Phantom in Roma...(21/5)

A rejoice of the same story, but in Roma, where the theatre set a very classic Baroque style of opera house for the reprise of the story, and this took place in Warsaw, in Polish. It was the 3rd cast of the production I saw, and yet it was a spectacular session played by the Polish group. The intonation of Polish lyrics harmonized the melody of Andrew Lloyd Weber, at least I did not find much awkward sensation during the play (more)...
Seats were limited in the optimal size of theatre house, and the Polish audience seemed enjoying much their own version of the opera. Costume design was nice, and the stage management was good. The use of visual projection completed the utilization of space on the stage based on its non-far-fetch operational budget, I guess. A very value-for-money performance at last minute purchase point com.

A dream in theatre...(27/12)

It was my first trip to London in 1998. Accompanying me along the trip was a notebook with made of calfskin parchment. A loaded white papers full of dreams and fantasies. Youth was the ever-flowing ink that bound itself inside a silent of passion and glory. The trip was an inspiring and enlightening voyage of life, and framed with Warhol's quote of the "15-minute stardom", I thought of a devotion to theatre and performing arts...
The splendid theatre industry in London was fascinating. Filled with strokes of colours and relativity of brightness, the moving objects are shaping their shadows in a waltz. Lights in, and lights out, and a fame rested inside the deeper end of an unexplored land. A decade, slowly evolving in its set pattern, and actors act, as of they ever choose to play. Summers come and go, and quietly, the ink fades into the sepia butterfly wings...a reprise of waltz dance in the virtually cooling air. Tonight, the striking beams of contrasting lights brought me a flashing memory of the once-upon-a-time gorgeous moments of florescent glory. My pen writes in past tense...

Rose...(12/1)

Le Petit Prince tells us that everyone has one's roses: the unique bunch of possession and translation of the meaning of life...
If the story of Antoine de Saint-Exupery expresses the sensation of hopeless and frustration of life during the second world war period, it should be regarded as only a fairy tale of the era. The stage version of le petit prince currently performed at the Hong Kong Cultural Centre is not a good provision of Saint-Exupery's philosophical definition to explore the forgotten world of life. The musical simplified the complexity and depth of the story by assuming the monolithic reasoning of the grown-ups. Apart from repeating the 'theories' and 'belief' which the script writer considers Saint-Exupery would like to address to his audience, there was no metamorphic approach to translate the story of le petit prince. A simply dialogue, performed with a repetitive lyrics of the presumed meaning of the story. Sadnessly be such arrangement a failure of the overall musical performance, no matter how the just-in-time sound effect or visually-impacting stage design attempted to rescue the play. The word 'ephemeral', on the other hand, is a pleasing jeu-de-mot. I like the possible possibilities such word embraces. When le petit prince talked about his rose, he was only caught by the empathetic appearance of the contradicting nature of rose, or the interpretation of his world during his journey of life. Should I have the privilege to choose the substance of the Rose, I would rather prefer the inspiring vision Anthony Reynolds wrote, 'the dying rose sees the death of love'...an identical ephemeral value to Fassbinder's love is cooler than death.