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Had a chance to see a preview of his Edinburgh show last week and even in its most basic, virtually unscripted form it was brilliant. I’ve only seen one of his shows before “Stories of the Wobbly-Hearted” but even from that brief glimpse into Kitson’s talent you can tell the genius that lies beneath. This one is about his love-affair with his old flat and is made up of stories unpacked from suitcases literally and metaphorically, including a wonderful reminiscence on his sash-windows and some great caricature of his arsehole landlord.
In addition he’s also fantastically rude to people in the audience he basically deems as unfit to watch himself – in this performance he actually paid a couple to leave because they were being pathetic.
When we left the BAC I spotted him walking towards us at the crossing so decided to corner him and have a chat on our way to the tube. I always feel compelled to speak to people I admire and I wanted to see if he was bringing his show back to London post-Edinburgh. It seemed like he might do so hopefully I’ll get a chance to see it after I come back from India.
This ranks as one of the best theatrical productions I have ever seen. I’m still a bit dumbstruck by the whole experience.
The physical spectacles performed by Gisli Orn (I can’t do the Icelandic inflections on my computer) were breathtaking and perfectly captured the torture that Gregor undergoes and embodies. The opening sequence was, quite simply, perfect: exquisitely timed and sychronised movements by all the characters set to Nick Cave’s beautiful score.
It has inspired me to dust off my copy of Kafka’s complete works which I read when I was 17 and haven’t opened since. I remember being involved with it for at least a month and I would sit crouched over my desk reading page after page sneaking a cigarette out of my bedroom window, having a glass of whiskey stolen from my parents’ drink cabinet and feeling so very mature. I’m sure I wrote some Kafkaesque stories myself at the same time but thank goodness these don’t appear to have made it with me to the age of 28.
Anyway, I’m quite up for it again now – I think I’m going through a similar period of slightly melancholy existential doubt. Listening to Arvo Part, spending days upon days in the library, reading endless books, late nights, watching the sunrise as I read…..it’s probably not the healthiest lifestyle but it’s ending soon so I’m indulging in it.
Speaking of literary genius I’ve also been reading David Cesarini’s biography of Arthur Koestler. I was talking about it with my grandma when she exclaimed “Oh yes, I remember him, he came round to the house once, very interesting man..” Yet again proof that my grandma is one of the coolest people ever.
