two and half thousand years ago and yet Parker (in this thrilling adaptation by Brendan Murray) makes it viscerally contemporary. He is a Director who is going places.  Rachel Ryan, the set and costume designer, has a brilliant eye for both detail and the bigger picture. The lighting design of Tom Kitney and soundscape of Paul Freeman were simply a triumph.  The Acting was of the very highest order. Judi Dench said to me once, “if you have to give praise to an Actor Richard just choose one”. Well I shall give the accolades to LJ Reeves. She is simply an astonishing talent. And it seems quite fitting that she was superb in both “Gertrude” and “Antigone”.

    Sian Rowland

   CANCEL THE SUNSHINE by Chanelle Dusette - The Hope Theatre (March)

 Under the artistic direction of Matthew Parker, the Hope Theatre has played an absolute blinder this year.  The programming is diverse, the audiences vibrant and the tiny space in Islington changes its look more often than Lady Gaga.

 In March the stage was set as a messy bedroom for one woman show Cancel The Sunshine. Written by Chantelle Dusette it told the story of a young woman (stunningly and energetically played by Maya Thomas) who is dealing with mental health issues. For one person to command the stage the writing and acting had to be robust and this was genuinely edge of your seat stuff. The play was deftly directed by Scott le Crass who does a good line in one person plays (he also directed Offie-nominated Sid by Leon Fleming). He works closely with writer and actor to fine-tune the balance of the play and the result is a perfect blend of cerebral and physical.

 In a year where theatre-goers were stunned with work by Denise Gough, Billie Piper and Phoebe Waller-Bridge, our very own pub theatres showed that they are also packed to the rafters with remarkable talent.

     Dionne Farrell

  These came to mind as favourites of the year with Steel Magnolias as the best show.

 STEEL MAGNOLIAS by Robert Harling - Hope Theatre (August)

 All round brilliant production, from the set design, to the performances, to the direction, and the writing.

 THE MEMORY SHOW -  The Drayton Arms, (February)

 Honest and moving look at the affect Alzheimer's has on relationships which really resonated on an emotional level.

 Strong performances from both actresses, and great music.

 THE ONE by Vicky Jones - The Lion and Unicorn (September)

 Contemporary, challenging and intelligent play, authentic performances!

    Annie Power

  THE TWINS MACABRE: CRIME DOESN’T PLAY - The Old Red Lion Theatre (October)

 ‘Crime Doesn't Play’ is one of those rare shows where all the pieces fit. It had a little of everything – a mishmash of genres, clever plot, twists and surprises, character development, strong performances, imaginative staging and two actors gifted at adlibbing making any mistakes or audience cat calls part of the show and enriching the experience. A total joy from start to finish.

[shermann-isaak]

(Envoie les frères Scott là vas-y) “Give me my phone back!” | “I panicked, okay?!’ | “Oh how cute! You actually think I give a fuck” | “Listen to me, okay? We’re getting out of here, together” | I’m not gonna be here when she breaks your heart"

“Give me my phone back!”

Un large sourire déforme les traits de Isaak tandis qu’il maintient la porte de sa chambre fermée en s’appuyant dessus. Pour une fois que c’est lui qui peut faire chier son frère. Ce dernier est d’ailleurs en train de hurler du couloir et il ne peut que se délecter du vol qu’il vient de réaliser. Déverrouillant rapidement le téléphone, il se balade un peu sur les différentes applications jusqu’à ce que la notification d’un nouveau message se fasse entendre. Connor avait du l’entendre aussi au vu des menaces qu’il commence à proférer. “Je t’assure que si tu touches à quoique ce soit, je te tue de mes propres mains!”“T’as reçu un message d’Ephram.” Répond simplement le joueur, indifférent aux paroles de son frère. Ils seraient déjà tous les deux morts depuis longtemps s’ils devaient compter toutes les fois où ils se menaçaient mutuellement. Mais alors qu’il s’attendait à une nouvelle lancée d’insultes de la part de l’autre idiot derrière la porte, le garçon n’entend aucun bruit, même plus de coups sur le mur. Quelques secondes s’écoulent puis Isaak décide finalement d’ouvrir la porte, curieux. Connor semble énervé et prêt à lui faire payer, certes, mais aussi… Troublé? “J’savais pas que tu continuais de parler à un gars /après/ avoir couché avec.” Déclare alors Isaak, un sourcil relevé en signe d’interrogation. Mais le brun en face de lui se contente de récupérer son téléphone d’un geste brusque, lui lâchant un petit ‘ferme la‘ au passage. Il y a donc bien quelque chose à creuser de ce côté là.

“I panicked, okay?!’

“Tu as paniqué?” Répète frénétiquement le brun en constatant l’ampleur des dégâts. Pour une fois, il avait accepté que Connor prenne sa voiture pour aller faire il ne sait quoi. Et il lui avait passé les clefs avec cette fière impression d’être un bon frère, généreux, avec le cœur sur la main. Mais maintenant qu’il regarde sa voiture encastrée dans cet arbre, il a plutôt envie de décrocher sa tête et de s’en servir pour retaper la carrosserie. “Y avait un chat je l’avais pas vu, j’allais quand même pas l’écraser ce con!” Connor tente de se défendre comme il le peut mais il n’y a pas grand chose qu’il puisse dire qui calmerait le joueur à cet instant. “Et tu vas me dire que sur une route aussi simple y avait aucun moyen d’éviter le chat ET l’arbre? A combien tu roulais bordel?” Ses bras sont écartés en signe d’impuissance tandis qu’il essaye de prendre une grande inspiration pour se calmer. Ils ont peut être l’habitude de se faire des crasses mutuellement mais celle là, c’est inédit. “C’est toi qui paye le garage.” Finit-il par lâcher, la mâchoire toujours contractée mais résigné. Connor est définitivement le pire frère du monde.

