London VegFest Weekend: So Much To Eat! So Much To Do...& Eat!by Randi / September 30, 2014
Never take pictures during a show! Or ever, if they say not to.
No one should ever miss an opportunity to see a Shakespeare play performed at The Globe in London. The company is consistently top-notch, and Shakespeare plays are the best things on earth, right?
Okay, most of them are. My latest experience with “Julius Caesar” kind of left me frustrated, maybe not with the bard per se, or the production, but with the characters in this famed work. Oh man alive. Well not alive here, but that’s what I say. The point of this play seems to be that white men are the worrrrrrrrrst. And not just ‘the worst’ but the Jean-Ralphio “worrrrrrst”.
Everyone knows about the whole ‘et tu, Brute?’ murder of Caesar, but what they don’t know is that it happens pretty early in the play. The rest of it shows the senators just kind of losing their shit. So all the old Roman senators I guess hate Caesar because he put anchovies in his salad (not vegan) and they are pissed because Antony thinks Caesar should be king, and Caesar’s all faux modest and rejects the crown, but we don’t see this happen onstage so afterward everyone’s talking about how he rejected the crown and omg the crown and the crown was offered three times and you know it’s the crown and at this point I was watching the end of ‘Miss Congeniality’ in my head and smiling inappropriately. WEAR THE CROWN. BE THE CROWN.
In contrast to what you’d think, the whole play is actually about Cassius and Brutus being lovers who can’t be together because Brutus already married A FUCKING CRAZY WOMAN* so they try to impress each other with songs and monologues professing their love. And then they come up with the super romantic plan of killing the emperor to show each other how manly and impressive they are. Early in the second act, Cassius says something to Brutus about how they threw “lusty sinews” at a torrent in the Tiber and you just knew that was a metaphor. Cassius just wants to get his man loving on, and he gets a little desperate. He even asks Casca out for dinner! Casca’s like “nah brah, busy tonight.” And Cassius doesn’t get the hint and he’s like well tomorrow then? And Casca’s like, “I mean if I’m alive, I guess I’ll have to brah.” He actually says that, if I’m alive. So awkward.
*seriously Portia is nuts. She’s mad her husband won’t trust her with his dark secrets and assumes it’s because he deems her a little fragile woman so she CUTS HER THIGH and is like ‘LOOK HUSBAND LOOK I CUT MYSELF I CAN TAKE IT TELL ME YOUR SECRETS’ what a f-ing lunatic.
Freal though, “Julius Caesar” should be called “Cassius & Brutus, or Who Will Have Me Now”. It’s just another love story except between two psychopaths, and they are sexually frustrated so they start a mutiny and a war. At one point Brutus says to him:
*seriously Portia is nuts. She’s mad her husband won’t trust her with his dark secrets and assumes it’s because he deems her a little fragile woman so she CUTS HER THIGH and is like ‘LOOK HUSBAND LOOK I CUT MYSELF I CAN TAKE IT TELL ME YOUR SECRETS’ what a f-ing lunatic.
Freal though, “Julius Caesar” should be called “Cassius & Brutus, or Who Will Have Me Now”. It’s just another love story except between two psychopaths, and they are sexually frustrated so they start a mutiny and a war. At one point Brutus says to him:
I will come home to you; or, if you will,
Come home to me, and I will wait for you.
Now tell me I’m wrong! Also this immediately put ‘Lover Lay Down’ (DMB 4eva) in my head, whereupon I realized this shit would be the shiiiiiit as a musical! SOMEONE GET ON THAT.
Then of course the best part is when Cassius says “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves” and I was like a) the brilliant John Green capitalized on this line but good, b) Green was right when he said fate is plenty at fault, but c) in this play at least, Shakesy was right because all these men are definitely responsible for their own shitty ends. Seriously is this a satire of all male politicians? Like, “Heyyyy we don’t like the guy in charge, so let’s kill him Murder On The Orient Express-style (everyone stab him once) (sorry spoiler for two things) and then just hope it all kinda works out chill for us like.” F-ing idiots. SERIOUSLY WHAT DID THEY THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?
