London Theatre Roundup
London cannot be done in two-and-a-half days. So, having been here once before, I decided to be choosy. No need to see Westminster Abby, the Changing of the Guard, the Tower of London or St. Paul's Cathedral; we did that last time. This trip was all about friends, art and theater.
I met up with my NYU friend Shea, who had been studying in London for the summer, within hours of arriving. We went out for high tea in front of the British Museum, tried (and learned that neither of us particularly care for) ale at a local pub, fled the rain and, of course, talked theater. Shea was just finishing up a theater class in London which involved a huge amount of theater going. Off my list flew Billy Elliot, the Musical, after Shea condemned it as a terrible piece of theater that might only be enjoyable to those steeped in British history and humor (neither of which I have, by the way). The National Theater's current productions also went away. "Hit or miss," said Shea, "and, right now, it's mostly miss." But Titus Andronicus at the Globe, now there was a winner, Shea informed me. I was still eyeing We Will Rock You, the Queen musical that is playing in Vegas right now but decided to sleep on my theater choices. Tomorrow, we'd figure this guy out.
I hopped out of bed bright and early the next morning, chewed on my toast and cereal from the hostel's "All U Can Eat" breakfast, made my way past too many hostellers with severe hangovers and headed out to the Tate Modern, the only museum that I have heard "is the greatest thing I've ever seen" any time I mention it. The rumors are true. Tate rocks! Every piece of art on the wall is in some way challenging, with even the most pleasant Monet water lillies paired with more unusual and far more difficult pieces. It was so mind-blowing that I lost myself there for three hours.
On the way out, I decided to swing by Shakespearean Globe, just to see if Titus was around. I approached the ticket seller, inquired, and was informed, "I'm very sorry, but it appears that we have run out of all of our standing tickets in the yard." (A simple "we're sold out there" would have been OK). As I was turning away, however, I heard a shout. They found one! I threw down my L5 and walked home happy. Tomorrow afternoon, blood would spill.
That evening, the student ticket du jour was the British long-running musical Blood Brothers. The verdict: good show, iffy cast. The two female leads were understudies and, while the principle (Mrs Johnston) was phenomenal, the woman who covered her counterpart (Mrs Lyons, which is usually the Johnston understudy's role) was stiff and appeared to be having trouble remembering her lines. The two of them were painful to watch together. However, the "Blood Brothers" Mickey and Eddie were phenomenal and Eddie is now on my list of roles to play. The Narrator is also a cool role. Good show, wish Mrs Lyons were a little bit better.
The next day was spent enjoying the British Museum (and it's current exhibit on modern Middle Eastern art) and then checking out Titus. Verdict: when the person standing next to you faints, you know this must be good stuff. Gory, bloody, experimental and loads of fun! The director made good use of the yard, with constant action pushing us audience members around. I wound up next to a scholar of Shakespearean drama (not the fainter), who gave me the low-down on the history of the Globe and the show during intermission. Cool, and the right way to experience Shakespeare.
That evening, I decided to go off the wall and check out the Donmar Warehouse, a noted off-West End theater. They are always sold out. Always. While I know they have standing room, after three hours on my feet at the Globe, I was more in the mood for a seat. I stopped in, facing a "SOLD OUT" sign, slumped and started walking away. Then it hit me. "Ethan!" A little voice in my head shouted angrily and whacked my frontal lobe. "Bad traveler! You go back to that theater and get yourself a standing room ticket!" I obeyed and, as I approached the box office window, I discovered that I was right behind a couple returning seats. Seizing the moment, I grabbed my student ID, waved it liberally and requested my "concession." And, thus, the evenings entertainment was A View of My Father. The verdict: amazing play, the best acting of these three shows, lousy seats. The performers had chops! A semi-autobiographical work about the author's life as a boy with a blind father who never spoke about anything important, the play brought out some incredible truths about (I imagine) British society, but also some universal issues of masculinity, showing love and showing emotions. I have never watched an actor "die" and believed that he might actually be dead. Fantastic. When this play makes it to the States (it's moving to the West End in a few days), check it out. But, if you get to Donmar, bring a seat cushion! You are sitting on terribly-sloped upholstery-covered benches, which are not kind to your rear.
Donmar led back to the hostel and my bags, the hostel led to a train to Gatwick and, after fighting with the airline and security to allow me to check my bags, I attempted to sleep on Gatwick's sofas. Right. Not a chance. Groggy and irate, I hopped on my EasyJet flight to Amsterdam at 4:45am. Where I slept. Nothing like the "EasyJet experience."