“Oh how cute! You actually think I give a fuck”

L’humeur de Connor était massacrante depuis déjà quelques jours mais son attitude était carrément devenue insupportable depuis qu’il s’était levé ce matin. Et même si à l’heure actuelle Isaak essaye vraiment de ne pas s’énerver à son tour pour éviter d’envenimer les choses, cela commence à être vraiment difficile pour ses nerfs. Mais les cernes qui transparaissent sous les yeux de son frère le poussent à prendre sur lui et à essayer de comprendre pourquoi est-ce-qu’il est dans cet état, il a sa tête des mauvais jours. “C’est quoi le problème?” Demande-t-il finalement, d’une voix ferme mais posée, parce qu’il veut des réponses sans que Connor se sente agressé alors qu’il a déjà l’air à fleur de peau. Mais ce dernier ne semble pas se rendre compte des efforts du brun puisque il se contente de lever les yeux au ciel, et mon dieu, il déteste quand il fait ça. “T’es juste ennuyant, Isaak, c’est ça le problème. Faut pas t’étonner qu’on ait pas envie d’écouter tes histoires.” Et sans rien ajouter il se retourne pour partir en direction de sa chambre, non sans peine comme si il avait mal quelque part. Ce détail finit d’inquiéter réellement Isaak qui le rejoint en quelques pas pour lui bloquer la route. “Arrête ton cinéma. T’étais même pas là pour le repas hier soir, ta mère a pas arrêté de râler.” Il jette ensuite un coup d’oeil vers la jambe sur laquelle il ne semble pas vouloir s’appuyer. “Qu’est-ce-que tu t’es fais?” Il le questionne en revenant planter son regard dans celui de son frère, mais ce dernier en revanche n’a pas l’air enclin à soutenir le contact visuel. “Rien. Pousse toi de là.” Le ton du plus jeune des deux frères se fait dur même si il semble réellement en peine pour rester droit, sa respiration devenant plus pénible. Et il enchaîne devant le manque de réaction d’Isaak. “Pousse toi!” Cette fois le coup surprend Isaak qui se retrouve contre le mur tandis que son frère se dépêche de monter les escaliers derrière lui, le laissant totalement désorienté. La réaction de Connor lui semble totalement surréaliste, comme si quelque chose de majeur lui échappait totalement. 

“Listen to me, okay? We’re getting out of here, together”

Les yeux de Isaak peinent à s’ouvrir tandis qu’il entend la voix de son frère, il sait qu’il est à côté de lui parce qu’il sent son bras qui le soutient pourtant le son lui parait totalement éloigné. Ses pieds traînent presque sur le sol et il a la vague impression qu’un troupeau d’éléphants lui ait passé sur le crâne. Le jeune homme a déjà reçu des coups dans sa vie entre le sport et son tempérament mais jamais il ne s’était senti aussi mal, comme si tout son corps était cassé. Et la poigne de son frère lui parait d’autant plus forte qu’elle est la seule raison qui fait qu’il tient toujours debout. “Connor, qu’est-ce-que…” Il n’a pas le temps de finir sa phrase que le brun lui intime l’ordre de se taire, des silhouettes se dessinant face aux deux hommes. Connor marque un temps d’arrêt, sa respiration déjà haletante se faisant de plus en plus stressée. Qui ou plutôt quoi que soient ces… choses, ça n’avait pas l’air de le rassurer. “Tu ne bouges pas avant que je revienne te chercher, compris?” Déclare-t-il alors tandis qu’il le laisse glisser contre le mur le plus proche. Et la dernière chose qu’Isaak voit de son frère avant qu’il ne perde totalement conscience sont ses yeux qui deviennent jaunes, mélangeant confiance et crainte dans son esprit.

“I’m not gonna be here when she breaks your heart"

Connor hausse un sourcils en soupirant. Son ton est peut être sec mais Isaak sait qu’en réalité il ne lui dit ça que parce qu’il s’inquiète pour lui. Tout comme il sait que malgré sa remarque il ne le laissera pas tomber en cas de coup dur. Lorsque Isaak et Pandora étaient encore ensemble, ils passaient pas mal de temps tous les trois, même si c’était principalement parce que Connor se faisait un plaisir de leur gâcher leurs moments romantiques. Mais cela lui avait permis de voir combien Isaak se sentait bien dans cette relation, et il avait aussi vu dans quel état il était /après/ cette relation. “Peut être que tu devrais juste laisser tomber.” Reprend alors le plus jeune. Les deux frères se regardent l’espace de quelques secondes puis Isaak baisse la tête, conscient que son frère n’a pas tort. Etant donné la façon dont il a fait foiré leur relation en beauté il devrait déjà s’estimer heureux que Pandora accepte de lui parler. Mais c’est peut être pire, c’était facile de se croire détaché quand ils n’avaient plus aucun contact, mais maintenant il ne peut s’empêcher d’espérer plus. C’est idiot, et dans le fond il sait très bien que la belle blonde a surement tourné la page depuis longtemps et qu’elle a eu raison de le faire. Il y a bien une raison pour laquelle il avait été incapable de bien faire les choses avec elle. “Ouais, t’as surement raison.” Un léger rire s’échappe des lèvres de Connor. “Tu dois vraiment être dans un sale état pour me dire que j’ai raison.” Il se lève, enfilant au passage sa veste qui traînait sur le lit de son frère. Signe évident de sa tendance à investir les lieux. “Allez viens, on va boire une bière.” Et même si il le fait chier 98% du temps, le joueur doit bien avouer que retrouver son frère lui fait du bien. Ses mauvaises blagues lui changeront les idées au moins.