Cassius says early on:
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that “Caesar”?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well…
Like all that matters is how a name sounds? What is he getting at? If that were true our president would be Jermajesty because best name ever. Secretary of State Moxie Crimefighter. I know that’s not what he really was getting at but damn if that isn’t some blatant flirting.
Side note, is Casca supposed to be played somewhat fey? It seemed almost offensive how in his first scene he was like ‘HAAAYYYYY’, and that was pretty much it. And then he talks about how he wouldn’t dare laugh or talk while cavorting among the general populace because (paraphrase) “poor people have the worrrrst stinking breath AM I RIGHT BRUTUS UP HIGH!” I think he’s one of my favorite Shakespeare characters.
I really appreciated that this classic play displayed legit crazy all from men (and Portia) for a change, but my actual favorite part comedically was that every single damn time one of the many senators entered a room, they would all greet each other by name. and then five minutes later someone else would come in and greet everyone again. So every 2 minutes, with each entrance, you’d get “Oh tidings Cassius, Brutus, Cicero, Cescaphe, Trombonius, Tinnitis, Marsupial, Cinnamon, Supercilious, Imbecilius, tidings.”
The greatest part artistically was that the actor who played Caesar (since he was done early) came back to play the soldier Strato, he who holds the sword upon which Brutus runs to kill himself. Now that was some deep and heavy double-casting of the Captain Hook/Mr. Darling variety.
But yeah, legit crazy. Seriously, this is the plot: All these jackwagons plotting to kill Caesar, then they kill him, then they fall apart because they realized they killed a man and don’t really have a plan, so then they all kill each other/themselves. You think during it that Mark Antony is kind of sort of decent, but then he closes the play by proclaiming how Brutus was the most noble Roman of all. Ummm sure. Sure sure. Nahhhht! The end.
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‘Consent’ on the West End: A Cutting Look into Judicial and Human Failings
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about ‘Consent’ in London’s West End, playing at the Harold Pinter Theatre until August 11.
The last time I was in London’s Harold Pinter Theatre was for the sublimely disappointing ‘Oslo’, which featured just as much screaming as ‘Consent’. However, the key difference is that the screaming in ‘Consent’ feels earned, and completely necessary. (Hey while you’re here open that ‘Oslo’ review in a new tab because it’s remarkable.) Also making this an entirely different experience? ‘Consent’ was riveting. This well written, incisive new play by Nina Raine made me feel miserable the entire time, but in a great way that good plays are supposed to. It’s timely (I don’t want to be the 1000th reviewer to mention the #MeToo movement in a review for this play but look I just did), it’s well acted, and it will make you feel like everything is hopeless and everyone is a monster and it’s best to just sit in the dark alone quietly for most of your life. Like a good play should!
‘Consent’ follows the lives of a group of barristers, probably in their late 30s, as they deal with their workload and their marriages and the fact that spoiler they are all terrible people. There are two married couples, one single barrister friend, and one outlier actress friend. The barristers joke about their cases – most are in crime – from the first person, i.e. “What have you been working on lately?” “Oh I’ve been killing pensioners, raping a few people” – things like that. Dark humor in people who work in dark fields is nothing new, a common coping mechanism. But to see it put so bluntly, so cavalierly, is an early shock into this play. And the joking doesn’t really seem to be a way for them to deal with all their feelings. They genuinely seem not to care about the awful crimes they’re arguing. And sure you can’t take everything in work personally or emotionally, but the complete lack of empathy is a vital look into their humanity, which informs how they try cases. Of course, the worst-seeming men at the start are the defense attorneys.
