He puts a spell on you baby

"Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the caldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Cool it with a baboon's blood,

Then the charm is firm and good."

I write this blog because I find it mildly therapeutic to do so. Creativity (no, seriously!) helps me with my mental health and if I find that I want to chunter about something then I have a ready made forum. It does get read by a few people, although I don't know how any new readers ever find it. I take some pride in the fact that a constant presence on the list of google search terms which send people here is "beardy Branson is a twat", but beyond that I have no idea. However, someone new has clearly found it because they have left a comment on a post from last year. Rather splendidly the comment - which can be found here - is a testimonial for a witch doctor. Dr Agbazara, for it is he, specialises in bringing back ex-lovers via his powerful spell casting. Now, nothing would give me greater joy than to be reunited with the big, bouncy woman, but I confess that I am a sceptic. In truth, I have no confidence in either the powers or indeed the bona fides of the good doctor, despite his having, at least according to the anonymous reviewer, succeeded in coaxing back Jenny Williams. But, you are entitled to make up your own minds and so I won't be deleting the comment containing his contact details; the international dialling code quoted therein is for Nigeria, should that help you in forming your judgement. If you do avail yourself of his services then please let us know how things transpire.

Here's Nina Simone:

Chung Ling Soo

And so to the opera. I have been to see 'The Original Chinese Conjuror' by Raymond Yiu who, along with librettist Lee Warren, was at the performance, which formed part of this year's Left Bank Opera Festival.

Just to be clear, the protagonist of the opera is the not very Chinese at all chap lurking at the back of the photo. The story is that of Chung Ling Soo, real name William Robinson, an American of Scottish descent whose masquerade as a Chinese magician lasted for almost two decades without exposure (to the public at least), until he literally died on stage, and forgot himself sufficiently to expire in English. His father had been a blackface minstrel, and one could imagine all sorts of complex psychological reasons for why the family had a compulsion to impersonate other races; on the other hand perhaps they did it for the money.

I really enjoyed the piece, which musically was an effective mixture of the styles of Kurt Weill and Benjamin Britten. And despite sitting rather close to the front I was still unable to work out how the handkerchief turned into a rose and the rose into a walking stick, let alone how he managed to sing in tune at the same time. The ending contrived to be very moving despite the fact that we all knew what was going to happen, and also that the man firing the gun for the don't-try-this-at-home catching-a-bullet-in-your-teeth finale had clearly never seen a rifle before in his life.

There's an interesting discussion of the opera's inaugural production at the 2006 Aldeburgh Festival to be found here.

The Imaginary Invalid

And so to the theatre. I have been to see 'The Hypochondriac', an English adaptation of Molière's 'Le malade imaginaire'. Somewhat to my surprise  my companion for the evening claimed to be very familiar with the original French version - your bloggist is not normally out-bragged in the field of culture; I must be slipping - and she seemed to think it stuck closely to the source material. There were certainly plenty of seventeenth century costumes on display: breeches, elaborate wigs and heaving bosoms. Indeed one almost wanted to quote from the same playwright's Tartuffe to the actress playing Beline:

"Couvrez ce sein que je ne saurais voir.  

Par de pareils objets les âmes sont blessées"

It was, of course, very funny; albeit much of the humour being somewhat scatological. Still, surely even a pseudo-intellectual can be allowed the occasional snigger at a man pretending to be straining on a commode? No? Perhaps it's just me. It also featured a woman being sawed in half on stage, which I'm pretty sure is the first time I've ever seen this classic conjuring trick performed live; another box ticked.

The only odd note was the tacking on after the curtain call of a scene depicting the death of Molière, the author having indeed died while performing the lead role of Argan. It put me in mind of the performance of Turandot I saw many years ago in Gothenburg where Puccini's death was played out equally pointlessly.

Pot3pouri

I've never seen this film.

Which is why I have used a picture of the wrong robot. Anyway, a few small things to report:

• I saw the latest Star Trek film; none of it made any sense whatsoever. The villain was well done, both as a character and the acting by Benedict Cumberbatch, but that was about it. Complete tosh. The upcoming films in the trailers didn't look much better. I might go and see The Lone Ranger where they seem to have avoided the temptation to develop it as a sort of Pirates of the Caribbean or Raiders of the Lost Ark style action romp. Instead it seems to be a rather sensitive contemplation on the love that dares not speak its name. As the poet Shelley put it: 

                               "Maybe masked man he a poofter
                                 Try it on with surly Tonto
                                 Let me say to mister lawman
                                 Tonto doesn't mind."

• I saw a magic show. I honestly thought that it was going to be a serious discussion on magic versus science, but it turned out to be a bloke doing card tricks. Still, who doesn't like a conjuror? And I'm no exception.
• I saw Seth Lakeman, who I have seen described amongst other things as the Michael Bublé of fiddle-playing. I've no idea what that means, but I suspect it's not complimentary. I thoroughly enjoyed it except for the fact that the show on in the Grand's main house was The Rocky Horror Show. There is possibly nothing grimmer than men wearing stockings and suspenders.