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| Pilgrim's Progress |
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
My knee is feeling a bit better, though of course I've been walking so funny for the past couple of days that now my other leg hurts. Just some muscle tightness however--I did some stretching and I'm sure it'll loosen up as I walk today. So, I am attempting a London Walk, per the recommendations of many people. I've also come in rather under-budget (well, not rather, but a little bit) so I suspect another trip to Sci Fi Collectors may be in order. Also a real dinner and not take-away! Imagine that! Though to be honest all the take-away is really just a glorious guilty pleasure.
I haven't talked that much about food (well, I keep mentioning it but for me that's not "that much") but I have to say: Great Britain, please marry me and cook all my meals. What a difference a couple of decades make! London currently seems in the grip of an East Asian/Noodle House frenzy and I've actually had a bit of a hard time finding a proper curry house. Yeah, Indian restaurants abound, but they abound in Pittsburgh too. But all the ones I've found have been expensive!
But two things that I think have always been a big deal here (at least down here in the Home Counties) that I wish would take hold back in the states is the grab-and-go thing, and the health food thing. I've noticed that "health food!" is actually used as a marketing phrase here, which would never ever fly in the States. We hear "health food" and we think bland and gross. And I love all of the take-away and grab-and-go places. They all tend to roll up after lunch, though. But I'd love to have Pret a Manger back in the States. Or any of the many, many, many sushi/noodle/East Asian lunch bars.
Also, pub grub seems to on the whole have improved greatly. I've had some fantastic meals in pubs. Cheese and Apple tart on a bed of spinach with cranberry chutney? Yes please! I know London isn't representative of all of Britain in the food department, and that Cambridge is full of posh people who eat posh food, but there was a time when even posh food was nowhere near this good or this varied.
I haven't talked that much about food (well, I keep mentioning it but for me that's not "that much") but I have to say: Great Britain, please marry me and cook all my meals. What a difference a couple of decades make! London currently seems in the grip of an East Asian/Noodle House frenzy and I've actually had a bit of a hard time finding a proper curry house. Yeah, Indian restaurants abound, but they abound in Pittsburgh too. But all the ones I've found have been expensive!
But two things that I think have always been a big deal here (at least down here in the Home Counties) that I wish would take hold back in the states is the grab-and-go thing, and the health food thing. I've noticed that "health food!" is actually used as a marketing phrase here, which would never ever fly in the States. We hear "health food" and we think bland and gross. And I love all of the take-away and grab-and-go places. They all tend to roll up after lunch, though. But I'd love to have Pret a Manger back in the States. Or any of the many, many, many sushi/noodle/East Asian lunch bars.
Also, pub grub seems to on the whole have improved greatly. I've had some fantastic meals in pubs. Cheese and Apple tart on a bed of spinach with cranberry chutney? Yes please! I know London isn't representative of all of Britain in the food department, and that Cambridge is full of posh people who eat posh food, but there was a time when even posh food was nowhere near this good or this varied.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
First of all, is there a more perfect food combination than cider and chips? If there is, don't tell me about it because I might spontaneously combust at the thought that there is something better. Pint of Strongbow from the off-licence: £1, glorious glorious chips: £1.60. My dinner: sorted. Actually, this is dinner part 2, as I had some really yummy tofu with green onions and ginger on the train back from Cambridge. But my knee was crying out for alcohol and my stomach for starch. So, chips and cider it is.
So, my transcription of this evening's dead-tree pub musings:
January 13--Cambridge
Up until about 4:30 the weather today was lovely; brisk but sunny. I've stopped now for a Strongbow but nothing on the pub menu really floated my boat, so I'll just grab some takeaway for the train on my way to the station. I definitely seem to be at the pub equivalent of a road house, but I wanted to be near the train station, which is about a mile out of town. There's an Alan Moore lookalike across the room and video slot machines a few feet away (and you know we always think of the UK as such a nanny state, but if you want to drink or gamble you can apparently go right ahead, any time, anywhere).
I don't know why my big question for the day was, "has anything changed?" Cambridge hasn't changed in hundreds of years so why should it have changed appreciably in the past couple decades? Only two things that I noticed: Lion Yard is now a massive, posh, three-floor shopping arcade, and there are now good restaurants. Though both Pizza Hut and Old Orleans are in the exact same locations. I remember when that lone Pizza Hut was your only hope for a decent pizza in Cambridge. How times have changed.