Now, it goes without saying that the accused need to have representation, and fair representation at that, to promote their best interests in court and to serve justice overall. Defense attorneys are important and necessary to our criminal justice system. (I’m conflating US and UK law in this area because it’s similar enough.) But defense attorneys for accused rapists are a special breed. I have witnessed a lot of rape trials, a lot a lot, and during an internship for a public prosecutor I was involved in a lot of those trials. So I think it’s fair to say I’m more of an expert than the average person on the legal aspects of this play. And Nina Raine has nailed the coldness, the sickening twisting of words, the unfair focus on negligible details that every defense attorney I’ve seen in a rape case will employ. It’s hard to think about, but most of them were pure evil. And I really mean those words. The worst of humanity I could ever imagine have been in those court rooms with me. I remember a case that was lost because the defense attorney got the jury to laugh at a gay witness, the roommate of the rape victim. He kept making gay jokes and ‘prancing’ about when he repeated parts of the witness’s testimony, and since the judge and jury were some of the many, many shitty people on this planet, they thought it was hilarious and ‘voted’ for the funny lawyer. It’s not an issue of putting up the best case for their client, which is their job. It’s that they seem to revel in the unnecessary, unsettling glee they find in demolishing already fragile witnesses (victims), in using their words and their trauma against them to prove a point – that it doesn’t matter if you were raped; all that matters is whether you are presentable, well spoken, and completely faultless in every aspect of your life. And it’s definitely not about getting at the truth, which is rarely the point of any trial.
And ‘Consent’ captured this ease of evil more than any other work I’ve seen try to. Quickly, the marriages are revealed to be on shaky ground, which is not surprising when dealing with people without the ability to empathize. Ed, our main man (Stephen Campbell Moore, terrific and terrifying), is alarming in his calculated, supremely logical look at the world, which works to win him cases but unsettles his wife Kitty (the excellent Claudie Blakley (and yes that’s spelled right I know the e and the l look like they should be swapped but alas I cannot change her name)). He’s the guy who uses logic to kill empathy and truth when it doesn’t make enough logical sense for him, and he values dispassionate logic over the truth when said truth is the kind that demands an emotional response. His absolute lack of empathy struck me right to my core, and watching him both at work and at home made me feel the same powerless yet overwhelming rage I would feel in court. I was glad when Kitty would yell at him the things I wanted to yell out (and from a front row seat, I really almost did), and I was glad that she seemed to have the right footing in such a difficult relationship. But the second act proves that she’s not the moral savior I wanted her to be, which is both disappointing and more realistic. No one is perfect, although it in this play it’s more like everyone is actually a shithead.
The other married barrister couple is Rachel (Sian Clifford) and Jake (Adam James, who my brain kept trying to make into Michael C. Hall). Jake is revealed early on to be cheating on his wife, but he’s not sorry for his actions, only sorry he got caught. He’s very clear on that and doesn’t understand why anyone would fault him for his stance. And he’s the kind of guy that would frame his argument in such a way that it would leave you without a response, almost thinking that maybe he was right – the kind of guy that’s a good barrister, and an asshole. Rachel is the one on the other side, a prosecutor, so I also put the unfair burden on her that I initially put on Kitty – that they’d be my female voices of reason against the men. Of course, people are more complicated than that, and she also let me down, with her second act opinions when it comes to the title of the play. White women, am I right!
The other friends are Zara (Clare Foster), the goofy (pitch perfect) actress friend, and Tim (Lee Ingleby), the awkward barrister who seems hapless but ‘nice’, but shows he sucks just as much. That everyone kind of sucks at times and you want to punch them all at times and you also just see them as normal sometimes all makes ‘Consent’ so convincing, and everyone so real. They’re all people you probably know in real life.
But the best part of the play is when it actually shows the rape trial, where Ed is defending and Tim is prosecuting. Heather Craney plays the victim, Gayle, and she is everything. I was crying through most of the exquisite first act because of how accurate it all was. Gayle meets Tim literally two minutes before the trial starts. She knows nothing about what’s going to happen or what she’s supposed to do because no one ever cared to inform her. It is the prosecution’s job to make sure the victim knows what to do and does it well, since she is the main part of the state’s case. But just because they should ensure that she is fully informed and ready to testify doesn’t mean it always happens. And Tim’s failure here is an example of that. Busy lawyers who think they have a handle on the facts, and who don’t see any value in devoting time and effort to such a case, might only meet the confused victim out in the hallway before the trial starts, where she might hear for the very first time that anything not in her initial statement to the police, made in the aftermath of debilitating trauma, is inadmissible. And yes that’s a bad lawyer who would do that, but it doesn’t stop it from happening – or being allowed to happen. Such is the case with Tim and Gayle. The short exchange they have says so much about the system: Gayle asks if Tim’s her lawyer, and he laughs that no silly, he’s the lawyer for the Crown. Gayle asks who her lawyer is, and Tim has to explain that she doesn’t have one, she’s just a witness against the accused. But he has a lawyer, right? Well of course he does. And his lawyer is ready to tear down everything the unprepared Gayle says, the silly woman who thought that the truth would be all that was required of her.