[reseau-actu]

En s'immergeant dans les milieux populaires de la capitale, Eric Blair devient écrivain et George Orwell commence sa carrière…

On cherchera en vain la rue du Coq-d'Or sur un plan de Paris. Cette adresse imaginaire est inspirée de la rue du Pot-de-Fer, dans le Ve arrondissement, où vit George Orwell en 1928. «C'était une rue très étroite, une sorte de gorge encaissée entre de hautes maisons aux façades lépreuses figées dans de bizarres attitudes penchées, comme si le temps s'était arrêté au moment précis où elles allaient s'abattre les unes sur les autres», écrit-il dans le livre qu'il tire de ses années parisiennes, Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres.

Il loge à l'Hôtel des Trois Moineaux, «une sorte de taupinière sombre et délabrée, abritant, sur cinq étages, quarante chambres délimitées par des cloisons de bois […], minuscules et irrémédiablement vouées à la saleté, car tout le personnel se limitait à la patronne, Madame F., qui avait d'autres chats à fouetter que de donner un coup de balai». Pas de trace non plus aujourd'hui de ce charmant établissement. La rue du Pot-de-Fer est à présent une ruelle touristique aux façades immaculées et aux pavés impeccables, bordée par les terrasses d'une douzaine de cafés, bars à bière, restaurants français ou japonais. Au no 6, à la place de l'hôtel et du bistrot sordide aux tables maculées où Orwell boit du gros rouge avec des ouvriers, se trouve un bar à narguilé, le Planet-chicha.com, où des jeunes gens en tee-shirt fument en terrasse, penchés sur leurs téléphones portables.

Pour Orwell, Paris n'est pas une fête. Il vit chichement de ses quelques économies en donnant des cours d'anglais

En 1928, le quartier de la Contrescarpe est encore un quartier populaire, où s'entasse dans des meublés insalubres un petit peuple de «cordonniers, maçons, tailleurs de pierre, terrassiers, étudiants, prostituées, chiffonniers». George Orwell s'appelle encore Eric Blair. Il est rentré quelques mois plus tôt de Birmanie, après avoir démissionné de la police coloniale. Il veut devenir écrivain, au grand désarroi de sa famille. Paris est à l'époque la destination favorite des jeunes auteurs anglais et américains. Hemingway a vécu quelques années plus tôt dans le même quartier, rue du Cardinal-Lemoine, ainsi que James Joyce, qu'Orwell aperçoit un jour à une terrasse. Francis Scott Fitzgerald vit rue de Vaugirard. Henry Miller arrive deux ans plus tard.

Mais Orwell/Blair ne fréquente pas ces joyeux expatriés. Pour lui, Paris n'est pas une fête. Il vit chichement de ses quelques économies en donnant des cours d'anglais. Il écrit aussi ses premiers articles en français, dans des revues parisiennes, Le Progrès civique, et dans Monde, à l'époque une revue intello-chic communiste dirigée par Henri Barbusse, qu'il signe de son propre nom, E.A. Blair.

Plongeur dans un hôtel

Décidé à expérimenter lui-même les conditions de vie des pauvres, il a commencé à se déguiser en clochard. Vêtu de vieux vêtements sales, il a dormi dans des asiles de nuit en Angleterre. Mais à Paris, l'expérience sociologique devient soudain réalité lorsque son petit pécule est volé par un locataire malhonnête (ou bien par une grisette, selon certains biographes). Orwell se retrouve tout à coup dans le dénuement le plus complet. Il est d'abord contraint de mettre en gage ses vêtements. Puis, ses derniers francs dépensés, il doit quitter son hôtel et se retrouve à la rue. Il dort sur un banc, ramasse les mégots, jusqu'à ce que la faim le contraigne à trouver du travail, n'importe lequel.

Il est embauché comme plongeur dans les cuisines de l'«Hôtel X», un grand hôtel de la rue de Rivoli (qui pourrait avoir été, selon les sources, l'Hôtel Crillon ou bien l'Hôtel Lotti). Cet emploi non qualifié, aujourd'hui fréquemment occupé par des immigrants récents dans la plupart des restaurants parisiens, est un labeur éreintant. La description des arrière-cuisines de l'Hôtel X figure parmi les meilleurs passages du livre. Dans une chaleur étouffante s'activent frénétiquement cuisiniers, garçons, plongeurs. L'hygiène des lieux et des employés est assez approximative. «Dès qu'on s'aventurait dans les locaux de service, on était frappé par la saleté repoussante qui y régnait […], dans les cuisines, la saleté était encore plus criante.» C'est encore pire lorsqu'il est ensuite engagé dans un petit restaurant faussement traditionnel tenu par un escroc, L'Auberge de Jehan Cottard. Les cuisines sont d'une saleté encore plus repoussante. La poubelle déborde et le sol est couvert de déchets alimentaires. Orwell a touché le fond. «Le plongeur est l'un des esclaves du monde moderne, écrit-il. Le travail qu'il effectue est servile et sans art… On ne le paye que juste ce qu'il faut pour le maintenir en vie. Ses seuls congés, il les connaît quand on le fiche à la porte.»

«Ce qui est remarquable chez lui, c'est qu'il a la grande honnêteté de s'interroger sur sa méthode ; il admet d'ailleurs qu'on ne résout pas les problèmes sociaux en fraternisant avec les clochards»

Son séjour parisien s'achève à la fin de l'année 1929 quand on lui propose de garder en Angleterre un enfant handicapé mental. Mais à son retour à Londres, le poste promis n'existe plus. Le voici de nouveau à la rue. Il dort dans des hospices publics ou privés, dont il décrit par le détail la crasse, l'horrible promiscuité avec des corps sales. Avec des compagnons d'infortune, il arpente la ville, ses chaussures trouées comme le vagabond de Charlie Chaplin. Forcé d'assister aux offices religieux d'organisations charitables pour obtenir un repas gratuit, Orwell fait l'expérience de la rancœur que suscite cette assistance. «L'homme à qui l'on fait la charité nourrit quasi invariablement une haine féroce à l'égard de son bienfaiteur, écrit-il. Je tiens à souligner deux ou trois choses que m'a définitivement enseignées mon expérience de la pauvreté. Jamais plus je ne considérerai tous les vagabonds comme des vauriens et des ivrognes, jamais plus je ne m'attendrai à ce qu'un mendiant me témoigne sa gratitude lorsque je lui aurai glissé une pièce, jamais plus je ne m'étonnerai que les chômeurs manquent d'énergie.»

