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Stephen Hough’s blog for the Telegraph the other day quoted Grant Hiroshima as being “so disturbed” at people laughing at Phèdre and Helen Mirren’s tragically doomed character that he almost walked out. Hiroshima “wonder[s] if this represents the inabililty of these audiences to register tragedy. Have we come to that point at which tragedy has lost the battle with irony and cynicism?” Well, I for one certainly have the ability to register tragedy – when something is tragic. “Has modern entertainment so dulled the consciousness that an entire audience can just miss the point altogether?” asks Hiroshima, which seems rather snobbish to me. It seems to imply that his reaction to the play is more ‘right’, more ‘worthy’, than those who laughed. I am on the side of the audience here. I saw the play two weeks ago, and I laughed. I didn’t laugh because I missed the point – I knew the play was a tragedy and that there was going to be a high body count at the end. Not a good start for those expecting laughs. But the play is so far removed from anything realistic or naturalistic that the overblown language and distraught gestures did become laughable. Hiroshima seems to be missing the point that people will laugh if they find something funny – and the fact that he didn’t find it funny is no fault of anyone else’s.

I admit that the giggles can stem from the fact that it too uncomfortable to watch someone else in pain (a tribute to Mirren as an actress) and the natural way to relieve the tension is to giggle. But there are moments when the sheer ridiculousness of the play is funny. The melodramatic, sweeping scale of the drama and tragedy piling up to totally screw up everyone and everything has its funny moments. We, as audiences, are not used to Greek tragedy, and as a genre it often seems false and removed from real human reaction, which lessons the impact of the tragedy.

To suggest that we are desensitised and no longer able to feel tragedy is absurd – I have cried like a baby at Romeo & Juliet and countless other plays. In most plays where someone dies/something tragic happens, the audience is saddened – but it has to be done well and believably. The fault likes with this production rather than with the audience or with society as a whole. It didn’t have enough conviction in its own tragedy to carry it off. The last scene (where the body of Hippolytus is dragged across the stage leaving a bloody trail) was genuinely sombre, but the rest was just too hysterical for it to be possible to empathise with any of the characters, and this remove makes it much easier to see the funny side of the dramatic irony.

I also object to the point about “these audiences”, which seems to differentiate theatre audiences from cinema audiences, and as such is elitist and foolish.

The Odyssey, London Bubble, Sydenham Wells Park, 10th July 2009.

The Bubble’s cheerful hodge podge of ideas and concepts, with a healthy disregard for the father of Western literature, has created a summer show that is utterly charming. Using a tongue-in-cheek on-stage representation of Homer himself (Eric MacLennan in a natty hat) narrating his story with the help of an excellent ensemble cast and supporting chorus of Playmobile people, the Bubble lead the audience around the various South London parks on a magical journey from Calypso’s island back to Ithaca.

The atmosphere was wonderfully exuberant, with almost the whole audience composed of families, and this witty production worked on enough levels to keep tots, teenagers and adults entertained. There is something magical about being outside at dusk, and the Bubble know how to marry story to landscape to keep that magic palpable throughout. Following such a talented bunch of actors around a darkening park has lost none of its allure since I was a very small girl, and the whole production encourages us to remember what was best about being a kid. There were times when my squeals of delight were almost indistinguishable from those of the toddler next to me, although mine were far more dignified, obviously. The enjoyment of the children in the audience is a testament to the power of storytelling and of the company. The ensemble cast, who all play multiple roles as well as singing and playing Martina Schwartz’s well judged-music, were great, and clearly as pleased as the audience that the Bubble is back – and that it didn’t rain. The switching between parts was done neatly and without confusion, partly thanks to Jane Linz Roberts’s clever, unpretentious costumes – Athene in her flying goggles cut a particular dash.

The sets were simple but effective, as they have to be given the promenade nature of the show, and the fact that it tours different parks. The Odyssey is a pretty complex narrative to follow (full of flashbacks and stories within the story), so it is of huge credit to the cast, director (Jonathan Petherbridge) and script (Simon Startin) that the audience was too entranced to misbehave. The script itself was beautiful: true, funny and poetic, while rattling along fast enough to get our eponymous hero halfway across the world in under three hours. To take such a huge story and make it work dramatically is a big ask, and Startin’s script fulfils its brief wonderfully.

