Jerusalem

Pam and I took in Jerusalem on Saturday, which is absolutely brilliant (no news there). So many of the recommendations to see the show were based on the performance of Mark Rylance, who is of course phenomenal - brutal, precise, mythic, untrustworthy, tragic, bold.

What I was unprepared for, perhaps because the performances were so highlighted to me, is just how wonderful the play is. Jez Butterworth's play made me joyfully envious at every turn. It's positively abundant with terrific writing, rich symbols, and guts. I mean hell, the play combines Falstaff and Oberon and Lear in the form of a man who has all the cocaine in the forest. I enjoyed, also, how it's jagged, inexplicable edges become a part of what's exhilarating. It's not symmetrical, not careful, and it's built more on momentum and heartiness than being user-friendly.

In short: I loved it. Go see it while you still can. And thank an English tax payer, next time you meet one.