En immersion

Dans la dèche est resté l'un des exemples les plus fameux de la technique de l'immersion, consistant pour un journaliste à partager les mêmes conditions de vie que les sujets de son enquête. Orwell n'est pas le premier à recourir à ce procédé. Henry Mayhew, journaliste britannique de l'époque victorienne, a publié une série de reportages restée célèbre sur les travailleurs et les pauvres de Londres. Aux États-Unis, une jeune reporter intrépide, Nellie Bly, se fait enfermer en 1887 dans un asile psychiatrique pour écrire un livre. Au début du XXe siècle, Jack London se déguise en vagabond dans l'East End de Londres, expérience dont il tire Le Peuple de l'abîme.

La méthode a continué à faire des émules. Dans les années 1980, le journaliste allemand Günter Wallraf se fait passer pour un ouvrier turc afin de rendre compte à la première personne des conditions de vie des immigrés (Tête de Turc).

Mais Orwell va au-delà de la simple enquête de terrain. Il tire de chaque expérience des réflexions personnelles qui ajoutent à la force du récit. «Il est impossible de ne pas penser à lui quand on entreprend ce genre de reportage», dit Florence Aubenas, qui a passé plusieurs mois comme femme de ménage à nettoyer des ferries pour écrire Le Quai de Ouistreham, paru en 2010. «Ce qui est remarquable chez lui, c'est qu'il a la grande honnêteté de s'interroger sur sa méthode ; il admet d'ailleurs qu'on ne résout pas les problèmes sociaux en fraternisant avec les clochards. C'est sans doute la plus grande leçon: on ne défend pas les gens malgré eux.»

Par égard pour sa famille, Blair veut publier l'ouvrage sous pseudonyme. Il en propose plusieurs : Kenneth Miles, Lewis Allways, George Orwell. C'est ce dernier nom, tiré de celui d'une petite rivière du Suffolk, qui est retenu par Gollancz

Ben Judah, journaliste britannique, auteur d'une longue enquête-reportage sur Londres, This Is London, dans laquelle il côtoie les nouveaux pauvres et les immigrés venus du monde entier, fait des éloges plus circonspects. «On ne peut pas ne pas être inspiré par Orwell, reconnaît-il. Mais j'ai essayé de ne pas refaire ce qu'il fait. Je me suis notamment efforcé de faire parler les gens au lieu de parler à leur place, et de ne pas porter de jugement ou de tirer de conclusions, ce qu'il fait systématiquement.»

S'ajoute chez Orwell une tentative presque masochiste pour dépasser ses propres préjugés et briser la barrière de classe sociale, sans toujours y parvenir. Dans l'un de ses récits, il tente de se faire arrêter pour ivrognerie, avant qu'un policier, repérant en lui l'ancien élève d'Eton, lui dise gentiment de rentrer chez lui.

Au début des années 1930, Orwell finit par retourner vivre auprès de sa famille pour se lancer dans l'écriture. Intitulé Journal d'un plongeur, le manuscrit est d'abord refusé par le dramaturge T.S. Eliot, qui critique le manque de structure entre les parties parisiennes et londoniennes. Il finit par intéresser l'éditeur de gauche Victor Gollancz. Par égard pour sa famille, Blair-Orwell veut publier l'ouvrage sous pseudonyme. Il en propose plusieurs: Kenneth Miles, Lewis Allways, George Orwell. C'est ce dernier nom, tiré de celui d'une petite rivière du Suffolk, qui est retenu par Gollancz. «Ainsi naquit George Orwell, écrit son biographe, Bernard Crick, et heureusement pas Lewis Allways.» Le titre sera finalement Dans la dèche à Paris et à Londres. À sa parution, le livre remporte un petit succès d'estime. Eric Blair est devenu écrivain. La carrière de George Orwell commence.

[klstheword]

When a crass money-grab sequel like “A Bad Moms Christmas” is what passes for yuletide cheer these days, a slightly old-fashioned yet sprightly bough of holly like “The Man Who Invented Christmas” can’t help but warm the cockles of a moviegoer’s heart.

You might beg off upon learning that this is little more than a glorified retelling of “A Christmas Carol,” the cinematic evergreen that, ever since the silent era, has attracted talents ranging from Alistair Sim to George C. Scott, in the role of miser Ebenezer Scrooge. Although Sim’s 1951 effort remains the gold standard, there are also watchable versions featuring Mr. Magoo, Yosemite Sam and the Muppets.

Directed by Indian-born Bharat Nalluri, this highly theatrical “Christmas Carol” has a clever twist: It reveals the whirlwind writing process that Charles Dickens went through, over the course of six weeks, to produce his 1843 novella in time for the holiday. Inspired by historian Les Standiford’s 2008 book “The Man Who Invented Christmas: How Charles Dickens’s ‘A Christmas Carol’ Rescued His Career and Revived Our Holiday Spirits,” screenwriter Susan Coyne depicts the popular, 31-year-old author as mired in a creative crisis. Introduced during a visit to New York City as “the Shakespeare of the novel,” Dickens saw his next three volumes declared failures. As the story gets underway, the father of four learns from his indulgent wife (Morfydd Clark) that a fifth little Dickens is on the way, even as he is growing deeper in debt from an ongoing home renovation project.