I'm also no longer 12 years old and the daughter of a resident Clare Hall fellow, so I'm now much more of a ninny about walking through the colleges. Trinity (I think) was charging admission! Did they always do that? And I totally missed the public footbridge over the Cam so went the long way round down by Magdalene College.Then walked all the way down past the mill pond and back up the other side to Little St. Marys Lane and the churchyard.
Little St. Marys' literature says there's been a recent improvement effort for the churchyard, but it still looks as overgrown as it ever did before. I wonder what it says about me that in all of Cambridge, with its huge manicured lawns and geometric courtyards, it's Little St. Marys churchyard that is my favourite spot.
Stepped in to some used book stores to try and find one of the little editions of Hamlet (those little Shakespeare editions from the turn of the century are a dime a dozen), but everyone was just plum out of that one. They had everything but. Almost got another Troilus and Cressida, but instead got an edition of Songs of Innocence for Dave.
Had tea across Kings Parade from the college, waiting for Evensong at 5:30. Sight fiasco getting there on time. I thought I was early when I rolled up to the gate that they keep open for tourists visiting the chapel and it was closed. There was signage saying that Evensong was at 5:30 and that the doors would open 15 minutes prior, and I was indeed a bit too early for that. So I went back over to Lion Yard, ducked in to Boots just for a quick warm-up only to find several shelves of 50% off Doctor Who schwag, and picked up a fob watch for £7 (can't beat that with a stick) and then legged it back over to Kings, only to find that blasted gate still shut! This time it was definitely not that I was too early, so I scooted around to the front of the college, where there was a sign saying the college was closed to visitors. I ignored this sign. I sort of disguised myself among a small group of other people and went in. Turns out they were going to the chapel as well and I hid amongst them as we arrived round the other door, which was open-ish, and received a very disapproving glare from the don acting as usher.
Because I was late (poor signage, Kings College!) I had to sit behind the screen for the service. A bit of a bummer because at Kings, the screen is really much more of a wall , and of course Kings houses a painting by Rubens at the alter and the service was being done by candlelight, and I could kind of see all that through the opening in the screen, but still it was from afar.
The music however was sublime and transporting (Kings College Boys Choir--way better than the Westminster Abbey choir I must confess). Almost the entire service was sung and the acoustics in there are just amazing. It was glorious and put me in mind of Hamlet actually: What a piece of work is man. Listening to the voices and looking up at the vaulted ceiling (which at Kings is an intricate filigree), my thoughts were naturally not of god (not being thus inclined) but of the works of man. I think it definitely means you're a humanist when you go to Evensong and wind up exalting in humanity. Probably not the desired effect.
And as always the photo album has been updated, click on the thumbnail. There will be video tomorrow.
PS Dad I never did email the Sedleys. I am very bad. I had meant to do it the day that I left town but then there was all that last-minute flight change business, and then it occurred to me that I didn't really know what day I'd be going because I was basing it on the weather (and you know how random that is here) and then everything just got completely mad and my knee started acting up and I didn't know if I'd make it at all.
So, my transcription of this evening's dead-tree pub musings:
January 13--Cambridge
Up until about 4:30 the weather today was lovely; brisk but sunny. I've stopped now for a Strongbow but nothing on the pub menu really floated my boat, so I'll just grab some takeaway for the train on my way to the station. I definitely seem to be at the pub equivalent of a road house, but I wanted to be near the train station, which is about a mile out of town. There's an Alan Moore lookalike across the room and video slot machines a few feet away (and you know we always think of the UK as such a nanny state, but if you want to drink or gamble you can apparently go right ahead, any time, anywhere).
I don't know why my big question for the day was, "has anything changed?" Cambridge hasn't changed in hundreds of years so why should it have changed appreciably in the past couple decades? Only two things that I noticed: Lion Yard is now a massive, posh, three-floor shopping arcade, and there are now good restaurants. Though both Pizza Hut and Old Orleans are in the exact same locations. I remember when that lone Pizza Hut was your only hope for a decent pizza in Cambridge. How times have changed.