The genius of this play is that the failings of the judicial system reflect the personal failings in the people who work in the law. And this makes sense, after all, since society’s structures and systems will reflect the society that made them. This is the most depressing thought from the play, that the systems that are supposed to serve us really won’t improve if humanity doesn’t improve.
I wish that they kept up this theme in the second act, which is much weaker than the first as it mainly focuses on the relationships of the characters and puts the legal stuff aside. I’m obviously biased in my desire for more of the interplay between the two, but when the interpersonal relationships all blow up and there’s so much screaming and crying and so much emotion (so much), it becomes overwhelming. It would have been better, and easier to take in, if it were tempered with more glimpses into the law to provide small respites from all the heated arguments.
But as it is, ‘Consent’ is a really brilliant play. It’s not the GREATEST THING EVER, as I was left wondering at intermission whether it just might be, but it’s quite well done and so well written. The acting was so effective, I felt like all the trauma was my own. All these people are terrible, yet normal. Which scares me. Is everyone a monster? Does every person cheat? Like every single one? Because that’s what this play is telling me. I mean I know I’m mean on this blog sometimes (because it’s mine and I can do what I want with it) but I’m not a monster, I believe victims, and I don’t think I would find joy in emotionally torturing someone I love. But that’s just me I guess!
INFORMATION
The play is at the Harold Pinter Theatre until August 11. It runs about two and a half hours, with the first act almost 90 minutes and the second much shorter. There was an announcement at the start that one set piece was malfunctioning and so stagehands would be onstage more than usual to move sets, but it was all just loose furniture so I’m not sure how it would have been done without stagehands. Anyway go see it.
AUDIENCE
Typical English play audience, skewing older with lots of chatter among the older ladies. “Oh dear now he’s gone and done that.” “Oh dear he said it he finally said it.” SHUSHHHHHHHHHH. The very old man next to me asked if I was enjoying it at the interval and I said yes it’s quite good and he asked, “are you a lawyer?” and I said “yes?” and he said “I thought you might be!” and now every second of my life will be spent thinking, how…?
Now, it goes without saying that the accused need to have representation, and fair representation at that, to promote their best interests in court and to serve justice overall. Defense attorneys are important and necessary to our criminal justice system. (I’m conflating US and UK law in this area because it’s similar enough.) But defense attorneys for accused rapists are a special breed. I have witnessed a lot of rape trials, a lot a lot, and during an internship for a public prosecutor I was involved in a lot of those trials. So I think it’s fair to say I’m more of an expert than the average person on the legal aspects of this play. And Nina Raine has nailed the coldness, the sickening twisting of words, the unfair focus on negligible details that every defense attorney I’ve seen in a rape case will employ. It’s hard to think about, but most of them were pure evil. And I really mean those words. The worst of humanity I could ever imagine have been in those court rooms with me. I remember a case that was lost because the defense attorney got the jury to laugh at a gay witness, the roommate of the rape victim. He kept making gay jokes and ‘prancing’ about when he repeated parts of the witness’s testimony, and since the judge and jury were some of the many, many shitty people on this planet, they thought it was hilarious and ‘voted’ for the funny lawyer. It’s not an issue of putting up the best case for their client, which is their job. It’s that they seem to revel in the unnecessary, unsettling glee they find in demolishing already fragile witnesses (victims), in using their words and their trauma against them to prove a point – that it doesn’t matter if you were raped; all that matters is whether you are presentable, well spoken, and completely faultless in every aspect of your life. And it’s definitely not about getting at the truth, which is rarely the point of any trial.
