transatlantic and infatuation
0 Comments Published by ginny on Tuesday, January 22, 2002 at 1:44 PM.
8:44 a.m. 01 October 2002
I have a theory about trans-Atlantic differences. A coffee and tea theory. I know you're all thinking it must be a theory dealing with why Americans drink coffee and the British drink tea, but no! It is more far-reaching, more deep, more philosophical than that. My theory is about how people in the US and people in Britain drink their coffee and tea.
See, in the US, if you're a hot-drink (i.e., coffee) purist, the thing you absolutely do not do is put milk in it. You may sweeten a little, but really, nobody with any sense puts milk in their coffee. It is not done unless you are willing to cope with having no reputation for greatness.
But in Britain, they put milk in all the time. In fact, it's weird to take tea without milk. What is simply not done, what earns scornful glances and deriding laughs is putting in sugar. Only children, I've been told, take sugar. Children and yams with no honor.
So here's my theory, which encapsulates the whole difference between American and British culture. See, Americans don't like putting milk in because it weakens the beverage. Sugar just changes the taste a little, but not the strength -- which is the essential thing about it. The thing you must not be, above all other things, in America, is weak.
But the British, the British don't really care about that. What's wrong, to them, is that when you put sugar in the beverage, it adulterates it. It changes the taste ?essentially, the class of the tea. The worry about weakness doesn't exist, but putting sugar in shows a disregard for the essential purity of the thing ?for its status.
There's the key difference for you: Americans don't care how low class you are, as long as you have power. As long as you're strong. But the British don't care about brute strength or lack thereof -- for them it's all about purity, class, and status. Essentially, where you come from, or at least where you act like you come from.
And me? How do I take coffee and tea? With milk. And sugar. So there. I'm wrong on both sides of the Atlantic.
So my weekend. Nothing done, again. Except that on Saturday I queued for tickets to the very last performance of Twelfth Night and saw it one last time. (Yes. That makes . . .er . . .five. I know I'm a groupie, okay!)
Oh my god. I have never seen such a beautiful thing as how much that audience loved that show. The theatre, of course, was packed. Absolutely packed. And packed full of complete, pure, love for those actors. Is there anything more wonderful than the way an audience and a cast who love each other exchange energy? I don't know. It's like being in love, only better.
I mean, there was one point, where Rylance was doing nothing but changing his facial expression minutely, and I swear the audience laughed for five to eight minutes. He was just standing there. And they were dying with laughter. And this was in Olivia's very first scene.
And when Malvolio threw the ring back at Viola and it bounced into the audience, like it does most of the time, they nearly died with laughter. I mean, they were choking, they were laughing so hard. And the actors were so with it. I've never seen professionals so wonderfully excited about what they were doing. I mean, they loved it with all their souls. Dear, wonderful Viola was trying so hard not to laugh with that ring thing. It was beautiful. I know, you don't usually think about that as being right, but oh it so was.
Because you see they were loving us back as much as we were loving them. They were literally jumping up and down before the show. It was so cute. And they were just exploding with energy the whole time they were on stage. It was, in fact, so much energy that some things were kind of missed -- because we were laughing so hard at things that weren't exactly laugh lines, the more solid bits, the ones that in every other show had gotten way more laughter, didn't get quite as much. And they did all break character (except, I think, Feste) a couple times.
But it was wonderful. It was exactly how it should have been. You see, that's why I loved them so much, at least part of it. Because they were so clearly filled with joy at what they were doing and genuine, deep love for the audience. They were so sweet. The only time I've seen such incredibly love and enthusiasm is in an amateur group about to go on --because it's so precious.
And this cast, this professional cast, realized that preciousness, and I love them with all my heart for it. Really, I don't know when I could ever see a thing more beautiful than that. That is the most meaningful, wonderful thing in the world: that's really love, no matter what. That's as really love as a parent for a newborn child or a couple pledging to be with each other forever. That pure, pure love of actors for each other and for audience and audience for actors and for play is as wonderful as any thing in the world.
