>leave me out with the waste, this is not what i do; it’s the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you
tourism by nirpal singh dhaliwal is a fricken amazing novel, i couldn’t get on the tube without having it handy. i think dhaliwal and i write eerily about the same things – raw sex, ethno-cultural disaffection, gender-wars, present-day socio-political issues, except he veers more to misogyny when he should be aiming for feminism. nonetheless his prose was fire-infused and his present-day musings and his po-mo perspectives were timely and uncannily relevant. i tore through the pages, ravenous.
(view more photos here)
following the lives of london’s twentysomethings as they struggle through sex-wars, status-shakeups, and an unquenchable lust not for the physical but tantamount for mind-fucks, i was enthralled from beginning to end. as soon as i entered the small black box theatre above a bustling pub with plush red seats and noisy air conditioner, i knew i was where i should be.
proscenium arches should be burned in the streets.
the script itself was tight, meticulously plotted, and carried dialogue that resonated long after the lines were spoken. in terms of performance, although this should have been tom harper’s (who plays protagonist Nick) time to shine, i was more enthralled with actor samuel james (who plays cocksure and compelling mate Joe), and the sincerity of susanna fiore (‘adriana’) portrayal of a hurt lover who finds her own.
i thought about the parallels with my play the spadina monologues, and all the places i’m sending it to.
the thing about me and theatres is, i like sitting in the front row, pushed beyond my comfort levels, inside the 4th wall, where the spotlights brush my face now and again, and make myself part of the scene. i purposefully make eye contact with the actors, make them look away first. linger after the play has ended. i lean in, get wrapped up, and won’t lean out. there is something in this that rips me open. without the pleasure of a scar.
on the bus ride home tonight, sitting atop the double decker, a date was winding down. the couple chatted like nervous conspirators. he battled his italian accent, she with her norwegian. their accents fought for dominance. from behind, i decided i liked his hair better than hers.
for this long weekend, i think i’m going to hop on a boat, travel down the thames to greenwich. stand in the spot where time meets.
and make it stop.