Senior theater critic Chris Rawson and a group of Post-Gazette readers are in London on the Critic’s Choice Theater Tour that he’s led annually since the mid-‘80s. Chris plans to post brief notes twice a day, updated from the top.
Finale, Scene 1: Saturday, March 10, day
For London tourists, Saturday morning belongs to the endless market on Portobello Road – antiques and collectibles to start, then as the blocks go by, stuff lesser and more varied, but with hundreds and hundreds of small stalls and dealers along the way, few people ever get to the end, let alone cruise every opportunity. Anyway, you’re in danger of losing yourself, let alone a companion, in the huge crowd which thickens every minute.
Celia and Alice then headed off to Harrods, having been told the Food Halls there are unmissable, as they are. Whatever else they did, I made a quick trip to one of my favorites, Sir John Soane’s Museum, newly-arranged for the better except that you can see the fabulous Hogarths (The Election Series and The Rake’s Progress) only at certain times, which is a bummer.
We met later for afternoon tea at a funny little spot so secret that I won’t even tell you its name. High on caffeine and sugar I rushed back to the hotel to make arrangements to depart the next day. As they say in the theater, “eleven o’clock always comes.”
Finale, Scene 2: Saturday, March 10, evening — and home the next day!
But before eleven o’clock would come, we had the Kneehigh production of “Brief Encounter,” a delicious, sweet-funny blend of theater and film, based on that 1945 classic movie (Noel Coward, David Lean, Celia Johnson, Trevor Howard). Staged in a movie theater, it includes songs, puppets, audience interaction, physical tricks, technical surprises and plenty of laughs stitched together with continual smiles. I’d loved the same production a few years back and wanted to take Celia and Alice. It's stayed so vivid I couldn’t believe it was actually10 years ago when I saw it!
And it was short, leaving time for Alice to check off a couple of things on her bucket list: to ride in a traditional London cab (we’d been using underground and bus) and eat in a traditional London pub. Not wanting to get stuck in the noise and tumult of Soho or Leicester Square, we ended up at the Audley in Mayfair – not as posh as you might think, not on a Saturday night.
What a week! I won’t bore you with the tedium, mixed with irritation at the long security and customs lines, of the long return home the next day — 19 hours from London hotel to Pittsburgh home. The rigor of air travel is a common theme of travelers, but it’s worth it for what it makes possible.
Friday, March 9, evening
Last night was Ingmar Bergman’s three-act autobiographical fantasy, “Fanny and Alexander,” some 3 1/ 2 hours of fondness and fear. That also roughly describes tonight’s “Long Day’s Journey into Night,” another autobiographical flaying (this darker and closer to reality) by another great writer, Eugene O’Neill.
It had its powerful moments, of course, as such a great play must. But it does remind me of my trepidation at seeing American plays here. Even when fabulous, such as last year’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” at the NT, things can just go wrong: then, it was Ma Rainey, an elegant diva lacking the earthy essence of the character. At “Long Day’s Journey,” the flaw is largely the same: Jeremy Irons’ James Tyrone is too classy by half. I don’t mind that he doesn’t even make a pass at the accent (American with an occasional memory of Irish), but he doesn’t dig deep into his despair. It isn’t right when Edmund is the best of them. But what a play. And Glenn Close was in the audience.
After the show we had sandwiches at the hotel and discovered a TV show, “Gogglebox,” that had me snorting beer out my nose. Everyday folks are filmed sitting at home making snarky comments about whatever’s on telly that week -- news interviews, old Hollywood movies, quiz shows, etc., etc. Much of the humor is in the armchair critics, intentional or not. Maybe you know it – five years old here, has it come to the States yet? I’m in danger of addiction.
Friday, March 9, day
The group is pretty much on its own by now, and doing very well, even the rookies. So while Celia and Alice went off to the Tower and crown jewels, I got to sleep in for a bit. We met later at Borough Market, a grand and extensive array of food, both produce and ready-to-eat
Through utter serendipity, we were debating whether to go into Southwark Cathedral, with all its Shakespeare connections (not to mention John Harvard, plus the tomb of John Gower), when we discovered there was a concert of sacred choral music by the Hudson High School Chamber Choir from “Wisconsin, USA.” What a spring break for them, and what a lovely respite from touristing for us.
Then on past Drake’s Golden Hind and the Globe to Tate Modern, where the installation in the grand hall invited visitors to swing! Then on to The Eye. It was a rainy day (every day has been rainy and every day has also had some sun), but it’s an exciting 30-minute ride high above London nonetheless. And we made it back to the hotel in what must be a record time (two trains, Eye-to-Hotel in 16 minutes) to accompany the group to the theater.