I'm also no longer 12 years old and the daughter of a resident Clare Hall fellow, so I'm now much more of a ninny about walking through the colleges. Trinity (I think) was charging admission! Did they always do that? And I totally missed the public footbridge over the Cam so went the long way round down by Magdalene College.Then walked all the way down past the mill pond and back up the other side to Little St. Marys Lane and the churchyard.
Little St. Marys' literature says there's been a recent improvement effort for the churchyard, but it still looks as overgrown as it ever did before. I wonder what it says about me that in all of Cambridge, with its huge manicured lawns and geometric courtyards, it's Little St. Marys churchyard that is my favourite spot.
Stepped in to some used book stores to try and find one of the little editions of Hamlet (those little Shakespeare editions from the turn of the century are a dime a dozen), but everyone was just plum out of that one. They had everything but. Almost got another Troilus and Cressida, but instead got an edition of Songs of Innocence for Dave.
Had tea across Kings Parade from the college, waiting for Evensong at 5:30. Sight fiasco getting there on time. I thought I was early when I rolled up to the gate that they keep open for tourists visiting the chapel and it was closed. There was signage saying that Evensong was at 5:30 and that the doors would open 15 minutes prior, and I was indeed a bit too early for that. So I went back over to Lion Yard, ducked in to Boots just for a quick warm-up only to find several shelves of 50% off Doctor Who schwag, and picked up a fob watch for £7 (can't beat that with a stick) and then legged it back over to Kings, only to find that blasted gate still shut! This time it was definitely not that I was too early, so I scooted around to the front of the college, where there was a sign saying the college was closed to visitors. I ignored this sign. I sort of disguised myself among a small group of other people and went in. Turns out they were going to the chapel as well and I hid amongst them as we arrived round the other door, which was open-ish, and received a very disapproving glare from the don acting as usher.
Because I was late (poor signage, Kings College!) I had to sit behind the screen for the service. A bit of a bummer because at Kings, the screen is really much more of a wall , and of course Kings houses a painting by Rubens at the alter and the service was being done by candlelight, and I could kind of see all that through the opening in the screen, but still it was from afar.
The music however was sublime and transporting (Kings College Boys Choir--way better than the Westminster Abbey choir I must confess). Almost the entire service was sung and the acoustics in there are just amazing. It was glorious and put me in mind of Hamlet actually: What a piece of work is man. Listening to the voices and looking up at the vaulted ceiling (which at Kings is an intricate filigree), my thoughts were naturally not of god (not being thus inclined) but of the works of man. I think it definitely means you're a humanist when you go to Evensong and wind up exalting in humanity. Probably not the desired effect.
And as always the photo album has been updated, click on the thumbnail. There will be video tomorrow.
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| Pilgrim's Progress |
PS Dad I never did email the Sedleys. I am very bad. I had meant to do it the day that I left town but then there was all that last-minute flight change business, and then it occurred to me that I didn't really know what day I'd be going because I was basing it on the weather (and you know how random that is here) and then everything just got completely mad and my knee started acting up and I didn't know if I'd make it at all.
A bit of an aimless day today. I'm glad I'm getting out of the city tomorrow and perhaps will do Hampton Court on Wednesday to get out again. My right knee is giving me a tremendous amount of trouble all of a sudden, so I've stopped to have a pint of cider to give that a rest (and will grab some take-away on the way).
British Museum first, but mostly I just wasn't feeling it. Museums are kind of the same anywhere you go. I mainly just saw the things you can't see anywhere else--the Rosetta Stone, the Sutton Hoo helmet, the Parthenon marbles (strangely unexciting), a really amazing collection of Japanese woodblock prints (which some of you may know I have a bit of a fetish for), including Hokusai's Great Wave off Kanagawa, and a fascinating exhibition on natural philosophy in the Enlightenment.
The only problem with that last one was that there is just so bloody much stuff, it's just overwhelming. A lot of the collections are like that, in fact. You want Abyssinian bas relief? Here, have like 8 galleries full of it! After a while it's just numbing.