Desperate for an ember of an idea, he listens as his Irish housemaid (Anna Murphy), relates a folk tale about the awakening of spirits at Christmas — complete with eerie, keening sounds. That leads to the idea of a visitation by three ghosts representing Christmas past, present and future. Much like the movie “The Wizard of Oz,” where people from Dorothy’s life show up as characters in her dream of Oz, a frantic Dickens begins to cherry-pick characters based on chance encounters with real Londoners, from an ancient, wheezy waiter named Marley to his own disabled nephew, who becomes the ever cheerful Tiny Tim.

God has blessed us, every one, with Dan Stevens, who inhabits the character of Dickens beautifully. As the British actor demonstrated in “Downton Abbey” — and in the role of the spellbound manimal in this year’s live-action “Beauty and the Beast” — Stevens’s beguiling blue eyes can signal, in a blink, a cavalcade of emotions. (They also help distract from his unfortunate pile of tragic-poet hair.)

As the man who would inspire the character of Scrooge — first spied at night in a cemetery attending a threadbare burial for his business partner, while uttering, “Bah, humbug!” — Christopher Plummer is well chosen. The skinflint materializes now and then to advise Dickens on storytelling and life choices, especially those involving the scribe’s shiftless though charming father. Jonathan Pryce is quite good in the role of a wastrel whose legal troubles forced a young Charlie to toil in a workhouse.

The film’s title perhaps oversells what Dickens achieved with “A Christmas Carol.” He is shown as an early adopter of the German tradition of decorating indoor trees (although Queen Victoria did it first). Nevertheless, during the Industrial Age, a time of both great wealth and dreadful poverty, the writer chose to not just deck the halls, but also to extol acts of charity, the spreading of good cheer, the forgiving of trespasses and, most of all, the possibility of redemption.

All are traits that remain, even in 2017, imminently re-giftable.

[theatredirectors]

Max Hunter

Hometown?

Bedford, NY. 

Where are you now?

Central Harlem, New York. 

What’s your current project?

The Bridge Production Group - of which I am the Artistic Director - is thrilled to present the United States premiere of Canadian playwright Guillaume Corbeil’s See You at The New Ohio Theatre, beginning September 4th! With a cast including Christina Toth (“Orange is the New Black”), See You examines how the nature of communication and interpersonal relationships has shifted as we have seamlessly integrated technology into our lives; the ability to curate and present a performed “self” to the world has warped the way that we - and the five friends that our play follows - build authentic connections to one another. Simultaneously a biting satire and scathing dissection of a generation, See You is written, designed, and performed to mirror the tools through which our characters access the larger world around them - can we keep the banality and darkness of life at an arm’s length, one Instagram post at a time? 

Why and how did you get into theatre?

My Mom and Dad took me to Les Miserables - I still remember the turntable rotating the barricade. Early middle school productions of Oklahoma and Music Man - I’ll never forget the feeling of the curtain rising after the overture on our makeshift train compartment. 

What’s your directing dream project?

Don’t laugh … but I have concept-heavy productions of Jesus Christ Superstar, Joseph....Technicolor Dream Coat and Rocky Horror all waiting in the wings. Until then, I’d love to bring one of The Bridge Production Group’s commissions and premieres to a larger nonprofit space in New York. 

What kind of theatre excites you?

Theatre is exciting when it breaks a rule or shatters a preconceived notion. When artists take liberties with familiar titles, there is room to excavate and discover. If a piece of theatre fails to surprise or innovate, an audience will sit back and tune out - the medium dies when it isn’t consciously and actively creating a dialogue with an audience. 

What do you want to change about theatre today?

This incessant desire to dump preexisting IP on stage without any thought to how the story can - and should - be told in a different medium reeks of laziness and crass commercialism. When thoughtfully constructed and packaged, artists like Alex Timbers, David Yazbek, David Cromer, and Ivo Van Hove can imbue familiar stories with a fresh sense of imagination and creativity … but more often than not, we get movie titles designed to open on Broadway, close in six months, and transfer to Germany or Japan. 

What is your opinion on getting a directing MFA? 

I don’t have an MFA, so what do I know? While one can’t put a price on fostering artistic communities and making business connections, there is a significant time and financial cost to this education. I know lots of people who have found success through the MFA pipeline … and even more who have not. Life is a crapshoot, so rent a theatre for a week and produce your own play. Put the work out and let it speak for itself. 

Who are your theatrical heroes? 

Hal Prince created his own work when no one would take a chance on him, producing his own plays and working several jobs to keep running costs low - a marriage of artistry and practicality. Scott Rudin regularly produces the most exciting theatre in New York, marrying commercial success with the old-school notion of employing a repertory group of artists - Joe Mantello and Laurie Metcalf rightfully deserve to be prominently featured in every Broadway season. Producing organizations like The Public Theatre and National Theatre of London spawn theatrical multiverses every night of the week and invest in their artists’ incubation and development. 

Any advice for directors just starting out? 

Know what you like and what you don’t, and work to create theatre in the vein of chasing the platonic ideal. If an idea comes too easily, it’s probably not fully-realized … talk it out and collaborate with designers and performers to massage and finesse the central point that excites you. Work with a playwright or composing team to develop an original idea, but make sure it serves a theatric purpose rather than simply add to the well-worn categories and aesthetics that exist and run rampant. 

Plugs!

Check out my website and Bridge Production Group:  www.maxhuntersite.com

https://www.bridgeproductiongroup.org/

Coming Up: 

Young Pilgrims by Sydney Blake (RAVE Festival, Clemente Arts Center; August 2019)

See You by Guillaume Corbeil - The New Ohio Theatre, NYC (US Premiere; September 2019)

King Lear, dir. Stephen Brown-Fried (Northern Stage, January 2020)

[thetheatrereviewer]

Never Trust a Man Bun! Written by Katherine Thomas and directed by Scott Le Crass, Never Trust a Man Bun is being staged at the Stockwell Playhouse!