Oh, god, I love it so much I think it may burst my heart.
I have a theory about trans-Atlantic differences. A coffee and tea theory. I know you're all thinking it must be a theory dealing with why Americans drink coffee and the British drink tea, but no! It is more far-reaching, more deep, more philosophical than that. My theory is about how people in the US and people in Britain drink their coffee and tea.
See, in the US, if you're a hot-drink (i.e., coffee) purist, the thing you absolutely do not do is put milk in it. You may sweeten a little, but really, nobody with any sense puts milk in their coffee. It is not done unless you are willing to cope with having no reputation for greatness.
But in Britain, they put milk in all the time. In fact, it's weird to take tea without milk. What is simply not done, what earns scornful glances and deriding laughs is putting in sugar. Only children, I've been told, take sugar. Children and yams with no honor.
So here's my theory, which encapsulates the whole difference between American and British culture. See, Americans don't like putting milk in because it weakens the beverage. Sugar just changes the taste a little, but not the strength -- which is the essential thing about it. The thing you must not be, above all other things, in America, is weak.
But the British, the British don't really care about that. What's wrong, to them, is that when you put sugar in the beverage, it adulterates it. It changes the taste ?essentially, the class of the tea. The worry about weakness doesn't exist, but putting sugar in shows a disregard for the essential purity of the thing ?for its status.
There's the key difference for you: Americans don't care how low class you are, as long as you have power. As long as you're strong. But the British don't care about brute strength or lack thereof -- for them it's all about purity, class, and status. Essentially, where you come from, or at least where you act like you come from.
And me? How do I take coffee and tea? With milk. And sugar. So there. I'm wrong on both sides of the Atlantic.
So my weekend. Nothing done, again. Except that on Saturday I queued for tickets to the very last performance of Twelfth Night and saw it one last time. (Yes. That makes . . .er . . .five. I know I'm a groupie, okay!)
Oh my god. I have never seen such a beautiful thing as how much that audience loved that show. The theatre, of course, was packed. Absolutely packed. And packed full of complete, pure, love for those actors. Is there anything more wonderful than the way an audience and a cast who love each other exchange energy? I don't know. It's like being in love, only better.
I mean, there was one point, where Rylance was doing nothing but changing his facial expression minutely, and I swear the audience laughed for five to eight minutes. He was just standing there. And they were dying with laughter. And this was in Olivia's very first scene.
And when Malvolio threw the ring back at Viola and it bounced into the audience, like it does most of the time, they nearly died with laughter. I mean, they were choking, they were laughing so hard. And the actors were so with it. I've never seen professionals so wonderfully excited about what they were doing. I mean, they loved it with all their souls. Dear, wonderful Viola was trying so hard not to laugh with that ring thing. It was beautiful. I know, you don't usually think about that as being right, but oh it so was.
Because you see they were loving us back as much as we were loving them. They were literally jumping up and down before the show. It was so cute. And they were just exploding with energy the whole time they were on stage. It was, in fact, so much energy that some things were kind of missed -- because we were laughing so hard at things that weren't exactly laugh lines, the more solid bits, the ones that in every other show had gotten way more laughter, didn't get quite as much. And they did all break character (except, I think, Feste) a couple times.
But it was wonderful. It was exactly how it should have been. You see, that's why I loved them so much, at least part of it. Because they were so clearly filled with joy at what they were doing and genuine, deep love for the audience. They were so sweet. The only time I've seen such incredibly love and enthusiasm is in an amateur group about to go on --because it's so precious.
And this cast, this professional cast, realized that preciousness, and I love them with all my heart for it. Really, I don't know when I could ever see a thing more beautiful than that. That is the most meaningful, wonderful thing in the world: that's really love, no matter what. That's as really love as a parent for a newborn child or a couple pledging to be with each other forever. That pure, pure love of actors for each other and for audience and audience for actors and for play is as wonderful as any thing in the world.
Oh, god, I love it so much I think it may burst my heart.
Labels: audience, England, representation, theatre, transvestism
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