True to my promise to myself to get the hell away from the West End today, I headed to Spitalfields and Whitechapel. My main goal was a house museum that does candle light tours on Monday nights, but you have to reserve in advance and when I found a phone box to ring them, they were already booked. It took me ages to find it in the first place (the blurb about it in my guide about their hours and arrangements was incredibly confusing, so I decided to just show up in person and look at their own signage). I did see Hawksmoor's Christ Church in Spitalfields, though. It doesn't look nearly as creepy in person as it does in the pictures I've seen. Though now that I've looked at my own picture of it--it does look really really spooky when photographed!
My maps all kind of end right before Whitechapel for some reason, so I had to kind of wing it. Did a whirlwind walk up and down the Whitechapel High Street/Mile End Road. Really not that thrilling but interesting for the South Asian cultural domination of the area. Tower Hamlets is mainly newish housing estates and not a whole lot leftover from earlier eras (though not like I really knew where to look).
But I do sort of feel that I've now done the East End. Had a proper cream tea at a little coffee shop off Spitalfields Market, which was exactly what I wanted in a tea--none of this schmancy trillion little sandwiches (which I mostly hate anyway) and cakes and this and that and the other. Just a pot of Earl Grey, two scones and some cream and jam. I looked at the cafe at the British Museum before I left there and their tea service was like £18 or something ridiculous like that.
I'm now at a pub called The Water Poet in Folgate Street. An 18th century affair if their signage is to be believed. No Strongbow on tap (all that was left in the keg was foam, alas), but I've got a bottle of Magners and had a chat with the bloke behind the bar about this new weird British thing about putting ice in your cider. He and I both disapprove strenuously and I believe he called the practice "s--t" and said the only reason people do it is because the adverts tell them to. Apparently it's an Irish thing. *shrug*
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And the picasa album has been updated, click on the thumbnail to go there:
British Museum first, but mostly I just wasn't feeling it. Museums are kind of the same anywhere you go. I mainly just saw the things you can't see anywhere else--the Rosetta Stone, the Sutton Hoo helmet, the Parthenon marbles (strangely unexciting), a really amazing collection of Japanese woodblock prints (which some of you may know I have a bit of a fetish for), including Hokusai's Great Wave off Kanagawa, and a fascinating exhibition on natural philosophy in the Enlightenment.
The only problem with that last one was that there is just so bloody much stuff, it's just overwhelming. A lot of the collections are like that, in fact. You want Abyssinian bas relief? Here, have like 8 galleries full of it! After a while it's just numbing.
True to my promise to myself to get the hell away from the West End today, I headed to Spitalfields and Whitechapel. My main goal was a house museum that does candle light tours on Monday nights, but you have to reserve in advance and when I found a phone box to ring them, they were already booked. It took me ages to find it in the first place (the blurb about it in my guide about their hours and arrangements was incredibly confusing, so I decided to just show up in person and look at their own signage). I did see Hawksmoor's Christ Church in Spitalfields, though. It doesn't look nearly as creepy in person as it does in the pictures I've seen. Though now that I've looked at my own picture of it--it does look really really spooky when photographed!
My maps all kind of end right before Whitechapel for some reason, so I had to kind of wing it. Did a whirlwind walk up and down the Whitechapel High Street/Mile End Road. Really not that thrilling but interesting for the South Asian cultural domination of the area. Tower Hamlets is mainly newish housing estates and not a whole lot leftover from earlier eras (though not like I really knew where to look).
But I do sort of feel that I've now done the East End. Had a proper cream tea at a little coffee shop off Spitalfields Market, which was exactly what I wanted in a tea--none of this schmancy trillion little sandwiches (which I mostly hate anyway) and cakes and this and that and the other. Just a pot of Earl Grey, two scones and some cream and jam. I looked at the cafe at the British Museum before I left there and their tea service was like £18 or something ridiculous like that.
I'm now at a pub called The Water Poet in Folgate Street. An 18th century affair if their signage is to be believed. No Strongbow on tap (all that was left in the keg was foam, alas), but I've got a bottle of Magners and had a chat with the bloke behind the bar about this new weird British thing about putting ice in your cider. He and I both disapprove strenuously and I believe he called the practice "s--t" and said the only reason people do it is because the adverts tell them to. Apparently it's an Irish thing. *shrug*
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And the picasa album has been updated, click on the thumbnail to go there:
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| Pilgrim's Progress |
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A special post just for my parents.