I met up with my NYU friend Shea, who had been studying in London for the summer, within hours of arriving. We went out for high tea in front of the British Museum, tried (and learned that neither of us particularly care for) ale at a local pub, fled the rain and, of course, talked theater. Shea was just finishing up a theater class in London which involved a huge amount of theater going. Off my list flew Billy Elliot, the Musical, after Shea condemned it as a terrible piece of theater that might only be enjoyable to those steeped in British history and humor (neither of which I have, by the way). The National Theater's current productions also went away. "Hit or miss," said Shea, "and, right now, it's mostly miss." But Titus Andronicus at the Globe, now there was a winner, Shea informed me. I was still eyeing We Will Rock You, the Queen musical that is playing in Vegas right now but decided to sleep on my theater choices. Tomorrow, we'd figure this guy out.
I hopped out of bed bright and early the next morning, chewed on my toast and cereal from the hostel's "All U Can Eat" breakfast, made my way past too many hostellers with severe hangovers and headed out to the Tate Modern, the only museum that I have heard "is the greatest thing I've ever seen" any time I mention it. The rumors are true. Tate rocks! Every piece of art on the wall is in some way challenging, with even the most pleasant Monet water lillies paired with more unusual and far more difficult pieces. It was so mind-blowing that I lost myself there for three hours.
On the way out, I decided to swing by Shakespearean Globe, just to see if Titus was around. I approached the ticket seller, inquired, and was informed, "I'm very sorry, but it appears that we have run out of all of our standing tickets in the yard." (A simple "we're sold out there" would have been OK). As I was turning away, however, I heard a shout. They found one! I threw down my L5 and walked home happy. Tomorrow afternoon, blood would spill.
That evening, the student ticket du jour was the British long-running musical Blood Brothers. The verdict: good show, iffy cast. The two female leads were understudies and, while the principle (Mrs Johnston) was phenomenal, the woman who covered her counterpart (Mrs Lyons, which is usually the Johnston understudy's role) was stiff and appeared to be having trouble remembering her lines. The two of them were painful to watch together. However, the "Blood Brothers" Mickey and Eddie were phenomenal and Eddie is now on my list of roles to play. The Narrator is also a cool role. Good show, wish Mrs Lyons were a little bit better.
The next day was spent enjoying the British Museum (and it's current exhibit on modern Middle Eastern art) and then checking out Titus. Verdict: when the person standing next to you faints, you know this must be good stuff. Gory, bloody, experimental and loads of fun! The director made good use of the yard, with constant action pushing us audience members around. I wound up next to a scholar of Shakespearean drama (not the fainter), who gave me the low-down on the history of the Globe and the show during intermission. Cool, and the right way to experience Shakespeare.
That evening, I decided to go off the wall and check out the Donmar Warehouse, a noted off-West End theater. They are always sold out. Always. While I know they have standing room, after three hours on my feet at the Globe, I was more in the mood for a seat. I stopped in, facing a "SOLD OUT" sign, slumped and started walking away. Then it hit me. "Ethan!" A little voice in my head shouted angrily and whacked my frontal lobe. "Bad traveler! You go back to that theater and get yourself a standing room ticket!" I obeyed and, as I approached the box office window, I discovered that I was right behind a couple returning seats. Seizing the moment, I grabbed my student ID, waved it liberally and requested my "concession." And, thus, the evenings entertainment was A View of My Father. The verdict: amazing play, the best acting of these three shows, lousy seats. The performers had chops! A semi-autobiographical work about the author's life as a boy with a blind father who never spoke about anything important, the play brought out some incredible truths about (I imagine) British society, but also some universal issues of masculinity, showing love and showing emotions. I have never watched an actor "die" and believed that he might actually be dead. Fantastic. When this play makes it to the States (it's moving to the West End in a few days), check it out. But, if you get to Donmar, bring a seat cushion! You are sitting on terribly-sloped upholstery-covered benches, which are not kind to your rear.
Donmar led back to the hostel and my bags, the hostel led to a train to Gatwick and, after fighting with the airline and security to allow me to check my bags, I attempted to sleep on Gatwick's sofas. Right. Not a chance. Groggy and irate, I hopped on my EasyJet flight to Amsterdam at 4:45am. Where I slept. Nothing like the "EasyJet experience."
posted by Ethan at 2:39 PM
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