#old twelfth night

[maypoleman1]

16th January

St Sigebert’s Day/ Old Twelfth Night

Source: UCANR website

Today is St Sigebert’s Day. Sigebert was another Anglo-Saxon king who renounced his throne in favour of the monastic life. However, when the fearsome pagan king of Mercia, Penda, attacked Sigebert’s former realm of East Anglia, his ex-subjects persuaded him to come out of retirement in order to save them from the pagan’s wrath. Remaining true to his vows, Sigebert agreed to resume his throne, but insisted he be armed with a wooden sword and so avoid taking a human life in battle. Unfortunately for the pacific Sigebert and his East Anglians, Penda’s Mercians had no such qualms and destroyed his army, conferring immediate martyrdom on the holy king, as well as sainthood.

Today is also Old Twelfth Night, being the last night of Christmas according to the old calendar. For that reason apple wassailing continued on the night of the 16th for over 200 years after the date of Epiphany Eve moved to 5th January. On this night men would gather by firelight in orchards to toast the apple trees with cider and to wish the spirits of the trees a Happy New Year and exhort them to allow their trees a bountiful late summer harvest. A typical verse sung by the wassailers was:

Old Apple Tree we wassail thee and hope that thou wilt bear,

For Lord doth know where we shall be till apples come another year.

Although the Old Twelfth Night wassailing tradition died out in the early twentieth century, it was revived in the 1980s and enthusiastic wassailing now takes place in the orchards of Much Marcle near Ledbury in Hereford; Norton Fitzwarren outside Taunton in Somerset and Carhampton, also in Somerset. Amazingly, the revivals were sponsored and funded by cider makers Westons, and Taunton Cider.

[aq2003]

please do yourself a favor and listen to david tennant malvolio reading the fake love letter to him (act 2 scene 5 of twelfth night). im going to actually start sobbing. oh my GOD

[fanaticforlife]

Whouffaldi - carer & caretaker

It's a delightful rom-com scenario with our favourite duo and I love every single second of it! I will never tire of this video, always brings me joy (best non-existant rom-com to ever exist).

@becumsh Thank you forever!!!

[fafnir19]

Twelfthtide

My reflection in the mirror revealed a man who had weathered life's hardships. My weary eyes held the weight of my struggles, and my once-dark hair now showed signs of thinning. The lines etched on my face were testament to my difficult path. Despite the weariness, a flicker of determination still burned in my eyes, a trace of resilience in the face of adversity. I strode through the bustling corridors of the office, a facade of confidence masking the unease simmering within me. Despite my efforts, I found myself ensnared in the sticky web of office politics, with no escape in sight. My direct manager at least seemed to value the dedication I poured into my work, but the looming shadow of the company owner’s, Montgomery Kolthard, disapproval hung over me like a shroud. As the days inched closer to the third Advent, I received a summons from my manager to his office. I tightened my grip on the strap of my briefcase, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of my stomach. The words that followed shattered what little hope I clung to: the Weynsteen deal had collapsed, and with it, my employment. My protests fell on deaf ears, as the decision to let me go was handed down directly from Mr. Kolthard himself. Dejected, I wandered through the festively adorned streets, my thoughts a maelstrom of despair, when suddenly, a sharp impact sent me reeling into darkness. A speeding car changed everything.

I awoke in a hospital room, only to realize that I couldn't move anything below my neck. The doctor's words delivered the crushing blow—I was paralyzed. Despair settled over me like a suffocating blanket, and I couldn't see a way out of the darkness. The stale air of the hospital room did little to lift my spirits as I lay there, imprisoned by my own motionless form. It was on the night of St. Thomas, the longest and darkest night of the year, that my world twisted into something beyond comprehension. A figure emerged from the shadows, introducing himself as Zamiel. His presence sent shivers down my immobile frame, and I struggled against the urge to flee, though my limbs refused to respond. Zamiel's voice, smooth as silk but tainted with a sinister edge, shattered the silence as he made his proposition. "Do not fear," Zamiel's voice echoed through the room, "for I bring an offer that will unbind you from the shackles of your condition. I can restore your mobility, but in return, you must serve me for a few days every year." I struggled to comprehend his words, the weight of his proposal pressing down on me. "Serve you? How?" I managed to croak, my voice strained with disbelief. Zamiel's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light as he explained, "I conduct business with mortals, granting them their heart's desires in exchange for their souls. Your task will be to facilitate these transactions on my behalf. And fear not, for your own soul is not part of this bargain." Zamiel explaining that humans without souls did not make good bargains and hence, my soul was not part of the deal.