And ‘Consent’ captured this ease of evil more than any other work I’ve seen try to. Quickly, the marriages are revealed to be on shaky ground, which is not surprising when dealing with people without the ability to empathize. Ed, our main man (Stephen Campbell Moore, terrific and terrifying), is alarming in his calculated, supremely logical look at the world, which works to win him cases but unsettles his wife Kitty (the excellent Claudie Blakley (and yes that’s spelled right I know the e and the l look like they should be swapped but alas I cannot change her name)). He’s the guy who uses logic to kill empathy and truth when it doesn’t make enough logical sense for him, and he values dispassionate logic over the truth when said truth is the kind that demands an emotional response. His absolute lack of empathy struck me right to my core, and watching him both at work and at home made me feel the same powerless yet overwhelming rage I would feel in court. I was glad when Kitty would yell at him the things I wanted to yell out (and from a front row seat, I really almost did), and I was glad that she seemed to have the right footing in such a difficult relationship. But the second act proves that she’s not the moral savior I wanted her to be, which is both disappointing and more realistic. No one is perfect, although it in this play it’s more like everyone is actually a shithead.
The other married barrister couple is Rachel (Sian Clifford) and Jake (Adam James, who my brain kept trying to make into Michael C. Hall). Jake is revealed early on to be cheating on his wife, but he’s not sorry for his actions, only sorry he got caught. He’s very clear on that and doesn’t understand why anyone would fault him for his stance. And he’s the kind of guy that would frame his argument in such a way that it would leave you without a response, almost thinking that maybe he was right – the kind of guy that’s a good barrister, and an asshole. Rachel is the one on the other side, a prosecutor, so I also put the unfair burden on her that I initially put on Kitty – that they’d be my female voices of reason against the men. Of course, people are more complicated than that, and she also let me down, with her second act opinions when it comes to the title of the play. White women, am I right!
The other friends are Zara (Clare Foster), the goofy (pitch perfect) actress friend, and Tim (Lee Ingleby), the awkward barrister who seems hapless but ‘nice’, but shows he sucks just as much. That everyone kind of sucks at times and you want to punch them all at times and you also just see them as normal sometimes all makes ‘Consent’ so convincing, and everyone so real. They’re all people you probably know in real life.
But the best part of the play is when it actually shows the rape trial, where Ed is defending and Tim is prosecuting. Heather Craney plays the victim, Gayle, and she is everything. I was crying through most of the exquisite first act because of how accurate it all was. Gayle meets Tim literally two minutes before the trial starts. She knows nothing about what’s going to happen or what she’s supposed to do because no one ever cared to inform her. It is the prosecution’s job to make sure the victim knows what to do and does it well, since she is the main part of the state’s case. But just because they should ensure that she is fully informed and ready to testify doesn’t mean it always happens. And Tim’s failure here is an example of that. Busy lawyers who think they have a handle on the facts, and who don’t see any value in devoting time and effort to such a case, might only meet the confused victim out in the hallway before the trial starts, where she might hear for the very first time that anything not in her initial statement to the police, made in the aftermath of debilitating trauma, is inadmissible. And yes that’s a bad lawyer who would do that, but it doesn’t stop it from happening – or being allowed to happen. Such is the case with Tim and Gayle. The short exchange they have says so much about the system: Gayle asks if Tim’s her lawyer, and he laughs that no silly, he’s the lawyer for the Crown. Gayle asks who her lawyer is, and Tim has to explain that she doesn’t have one, she’s just a witness against the accused. But he has a lawyer, right? Well of course he does. And his lawyer is ready to tear down everything the unprepared Gayle says, the silly woman who thought that the truth would be all that was required of her.
The genius of this play is that the failings of the judicial system reflect the personal failings in the people who work in the law. And this makes sense, after all, since society’s structures and systems will reflect the society that made them. This is the most depressing thought from the play, that the systems that are supposed to serve us really won’t improve if humanity doesn’t improve.
I wish that they kept up this theme in the second act, which is much weaker than the first as it mainly focuses on the relationships of the characters and puts the legal stuff aside. I’m obviously biased in my desire for more of the interplay between the two, but when the interpersonal relationships all blow up and there’s so much screaming and crying and so much emotion (so much), it becomes overwhelming. It would have been better, and easier to take in, if it were tempered with more glimpses into the law to provide small respites from all the heated arguments.
