The dying art of breaking up
Posted by a Contributor in September's Magazine
My 13-year-old brother is head over heels in love with a hussy who recently dumped him by text. His sympathetic friends told him he should consider himself lucky to be dumped by text. It could have been via twitter. Goodbye romance, hello tweet nothings.
I despair. Amid the explosion of digital and social media, we seem to have forgotten the joys of penning a personal communiqué. Unlike tweet or text, you can always keep a letter – to cherish fondly or bask in glorious smugness for many years to come. Could an entire generation really grow up never knowing the visceral joys of the handwritten love letter?
It was this question that led me away from the throes of the madcap festival to a cosy bolthole in Leith a couple of Fridays ago. Love Letters was the antidote to the festival, despite what you might think from the title, this was not the theatre equivalent to a chick flick – as my husband will tell you, with not a hint of coercion in his voice. It was like going to see an unplugged performance of a band you are not sure about, and then declaring you are off to buy the album.
Ill -fated affair
When Len, the cheery Irish owner and adopted Leither, opened Kitsch, the offbeat bistro on Bernard Street in October 2008, he hadn’t planned on doing theatre, but the former Bar and Events Manager for the Lyceum Theatre spends a lot of time supping wine with actors, directors and other artsy types so before he knew it, he was figuring out which cupboard would make the best staging area.
“We have had four companies in since we started doing theatre last June. Folk have been so positive about it and I like to think it’s the kind of place you could stumble across whilst walking beside the Seine; it has a real Parisian feel.”
The retro feel and cosy ambience of the venue lulls you into a glorious sense of romanticism, perfect for a stripped back play like Love Letters. It suited the play perfectly too, just two actors, their performance, and a box of letters.
Like the venue itself, Love Letters was a nostalgic brew; it took us back to a place and time in decadent mid 20th century America. Mel and Andrew are hemmed in by stuffy parents’ expectations and society norms. The audience was invited to listen in on their relationship through the lens of their love letters, from the first Valentines notes in grade school to their secret missives arranging hotel meetings during a brief and ill-fated affair.
Reluctant romantic
Sitting under the marvellously retro chandeliers, practically toe to toe with the actors, I felt as if I was sitting beside them in their living room. In such a small space, it’s easy to feel like an important part of your own story. Kitsch has created a homely eatery come theatre space. Len charmed us with his patter, a tasty platter and half a wine cork to steady the wobbly table. We probably knocked if off balance (me and husband, in ‘reluctant romantic’ mode) as we flailed with frustration at the stunted love story playing out before us; how could this pair never just get it together in over fifty years of love letter writing?
I realised, despite several pints and a bottle and a half of wine, or perhaps because of them, that we don’t value the personal letter like our grandparents used to. Generations to come might never be able to relive their memories; their life’s love stories will be untold, lost to the ether of fax and email or deleted with every lol text.
Perhaps it’s time to rekindle the dying art of letter writing after all old things can be the best things – friends, wine and furniture. If you like a bit of retro, Kitsch is the ideal place for a night out at the theatre. Especially if you want to relax with your chosen tipple, rather than overpriced ice cream, during the interval. On leaving I ask Len what his next production will be… we need to wait at least a month to find out, Len is shutting up shop and heading to France for a taste of original café culture.
Meanwhile, I am going to dig out my box full of dog eared love letters and have a good wallow, and next time I decide to text or fax my other half, for better or not, I might just blow the dust off some old note paper and fill the page with words. After all, there is no better way to get in touch with your inner romantic.