It's dad's birthday, so I'll humour him.
So, why was I running in my stocking feet through London last night? It's really not that exciting of an answer: I was running very very late. It was one of those situations where there was a cascade of poor decisions on my part, not really helped by the tube train we were on inexplicably stopping for several minutes a couple times on our way in. But mostly it was totally my stupid fault for not keeping a better eye on the time.
Because there had been some counterfeiting of the tickets for the production, the theatre had instituted a policy whereby the person who bought the tickets had to on the day-of exchange them for newly printed ones. I had given my ticket to the person who bought it for me back in September, and she was to meet me outside the theatre at 6:45. Curtain was scheduled for 7:15. At 7:10 I was just getting off the train, several blocks away. Pure panic. So, I took my shoes off and ran. I just about burst a lung I think, and ever since then I've had an earache and a developing cough.
When I got to the theatre, of course my friend had already gone in lest she miss curtain and the usher at the door suggested I inquire at the box office, which seemed sensible. But then the people at the box office totally jerked me around. I would have gotten seated before curtain if they hadn't been totally incompetent (and way too quick to assume that I was just a raving lunatic rather than actually really looking for wherever they'd stuck my ticket). Due to me just completely freaking out and not knowing what to do, I just kind of stood there for a while and gaped at them and asked them several more times to look, and lo and behold, right as the curtain was going up, they found it. So, I did miss the first scene as they couldn't seat me until the scene change, but the ushers were very nice about it, and the first scene is really just exposition.
So, that's the story.
Food-wise I've been spending so much time in the West End that I've been eating a lot of pub grub. Good pub grub though, washed down with cider on draft. Yesterday I did actually have fish and chips, sitting in front of a fire in a lovely pub. We went back to that same pub today for dinner because we were just too tired to go looking for anything else, and I had a great cheese and apple tart with chips. And of course the cider. I think I'll be leaving the West End alone for the rest of my trip, but there was all that theatre stuff and my friend's hotel was right down there on the Strand, so I just found myself there a lot at meal times.
Today I've got some video from the Tower of London from yesterday afternoon, and some pictures from the Tower plus more from the Royal Observatory today.
So, why was I running in my stocking feet through London last night? It's really not that exciting of an answer: I was running very very late. It was one of those situations where there was a cascade of poor decisions on my part, not really helped by the tube train we were on inexplicably stopping for several minutes a couple times on our way in. But mostly it was totally my stupid fault for not keeping a better eye on the time.
Because there had been some counterfeiting of the tickets for the production, the theatre had instituted a policy whereby the person who bought the tickets had to on the day-of exchange them for newly printed ones. I had given my ticket to the person who bought it for me back in September, and she was to meet me outside the theatre at 6:45. Curtain was scheduled for 7:15. At 7:10 I was just getting off the train, several blocks away. Pure panic. So, I took my shoes off and ran. I just about burst a lung I think, and ever since then I've had an earache and a developing cough.
When I got to the theatre, of course my friend had already gone in lest she miss curtain and the usher at the door suggested I inquire at the box office, which seemed sensible. But then the people at the box office totally jerked me around. I would have gotten seated before curtain if they hadn't been totally incompetent (and way too quick to assume that I was just a raving lunatic rather than actually really looking for wherever they'd stuck my ticket). Due to me just completely freaking out and not knowing what to do, I just kind of stood there for a while and gaped at them and asked them several more times to look, and lo and behold, right as the curtain was going up, they found it. So, I did miss the first scene as they couldn't seat me until the scene change, but the ushers were very nice about it, and the first scene is really just exposition.
So, that's the story.
Food-wise I've been spending so much time in the West End that I've been eating a lot of pub grub. Good pub grub though, washed down with cider on draft. Yesterday I did actually have fish and chips, sitting in front of a fire in a lovely pub. We went back to that same pub today for dinner because we were just too tired to go looking for anything else, and I had a great cheese and apple tart with chips. And of course the cider. I think I'll be leaving the West End alone for the rest of my trip, but there was all that theatre stuff and my friend's hotel was right down there on the Strand, so I just found myself there a lot at meal times.
Today I've got some video from the Tower of London from yesterday afternoon, and some pictures from the Tower plus more from the Royal Observatory today.