But as it is, ‘Consent’ is a really brilliant play. It’s not the GREATEST THING EVER, as I was left wondering at intermission whether it just might be, but it’s quite well done and so well written. The acting was so effective, I felt like all the trauma was my own. All these people are terrible, yet normal. Which scares me. Is everyone a monster? Does every person cheat? Like every single one? Because that’s what this play is telling me. I mean I know I’m mean on this blog sometimes (because it’s mine and I can do what I want with it) but I’m not a monster, I believe victims, and I don’t think I would find joy in emotionally torturing someone I love. But that’s just me I guess!
INFORMATION
The play is at the Harold Pinter Theatre until August 11. It runs about two and a half hours, with the first act almost 90 minutes and the second much shorter. There was an announcement at the start that one set piece was malfunctioning and so stagehands would be onstage more than usual to move sets, but it was all just loose furniture so I’m not sure how it would have been done without stagehands. Anyway go see it.
AUDIENCE
Typical English play audience, skewing older with lots of chatter among the older ladies. “Oh dear now he’s gone and done that.” “Oh dear he said it he finally said it.” SHUSHHHHHHHHHH. The very old man next to me asked if I was enjoying it at the interval and I said yes it’s quite good and he asked, “are you a lawyer?” and I said “yes?” and he said “I thought you might be!” and now every second of my life will be spent thinking, how…?
An Electric, Exuberant Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Bridge Theatre
It’s Theatre Tuesday! Today’s show is A Midsummer Night’s Dream at London’s Bridge Theatre, playing until August 31.
If there are any doubters that Shakespeare’s comedies can be just as hilarious as anything modern (and yeah I mean Mike Schur television shows too! I KNOW!), send them to the Bridge Theatre. Their (what’s appearing to be) annual immersive Billy Shakes production (after last year’s crowd-storming Julius Caesar) this summer is A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of my two favorites (prize for whoever guesses the other one!) but one that often gets dismissed for not being as substantial as the others. Well fork off to anyone who says that, because it’s the greatest. Sure it has a few flaws, as does Nicholas Hytner’s forking hilarious production, but I defy anyone not to have a jolly good time.
A big part of the cheer and party atmosphere is the immersive nature of it. Giving its version of the groundlings standing area at Shakespeare’s Globe, the Bridge has taken out the stalls seats and replaced it with a pit (OF DESPAIR no) where audience members who are able can stand the whole time among the action and the actors. Well-directed staff usher the pit-standers around the space as needed, to avoid being in the way of actors or set pieces (lots of moving platforms coming up from the ground and bedframes hanging from the ceiling!). Standing tickets are cheaper (as they should be), yet it’s the best spot in the house for experiencing this incredibly entertaining show. (I assume it’s weird for people in the seats above to be forced to stare at tons of civilians milling about too, so you definitely want to be in the pit (I FELL IN THE PITTTTT, YOU FELL IN THE PITTTTT, WE ALL FELL IN THAT PITTTTT)). At first glance, with the cast beginning preshow by singing hymns in the drabbest costumes and all looking like farm witches (“um, they were MENNONITES?”), you can’t begin to predict how uproarious shit’s gonna get.
The main draw of this production, besides the immersive nature and the crowd of civilians in the pit, is Gwendoline Christie, from TV’s (yay TV!) Game of Thrones, which you people can STILL NOT SPOIL, OKAY? She plays Titania, Queen of the Fairies, and Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. The doubling up (Oliver Chris (excellent) plays Oberon, King of the Fairies, and Theseus, the Duke of Athens) of these smaller roles added a great deal of mystery and mysticism to these characters, who have not-huge roles otherwise. They clearly wanted the big name draw to have more to do (does Hippolyta have more than two lines? Discuss) while also clearly wanting her to play the queen of the Amazons because helloooo she tall as hell. Anyway, I loved the move, but that wasn’t even the most important or my favorite move concerning these characters. If you know your Billy Shakes, you know that Titania has a changeling boy (so weird guys) that Oberon wants, so they’re in a fight, and Oberon sends Puck, the best little fairy elf and mischief-maker in all of fairyville, to cast a spell on Titania so she falls in love with the first thing she sees – which happens to be the ridiculous goofball Athenian ‘actor’ named Bottom, whom Puck has transformed into a donkey. IT’S ALL VERY GOOD. Well, instead of having men trick a woman into a love affair with an animal and having us think that’s all fun and games and fine, they switched it up so Oberon has the changeling and Titania orders the spell on him, and HE falls in love with Bottom and IT’S THE FUNNIEST THING EVER. It’s a good change, it’s a gooood chaaaange. It’s so much better to have two men tricked and avoid the power imbalance and ickiness that would come with a male-female relationship. Oliver Chris as Oberon and Hammed Animashaun as Bottom are given the best scenes and most hysterical direction, and they are worth the admission price alone. I’m still laughing thinking about them, how the other fairies react to them, and the modern music choices used to augment their scenes. Usually I’m like “ugh can we just cut the acting troupe and all the Bottom crap and get back to the four lovers” but Hammed convinced me that Bottom is probably the best, and definitely the funniest, role in the play. Perfection.
