Fluttering Faeries

Inside and out.

I guess I am a Shakespeare traditionalist. Not entirely, mind you. I don't mind contemporary or interesting staging and costumes, but, apparently, I do mind characters bursting out into song, complete with backing tracks.

The Guthrie's production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" is excellent. The casting is superb, the characterizations are fantastic, the actors are great. I like the costumes and the staging. It was hilarious and entertaining. It's just that... they sing. The faeries sing. Not all the time, mind you. It's not like it's Andrew Lloyd Weber whenever the faeries are onstage, but... they sing. None of the human characters sing. Had the humans been singing as well, I definitely would have been upset. As it was, I just could not get used to the singing; and I had been warned.

Granted, there is at least one part where the play itself notes "The faeries sing," but I had to keep telling myself it was ok every time they started singing. And I didn't believe it. Suffice to say, it distracted me. It did not bother me enough to come out with an unfavorable impression of the play. It was excellent, and I am glad that we went. I just didn't need the singing.

My own fluttering faerie is still busy in there, swimming and kicking, rolling and punching and who knows what else. Apparently, its lungs are producing surfactant which allows the air sacs to inflate, so it's practicing breathing amniotic fluid, getting those things moving. It's so odd to think that this little thing in there is just chock full of liquid. Its skin is gaining more substance, becoming less translucent, and its gaining fat. All this lends to that sinking heavy feeling I have in front, especially when I have been sitting for a long time. After sitting almost all day yesterday and through the evening, I was more than ready to stretch out in bed. I had dreams about watching Squirmy move all around, my stomach undulating as it rolled stretched.