Eva Alexander was a wonderfully reserved Penelope, and played well off her tense son, Telemachus (Nicholas Goode). The parent-child relationship was further explored in the interactions between Daniel Copeland’s hearty Zeus and his wayward daughter, Athene (Grethe Jensen). Odysseus naturally has to carry the show, and Gwilym Lloyd’s broad shoulders were more than up to the job. He was at his best when most vulnerable, half dead, half naked, lost and alone far from home. The rest of the ensemble were versatile and made an excellent supporting cast – although I found Becky Barry’s Nausicaa slightly, well, wet. The stage managers do a marvelous job of getting everything in place, as well as masterfully shepherding the audience from one scene to the next.
All in all, this was a fabulous evening, from a company that has brought more magic into South London than many people would believe possible. The Bubble is back, and I’m confident that I’m not the only person rejoicing.

“People will pay for it if it is good enough. People will pay if it is original, exclusive, has authority and is relevant to our audiences.” John Hartigan.

I’m not convinced this is true. We’ve been chewing this one over at AP towers quite a lot recently, (www.artsprofessional.co.uk if anyone’s interested – it’s good), and perhaps once a decision has been taken I’ll be at liberty to share the discussion here. However, what came out of today’s meeting is that I really think that print journalism is on the way out. Logically, if you can get something for free – legally – why would you pay for it? While it’s nice to read a paper in bed on a Saturday morning, the chances of me actually forking out £1.50 for it are vanishingly small. Putting aside the fact that I get paid to read the papers for News from the Nationals, I get my news from free sources, and no-one can deny that newspaper circulation is diminishing. Colleagues have variously said that the Guardian is losing £50m or £80m a year (don’t quote me), and its journalists don’t get paid to blog. In my humble opinion, it is the blogs that put the good ole Grauniad above the other broadsheet press. I love the debate and opinions that fly around on the ‘Comment is free’ section and on the blogs – which you just can’t get with a print copy of the paper unless you specifically sit down with other people who have bought and read the same paper. Sharing a link is so easy.

I think the value of newspapers lies in the expertise of the writers, what Hartigan refers to as ‘having authority’. Anyone can blog (um…) but not anyone can be published in the Guardian (or the Times, Telegraph etc). It is this vested authority that makes the content appealing. The point was made that bloggers will never have the authority and gravitas of a paid national journalist. I disagree. The point that you don’t know whether you can trust bloggers because they haven’t been verified by a newspaper, is valid insofar as, as I said, anyone can blog. However, it is only by proving some kind of value that bloggers build up a following. It may take longer to figure out a blogger’s political slant, personal bias, background etc, but perhaps that will just make readers more open-minded. If I come across a journalist because they have written something for the Guardian, I immediately make certain assumptions about them, just as I do when reading someone who writes for the Mail. If I came across Melanie Phillips in cycberspace it might take me a whole nanosecond longer to work out that she’s poison than if I read her in the Mail. While I would still search out validated heavyweights for educated political or financial analysis, if I’m looking for information on something I know a little about already and have enough nous to judge the truth and relevancy of an opinion, the blogosphere is great for less restrained content. Originality, exclusivity and relevancy are not enough to make people pay when they can find all three for free. I acknowledge that it is harder for free content to have authority, but it is by no means impossible. With respected journalists and academics writing for free, the only problem is that it can take a long time to sift thought the rubbish to find the useful content. But then that’s true of certain newspapers, too.

Gosh, I like theatre. Moving house and consequently being broker than broke has reined in my profligate theatre spending, so I haven’t been since May. May! This is unheard of, but I’m now going three times in nine days: ‘Phedre’ at the National last night, ‘Godot’ at the Haymarket (yes, again) on Thurs, and London Bubble’s ‘Odyssey’ in Sydenham Wells park on Friday. Happy Eleanor.

*Clears throat* IT IS NOT, REPEAT NOT, OK TO TWITTER DURING A THEATRICAL PERFORMANCE. No matter what Ruth Jamieson says. All phones off for the whole show. No exceptions – if you are too important to turn your phone off, don’t go to the theatre. Or the cinema. Stay at home, nursing your thumb-RSI. The light of a phone screen in a dark auditorium is fantastically annoying. Ushers should be able to confiscate phones, like sweets from a naughty child. I also think that I should be able to smack you in the back of the head if you take your phone out during a show, but I accept that I may be in a minority of one.

Talking about a show is one of the pleasures of going to the theatre, but believe me, your opinions are not so fabulously interesting that they can’t wait until the interval or the bus ride home. They don’t need to be shared every time you have a thought. Don’t get me wrong, I like twitter, I like texting, and I absolutely love banging on about plays I’ve seen. But even I, egomaniacal as I am, manage to contain my pearls until the lights come up.