![]() ![]() Paris Review - The Art of Theater No. Harold Pinter. Harold Pinter had recently moved into a five- story 1. Nash house facing Regent's Park in London. The view from the floor- through top floor where he has installed his office overlooks a duck pond and a long stretch of wooded parkland; his desk faces this view, and in late October 1. ![]() Harold Pinter Plays.pdf DOWNLOAD HERE. 1 Rituals of Gender and Power in the Plays of Harold Pinter Harold Pinter’s 1960’s plays The Lover and The Homecoming are narratives that. Ashes to Ashes, Harold Pinter. London sun constantly distracted him as he thought over questions or began to give answers. He speaks in a deep, theater- trained voice that comes rather surprisingly from him, and indeed is the most remarkable thing about him physically. When speaking he almost always tends to excessive qualification of any statement, as if coming to a final definition of things were obviously impossible. Harold Pinter, Writer: Sleuth. Harold Pinter, the 2005 Nobel Laureate for Literature, was born October 10, 1930. 1977 The Lover (TV Movie) (play) 1976 De Dienstlift (TV Movie) (play) 1976 The Last Tycoon (screenplay). A: The UNZ.org website is intended to provide convenient access to a large quantity of high-quality content material. PERFORMANCE REVIEW / 661. One gets the impression—as one does with many of the characters in his plays—of a man so deeply involved with what he's thinking that roughing it into speech is a painful necessity. His own work is alternatively a source of mystery, amusement, joy, and anger to him; in looking it over he often discovered possibilities and ambiguities that he had not noticed or had forgotten. One felt that if only he would rip out his telephone and hang black curtains across the wide windows he would be much happier, though he insists that the “great boredom one has with oneself” is unrelated to his environment or his obligations. His wife, the actress Vivien Merchant, toured with him, but when she became pregnant in 1. London's shabby Notting Hill Gate section, in a building where Mr. Pinter worked as a caretaker to pay his rent. When their son was born they borrowed enough money to move to a less shabby district in Chiswick, but both had to return to full- time acting when Mr. Pinter's first full- length play, The Birthday Party, was a full- scale flop in 1. The production of The Caretaker in 1. Kew, and then, thinking he could live on his writings, Mr. Pinter moved his family to a bowfronted Regency house in the south- coast seaside town of Worthing. But the two- hour drive to London became imperative too often, and so they moved once again, to a rented flat in Kensington, until Mr. The Lover; Written by: Harold Pinter: Date premiered: 1962 () Original language: English: Genre: One-act play. The Lover has been staged successfully both as an ironic comedy on the one hand and as a nervy drama on the other. Directed by Harold Pinter Assistant Director - Guy Vaesen Settings and Lighting - Brian Currah Costumes - L. The Lover and The Dwarfs Michael Forrest and. The Lover has a similar wholly satisfying completeness. Barney Rossett challenged the obscenity laws by publishing D. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover and then Henry Miller. Harold Pinter holds an undisputed place in the. Party Time and The New World Order. File source: docarchive.org. Related Files: LOST SCRIPT - 105 - THE MOTH.FDR SCRIPT - DAILY. HAROLD PINTER SCRIPTS; HAROLD PINTER SCRIPT; BETRAYAL SCRIPT. Harold Pinter: The Birthday Party Author: BUSINESS MEDIA CZ, s. Created Date: 9/17/2016 6:39:41 PM. Pinter's lucrative film scripts made it possible for them to buy the Regent's Park house. Though it is not yet completely renovated, the size and comfort of it are impressive, as is Mr. Pinter's office, with a separate room nearby for his secretary and a small bar equally nearby for the beer and Scotch that he drinks steadily during the day, whether working or not. Bookshelves line one- half the area, and a velvet chaise longue faces the small rear garden. On the walls are a series of Feliks Topolski sketches of London theater scenes; a poster of the Montevideo production of El Cuidador; a small financial balance sheet indicating that his first West End production, The Birthday Party, earned two hundred sixty pounds in its disastrous week's run; a Picasso drawing; and his citation from when he was named to the Order of the British Empire last spring. A friend of mine called Henry Woolf was a student in the drama department at Bristol University at the time when it was the only drama department in the country. He had the opportunity to direct a play, and as he was my oldest friend he knew I'd been writing, and he knew I had an idea for a play, though I hadn't written any of it. I was acting in rep at the time, and he told me he had to have the play the next week to meet his schedule. I said this was ridiculous; he might get it in six months. And then I wrote it in four days. About a dozen had been published in little magazines. I wrote a novel as well; it's not good enough to be published, really, and never has been. After I wrote The Room, which I didn't see performed for a few weeks, I started to work immediately on The Birthday Party. Then I went to see The Room, which was a remarkable experience. Since I'd never written a play before, I'd of course never seen one of mine performed, never had an audience sitting there. The only people who'd ever seen what I'd written had been a few friends and my wife. So to sit in the audience—well, I wanted to piss very badly throughout the whole thing, and at the end I dashed out behind the bicycle shed. Watching first nights, though I've seen quite a few by now, is never any better. It's a nerve- racking experience. It's not a question