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| Pilgrim's Progress |
Hamlet Review For Real (now with 50% less squeeing)
So, I've had 6 hours of blissful sleep and am feeling slightly more able to form coherent sentences (slightly).
Firstly, poor Jude Law. He's going to be starring in the Donmar Warehouse's production of Hamlet in a few months, and I am sure that it, and he, will be very good. Perhaps even excellent. The Donmar is a Very Important Theatre Company and Jude Law has the stage chops. However, honestly, he's going to inevitably be compared to Tennant and that is a really unenviable position to be in.
That's because I'm now convinced that David Tennant is a certified genius. And I say that as a fan of Shakespeare more than a fan of him (though I like to think I am a fan of him because he is so unswervingly excellent at whatever he does).
I do believe this may go down as this generation's definitive Hamlet. Not becuase it was so extremely good, but because of the style of it. Every generation takes Shakespeare in a new direction--that's why when we go back and watch, say Marlon Brando in Julius Caesar, it looks and sounds funny to us. Acting styles have shifted and changed since then, even though at that time, it was Brando who was doing the new thing. And in general the progress with Shakespeare has been towards more naturalism and less Declaiming and Proclaiming. Which is perhaps a bit odd becuase the text does sort of cry out for that style at first gloss so you'd think the Declaiming and Proclaiming would be the best way to approach it.
That is, until you see someone who has so conquored the text and made it his own that he speaks the words legitimately as if they were all popping in to his head right at that very second. And then it makes everyone else on the stage look like they are the ones who are doing it wrong, and that this is the way these lines were meant to be performed. This way and no other.
If there was one flaw in the production, that was it: While everyone else was very very good, there was a whiff of that somewhat more "traditional" manner of performance that was brought all the more in to sharp relief by the wholly new spin on it given by Tennant. I could kind of tell that the whole company was trying for that same style, but some were just not able to achieve it. Unfortunately, Patrick Stewart was one of them. I was not overly impressed by his performance. It would have been a standout performance in any other production I think, but he was not able to match a couple of the other performances. Aside from Tennant, Oliver Ford Davies was magnificient as a surprisingly sympathetic Polonius, and Ed Bennett (David's understudy who had been playing Hamlet for three prior weeks) was really very good as Laertes. I think his time as Hamlet perhaps deepened his performance once he got back to Laertes.
But Hamlet is on stage so much, and he's got so much to say, everyone else is sort of inevitably a supporting actor for that role and they kind of fade in to the background.
So, a few points of squee:
First of all, elocution squee. Everyone did very well at not being mush-mouths and Tennant has always had really excellent elocution (his audio book work is like buttah), which is especially amazing considering he was much of the time throwing those lines out there FAST. Really fast. But you could understand every single word he said, clearly. His RP accent wasn't nearly as distracting as I thought it would be, and not as plummy as you sometimes hear actors who are putting on RP for a role do. It actually bordered a bit on the Estuary accent he does for Doctor Who. Not quite, but almost.
500 year old spoilers: I was so drawn in by the production that even though of course we all know what happens, and I've just re-read the play again this week, I found myself actually mouthing, "No don't do it!" and "I can't believe he just said that!" at various points. The whole tone of the production was very much as a modern psychological thriller and the interval happened just as Hamlet raises the dagger over the praying Claudius and says "And now I'll do't!" Yep, it's a cliffhanger!
Mad Hamlet: So of course that's always the big question with Hamlet. Was he really mad, or just faking it? And at what point does he start to go mad for real, if at all? To my eye, what was going on in this production was actually a little from column A and a little from column B. He puts on his madness to a great extent, but his entire plan to do that is in and of itself quite mad. And he starts to completely crack right from when he first sees the ghost, not later.
Audience participateion: Not really, but Hamlet's soliloquies were more than just him talking to himself. FIrst of all, as you can probably surmise from what I've said previously, the soliloquies were all (even the INCREDIBLY famous lines) said as if they were being said for the first time ever in that moment. But more than that, Tennant had the entire audience involved in them. When he asks, "Am I a coward?" it's a legitimate question to all of us, and he pauses there and looks out, daring us to answer. And you want to, he's in such pain, you want to comfort him, you want desperately to answer his questions. And at various other points, he does break the fourth wall slightly for comic effect, especially when talking to the Players and referring to audiences. It's like he knows we're there, but no one else in the play does. It's our little secret with him. Shhh, don't tell.
