Arcadia by Tom Stoppard
Two hours on the train to Birmingham to see the Saturday matinee performance of Arcadia. Two hours back, with a last ditch struggle to board a crowded train. It was a wet and windy day when other pursuits offered: staying indoors with the latest Charles Cumming and a pot of tippy Assam would probably have been favourite. So; was Arcadia worth the effort?
I’ve never really been a Stoppard fan — he’s a bit Rab Butler, a little “too clever by half”. And this is England, where “clever” is not always a compliment. The performances were mixed — some good, some a little newbie. It isn’t everyone who can make a play about entropy and hold people’s attention (yes, I know there was a lot more, but that’s what I’m left with this morning).
I suppose it was worth the trouble. But only just.
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