On Stage Linda McKenna

On Stage

The players play to the box, not the stalls, nor the pit, certainly not the Gods where the poorest sit, sweating, sucking at the market stall’s detritus. One year we had a box, but the angles were all wrong, the children fought and cried, and always there was the fear they might fall out. On stage, Aladdin finds a cave of fabulous treasure but also the Genie with his wish, wish, wish. The boxes distract, intrude on the action so Aladdin forgets what’s next, until the Genie nudges him, whispers, you must choose. If Aladdin had said, I wish for nothing, would the world have become ash? He should have pushed down the lid, shouted, I wish you dead, but dazzled by visions of his home made silken and opulent, the flourish of a huge, shiny key, complacent creak of a front door made from the finest oak he chooses riches, and despite the comic turns, the annual topical inserts, we all know what disasters must follow.

Linda McKenna

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