Thursday, March 8, evening
After a string of the extraordinary -- “Girl from the North Country,” “Network,” “Ferryman” and “Hamilton” -- it was inevitable that something wouldn’t reach those heights. “Fanny and Alexander,” a new stage adaptation of Ingmar Bergman fantastical 1982 family drama of warmth and terror, isn't exactly a disappointment, but the material doesn’t seem to fit theater as it did film.
Fanny and Alexander grow up in a warm, extended early 20th century theatrical family, so Act 1 is fun, full of theatrical warmth and in-jokes. When their father dies and their mother re-marries a bishop who turns out to be arid and brutal, Act 2 portrays vengeful horrors. Act 3 enacts the escape back to the embracing family, presided over by the grandmother, played with tart wit by Penelope Wilton. The story is shot through with ghosts, spirits and dark terrors, mainly because of Alexander’s vivid and fearsome imagination.
A doyenne of the British stage, Wilton is best known in America as Cousin Isobel in “Downton Abbey.” Another veteran of “Downton” is Kevin Doyle, who played that nice valet Mr. Mosesley, but here plays his opposite, the tyrannical bishop. The ancient and wise Isaak is Michael Pennington, a favorite of mine going way back to his acerbic Hamlet and Hal. It’s a robust production, especially engaging in its picture of a turn-of-the-century theatrical troupe, but it doesn’t dig deep like Bergman.
Thursday, March 8, day
Another double-header theater day, “Hamilton” in the afternoon and “Fanny and Alexander” in the evening.
But to start, I went to the sumptuous exhibit, “Charles I, King and Collector” at the Royal Academy. His collection was sold by the Puritan Parliament after his execution in 1649, and although partially reassembled by his son after his restoration in 1660, it has been been reassembled more fully now, with loans from the Prado, Louvre and private collections.
Charles’ Renaissance Italian masterpieces notwithstanding, my main interest is his huge place in early 17th century English history -- inheriting a crown in 1625 which still had an aura of divine right, then obliterated in 1649. You can see the temptation to consider him a kind of god, when you stand dwarfed and awed by Van Dyke’s billboard-sized portraits of him on horseback. I had previously known only the small and medium-sized portraits at the NPG. (BTW, every portrait of Charles looks to me like Alec Guinness’s enactment of him in the 1970 film, “Cromwell,” with Richard Harris as the Puritan general.) Pretty overwhelming.
Those portraits were of course a kind of propaganda, selling the idea of divinity. How could the actual man measure up? You might say the same about “Hamilton”: how can it measure up to its adulation, intensified by scarcity? I won’t describe what it took to get the tickets and how carefully they’re protected with a kind of regal determination. But consider that I had to come to London to see it, never having done so on Broadway.
As with Charles and his portraits, you might think finally seeing it couldn’t possibly live up to expectation, and in a way it doesn’t, because “Hamilton” is, after all, just a great musical. What impressed me is the energy of music and performance and the wit and substance of book and lyrics. Ultimately, what completely won me over was the warts-and-all arc of Hamilton’s life, a quasi-tragedy. I even forgive its comic-trashing of Jefferson.
Wednesday, March 7, evening
After “Network” in the afternoon – a play very much about American politics of today, albeit set in 1976 – there was some synergy with Jez Butterworth’s “The Ferryman,” which I saw in the evening. It’s an epic about The Troubles of the early 1970s and their bloody reverberations 10 years later, even as they are winding down — but of course it reverberates today, with the anguished parallels between private and public morality. The focus is on the Carneys, farming just south of the Derry border, i.e. what some call Northern Ireland. The dozen family members extend from elders with living memories of the rebellion of 1921 (and channeling history going back centuries) to youngsters who will have to deal with the vivid legacy. Another wonderful new play, with a Shakespeare-sized cast of 21!
Daughter Celia and granddaughter Alice arrived just in time to spend their day, matinee and evening, at Hogwarts with Albus Potter and family, friends and evil antagonist (who shall not be named), plus a devoted audience.
Wednesday, March 7, day
Up early (not really, but so it still feels) and off with some of our group to the National Portrait Gallery. As I steer them through the rooms, 1485-1837, I’m really talking more about history than portraiture, but some had smart things to contribute, albeit we were moving pretty quickly, with all London out there waiting for our attention. It seems that each year the walls display more women (other than royal consorts and mistresses) and people of color, so the NPG is itself an essay in historical perspective.
And there are plenty of old favorites, including the room with a glamorous portrait of the young George III at one end (a much-maligned king, like his distant relative Richard III, neither as bad as “Hamilton” and Shakespeare make them appear); along one wall a simple portrait of a colonial country gentleman named George Washington (we forget he was English for a good part of his life); and at the far end, John Singleton Copley’s grand epic of the “Death of Chatham,” whom we know better as William Pitt (the elder) who gave us our city’s name.
