I write this post from the sofa of misery, where I am camped out tonight in hopes that keeping myself upright will cut down on the barking seal sound that I have been making. B has spent the last two nights here (and considering he is over 6 feet tall, and the sofa is actually a loveseat, I am amazed he is still functional) to avoid my germs and get far enough away from my coughing that it doesn’t wake him up every five minutes, and to give me room to get rest. I couldn’t let him spend another night out here, so I have taken over the space while he studies. Major brownie points to him for letting me rest, though. Major.
Cough syrup doesn’t do much for me, other than make me not care that I am coughing. Just a couple of tablespoons full, and I am out. Lil Wayne does not want to party with me. Although, more sizzurp for him if I go down after a single shot, so maybe he does?
I’m out of Theraflu now, so it’s down to Mucinex and cough drops. Wish me luck. Until then, I leave you with my favorite drinking song:
Anyone who has ever done the school run in the morning can tell you that some moms look like they have just given up on life. Anyone who has ever tried to get a child to school on time has probably felt like giving up on life, so who can blame them when their sartorial choices reflect having had to chase a child around the house cajoling, begging, issuing warnings and threats until finally shuttling them into a vehicle to transport them to school?
I am sick. Sick, sick, sick. Swallowing feels like I have hemorrhoids in my throat. So, for the second time this year already, I have given up on getting dressed to drive Thor to school. Please note my outfit:
I am wearing B’s windshirt, which is 4 sizes too large, over my green nightgown, over cropped leggings, with a pair of children’s Hungry Caterpillar socks (so stretchy!), black ballet flats, and Birth Control glasses. I look hot. Hot like I am running a fever and need to be quarantined.
This is one of the things I love about Polyvore: No matter what I am wearing, so long as I can find a picture of it, I can build a set to show you what I am wearing. It’s like paper dolls, only you are your own doll.
War Horse, based on the beloved novel by Michael Morpurgo, is a powerfully moving and imaginative drama, filled with stirring music and magnificent artistry. South Africa’s Handspring Puppet Company brings breathing, galloping, full-scale horses to life on the stage — their flanks, hides and sinews built of steel, leather and aircraft cables.
Experience the emotional journey that charges through the battlefields of history straight to hearts of audiences around the world.
I have never seen anything like the puppets used for the horses. I had read, in reviews, that after a few scenes you forget you are looking at a puppet. I was skeptical, but I can tell you that within moments I forgot I was looking at a puppet. Those horses are alive with movement, breath, quivering manes and tails, and grace. The grace is indescribable.
Thor with the tickets we won, courtesy of the Nicole Barrett show on KLIF radio. Thank you, Nicole!
I’m not sure what I expected of the show. I hadn’t seen the movie, or read the book, so the lady at Will Call, where we picked up our tickets, made sure to let us know that there would be some loud scenes of war. Set during World War I, she wondered if that would bother Thor? Thor asked, “Will we get to see guns?!” Boy child.
The story is simple and the stage was spare. The stage set is an open area (so that the massive horses could move freely) with a black, backing screen with a slash of cream across at a height. It looks like a piece of a page torn out of a book, pasted across the “sky”, and it becomes the sky, and the earth, and the war–many things as pencil sketch drawings fill in the gaps between imagination and prop.
Here a window drops down, and here a door, and on the screen you see the scribbled thatch roof of an English farmhouse. Here stand the cast/crew with fence posts, and on the screen you see the rolling hills of the English countryside. Here sit the officers astride their horses, and on the small slash of screen you see the battlements behind them.
I was impressed by the way they utilized the screen. In one scene, after an entire half of the play in pencil sketched, black and white, the screen blooms with the bright red blood of British soldiers in the field, and as the splatters spread, they bleed into the shapes of poppies. It was simple, and understated, and intense.
This was Thor’s first theater experience, so as we were leaving, I asked what he thought. Among his delight at the horses and the tanks, he said, “I really liked that screen. That was really, really good.” So, it was well done enough that a jaded adult was impressed by it, and a 7-year-old neophyte could grasp it’s purpose and make an emotional connection with the scenery.
Thor standing in front of the War Horse poster at the AT&T Performing Arts Center. This was his first theater experience, and he was impressed with the massive horse puppets as I was.
War is hell on both sides, and this play did a great job of humanizing the soldiers. Sure, there are the caricatures you expect, but ultimately, what you see are human beings who have the same hopes, dreams, thoughts, and feelings, and whose only differences are in the styles of their uniforms, and the accents they bear.
I watched the year-markers ticking by on the screen and thought, “My grandfather wasn’t born yet. My great-grandmother would have been pregnant now. Boom would have been an infant. Boom might just have been learning to crawl. What kind of world was it for them? How uncertain?” It was a different war, for sure. What does a cavalry do against machine guns? What do horses do against barbed wire?
One of the themes of the play is the progression of mankind. I love that in this day of 3-D animation, CGI, and surround sound, I got to watch this simple, beautiful, unadorned show.
Every show has its challenges, and there were a few things that stood out to me (and to the man behind me, who was cataloging aloud), but none of them were significant enough to name. The cast performed very well, and the stage crew and puppeteers–you just have to see it to understand why they are so amazing.
Our friends Leslieann and Ellie were able to join us for the play.
I have been telling everyone about the horses in the show. Again, puppets, and puppets worked by three, full-sized adults each. I can’t explain to you how these grown people blended into nothing against the flick of a tail, or the shake of a head, or the stamping of a hoof, but they did. In one scene, two of the horses challenge and chase one another, rearing up and bucking in a choreographed dance that looked like equine ballet. In slow motion. Y’all, they did it in slow motion. And. It. Was. Perfect. It was breathtaking.
So how did my 7-year-old do at his first theater experience?
The play lasts 160 minutes with one 15 minute intermission. We hit the toilets right before taking our seats, so Thor was able to sit through the entire first half of the show–on the edge of his seat, which is where he stayed most of the time.
The second half of the show happened almost 2 hours past his usual bedtime, so I expected him to slouch, fall asleep, or show signs of restlessness. Nope. He did ask me two questions, but those had to do with the plot. He remained upright, engaged, and jumped up to participate in the standing ovation for the cast. He loved it. As well behaved a boy as I have, I give a lot of credit to the production for being so interesting and entertaining that the time flew by. It really felt like just an hour, instead of two and a half.
What I liked best:
The horses. They could not have been more realistic.
The story itself.
The way the screen/backdrop was used.
What Thor liked best:
The tank.
The horses.
The dialog between two soldiers, one British, one German, as they fumble their way through to saving a horse from harm. (Which should tell you how well done and how well acted the scene was!)
5 out of 5 stars
Once again, much thanks to Nicole Barrett and KLIF. We would never even have considered going to see the show without their gracious gift, and I am so glad we went!
When my head and ears stop up, I have wild vertigo. Yesterday, while helping a client, I just toppled over to the side. It’s pretty funny to watch, and actually pretty funny to experience, but I am looking forward to when the walls stay in one place again!
While you are out there in the world today, being bombarded by images and ideas that tell you that you aren’t thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough (maybe we need more of those?), rich enough, successful enough, well-dressed enough, keep this in mind: When your family writes your eulogy, they probably won’t be focused on thin, pretty, rich, or well-dressed. They will be focused on how much you loved them, how much you gave of yourself, and how you made them feel.
The Outside Lane 