Humour: All the reviewers had been talking about how funny this Hamlet is, and it really really is. Or I guess at this point, was. It serves to make the tragedy stand out in even sharper relief and quite frankly it makes you adore Hamlet. Productions where Hamlet is just this moaning, emo, dour, dull sod--who cares when he screws up constantly and then dies? Not me. You just kind of go , "Good riddance." Making Hamlet be incredibly witty and sharp draws you to him. You want to take him home and give him some cocoa and tell him it'll all be fine. There was really a general lack of moustache-twirling all around, and all the characters, you could see where they were coming from, why they did the things they did thinking they were doing the right thing. That's why it hurts so much when it all goes horribly wrong.
Okay, I have to get running. We're off to the Greenwich Observatory today and it's a bit of a schlep out there. I'm sure all day I'll be going, "Oh! And! And! And!" I'll be sure to write it all down to report later to you good folks.
Firstly, poor Jude Law. He's going to be starring in the Donmar Warehouse's production of Hamlet in a few months, and I am sure that it, and he, will be very good. Perhaps even excellent. The Donmar is a Very Important Theatre Company and Jude Law has the stage chops. However, honestly, he's going to inevitably be compared to Tennant and that is a really unenviable position to be in.
That's because I'm now convinced that David Tennant is a certified genius. And I say that as a fan of Shakespeare more than a fan of him (though I like to think I am a fan of him because he is so unswervingly excellent at whatever he does).
I do believe this may go down as this generation's definitive Hamlet. Not becuase it was so extremely good, but because of the style of it. Every generation takes Shakespeare in a new direction--that's why when we go back and watch, say Marlon Brando in Julius Caesar, it looks and sounds funny to us. Acting styles have shifted and changed since then, even though at that time, it was Brando who was doing the new thing. And in general the progress with Shakespeare has been towards more naturalism and less Declaiming and Proclaiming. Which is perhaps a bit odd becuase the text does sort of cry out for that style at first gloss so you'd think the Declaiming and Proclaiming would be the best way to approach it.
That is, until you see someone who has so conquored the text and made it his own that he speaks the words legitimately as if they were all popping in to his head right at that very second. And then it makes everyone else on the stage look like they are the ones who are doing it wrong, and that this is the way these lines were meant to be performed. This way and no other.
If there was one flaw in the production, that was it: While everyone else was very very good, there was a whiff of that somewhat more "traditional" manner of performance that was brought all the more in to sharp relief by the wholly new spin on it given by Tennant. I could kind of tell that the whole company was trying for that same style, but some were just not able to achieve it. Unfortunately, Patrick Stewart was one of them. I was not overly impressed by his performance. It would have been a standout performance in any other production I think, but he was not able to match a couple of the other performances. Aside from Tennant, Oliver Ford Davies was magnificient as a surprisingly sympathetic Polonius, and Ed Bennett (David's understudy who had been playing Hamlet for three prior weeks) was really very good as Laertes. I think his time as Hamlet perhaps deepened his performance once he got back to Laertes.
But Hamlet is on stage so much, and he's got so much to say, everyone else is sort of inevitably a supporting actor for that role and they kind of fade in to the background.
So, a few points of squee:
First of all, elocution squee. Everyone did very well at not being mush-mouths and Tennant has always had really excellent elocution (his audio book work is like buttah), which is especially amazing considering he was much of the time throwing those lines out there FAST. Really fast. But you could understand every single word he said, clearly. His RP accent wasn't nearly as distracting as I thought it would be, and not as plummy as you sometimes hear actors who are putting on RP for a role do. It actually bordered a bit on the Estuary accent he does for Doctor Who. Not quite, but almost.
500 year old spoilers: I was so drawn in by the production that even though of course we all know what happens, and I've just re-read the play again this week, I found myself actually mouthing, "No don't do it!" and "I can't believe he just said that!" at various points. The whole tone of the production was very much as a modern psychological thriller and the interval happened just as Hamlet raises the dagger over the praying Claudius and says "And now I'll do't!" Yep, it's a cliffhanger!
