![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cillian is the thing with talent
Mar. 31st, 2019 12:01 pmOn Friday, I went with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
picosgemeos and his book club to see Grief Is The Thing With Feathers at the Barbican. I have not read the source material and didn't know anything about the play other than my tiny future hubby Cillian Murphy was starring in it. I left work and walked down to Dalson in the sunshine. Even in that piece of inner city everything was in bloom or in leaf, and it felt that winter was finally, definitively over and this soft sunny air was our reward for stoically living through the last five months of GMT. I sat outside near the lake at the Barbican, eating my supermarket sushi and thinking how much easier everything is if it's pleasant outside.
The play, then. Cillian played both the bereaved husband and also the crow who personifies the grief and it was during this latter role that my mouth dropped at his astonishing performance. He donned a black dressing gown to play a hooded monk-like figure, not unlike death himself, and hopped around the stage, leaping and then perching on bunk-beds, clawing and climbing (but never chewing) the scenery, yowling into a microphone to create Crow, whom he played with an English Brigadier-ish accent. Added to this was the staging, a simple living room/kitchen, which seemed to be set in the '80s with its MFI cabinets and news about the '87 hurricane and IRA attacks coming from the analogue radio. But when Crow arrived, black scratchings of poetry scrawled themselves across the stage; when the bereaved sons thought about their mother, her face filled the set. Cillian/Crow screamed into a loudhailer, the stage went black, the man next to me got up and left. Cillian is so much more than a pretty face, he is a marvel and must under no circumstances be allowed to take the James Bond role. Think of all the crunches he'd have to do. The reps. Gone would be the frail, fantastic actor, he would become....the movie star.
picosgemeos and his book club to see Grief Is The Thing With Feathers at the Barbican. I have not read the source material and didn't know anything about the play other than my tiny future hubby Cillian Murphy was starring in it. I left work and walked down to Dalson in the sunshine. Even in that piece of inner city everything was in bloom or in leaf, and it felt that winter was finally, definitively over and this soft sunny air was our reward for stoically living through the last five months of GMT. I sat outside near the lake at the Barbican, eating my supermarket sushi and thinking how much easier everything is if it's pleasant outside.The play, then. Cillian played both the bereaved husband and also the crow who personifies the grief and it was during this latter role that my mouth dropped at his astonishing performance. He donned a black dressing gown to play a hooded monk-like figure, not unlike death himself, and hopped around the stage, leaping and then perching on bunk-beds, clawing and climbing (but never chewing) the scenery, yowling into a microphone to create Crow, whom he played with an English Brigadier-ish accent. Added to this was the staging, a simple living room/kitchen, which seemed to be set in the '80s with its MFI cabinets and news about the '87 hurricane and IRA attacks coming from the analogue radio. But when Crow arrived, black scratchings of poetry scrawled themselves across the stage; when the bereaved sons thought about their mother, her face filled the set. Cillian/Crow screamed into a loudhailer, the stage went black, the man next to me got up and left. Cillian is so much more than a pretty face, he is a marvel and must under no circumstances be allowed to take the James Bond role. Think of all the crunches he'd have to do. The reps. Gone would be the frail, fantastic actor, he would become....the movie star.