Then in the afternoon to “Network” at the National Theatre, a dramatization of that 1976 Paddy Chayevsky-Sydney Lumet movie. Here, Brian Cranston gets to deliver the iconic line, “I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!,” while Michelle Dockery plays the Faye Dunaway role. It’s a crackerjack production, with the giant Lyttleton Theatre stage full of TV studio glitz and video, and one whole side of the stage filled with banquettes, like a fancy restaurant, where people are actually being served dinner – a bizarrely appropriate actualization and image of the consumption of news as entertainment.
Tuesday, March 6, evening
In the afternoon I dashed around gathering up theater tickets to distribute at breakfast (we don’t travel in a pack; people need their tickets in hand so they can make their own plans). And I needed to leave tickets at the Palace Theatre to the Harry Potter doubleheader for my daughter and granddaughter who are joining us. I also stopped by the National Portrait Gallery, where tomorrow I’ll give an optional (no quiz) tour of the Tudor-Stuart-Georgian rooms. It’s one of my favorite museums anywhere, partly because I’m a holdover from the Great Individuals school of history & literature, partly because some portraits tell you a lot about the sitters and times; and partly because it’s not humongous like the National Gallery next door.
I stopped by the NPG for a quick survey because every year they lose some favorite portraits or close a key room for repair. I also took a look at the Portrait Cafe on the top floor, where unbelievably I’ve never been. Not too fancy with a great view over rooftops and domes. I think we ought to make tea there a part of next year’s tour.
At tonight’s play, Agatha Christie’s “Witness for the Prosecution,” the setting was the star: a grand council chamber at what was once London County Hall, seating some 380 in concentric circles around what could very well be a court of law. Loved the atmosphere, the lawyers and the court-of-law ritual. As to the central couple, Leonard and Romaine, you can’t really blame them for not being Tyrone Power and Marlene Dietrich. It was a fun evening.
Tuesday, March 6, day
As is traditional, I choose a walking tour from the dozens offered by London Walks (http://www.walks.com) for our first morning. Since in recent years I’ve chosen various walks in and around Westminster (the center of royalty, government and church), this time I went with the “Famous Square Mile” – the center of banking and commerce, but once the original Roman London and then Shakespeare’s London. Our guide, Isobel Durant, took us from The Monument through many an alley, up hill and down, to end at St. Paul’s.
Along the way, we saw what is said to be the original site of the Boar’s Head Tavern, where Hal hangs out with Falstaff in “Richard II” and the “Henry IV” plays (you can just see the boar’s head on the façade of the Victorian building now on the site), and the pub in the fishmongers ward named after the Lewis Carroll poem, “The Walrus and the Carpenter.” At Leadenhall Market (colorful, posh), which supposedly served the Harry Potter films as Diagon Alley, down an alley is a blue door that apparently served as the door to Ollivanders wand shop.
This afternoon, people are heading off on their own, so I’m pursuing my passion, antiquarian books. And maybe another passion, a quick nap.
Monday, March 5, evening
The only activity I plan for arrival day is a welcoming dinner, this year at Brown’s on St. Martin’s Lane – which has the added advantage of taking us on an easy 20-minute walk right from our Kenilworth Hotel through Seven Dials (cue the Gilbert & Sullivan lyric) into the theatreland-Covent Garden area.
Then most returned for an early night, but the more intrepid headed off to a play. For me, it was the extraordinary “Girl from the North Country” by Conor McPherson, using 21 songs by Bob Dylan, selected from throughout his career. What an intense, beautiful and harrowing experience. Set in a failing Duluth, Minn., boarding house in the Depression year of 1934, it feels like a cross between Woody Guthrie and August Wilson’s “Joe Turner’s Come and Gone.” A cast of 17 plus four musicians may keep it from being staged in Pittsburgh, but I assume it’s on its way to NYC.
And now to bed.
Monday, March 5, day
We arrived at Heathrow after an (at best) indifferent flight through Charlotte. (One of the biggest arguments for the Amazon HQ2 might be the better air service we’d inevitably get.) The transatlantic portion was smooth enough, but after a half-hour the video system conked out, so we couldn’t watch any Oscar goings on, and a side effect was that any personal lights that were on stayed on all night, and those that were off stayed off. Mine was of the stayed-on variety, so, unable to sleep, I spent several hours grading mid-term exams from my August Wilson course at Pitt.
Such are the gripes of the pampered transatlantic theater-goer. But who can really complain when a couple of hours after landing, here we are in London? After buying underground-bus passes for the group and picking up theater tickets, I led an orientation walk especially for first-timers. One of our first stops was the Neal’s Yard Cheese Shop, when Clare (from County Clare, of course), cheese monger of the day, obliged with some samples.
And did I say the sun was out when we arrived? Pretty amazing!
First Published: March 6, 2018, 12:24 p.m.
