Thursday, Corpus Christi Day,

was a big holiday here in Gutenberg Land-

and any  of the other fifteen German states that are historically

and predominantly

Roman Catholic.

We faked the required barbecue,

and just nuked two ears of corn

and some haloumi cheese,

and ate on the balcony.

Followed by a quick round of

“have you got a computer that works, or is your stalker online too”

a short walk over the fields behind our house,

to get the cobwebs out,

and…

after a rather major, and complicated, attempt to get downtown,

(it’s road tarring, tram track laying,

and block all roads due to street carnivals and marathon running

season here)…

we arrived at something we started working to get tickets to in January…

the National Theatre’s live to a few big city movie houses broadcast of

Harold Pinter’s “No Man’s Land”

a study of a brilliant and injured successful poet,

trying to drink himself into oblivion to forget life’s major injuries,

which are only anesthesizable in No Man’s Land,

an area of erudite verbal squabbling,

academic one-upmanship,

and, most important, always, always, keeping a distance.

Enter an unsuccessful poet,

but a very successful drunk,

who tries, with all means, to attach himself,

secretarily, and otherwise,

in the hope of getting money,

and prestige,

and, most importantly,

by constantly attacking his hero,

breaking down all barriers,

including the normal barriers of human decency,

so he can bask in,

and steal,

the greatness.

Unfortunately, there are two guardians,

also on for the ride,

who can tell quality from non-quality,

and help keep the distance.

Gee, what can I say-

it’s Pinter.

Brilliant, thought-provoking,

and,

with a cast containing,

among others,

Sir Patrick Stewart,

and Sir Ian McKellen,

well worth the discomfort of a super-modern movie house

with seats so low you have to sit with your knees under your chin,

and breath through the smell of nachos and cheese,

(We were the only ones without)

And then, of course, there were the six,

count them six,

unsuccessful long-distance attempts to get tickets to see it live on stage.

Bon chance.

(The NT live broadcasts to the big city movie houses here are actually quite good.-

Just nachos instead of sherry, )

(And you don’t get the sweat and spit of working actors-

I know. I’ve sat in enough orchestra pits and house seats.)

So what then, bottom-linely speaking,

is the point.

Or do I mean the “land” scape?

I think the phrase I have heard more than once in the last few days,

but never as well spoken

and illustrated,

as here in “No Man’s Land,”

is Pinter’s stage three-

Stage One:  Aristotle- mimesis- “art imitates life”

Stage Two: Oscar Wilde-  anti-mimesis- “life imitates art far more than art imitates life.”

And now, Stage  Three: Pinter.

Art imitates Life imitates Art imitates Life.

And Stage Four?

Good poets borrow,

Great poets steal?

copyright Dunnasead.co 2017

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