[public-new-yahoopartner-blog]

Kris Jenner : Pour la fête des Pères, elle fait une belle crasse à Caitlyn !

Ils sont tous là, heureux, en compagnie de leurs enfants, souriants et attentionnés. Tous, sauf un. Pour la fête des Pères, Kris Jenner a tenu à rendre hommage aux membres de la famille qui ont le bonheur d’être père. La matriarche a partagé sur Instagram un montage de photos, montrant son fils Rob avec sa petite Dream, Kanye West et North en plein amusement, Scott Disick faisant un câlin à son fils, et même le regretté Robert Sr Kardashian en compagnie de ses trois filles Khloe, Kim et Kourtney. Un père de famille manque donc à l’appel : celui de Kylie et Kendall Jenner, Caitlyn ! Acte manqué ? Pas sûr, tant les relations entre Kris Jenner et son ancien mari sont tendues depuis les révélations explosives de l’ancien champion olympique dans son autobiographie The Secret of my Life. " À tous les pères qui aiment de façon inconditionnelle, qui ont mis leurs enfants avant tout, nous vous aimons " a mentionné Kris Jenner. Caitlyn appréciera.  To all the fathers out there who love unconditionally, who put their children first above all, we love you!! To my son, Rob, on your first Father's Day... I am so so proud of you!! I've watched you grow into the most loving, caring father to our precious angel, Dream. Your father would be so proud of you. I love you and I'm proud of you Kanye and Scott. You amaze me every single day and all of my grandchildren are so very blessed to have all of you as fathers. To all the amazing dads out there, Happy Father's Day!!! #FathersDay Une publ... Retrouvez cet article sur Public

Photos : Kim Kardashian, David Beckham, Alizée... une fête des pères sur Instagram !

Photos : Kendall Jenner : éblouissante, elle fait fondre les spectateurs d'un match de polo !

Photos : Beyoncé, Rihanna... Les stars et leurs pères

Photos : Kelly Rowland : Elle fait monter la température avec un joli décolleté pour The Voice Australie

Public Royalty : La Reine Rania en mode selfie pour la fête d'indépendance de la Jordanie !

[fabzefab]

★★★            

« Il se résignait parfois à penser qu’il ne sortirait jamais vivant de cette cave, que ces heures d’enfer seraient les dernières qu’il passerait dans ce monde, des heures qui lui feraient peu à peu oublier tous les moments de joie qu’il avait connus jusque-là.

Mais alors il les rejoindrait, eux qui avaient suivi le même chemin, ses compagnon de souffrance, tous partis trop tôt et qui devaient déjà l’attendre de l’autre côté.

Il retrouverait Nathan. »

Jérémy Fel, Editions Payot & Rivages, 2015, 410p, 8,80€

C’est un recueil de nouvelles, 13 exactement, que Jérémy Fel a transformé en roman, son premier, en reliant habilement et avec un sens inné de la narration sérielle, les différents personnages que l’on croise au fil des pages de ce livre aussi intense que prenant.

C’est parce que tout commence à la fin des années 70 avec l’incendie d’une maison dans la campagne américaine que la vie de Mary Beth sera bouleversée trente ans plus tard, que Duane va croiser le chemin de Scott, que Damien, fasciné par les recherches de Claire, va vriller et assurer plus tard la relève de Walter, bref, Jérémy Fel part d’un acte fondateur, une maison qui brûle avec ses occupants encore à l’intérieur pour se lancer dans une sorte de récit feuilletonnant avec pour fil rouge le mal, le mal à l’état pur, pas celui qui hante les nombreux cauchemars que font les personnages, peuplés de monstres cannibales et de choses indicibles cachées dans les armoires, non, le mal, le vrai, celui qui sommeille dans les tréfonds de l’âme humaine, ce trou noir sans fond ni espoir qu’explore le romancier à travers différents destins qui tous, ont la violence pour point commun.

Une violence crasse, sordide, extrêmement graphique, qu’un style visuel, très inspiré du King, rend souvent difficile à lire, mais une violence qui évite soigneusement la complaisance et le gratuit. Une violence qui nous éclabousse, nous salit, nous opprime, mais dont on ne sort pas abattus, déprimés, ni fatigués.

Il faut aimer quelqu’un pour pouvoir en tirer le portrait le plus négatif et Jérémy Fel aime profondément l’humanité, ça se sent, ça se lit, même quand il nous plonge dans l’enfer d’une cave où l’on viole et torture des adolescents, il reste dans ses écrits une lueur, celle de l’amour, et à cette lueur, on parvient à s’accrocher, malgré les scènes hardcore, malgré le sang, les exactions, le sadisme et le nihilisme absolu de certains protagonistes. On s’y accroche et on fait bien. Jérémy Fel nous récompense in fine en nous offrant une conclusion qui, après nous avoir fait passer par l’une des scènes les plus dures et les plus infâmes qu’il m’ait été donné de lire, semble nous promettre qu’en dépit de ce mal qui ronge l’être humain, qui se répète et se répètera toujours, l’avenir mérite que l’on continue d’y croire.

Parce qu’il y aussi de la beauté en ce monde. Elle est pas facile à voir, encore moins à trouver. Mais elle est là, quelque part, derrière ce lourd rideau rouge sang.

Tous les personnages sont magnifiquement écrits. Fel parvient à nous attacher à chacun d’eux même si certains, on ne les croise que brièvement. Il pousse même le vice à nous faire éprouver de l’empathie, voire de la sympathie, pour des êtres capables de commettre le pire. Et là, c’est un délicieux frisson de malaise amoral qui nous parcourt l’échine et rend la lecture d’autant plus excitante.

