Albert Camus is one of those writers that I always wanted to get into. Much like Orwell and Kafka, he was on my ‘must read' list after finally escaping the hierarchy of secondary education.
A literary figure that I must pay particular attention to in order to grow and improve myself as a person, unlike the sorry sheep who are force fed The Lord Of The Flies for an entire year and become completely discouraged from reading and immune to the pleasure of the written word.
I started with The Plague. Catchy title. Not too long. A perfect way to ease myself into the mind of a genius. To date I have read The Plague and . . . The Plague. One and a half times (I carelessly left my copy on a bedside table of a very average hotel room during a brief visit to Rome. I have since forgiven myself, convinced that I have upgraded this temporary accommodation from forgettable shack to warm memory by giving the false impression of intent to encourage the reading of fine literature. Though there are a great many things to do in Rome other than reading and I recommend that you visit at least twice during your lifetime).
So, having achieved my idea of a fine education on all things Camus, I had absolutely no idea whatsoever that he dabbled in and indeed loved the theatre. My confidence was shattered. But, of course, it shouldn't have been. His career in this area was not as fruitful as his other works, producing only a couple of plays worthy of mention. One of which, Cross Purpose, I had the pleasure of viewing this evening.
An ageing mother and her unsatisfied daughter run an inn . . . oh, and they kill their guests. When an inquisitive, wealthy looking man checks in, it's business as usual. But the mysterious gentleman is not all that he appears to be and is there to change their world forever. If he gets the chance.
Bleak, bleak, bleak, bleak, bleak . . . but also rather amusing, Cross Purpose is fine theatre. Expertly acted and finely paced, this dialogue-rich piece keeps you on your toes from the moment the doors open and a hum of dread takes you.
Not a date show and perhaps not a Saturday night pre-club party either, the play is rather deep and thoughtful and can leave you a little breathless towards the end. The play was written in the author's ‘darkest days'. He was not a chirpy chappy.
However, it is still very good and definitely worth a look.