10am on a Saturday morning - my boyfriend is watching Django Unchained and left me up to my own devices on his new iPad. I'm not complaining - in fact I'm quite content in my own Saturday morning double-dosed caffeinated world. I'm not watching the film as there's far too much killing and violently murderous scenes for my personal enjoyment, but I am, however, appreciating the incredibly beautiful soundtrack which oddly accompanies what appears to be a very unappealing narrative.
I'm even less inclined to watch these scenes due to our theatre viewing yesterday evening. We went to Harrogate Theatre to see The Strange Case of Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde. This is also a rather gruesome tale of murders and such graphic descriptions. Nevertheless, regardless of the somewhat traumatic experience of witnessing the actor singlehandedly re-enact his murder scenes and re-tell the graphic details of the very act, I was pleasantly taken aback by the sheer skill it requires for one man to seduce a small but captivated audience in the studio theatre at the top of the main Theatre. The actor surpassed himself and successfully told his story single-handedly whilst remaining entirely in character; a somewhat challenging task when one portrays multiple characters in a single performance. Most definitely a compelling but dark tale. 'Dark and twisty' i believe is the term we used! Initially, the psychologist in me assumed I was witnessing a performance of either a schizophrenic man or a form of personality disorder. But essentially it served to illustrate to me that we each carry both light and dark within us. To assume otherwise would be to deny our realness. The authenticity of being human is a falsified authenticity if we are to deny our inevitable flaws in favour of only ever demonstrating the light. This isn't to say acting upon darkness is neither healthy nor beneficial, and certainly not in the way demonstrated by Dr Jeckyll. But it seems important to acknowledge that both light and dark exist in each one of us, in whichever form it takes. Someone said to me earlier this year that waking up to the realisation that none of us are perfect, least of all ourselves is an awakening to the reality our flawed being. To be flawed is not wrong, it is to be real and present. After all, to be perfect in a flawed world... Would that feel half as good as we assume?