Quant aux personnages « valeureux », Fel parvient à nous faire trembler pour eux. On s’accroche littéralement au bouquin en espérant qu’il ne leur arrive rien, parce que tout est incertitude dans Les Loups à leur Porte, parce que tout est souvent tragique, et parce qu’on peut pas faire autrement que de garder espoir, même quand Walter s’évertue, à coups de couteau, à déchirer ce sentiment qu’il juge preuve de faiblesse.

On avait pas vraiment, en France, de romancier capable d’aller dignement se balader sur le territoire d’un Stephen King, époque Bachman. Jérémy Fel y parvient, avec son propre style, son propre univers (très onirique, très Lynch) et c’est un putain de plaisir à lire même si la balade est éprouvante.

[johnsellph]

Tour de France Stage 11 Preview

A likely sprint stage but with some obstacles in the final kilometres, a narrow road and a small climb. Before that the intermediate sprint comes soon after some climbs, a chance to spice up the green jersey competition.

Polynesia:

Ill in Oléron: the stage started with a burst of press releases, all riders had tested negative for Covid-19 but one staff on Ag2r La Mondiale, Cofidis, Ineos and Mitchelton-Scott had tested positive and were sent home meaning all four teams risk being sent packing from the race should another member of their entourage on the race test positive. Stressful but Egan Bernal looked more worried by his attempts to cut his own hair. Then news broke that race director Christian Prudhomme tested positive and is off the race. He’s outside of the race bubble because it’s his job to meet and greet so there’s little risk for the peloton but it’s embarrassing as the French Prime Minister now has to self-isolate. François Lemarchand takes over his role for a week at least, he’s already done the same job for years now at Paris-Nice

Sea breeze: The race started and Stefan Küng and Michael Schär attacked, a low chance of staying away but a deeper workout for the former who has his sights set on the time trial at the upcoming World Championships. They were quickly reeled in by a nervous peloton as the wind got up

Traffic islands: and the race split for a moment and a big crash took down several riders and took out Sam Bewley. Other moves to split the race came to nothing but the tension and the street furniture – one radio station said 78 roundabouts – prompted many crashes

Ireland: Sam Bennett held off a late charge from Caleb Ewan to win the stage, he was helped a touch by his leadout Michael Mørkøv peeling off and then drifting towards Ewan, but it was more crafty than crass and the privilege of the team with the stronger leadout. The Irishman reclaims the green jersey

The Route: 167km north east, first across the Poitou marshes and then rolling roads, including a spin past Echiré, population 3,302 but with a farmer’s cooperative that makes butter that’s highly prized, particularly in Ginza, Tokyo. Then comes a categorised climb but it’s gentle, the sort the Tour can roll over without noticing and there are similar climbs but they’re unmarked however they might give the Bora-Hansgrohe team ideas to put pressure on Sam Bennett.

Just before 10km to go the race turns off the main road into Poitiers onto a smaller road, this is a pinchpoint before the route drops downhill and it’s on a narrow road for three kilometres before reaching the city boulevards.

The Finish: a sharp left hand turn onto the Pont Neuf to cross the Clain river and then once under the 3km banner the road kicks up for a kilometre, it’s not steep at 3-4% but pitches up at the end and it’s the length that makes it awkward, it’ll upset the pace of the sprint trains. At the 2km point it levels out and soon after there’s a left turn onto a big road, it’s flat from here to the finish.

The Contenders: the climb between the 3km to go and 2km banners tilts the balance a touch today. There’s time to regroup and relaunch but anyone in oxygen debt here will struggle to repay.

Sam Bennett (Deceuninck-Quickstep) or Caleb Ewan (Lotto-Soudal)? If this blog was cleverer it would have a random generator so that half the readers saw the Irishman tipped for today’s stage win and the other half get the Australian served up as today’s prime pick. Alas there’s no trickery so find a coin and toss it, both can cope with the climb before the sprint.

Cees Bol keeps looking good until the finishing straight when he and his Sunweb leadout get swamped like a boat on Lake Austin. Worse for him today is the uphill finish, it’s not ruinous but just a touch harder for him.

Bryan Coquard‘s chances are better today. Nicknamed Le Coq, the B&B Hotels-Vital Concept leader used to be known as Le Moustique or the Mosquito as he’s so light so he could float up the climb in the final kilometres but the problem is the remaining two kilometres plus he had a hard crash yesterday and will be sore now.

Peter Sagan (Bora-Hansgrohe) is close and could find the uphill finish helps but it’d now be a big surprise if he wins. Elia Viviani (Cofidis) was fourth yesterday after a difficult first week so watch for him today.

Caleb Ewan/Sam Bennett Elia Viviani, Cees Bol Sagan, Coquard, Trentin, WvA

Weather: warm and sunny, 26°C and a 15km/h breeze from the NE meaning a headwind.

TV: live coverage from the start at 1.30 CEST to the finish forecast around 5.30pm Euro time. The intermediate sprint is around 4.00pm.

Tour de France Stage 11 Preview published first on https://motocrossnationweb.weebly.com/

[pubtheatres1]

