by John Osborne
I’m on Os. I had this and “Long Day’s Journey Into Night” by O’Neill, which I opted not to read because “it’s a play”. Wotta dunce.
The funny thing about this play is that, if you take it out of context (and how can I not?) it’s, like, 90 minutes of people being awful to each other for no clear reason. I think it’s about class warfare. Maybe it’s a big metaphor and I missed it,’cause otherwise it’s just about chicks digging jerks.
I don’t get why people would subject themselves to this in performance form (though, hyporcrite that I am, I’d probably see the Richard Burton/Claire Bloom film if it came to a cinema), but I don’t get a lot of what people go to see in live theater.
I don’t know. It’s just an exercise in futility and anger. Was I supposed to feel empathy because a character had had a hard life? (It’s freakin’ 1956 England! Any adult would’ve grown up in WWII!) This just gets a big “why?” from me. But it was a huge success at the time, so it obviously resonated with its desired audience.
I feel like there’s something wrong when I can relate more to a 16th century playwright than a 20th century one.