New Albion
Chaos and frivolity abound in the New Albion theatre as a theatre troupe (all of whom have their own issues) bands together in the face of every obstacle… and there are many. August 2016. Order your copy today at www.coteaubooks.com.
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By and
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
“Mr. Farquhar Pratt’s lips parted. His mouth moved inarticulately for some moments...He cleared his throat rather volubly and declaimed, ‘Mark Ingestre is dead!’ There was a titter in the auditorium. It could not justifiably be called more than a titter since fewer than fifty people can hardly produce a genuine belly laugh...Somebody in the balcony shouted out merrily, ‘’Ello, ‘ello, Pratty, Sweeney Todd was last month’s bill.’” – New Albion, pg. 3
“‘No! No!’ cried Mrs. Wilton... ‘My daughter is with child!’… Every woman in turn was made to promise that this business would remain extremely confidential, whereupon Mrs. Wilton returned to her former self and began ordering her dresser about… Apparently, the oath of confidentiality had been sworn with fingers crossed. The rest of the company was happily jabbering about it a quarter of an hour later as they left the theatre. Nothing is confidential at the New Albion.” – New Albion
“Mr. Hicks was ivre during last night’s performance of Crosby Ravensworth. To make matters worse, the Lord Mayor was in attendance with his wife. After the performance, some of the leading actors were escorted to their private box...where Mr. Hicks bellowed a few lines of Shakespeare, something about women trotting, ambling, and lisping, and then clasped the Lord Mayor’s wife to him and kissed her ardently upon the lips.” – New Albion
“The new apprentice arrived today. I begin to fear for Harlequin and Columbine and for all the rest of us who would endeavor to create a pantomime upon this stage. He is not a very prepossessing young man. Less than fiveand-a-half feet tall and narrow as the railings on my front step, he has a criminally low forehead and a lean and hungry look. Like Shakespeare, I can never quite find it within myself to trust a man with such abominable physiognomy.” – New Albion, pg. 32
“I do not abuse myself with the notion that my scribblings in this diary will outlive me. It is enough that I use the time and the ink to organize my own thoughts. To that end, I will restrict myself mostly to the complicated inner workings of one of London’s minor theatres, the theatre to which I am attached, the New Albion. Nevertheless, I hope that my older self, when he reads the contents herein, will forgive me for the odd entry about my domestic circumstances.” – New Albion, pg. 6