Mad Hamlet: So of course that's always the big question with Hamlet. Was he really mad, or just faking it? And at what point does he start to go mad for real, if at all? To my eye, what was going on in this production was actually a little from column A and a little from column B. He puts on his madness to a great extent, but his entire plan to do that is in and of itself quite mad. And he starts to completely crack right from when he first sees the ghost, not later.
Audience participateion: Not really, but Hamlet's soliloquies were more than just him talking to himself. FIrst of all, as you can probably surmise from what I've said previously, the soliloquies were all (even the INCREDIBLY famous lines) said as if they were being said for the first time ever in that moment. But more than that, Tennant had the entire audience involved in them. When he asks, "Am I a coward?" it's a legitimate question to all of us, and he pauses there and looks out, daring us to answer. And you want to, he's in such pain, you want to comfort him, you want desperately to answer his questions. And at various other points, he does break the fourth wall slightly for comic effect, especially when talking to the Players and referring to audiences. It's like he knows we're there, but no one else in the play does. It's our little secret with him. Shhh, don't tell.
Humour: All the reviewers had been talking about how funny this Hamlet is, and it really really is. Or I guess at this point, was. It serves to make the tragedy stand out in even sharper relief and quite frankly it makes you adore Hamlet. Productions where Hamlet is just this moaning, emo, dour, dull sod--who cares when he screws up constantly and then dies? Not me. You just kind of go , "Good riddance." Making Hamlet be incredibly witty and sharp draws you to him. You want to take him home and give him some cocoa and tell him it'll all be fine. There was really a general lack of moustache-twirling all around, and all the characters, you could see where they were coming from, why they did the things they did thinking they were doing the right thing. That's why it hurts so much when it all goes horribly wrong.
Okay, I have to get running. We're off to the Greenwich Observatory today and it's a bit of a schlep out there. I'm sure all day I'll be going, "Oh! And! And! And!" I'll be sure to write it all down to report later to you good folks.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Hamlet! The Main Event!
It's 3:30 in the morning here and I just got in from a bit of an after party but...
HAMLET-SEEING HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED (though there was a series of SNAFUs leading up to it that culminated in me running in my stocking feet 5 blocks to the theatre from the tube station and then arguing with the people at the box office who had lost the ticket that was being held for me there and insisting they had nothing for me, but that's neither here nor there at this point because it all worked out in the end and I only missed the first scene--which I watched on the monitor anyway). ANYWAY.
You guys. YOU GUYS.
No I mean really.
I just....gah. I mean....gah. Brilliant. Genius. Definitive.
The crazy part was that the RSC is a top flight company with amazing actors all and the only one that David Tennant did not blow completely off the stage was Oliver Ford Davies. It was like they were all Excellent but he was up in the stratosphere somewhere. I have never seen Shakespeare performed like that, and I've seen a fair bit of Shakespeare. To call it a revelation would be an understatement. People need to study that performance for years to come.
So, closing night, three curtain calls, everyone in the cast crying, and if they hadn't turned the houselights back up after the third curtain call I think the audience would have just gone on.
I'll tell a much better story tomorrow, I promise.
HAMLET-SEEING HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED (though there was a series of SNAFUs leading up to it that culminated in me running in my stocking feet 5 blocks to the theatre from the tube station and then arguing with the people at the box office who had lost the ticket that was being held for me there and insisting they had nothing for me, but that's neither here nor there at this point because it all worked out in the end and I only missed the first scene--which I watched on the monitor anyway). ANYWAY.
You guys. YOU GUYS.
No I mean really.
I just....gah. I mean....gah. Brilliant. Genius. Definitive.
The crazy part was that the RSC is a top flight company with amazing actors all and the only one that David Tennant did not blow completely off the stage was Oliver Ford Davies. It was like they were all Excellent but he was up in the stratosphere somewhere. I have never seen Shakespeare performed like that, and I've seen a fair bit of Shakespeare. To call it a revelation would be an understatement. People need to study that performance for years to come.
So, closing night, three curtain calls, everyone in the cast crying, and if they hadn't turned the houselights back up after the third curtain call I think the audience would have just gone on.
I'll tell a much better story tomorrow, I promise.
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