of whether the play goes well or badly. It's not the audience reaction, it's my reaction. I'm rather hostile toward audiences—I don't much care for large bodies of people collected together. Everyone knows that audiences vary enormously; it's a mistake to care too much about them. The thing one should be concerned with is whether the performance has expressed what one set out to express in writing the play. I just wrote it a bit quicker under the circumstances; he just triggered something off. The Birthday Party had also been in my mind for a long time. It was sparked off from a very distinct situation in digs when I was on tour. In fact, the other day a friend of mine gave me a letter I wrote to him in nineteen- fifty- something, Christ knows when it was. This is what it says: “I have filthy insane digs, a great bulging scrag of a woman with breasts rolling at her belly, an obscene household, cats, dogs, filth, tea strainers, mess, oh bullocks, talk, chat rubbish shit scratch dung poison, infantility, deficient order in the upper fretwork, fucking roll on.” Now the thing about this is that was The Birthday Party—I was in those digs, and this woman was Meg in the play, and there was a fellow staying there in Eastbourne, on the coast. The whole thing remained with me, and three years later I wrote the play. I wouldn't know where to begin. Particularly since I often look at myself in the mirror and say, “Who the hell's that?” INTERVIEWERAnd you don't think being represented as a character on stage would help you find out? The Caretaker, for example. I didn't know him very well, he did most of the talking when I saw him. I bumped into him a few times, and about a year or so afterward he sparked this thing off. Though I wrote The Room, The Birthday Party, and The Dumb Waiter in 1. I was acting all the time in a repertory company, doing all kinds of jobs, traveling to Bournemouth and Torquay and Birmingham. I finished The Birthday Party while I was touring in some kind of farce, I don't remember the name. And I'm proved—equally as often—quite wrong. And does your acting help you as a playwright? But I don't see myself in each role—I couldn't play most of them. My acting doesn't impede my playwriting because of these limitations. For example, I'd like to write a play—I've frequently thought of this—entirely about women. Do you write parts for her? I've never written any part for any actor, and the same applies to my wife. I just think she's a very good actress and a very interesting actress to work with, and I want her in my plays. I didn't go to university. I left school at sixteen—I was fed up and restless. The only thing that interested me at school was English language and literature, but I didn't have Latin and so couldn't go on to university. So I went to a few drama schools, not studying seriously; I was mostly in love at the time and tied up with that. The only person I really liked to see was Donald Wolfit, in a Shakespeare company at the time. I admired him tremendously; his Lear is still the best I've ever seen. And then I was reading, for years, a great deal of modern literature, mostly novels. I read Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, Joyce, and Henry Miller at a very early age, and Kafka. I'd read Beckett's novels, too, but I'd never heard of Ionesco until after I'd written the first few plays. Beckett and Kafka stayed with me the most—I think Beckett is the best prose writer living. My world is still bound up by other writers—that's one of the best things in it. I feel a sense of music continually in writing, which is a different matter from having been influenced by it. Boulez and Webern are now composers I listen to a great deal. It's quite different; the theater's much the most difficult kind of writing for me, the most naked kind, you're so entirely restricted. I've done some film work, but for some reason or other I haven't found it very easy to satisfy myself on an original idea for a film. Tea Party, which I did for television, is actually a film, cinematic, I wrote it like that. Television and films are simpler than the theater—if you get tired of a scene you just drop it and go on to another one. I'm not a very inventive writer in the sense of using the technical devices other playwrights do—look at Brecht! I can't use the stage the way he does, I just haven't got that kind of imagination, so I find myself stuck with these characters who are either sitting or standing, and they've either got to walk out of a door, or come in through a door, and that's about all they can do. It went on a little tour of Oxford and Cambridge first, and was very successful. When it came to London it was completely massacred by the critics—absolutely slaughtered. I've never really known why, nor am I particularly interested. I've framed the statement of the box- office takings: two hundred sixty pounds, including a first night of one hundred forty pounds and the Thursday matinee of two pounds, nine shillings—there were six people there. I was completely new to writing for the professional theater, and it was rather a shock when it happened. But I went on writing—the BBC were very helpful. I wrote A Slight Ache on commission from them. In 1. 96. 0 The Dumb Waiter was produced, and then The Caretaker. The only really bad experience I've had was The Birthday Party; I was so green and gauche—not that I'm rosy and confident now, but comparatively . Anyway, for things like stage design I didn't know how to cope, and I didn't know how to talk to the director. How was it different from unfavorable criticism of your acting, which surely you'd had before? It was my wife, actually, who said just that to me: “You've had bad notices before,” et cetera.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
November 2017
Categories |