Gearing up for 09.09.09; the start of The Events. The first night could be a career-breaker. Will tell all nearer the time.

For now, here’s another picture of me on top of that bus: I posted a couple last November here, and here’s another one, showing a bit more.

It’ll all make sense. You saw it here first, folks. I said at the time it should pay off in 2009: well, we’re nearing the crunch. If it all goes boobies-up, blame those pesky kids: I would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for them.

Thanking you. Please continue.

x

I realise it’s all sold out, so you can only hope for returns, but do what you can to see this production at the Wyndham’s theatre. Jude Law is astonishing. Breathtaking. He utterly owns the house, practically dances through the part, pitch perfect and crystal-clear. It’s rare to feel as pampered by an actor: as engaged, involved and spoken to so clearly. Penelope Wilton, probably our finest living stage actress, is magnificent as Gertrude: the closet scene is beautifully turned on its head and the long-awaited eruption between son and mother that brings her part to the fore is wild and shocking. Kevin R. McNally as Claudius is every bit as great. The pace is relentless: the first half is over before you know it, and throughout, the language utterly lucid.

This is not to forget for a second Tennant’s glorious recent portrayal, which I was lucky enough to see and loved, nor the wonderful Jamie Ballard in Jonathan Miller’s less trumpeted (and equally prized) Tobacco Factory production in Bristol: the latter of which must surely get a London revival. All three performances have been, for my money, hypnotic and impeccable. Not that any of these giants need to hear it from me.

But seeing as you might have a royal ghost of a chance to pull strings and see this last of the trio before it disappears, can I urge you to do what you can to get in there. Theatrically these are exciting times.

x

Stephen’s amazing transformation makes his picture here look like a before/after shot.

Much fun was had. I was in the Rebecca Hossack gallery today on Charlotte St doing some TV interviews about the exhibition, and the nice lady thought the Julianne Moore was Fergie. Wasn’t sure whether to let it go, but I didn’t, and corrected her. ‘Twas live and everything. Ha.