The Mentor
Tuesday was a travel day. Sadly, I returned thecar, after discovering that you can't open the gas compartment if the car doors are locked. Then I discovered the roads that I wanted to take to return the car were closed.
Oh well.
It took longer to get through the customs line than it took to fly from Tallinn to London. Sigh. The good news was that I made it into town in time to buy a ticket and see The Mentor, starring F. Murray Abraham. He was playing a washed up playwright mentoring a man beginning his career.
His critique was harsh, and the up and comer took it hard. Language, naturally, was a recurring theme, and the language was often brilliant. Murray Abraham was clearly enjoying himself, but the play’s structure was not as good as the words.
The men on each side of me were in a similar boat -- they both saw F. Murray Abraham’s name on the marquee and bought a same-day discounted ticket. The man on my left was a private piano teacher from Devon. The man on my right was a Communications professor from the University of Maimi.
After the play, I joined the man on my right as he dined on roast beef at an established eatery (the Simpson, attached to the Savoy). The room was exquisite -- dark wood walls, carved plaster relief on the upper wall and ceiling. A piano player tinkling the ivories. Staff that were attentive without being obtrusive. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Better than the play, because it was serendipitous.
Oh well.
It took longer to get through the customs line than it took to fly from Tallinn to London. Sigh. The good news was that I made it into town in time to buy a ticket and see The Mentor, starring F. Murray Abraham. He was playing a washed up playwright mentoring a man beginning his career.
His critique was harsh, and the up and comer took it hard. Language, naturally, was a recurring theme, and the language was often brilliant. Murray Abraham was clearly enjoying himself, but the play’s structure was not as good as the words.
The men on each side of me were in a similar boat -- they both saw F. Murray Abraham’s name on the marquee and bought a same-day discounted ticket. The man on my left was a private piano teacher from Devon. The man on my right was a Communications professor from the University of Maimi.
After the play, I joined the man on my right as he dined on roast beef at an established eatery (the Simpson, attached to the Savoy). The room was exquisite -- dark wood walls, carved plaster relief on the upper wall and ceiling. A piano player tinkling the ivories. Staff that were attentive without being obtrusive. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Better than the play, because it was serendipitous.
Ooooo, sounds wonderful.
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