On Thursday the 23rd of May, I went to the premier
reading of Louis Armand’s Breakfast at
Midnight. As the title of this article suggests, it was an evening that
consisted of different elements, which formed an exciting experience… And even
a month later, I am still positively tuned.
According to
the invitation, all was to begin at 19:30pm. I and my company arrived early,
yet – as it is with most or all good things – we waited longer for the show to
begin. At least the line at the bar was not so long and I did not have to worry
about spilling my drink (Captain Morgan and Coke, if you are wondering) when
swaying between the labyrinths of still-empty tables back to the refuge of our
own, located in front of the stage.
Entertaining
ourselves in conversation, the place meanwhile began filling up; I recognised
English-American Studies students, a few teachers from the Faculty of Arts, a
small number of individuals from the Prague Love, Blood and Rhetoric theatre
group and last but not least, the persona of the evening: Louis Armand. Comme d’habitude, he wore his signature
black fedora (called a “pork pie”) as he made last touches to the materials
that were to be presented on the reflector screen.
Soon, the programme of the evening was introduced to
the now quite populated Jazz Republic. First Armand read an extract from his
novel, then the translator David Vichnar; they were both accompanied by
saxophone players who simultaneously bellowed quietly their impromptus. Afterwards,
short films were presented, the translated novel was christened and “The Happy
Funeral” band hit the stage.
(Photo credits: Anna Hupcejová)
For me and my company, the readings made for an
enriching discussion. The same passage was read, yet both had a different
rhythm and tone – Armand’s husky low voice embodied the sinful nightlife
portrayed while the Czech translation in combination with Vichnar’s almost
monotonic recitation seemed to have slightly dried up the fictional narrator’s
tone.
The rest of the evening continued in a laid-back
fashion; conversing with my table’s company, hitting lightly the table surface
with fingers to the rhythm of the band’s merry sounds, watching the Jazz
Republic’s population sipping on beer or wine, then laughing at that woman who
stood up on her chair and began dancing… I left well before midnight, yet
Armand’s recited chant “Godzoway,
Godzoway, Godzoway, Bus-iness!” were the first to come in mind the next
morning during breakfast.
