To hold the attention of anyone, let alone that of a young eager mind, the story has to be entertaining, it has to have the thrill of the imagination weaved through it, delicate threads pulling together to make one large pattern, a stitch here and there creating the picture in which the story unfolds, unfurls with a flourish and which when seen with the benefit of distance is still just as valued as the moments when you are so close to the action that you cannot but smile and be drawn in by those creating the drama and the story.
Aside from yourself and your loved ones being healthy and happy, all that you can ever hope for in life is either being part of history, having your name linked to the times you live and have your name roll off the extensive tongue as if attached to a medieval proclamation, complete with booming voice reading out your virtues and perhaps a heroic deed or two; or seeing history made, knowing you were alive when the Earth shattering, the amazing or the downright incredible happened and perhaps seeing someone else have their moment in your company…being witness to the most awesome of performances.
It takes Two to run a successful public house, it takes two to be in a relationship that can be steady as a rock or toss and weave on the seas and bubbles of the foam filled, short measured bitterness that comes with watering down the spirit and overcharging the customer; it takes Two to pull the beers, listen to the stories and see the world beyond the optical illusion. It takes Two to remember the reason why working together in such an environment is ultimately a thrilling piece of comedy and the heartache that is the flip side of such genuine laughter.
We all have something we use to get us through the day, that one powerful pull in which insists that we can be better than the sum of our parts or the total of fears, in which guides us towards the light with a smile or which holds on to our soul when we become too fascinated with the dark and its surroundings; the day we lose that final piece of the puzzle which has made us whole, is the day we have to admit we have lost.
We all warn our children about straying from the path provided, to not deviate, keep close at all times, and even though we understand they have to make their own way in the world. We also have the responsibility to make sure that they don’t get hurt, become embroiled and hang with the wrong crowd, that they, unlike Little Red, find fascination with the wolf who wears its fur with pride, who has the smooth pick up line and casual interesting manner.
Joel Shipman as Baloo in The Jungle Book at The Unity Theatre, Liverpool. Photograph by Brian Roberts.
Cast: Fionnuala Dorrity, Asif Majid, Samuel Pérez Durán, Joe Shipman.
The tale of a lost boy raised by wolves, taught by a panther, guarded by a bear and hunted by the king of the jungle, it is story that speaks down through the last century and one that resonates with joy and charm, with meaning, still to this day. The Jungle Book, arguably one of the most loved pieces of literature of the late 19th Century has had its followers, those who bang the drum for its introduction of its well written characters into the national thought and understandably its detractors who see the book with a certain 21st Century outlook compared to its original sentiment.
Life should be a happy medium between fun and the stay at home nights, the frantic and the exciting and the small release of comfort which comes from looking back on the day, catching up with small jobs and the odd glass of your favourite tipple whilst you relax, look around with a careful eye at your own kingdom and take stock.
There are always seems to be a sense of the mystical allure when you meet a writer that arguably no other profession can carry, people don’t tend to meet someone at a party who gets up at four o’ clock in the morning and spends a whole day on a farm and has to deal with government interference about quotas and crop rotation, by saying to them, I have always wanted the romance of own animals in my life. Yet there always is a yearning to tell a writer that you have always wanted to be one. Not realising that the act of writing itself is in fact the closest occupation that mimics life and death.
The glitz and the glamour of the cabaret night, the well rehearsed, the dancing troop, the possibility of magic on stage ever hanging in the air like the illusion of petals on string or the blown glitter to distract you from the sleight of hand; all these moments make the eager performance of the cabaret a wonderful night out.
It is one of the greatest of institutions and something that arguably the rest of the world wished it had, it has suffered terribly by lack of faith, investment and the vultures of capitalism who decry its very existence as socialist and meaningless unless it makes someone a pile of money, it’s aim is to teach, to aid the afflicted and ease the pressure on modern life; theatre is like the N.H.S. that other great British invention, it works so well because those who use it, care.