 A wary skepticism gnawed at my thoughts, but desperation grasped at the threads of my resolve. With a mixture of dread and fleeting hope, I accepted his terms, and Zamiel handed me a quill and a piece of parchment. "How shall I sign the parchment? I cannot even move!" I protested. Zamiel's chuckle sent a chill down my spine. "Ah, but you can move well enough to sign your name. The ability will be restored to you, should you agree." Suddenly I felt the sensation return to my hands. With trembling fingers, I pricked my thumb, and my blood dripped onto the parchment. With newfound strength, I signed the contract. Zamiel summarized the deal: "When the gates between worlds close on the Feast of Epiphany, you will no longer be paralyzed. In return, you will work for me every year from Holy Eve to the Epiphany!" The next morning, I thought that it was just a dream. The days blurred together, and soon it was Christmas Eve. While others reveled in festivities, I could only brood in my hospital bed, feeling like a mere shadow of my former self. The cheer around me only served to highlight the cavernous void within me.

On the morning of the Epiphany, I awoke to a new reality. I found myself in a vast, opulent bedroom adorned with dark, luxurious furnishings. The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and incense, and the grandiose setting reflected a level of luxury I had never known. As I stumbled across the room to a lavish, ornate mirror, I caught sight of my reflection and I was struck by the transformation that had taken place. No longer the 47-year-old man worn down by life's tribulations, I was now a youthful, athletic figure with an air of sophistication far beyond my years. The room itself exuded an aura of grandeur, with intricate tapestries adorning the walls and an expansive view that stretched out onto the sprawling city below. On the nightstand lay a piece of parchment, aged and weathered, bearing the peculiar mark of a crimson wax seal. As I examined the parchment, the words etched upon it seemed to dance before my eyes: "Your former boss Montgomery Kolthard cannot bear children, but has desperately desired an heir for his business. I, Zamiel, have granted this wish. You are no longer Christian, but Lucius Kolthard, Montgomery's son. Remember our deal: from the Holy Night onward, you must perform your service." Armed with the knowledge of my newfound identity as Lucius Kolthard, Montgomery's long-awaited heir my days were filled with schmoozing at elite gatherings, draped in the finest attire, and basking in Montgomery's adoration.

Everything I had longed for was within my grasp, yet beneath the facade of grandeur, an unsettling unease festered, a constant reminder of the pact I had struck with Zamiel. As the days turned into weeks, I found myself entangled in the web of Montgomery's business affairs, receiving an insider's glimpse into the inner workings of his empire. It was a heady experience, to say the least. Montgomery, often cold and distant, doted on me with an almost doting affection, treating me like the son he had always yearned for. However, the more he idolized me, the more I felt the weight of the unspoken expectations resting on my shoulders. The grandeur of Christmas Eve arrived, and as the festivities ebbed away, I retreated to my opulent chamber.

It was there that an inexplicable urge drew me to the ornate mirror adorning the wall. Stepping through the ornate mirror, I found myself in Zamiel's realm — a breathtaking place adorned with marble and gold, a stark contrast from the opulence to which I had grown accustomed. Zamiel stood before me, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. "Lucius," he intoned, his voice resonating through the chamber, "what a striking devil you've become. Those tight pants and cloak suit you well." Zamiel's eyes sparked with amusement as he added, "I must say, I quite like the horns." I watched as his gaze lingered on the horns that had materialized on my head, a sign of the Faustian bargain.

With a sardonic smile, he gestured for me to follow, promising to teach me the art of striking bargains and the alluring nature of collecting souls. Despite initial qualms, I found delight in crafting contracts that would cost my clients their souls. My negotiations became increasingly cunning, and I relished my service to Zamiel. Additionally, I enjoyed the company of the incubus demons. As I stepped back into the mortal realm on Twelfth Night, I looked forward to the events of the coming year, such as my graduation and a planned sailing trip. Yet, I also anticipated my next service to Zamiel from the Holy Night onwards.