KICKED IN THE SH*TTER by Leon Fleming Directed by Scott Le Crass The Hope Theatre until 8 April “Life is pretty shit” ★★★★ Before ‘Job Centre plus’ there was the ‘Labour Exchange’. In London, there was a ‘Labour Exchange’ specifically for Actors. This was in Victoria. On leaving Drama school, with no employment, I went to this ‘Labour Exchange’. I joined a queue and to my astonishment in front of me was (Sir) Derek Jacobi. A few years before he had starred in the acclaimed television series “I Claudius”. He was an enormous star. “Mr Jacobi, can I say what a tremendous honour it is to be in the same queue as you.” He replied, “that’s nothing, look at the front of the line. There’s Peter O Toole”. And it was. Leon Fleming’s play “Kicked in the Shitter” has these government agencies very much at the heart of the action. The list of Government acronyms seems to go on forever: JSA. ESA. PIP. etc. As Leon Fleming says ‘It’s grim out there. It’s grim everywhere’. The play centres around a brother and sister whose love and dependency on each other is enormously touching. We are drawn into their world. It’s a world of depression, anxiety and self harm. But where Leon Fleming is so clever is in the fact that he never allows it to become maudlin. The whole piece is laced with humour. It’s also a play about the defiance of the human spirit. It is grim out there but in the end, it’s a piece that is redemptive. Without a doubt, Leon Fleming is a first-class wordsmith. His dialogue is ‘raw’, effective and very telling. “Kicked in the Shitter” quite honestly hits you like a bucket of the aforementioned. Do I have reservations? Well yes, I do. It’s about structure. Every now and again he loses his audience because, it seems to me, that he digresses. He doesn’t go for the jugular. Leon Fleming is a young man with a very bright future. This is his second play. He will only get better. The two actors Helen Budge and James Clay- as ‘him and ‘her’- give searingly honest performances. Miss Budge in particular manages to wring every ounce of humour from her despair. Scott le Crass’ direction is clear, heartfelt and imaginative. In a note in the programme he says he has eschewed ‘popular music and a naturalistic set.... to focus on the story, its relationships’. Certainly, for me the settings worked terribly well but I wasn’t sure about the Music. Every now and again the Radio is switched on during the action and I found this discordant. Lastly praise must be heaped upon The Artistic Director of the Hope Theatre, Mathew Parker. Not only has he created this absolute powerhouse of a theatre. But he has had the ‘cojones’ to programme such a visceral piece as “Kicked in the Shitter”. Photography: Ashley Carter Read our interview with playwright Leon Fleming http://bit.ly/2nl3GgF BOX OFFICE: https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/event/166203 telephone bookings: 0333 666 3366 The Hope Theatre is above the Hope & Anchor pub. The address is 207 Upper Street, Islington, London N1 1RL and can be found on the corner of Upper Street and Islington Park Street. Reviewer Richard Braine is actor, director and playwright. As an Actor, he has worked extensively throughout the country including Chichester Festival Theatre, Manchester Royal Exchange, Birmingham Rep, and Stephen Joseph Theatre in Yorkshire. His Television and Film credits include: “Calendar Girls”, “Pride, Prejudice and Zombies”, “Finding Neverland”, “Bridget Jones”, “Suspicions of Mr Whicher”, “Mr Selfridge” and many years ago Gussie Fink-Nottle in “Jeeves and Wooster”. He has also filmed over 150 Commercials all over the world. He has directed the European premiere of Sternheim/Martin “The Underpants” at The Old Red Lion Theatre and written three plays: “Being There with Sellers”, “Bedding Clay Jones” and “Sexing Alan Titchmarsh”.

[thesinglesjukebox]

REGARD - RIDE IT

[5.14]

Are we down, down, down, down, down?

Thomas Inskeep: Jay Sean's original, a decade ago, is a dull R&B record. This remix/remake (which manipulates the original vocals into a different, and frankly more enjoyable key) actually moves. It may just be dancing in place, but at least it's dancing. [5]

Alfred Soto: In its original form "Ride It" provided Jay Sean with a hit everywhere in the world except America. Now Regard, nodding toward DNA's epochal remix of Suzanne Vega's a capella "Tom's Diner," have added sinew, coarsening it: it's like bumping into an old friend whom steroids have turned into a Schwarzenegger muscle queen. The finger snap rhythm and sad, Windexed synths with which Mario's "Let Me Love You" triumph got one of its last airings. Go ahead, dudes: thump thump this to death. [4]

Ian Mathers: There's a very good reason you can find basically the same track on YouTube from last year labelled "Jay Sean - Ride It (Regard Remix)" instead. Sean's vocals, altered or not, are the best part of any of the "Ride It"s and while I'm sure he's officially credited somewhere, not throwing him a "ft." bone seems a bit crass, especially when the original was as good if not better anyway. [6]

Scott Mildenhall: Jay Sean's original "Ride It" is a strange beast. Listening to it on an old unofficial YouTube upload, having blanked all memory of it out -- no mean feat, when the entirety of Radio 1 in 2008 is burnt on your brain -- it sounds like it's being played at the wrong speed; a distorted bootleg, just as many old unofficial uploads are. It's therefore almost logical that in producing an actual distorted bootleg version, Regard has made "Ride It" sound more like an original than the original itself. It may be by-the-numbers, but at least they now feel like the correct numbers. [6]

Kylo Nocom: Do you ever listen to a remix so much that the source material becomes surreal? The problem with Jay Sean's original "Ride It" is that it confuses lethargy with sexiness. He lingers on the intimate details, but the pace drags on as if Sean is too polite to actually demand somebody to ride it. Regard understands how to meld the original track: pitched down into androgynous vocals, passing over the extraneous lyrical details, and accompanying it with a beat that actually bumps and grinds. It feels trapped in the aesthetics of 2010s Internet music culture -- the pitch-shifting of vaporwave, the synth-noodling of "Resonance," the chill dance of Majestic Casual, the rediscovery of Y2K pop via Twitter feeds. Yeah, sure, Regard probably didn't consciously note any of those, but is there any other way to explain how this kind of song could blow up in 2019? [6]

Katherine St Asaph: I guess, given that there's a recession coming any day now, we're due another appearance by Mr. Down Like the Economy. (Yes, I know that's Wayne.) The original was soulless and melancholy; this is soulless and melancholy in an entirely different way, one you can probably imagine if you've heard a Weeknd song in the past five years. [6]

Will Adams: Le Youth already ran the gimmick of pitch-shifting R&B hits of yore into H&M-house years ago; must we keep retreading this ground? The horrendously cheap lead synth seems determined to make sure this is DOA. [3]

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