from the edi­tor

The Weekend Australian - Review - - Contents - Deb­o­rah Jones

OPEN­ING night in Mel­bourne for the re­jigged Love Never Dies was a corker, and al­most as fab­u­lous as the launch day for MONA, David Walsh’s spec­tac­u­larly in­di­vid­ual pri­vate gallery in Ho­bart. Both were unashamedly big events, rev­el­ling in a su­per-sat­u­ra­tion of the senses. Size doesn’t au­to­mat­i­cally re­late to qual­ity, nat­u­rally, but when our lives are cir­cum­scribed so of­ten by the small and quo­tid­ian it can be thrilling to en­counter some­thing that leaps over the fence and heads for the hori­zon. I know many peo­ple don’t share my love of mu­si­cals — and cer­tainly many don’t share my en­thu­si­asm for MONA — but in­sert your own ex­pe­ri­ence, whether it be the Ring cy­cle, the Venice Bi­en­nale, the works of Proust, the Big Merino in Goul­burn or Mahler 9. These thoughts were oc­ca­sioned partly by the fact of my sitting next to an en­ter­tain­ment re­porter, who shall re­main name­less, who tweeted fre­quently dur­ing Love Never Dies. I don’t call that work­ing; I call that very rude. Nev­er­the­less I was struck by the con­junc­tion of the large scale and the minia­ture. Or sort-of minia­ture. The myr­iad tiny com­mu­ni­ca­tions that are the twit­ter­verse have de­vel­oped into a gi­gan­tic and un­stop­pable move­ment, and yes, I know I have come to an ap­pre­ci­a­tion of this rather late. All of which is to segue to the news I am now on Twit­ter and will send mis­sives on arty sub­jects when the mood strikes me. Tweets may be of­ten. Or not. They will never be dur­ing a per­for­mance. I prom­ise.


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