The bitch is back...

No, Lauren. Blogging means never having to say: "Er, sorry I missed that deadline."

I'm back, dear reader. And have blogged about my mountain of mail at Sarsaparilla... which, apparently, has turned one! (Struth!) (The pic I tried to load, there, of my mail, is reproduced full-size below the jump.)

While you're at Sars, read Alison's review of Pillowman. Or, better still, read it at Theatre Notes. (The comment thread is fascinating.)

My god, we're lucky to have her. Givin' the good stuff away.

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As Nick Cave once sang: Roman, Roman you're so cute...

Greetings, all, from Phu Quoc. Home of fish sauce so good, it's rated like olive oil... mmmm... Where "use the meter" means "go the scenic route and try to miss every light" to the few cab drivers around. (What's another half million dong anyway?)





This is as off duty as I get. Reading books recreationally, power supplies so unreliable that my iPod (on which I have a talking book of Richard III as theatrical methadone) is a ridiculous luxury. So my clever, erudite and glowing review of Rusalka will be late. Too late to be of 'use'. (Short version, Melbourne's production is brilliant, unbelievably better than the Sydney premiere two months back... See it for the lead, a daring passionate brilliant performer: Sally Matthews. One show left!)

Anyway... so I get on a scarily crappy flat fishing boat (much less salubrious than the one in the pic) at the south end of an island between Vietnam and Cambodia and who should I meet? A French actress named Romane -- daughter of Richard Bohringer, named after Roman Polanski -- who cooes in awe of Australian playwright Daniel Keene. Who, herself, was plucked out of obscurity at the age of 17 by Peter Brook, no less, to play Miranda. Wondrous strange. And, even more strange, she has since been in an Aussie film about felafels... heh.


Romane Bohringer (photo: Chris Boyd,
click on the image to enlarge)

No other pics to upload as yet... The boat one is new, borrowed and blue.

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