Kind of, sort of, “tolerably” well defined orders of human variety. Yes, but maybe only forming a backdrop, even if brutally or strikingly painted, so that briefly impressed before the stars of the show walk on, declaiming famous words that I seem to be hearing for the first time, a launching that impresses my, I’m-not-really-expecting-anything-today-I’m-too-tired-I’ve-got-too-many-things-to-do-and-it’s-way-too-cold-thank-you-very-much mood. Am I going to be entertained, or more importantly, interested in what is going on. Jagged rhythms and Scottish accents: perhaps, by chance – what sort of chance? And how does chance work, exactly? – I’ve walked into an impromptu Macbeth, though what scene it is I’m not at all sure. But somewhere not far away there are the heads bent together in plotting concentration, with occasional backward glances to spy out the spies and informers. The plotting of disaster even if it is a cliché of disasters and while we’re about it, let us accept the fact that clichés have enormous influence on our thinking, well, not on our thinking, rather on that anti-thinking, unthinking, that fixing of attitude and prejudice.
Oh wow, she’s angry! I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes. I have the feeling that something bad is going to happen – for God’s sake don’t give her any more alcohol. Oh there we go bottles dropping and skittling across the floorboards, raucous laughter. And is this Duncan stomping up the stairs, in through the door, surveying the mess, taking it all in. Perhaps today it’s Macbeth who will get the knife in the ribs. Sometimes the story just changes without anybody intending it to. You start off with one story, you think you know what’s going on and suddenly . . . oh it’s changed again – somebody’s started playing the piano, he’s wearing a black fedora and croaking out his version of ‘I’m your man’, so let’s hope, even comic hope if we can’t hope for cosmic hope. Lady Macbeth is tangoing with Duncan. Macbeth is holding a bottle to his lips and rapping along with the piano player. The rest of us are propping up the bar and who knows whose round it is.