Word: cyrillic
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...trouble lies elsewhere. And it is not difficult to surmise what happened. Cyril Ritchard is invited to play the rich comic part of Bottom the Weaver. Now you will recall that Bottom and his five fellow artisans are preparing to act out the tale of Pyramus and Thisby as part of the entertainment at the wedding of Duke Theseus and Hippolyta. Bottom is assigned the role of Pyramus. Uncontent, he pleads, "Let me play the lion too." He is restricted to Pyramus, but the idea is planted...
...play (IV, i), where Bottom, with his noggin transformed into an ass' head, and Oberon must both appear and speak on stage. We are told that Anthony of Padua, Philip Neri and other saints of eld were capable of bilocation. Are they now to be joined by Saint Cyril? The suspense is hardly bearable; and the answer turns out to be: yes, apparently. Bottom appears; yes, it's Ritchard's voice all right. Titaniz puts him to sleep. Oberon enters and does his stuff; Ritchard, unmistakabley. Bottom awakes, the ass' head comes off, and, sure enough, there's Ritchard, prattling...
...directed evolved in the first place--and, analogously, that the orchestral conductor superseded the head-bobbing harpsichordist or violin list. Is the indulging of theatrical egotism and arrogance worth a return to the old-time lack of focus, balance, and precision? Both Sir Laurence and Saint Cyril should attend to wending their ways by mending their maze...
Near the play's conclusion, Theseus states, "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet/ Are of imagination all compact." In the current version, there's plenty of lunacy, plenty of love, but precious little poetry. For this Cyril Ritchard must be held largely responsible. He should have faced up to the fact that his attempt to do almost everything himself was, like his own anatomy, characterized by an inability to see his own Bottom
Near the play's conclusion, Theseus states, "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet/ Are of imagination all compact." In the current version, there's plenty of lunacy, plenty of love, but precious little poetry. For this Cyril Ritchard must be held largely responsible. He should have faced up to the fact that his attempt to do almost everything himself was, like his own anatomy, characterized by an inability to see his own Bottom