GRAND THEATRE, BLACKPOOL
Life is never easy in Blackpool. The joyous old town may be terribly grand and a little grotesque, but the struggle to get by is never far away. At one time, the train brought trippers in great waves but now folk prefer more fashionable places to spend their holidays.
But Blackpool is fighting back with the only weapon it has; play. The karaoke and cafés; the bed and the breakfast; the piers and the pubs; the rides, the hens and the stags. They’re all playing out a kind of carnivalesque fight-back, reminiscent of the medieval carnival where everything is turned upside-down; bawdiness and eccentricity reign, men become women and the fool becomes the king. But always during carnival is the knowledge that the everyday is never far away in the form of the hangover, the back-to-work and the price-to-pay.
If ever there was a carnivalesque town, Blackpool is it; still weaving the magic and the dream with the fish and the chips. And that’s my story.
