...you can watch Bill Murray on top form for a couple of hours and call it 'research'.
Aesthetically a world away but no less enjoyable was my experience at the NT the other night watching Waves, a performance devised from Virginia Woolf's novel of (almost) the same name. I have to say that while I was ready to yield to Encore's persistently admiring advocacy of Katie Mitchell's highly authored style of directing after seeing The Seagull, this Cottesloe show convinces me that we are damned lucky to have someone with such a playful, artful, exploring sense of theatre and its possibilities as an associate at our national playhouse. Waves is consistently astonishing. If I wanted the interval sooner it was because I was overloaded, I needed a break to process all the beautiful moments I'd just been through.
And though she may not consider it an achievement, Mitchell has made it possible for me to read Woolf again, some years after I had sacked her after becoming aware of the disgracefully snobbish nigh on racist things she had said against my lovely hero, James Joyce.