[hercorrupterofwords]

im a bit bored so have some twelfth night sketches

maria

toby

feste

orsino and maria (with some notes about clothing)

viola

andrew and toby

[wanderingchronicle]

EEENY WEENY SIXTEEN YEAR OLD PRE POLY IDIOTS! TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD GERANIUM! I'm having a great time in here. Never mind present day events.

[anddreadful]

diana’s lip is not more smooth and rubious, or whatever (community theater viola/ cesario for the four people who like my theater posts)

[joplinsibtainappreciation]

Joplin Sibtain as Sir Toby Belch in the trailer for RSC's Twelfth Night

[cto10121]

Me: Oh, look, a YA retelling of Twelfth Night. Should be okay to read. At least there won’t be any stupid “Romeo and Juliet is a stupid play, aktsually!!1!” clownery. I mean, it’s Twelfth Night, so of course R&J would not even be mentioned. That’d be insane—

Me:

[ryfkah]

that strain again! (a Twelfth Night vid for Scribe, Festivids 2022)

[maypoleman1]

5th January

Twelfth Night/ Old Christmas Eve

1986 Christmas stamp. Source: The Garden Trust website

Joseph of Arimathea, Jesus’ uncle, visited Britain according to Christian folklore and while here, planted his staff in the ground at Glastonbury and it immediately sprouted into a thorn tree. The Glastonbury Thorn was thereafter considered holy and it proved its divine provenance by blooming each Christmas Day. When the calendar changed and the former Christmas Day moved to 5th January which, confusingly, became known as Old Christmas Eve, the Thorn sadly did not accommodate its blooming habits to the new dating system. The Puritans had considered the Joseph legend stuff and nonsense and during the Commonwealth the Thorn was cut down. Cuttings survived however and were replanted, with the Thorn once again coming into flower in both midwinter and early spring to this day. To add some veracity to the legend, the Thorn is estimated by botanists to have its origins in the Middle East.

Twelfth Night, the night before the last day of the Christmas season was often celebrated by a final bout of wassailing. To wassail - the word is derived from the Anglo-Saxon toast waes hael , or good health - is to pass round a bowl of festive ale or mead punch and to drink to the season. Wassailing was also carried out by groups of beggars on a trip called the Visiting Wassail, who throughout Christmas would go door to door seeking food and wassail drink. Tonight was the last opportunity the alms seekers had to importune their neighbours in this way before being told to go away and come back next year.

[aq2003]

Saw someone on Bluesky who went to Twelfth Night yesterday, and afterwards met Freema, Sam West and DT who was a guest! Lucky them

a) oh that is so sweet good for them!! b) i'm so sick and twisted why can't that be me c) DAVID IF YOU CAN HEAR ME. IF YOU CAN HEAR ME DAVID. PLEASE I YEARN TO SEE YOU PLAY MALVOLIO SO BAD ITS CATASTROPHIC PLEASEEEEEEEEE IM BEGGING

[jazzreloaded]

Play On! By Talawa Theatre @Belgrade Theatre 26 / 09/ 24

Review by Vidal Montgomery

The press night performance of Play On! - A Broadway Blues with a twist on "Twelfth Night" - was not undersold in terms of bums on seats ( because it was a full house, and based on this showing it deserves a full house everywhere it goes!), but in terms of spectacle; because for the near-three hours running time, it was thoroughly engaging, spectacularly entertaining and, despite dealing with some serious subject matters ( such as how a misogynistic Harlem resists change, made all the more relevant with the recent revelations around Music Moghul Sean Comb's recent indictment), it was joyful for the audience from start to end, evidenced by the raucous laughter, gasps and applause throughout.

The title "Play On!" may also refer to the four year development process to get a work of this magnitude and depth and craft and intimacy and nuance in front of a live audience; it is no mean feat that this splendid work of Ellingtonian excellence by Liam Godwin and Benjamin Burell is finally in front of an audience, and with a truly magnificent cast from top to bottom:

Although the dramaturgy obviously has its focal characters, the dancers / understudies / supporting cast acquit themselves equally well, and the audience is gifted with over a dozen amazing voices ( of which Lifford Shillingford was my personal favourite ), who perform comparably, shouldering the responsibility of energetic dance, tense drama and soulful song, and carrying the narrative along. This for me is the most captivating thing about this show. Tanya Edwards as Miss Mary and Llewellyn Jamal as Jester deliver stylish and soulful performances late on into the second act just I thought the show had probably reached its peak - boy was I wrong!

