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Manchester International Festival: Day 17

• Richard Fair
• 14 Jul 07, 08:43 AM

If this was a long running American TV show it would now be building into a fantastic season close. Carefully twisted plots and themes interspersed with clever dialogue and the occasional red herring. We鈥檇 have filmed two alternative endings just in case the press got a sniff of which character was going to say adios as an out of control shopping trolley full of baked beans pinned them to a cardboard cut out of a huge toilet freshener.

But it isn鈥檛. It鈥檚 a blog. And we just keep going, although we do need to draw to a close our coverage of the Manchester International Festival.

It鈥檚 interesting to look back through my notebook at some of the things I鈥檝e written down that didn鈥檛 make it to the blog. These are little observations that seem pertinent at the time and I presume that I must have had big plans for how they would form the backbone of one of my posts. In the cold light of day, however, I begin to wonder if I鈥檓 slowly losing my sanity.

I should point out that when reviewing things in cinemas or theatres you have to write in the dark. It鈥檚 not easy. Often your best lines end up on your chinos, or worse still Kevin Bourke鈥檚. But anyway, here鈥檚 a selection of the ones I can decipher.

鈥淥ld woman looks like the one at the beginning of Ghostbusters鈥�
鈥淕ary Barlow鈥檚 too high for the girls鈥�
鈥淣ew bulb for church toilet鈥� (NB That may not be Festival related)
鈥淕et to seat early and listen to the harps being tuned鈥�
鈥淪ome of the seats had napkins on them鈥�
鈥淏aked potato nightmare鈥�
鈥淲hat would happen if the orchestra followed the sign language person instead of the conductor?鈥�

Jazz

For my final proper Festival event I popped into the for a spot of Jazz courtesy of the Eclipse Saxophone Quartet. Against a backdrop of umbrellas heading up to Piccadilly Station after a busy week in the office, the guys gave us a cracking arrangement of Gershwin鈥檚 Summertime. With an up tempo beat and a Latino feel I found myself sinking into my comfy chair while sinking my teeth into the comforting homemade beef burger (with fries and ketchup). I鈥檓 terrible with accents, but I think the waitress was Irish, or American. She said that the Festival may be coming to an end but it looks like the jazz may continue at the City Cafe. Fantastic.

The End

So as the dancing curtains of Il Tempo del Postino fall gently on the ripped wallpaper of Johnny Vegas鈥� Interiors, we say goodbye to the Manchester International Festival.
I will forever hold in my heart the sorrow of Orpheus. I will always be indebted to Alan Rickman for his microphone skills. I will cherish my time in the paparazzi scrum for the best Denis Hopper picture. I will live in fear of death in case I鈥檓 surrounded by two dozen women spinning plates. But above all, I will never be able to watch a Cleopatra film again, well not unless I鈥檓 standing up.

Shall we do it again in 2009?

Blogs
has been to see Il Tempo del Postino at the Opera House. "As was always going to be the case, this was a very hit-and-miss show."