I might have been biased before anyway, because AMND was the first Shakes I ever read and then performed, and I was Helena, so I’ve always been partial to the scenes (and the incredible verse!) with Helena, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius, and all their magicked and regular troubles. This production made me realize I still remember ALL her forking lines and most of everyone else’s too, which is like a fun party trick but I need room in there for other stuff. The foursome was wonderful, but for the first time they didn’t feel like the main characters to me. It definitely felt more of an ensemble piece, with everyone getting a chance to shine (but really Oberon and Bottom stealing the forking show (and that one ensemble member who did a forking human flag)). And Puck (David Moorst), the glue that often holds the show together, was goddamn fabulous. God I remembered all his lines too WTF I can’t remember what I was supposed to do at work but ENDLESS IAMBIC PENTAMETER sticks.
Apparently there’s a production of AMND happening concurrently at the actual Globe just down the road from the Bridge, but I’ve heard honestly terrible things! I’d be sad, but when there’s a production this fun and funny and wonderful happening, you can’t be too sad. The final scene, with the acting troupe’s performance, goes on for way too long (and if you read this blog, you know I’m the expert at things that go on too long, like this!), but each and everyone one of those actors does such a great job that I imagine Hytner just didn’t want to stop anyone from shining. It’s too bad to end such a fabulous experience thinking that it should have ended 15 minutes ago, but overall it’s a gem.
INFORMATION
The production is running at the Bridge Theatre (just on the south bank side of Tower Bridge (which is the one you probably think is London Bridge but isn’t)) until August 31. If you can’t make it, NT Live will broadcast it in theatres on October 17, throwing a bit of a wrench into their whole ‘live’ conceit. If you go and you’re in the pit (WE ALL WERE IN THE PITTTT), you must check all coats and bags (for free) so they don’t get in the way. Fun fact, they let pitgoers have drinks (of course they do this is London), so they let me keep my reusable water bottle with me, which is bigger than most people’s pocketbooks. Flouting that system y’all! The crowd in the pit wasn’t great – lottttts of talking with their friends, at full volume, I guess because they thought since they were standing that no one could hear them??!! I don’t know how idiots think – but the best part is that you can just WALK AWAY FROM THEM!
STAGE DOOR
The stage door for the Bridge is around the corner (turn right and right again when you exit the theatre), past The Ivy restaurant and down the block on the right till you see the red STAGE DOOR lighted sign. Fun fact, it’s next to the restaurant we learned last week not to patronage so you can do what I did and stare at everyone inside while you wait and shout “SHAAAAAME! SHAAAAAME! SHAAAAAME!” like from the show you probably watch if you’re a fan of Gwendoline.
For a weekend night, the stage door was quite tame (especially considering the one we tried the following night (more on that bullshirt on the next THEATRE THURSDAY)), less than a dozen people. Because most people are there for Gwendoline to talk about GoT, the rest of the cast bounced like FAST, without looking at the crowd. That was a shame because I was there for everyone and they didn’t even know it! But Gwendoline came out after only a short while, maybe 15 minutes tops, and signed programmes and took pictures with whoever wanted. Most people mentioned GoT and she seemed to expect that, so when I told her how well I thought the swaps worked for Oberon and Titania she seemed genuinely pleased. ONE POINT FOR ME.