The core story of Play On! revolves around the day Duke Ellington loses his muse, and the lengths- and distance! - one lucky lady will go to to help him get it back; Earl Gregory, Koko Alexandra, Tsemaye Bob Egbe, and Cameron Bernard Jones play the four pillars of the love quadrangle that is "The Duke", his old flame ( lady Liv ) , his new muse ( Viola "Vyman" ) and Rev, the manager of the Cotton Club clutching at straws and clasping his hands in his hopes of keeping the four together as exemplars of Ellingtonian Excellence - and also keeping the show on the road...

Sadly the live band - directed by the unassuming Ashton Moore and delightfully driven by the delicate drumming of Empirical's own Shane Forbes - are not featured as characters in their own right - I am sure that later productions in the three month run will attend to this oversight.

Despite this, the mix of moods and blues and beats and grooves from the bandstand become the main character, and for me ( as a musician! ) this is the star of the show: Ellingtonian Classics like Mood Indigo, I got it Bad, It Don't mean a thing, Black Butterfly Rocks In My Bed and In a Mellow Tone are turned inside out and taken back from the trash heap of Abersold Appropriation,and are played in a way that suits the strengths of individual artists, and balances temperaments of their characters as a whole as they play moves towards reaches its climactic reveal; at this moment the only other disappointment was that the band was not as big as, say, the English Touring Opera's for the recent run of "The Rakes Progress" : With this amount of dramatic tension in the stage, and with the audience in the palm of the band's hands the Ellington Big band, really needs to be a BIG band.

As it was, on the night Kaz Hamilton and Alexander Polack acquited themselves very well, making a myriad of moods that were both historically authentic and stylistically de jour. And the commitment to shared seat of Chris Hyde / Josh Vadivello on Double bass ( NO electric big band era please! ) brings gravitas authenticity and sensuality to the greatest american songbook in a way that only a Double Bass can. This show is all about that bass!

Having recently sat through the often turgid and salacious KAOS, a reworking of the mythology of Orpheus and Euridice, ( which was not a patch on Marcel Camus Seminal 1950's classic ) and also attended the afforementioned reworking of Igor Stravinsky's "Rake's Progress" ( often not my sense of humour, albeit markedly less turgid and salacious than Charlie Covell's Netflix Production ) I was far from convinced that , per se, " A reworking of Twelfth Night " was going to as vivacious, contemporary , and nourishing to the soul as it turned out to be. But on this occasion I was rewarded for my bravery ( And by "bravery" I mean only braving the inclement British weather ) , and I will forever regard Play On! as somewhat of a late birthday present - ( or maybe early Christmas gift? )

Ironically, whilst sipping free Prosecco and listening to a(nother) jazz function band in the reception area after the show , I had the good fortune to speak with one the trustees of the Talawa Theatre and we discussed how important it may be to not label Play On! as ( simply ) a "jazz show", because of how many people may miss out on an amazing contemporary socially and culturally relevant human experience, simply because they do not know or have not yet been sold the depth and breadth of the jazz canon.

But Play On! is "Jazz Hands" in safe hands. And I can say with confidence that Talawa Theatre have a winner on their hands; it is Black Joy. And "Black Joy" may turn out to be a better euphemism for the vibrancy we expect "Jazz" to bring to us. Congratulations on the fully immersive experience that Director Michael Buffong brought to the Belgrade Theatre tonight.

PS: As with many theatre shows, the stupidly difficult train schedule doesn't really support the 2+ hour format, but I can only say that on this occasion it was worth missing our last train to catch the "A Train" one more time...

Talawa’s Black Joy season presents:

Play On!

A new Jazz musical

Based on Shakespeare’s

“Twelfth Night”

Conceived by Sheldon Epps

Book by Cheryl L.West

Music by Duke Ellington

Produced by Talawa Theatre Company and The Belgrade Theatre

Co-produced with Birmingham Hippodrome, Bristol Old Vic, Liverpool Everyman & Playhouse, Lyric Hammersmith Theatre and Wiltshire Creative

Artwork by Feast Creative

For the full programme, click or scan the image below:

[hareheartt]

which shakespeare play would yall give the mcr jukebox musical treatment 🧐

[britneyshakespeare]

i finished the merry wives of windsor today btw. 4 shakespeare plays left to go