Semi-Annual Theatre Review: Part One

*blows dust off the theatre review notebook*

Sorry for being late with the theatre round-up. The good news is that we've taken beaucoup advantage of living (almost) in the West End. The bad news is that my memory may be a bit rusty (although not when in comes to Under a Black Flag. No, you, my friend, will always be a painful neuron path).

So, since the last roundup, waaaaay back in December, we've seen:

Great Expectations, based on Charles Dickens's novel, Royal Shakespeare Company, Stratford-Upon-Avon
A large ensemble cast and some imaginative, if bare bones, staging. I was very impressed at how they managed to stay at once faithful yet obviously abridge much of Dickens's words to make the story fit into three hours. Unfortunately, it was freezing cold in Stratford and my husband had a bad head cold, and it's the latter two items I remember the best about this trip. Still, Stratford is very pretty at Christmas time, with lots of festive lights everywhere.

A Christmas Carol, starring Patrick Stewart (and only Patrick Stewart)
When the late and not in the least lamented Ducktastic closed early, it left room for a last minute addition of Patrick Stewart's tour-de-force one-man reenactment of A Christmas Carol. I saw Stewart perform this over ten years ago in Los Angeles, and it's still an amazing night of theater. This was our Christmas Eve present to ourselves, and it put us in just the right festive mood. So while between this and Great Expectations it was a very Dickens Christmas, really, what other author is as appropriate for celebrating in England?

Once in a Lifetime, by Moss Hart & George S. Kaufman, at the National Theatre
What better way to start a new year in London than by watching a Hart & Kaufman play about my old home town? The tale of a naif in Hollywood may be an old chestnut now, but some film industry stereotypes, it seems, are just as true today as they were then. The Hollywood sets and costumes stunned with their Art Deco gorgeousness. However, I remember being vaguely bored with the production.

Resurrection Blues by Arthur Miller, directed by Robert Altman, at the Old Vic
The critics' knives came out for this production, although the cackling glee in most of the reviews make me wonder if the play was reviewed on its own merits or if it was merely an excuse to indulge in schadenfreude. Kevin Spacey is not having a well received stint as the Artistic Director at the Old Vic, although I, if not the British press, give him full props for staging this play. Yes, it's not Arthur Miller's shining hour. But it's still Arthur freaking Miller! And directed by Robert freaking Altman! And the cast wasn't too shabby either: Maximilian Schell, Matthew Modine, James Fox. Jane Adams, one of my favorite actresses of all time, was brilliant. And Neve Campbell, although still channeling Julia Salinger, didn't disgrace herself. No, it wasn't a great play. But I found it interesting, and thought-provoking, and overall far better than the poisoned pens made it out to be.

Billy Elliot, score by Elton John
One of the hottest tickets in London when it opened, and still selling strongly. Although based on a non-musical film, this is old-fashioned musical theatre, with a cast of dozens and songs ranging from rock n' roll to ballads to union chants. And since it is about a young boy who discovers he is a gifted dancer, there's flashy choreography as well. The musical follows the film's story pretty closely, although a ghostly mother is added for maximum heart tugging, and an amazing pas de deux between the boy Billy and his grown-up self really hits home the theme of the play. I enjoyed Billy Elliot, but I wasn't bowled over. I expected something almost transcendent from the hype, but it was just a nice solid piece of musical theatre, nothing more, nothing less.

The Woman in White, Andrew Lloyd Webber, composer
When The Woman in White was ending its run, they put £20 tickets on sale. I snatched up two of them. I was curious about the show, as I love Victorian Gothic novels. However, my husband is far from an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan (can't get him to see Evita, no matter how spectacular the reviews) so I knew seeing it at full price was not an option. He grudgingly agreed to accompany me at bargain prices.

I should listen more often to my husband.

The Woman in White was our least favorite theatre outing until recently supplanted by good ol' Under a Black Flag. The music was ALW circa Phantom of the Opera. Melodic, but overly familiar yet not memorable. The story annoyed me: the wussy heroine gets her man, while the gutsy heroine gets to be the spinster aunt. Perhaps that made the 19th century readers of Wilkie Collins' book, upon which this is based, feel that all was as it should be in the world. However, my 21st century self felt cheated and angry on the gutsy heroine's behalf.

The most amazing aspect of this production was the scenic design: computer-generated 3D projection on moving walls created grand county homes, sweeping countryside vistas, London streets and The Lady in White's version of the ALW trademark dropping chandelier/crashing helicopter: a train rushing right at the audience.

But a big pah! on the wussy heroine and hero. With a side of sweeping scorn.

A Man For All Seasons starring Martin Shaw
I loved this production of Robert Bolt's play. Martin Shaw played an intelligent, principled and highly likeable Thomas More, who refuses to condone Henry VIII's divorce of Catherine of Aragon and ultimately dies for it. An easy to digest history lesson, with stirring performances. One of my favorite plays of 2006 (so far).

Honour, starring Diana Rigg, Natasha McElhone and Martin Jarvis
The story is familiar: A couple, married for over thirty years, finds their marriage in turmoil when the man falls for a hottie young enough to be his daughter. But the acting set this apart. Diana Rigg was amazing as the titular character, Honour, who long ago gave her promising career as a poet to be a wife to Martin Jarvis's academic pundit. Natasha McElhone, as the gorgeous young journalist who bags Jarvis as both an interview subject and as a lover, was left standing in Rigg's acting dust, badly outclassed.

Why I Won't Be Discussing Politics Here

This isn't a political blog.

This is a blog for me. I appreciate those of you who wander by, and those of you I personally know and love and who pull a chair to kibitz, but I'm really writing this as a chronicle of my time living outside the comfortable environs of SoCal, USA.

But sometimes world events happen in your backyard. Of course, living in LA, we got several nationally newsworthy events a year: Malibu mudslides, brushfires, floods, the occasional riot, the occasional major earthquake, OJ Simpson (that one was really in my backyard. For years after, I'd walk a few blocks up the street and macabre tourists would be posing for photos in front of Nicole's former condo).

However, in the last thirteen months, London has had its share of world events. The last few days do not compare to 7/7, of course; there was no loss of life, just loss of carry-on items. Material possessions can be replaced. Human beings cannot. (Although I am selfishly thankful that my trip to the States was three weeks ago and not last week. And the thought of flying eleven hours to LA without my contact lens solution, spray cleanser for my glasses, hand lotion, stress points gel, moisturizer and facial spray - not to mention three liters of water - is a bit daunting. But I am strong! I will survive! I will be flaky, parched and blind, but alive!)

It was fairly quiet in the office. The only concession to ten planes narrowly escaping an explosive end was that the office TVs were all on and tuned to Sky News, CNN or the Beeb. That stiff upper lip was ever-present. We didn't even talk about it that much, except to catch up on any colleagues caught in the melee.

But since the plane plot was made public, I'm a bit more excitable. Full of nervous energy. The pressures of modern life in general, or residue from the news? Who knows.

Anayway, back to the opening statement. This isn't a political blog, although sometimes it may slip here and there. It's just...human, one hopes...to be interested in the world and to have strong opinions on the running of such.

But.

I saw a wake-up call on how others can twist blogs - even chatty, personal ones - to their own purposes, and wreak havoc with one stroke of the key.

I like reading other expat blogs, to see if we share the same reactions to living on this side of the Atlantic or how we may differ. When I find a blog I like, I add it to Bloglines.

So I don't know Helen. I don't even remember how I first found her blog. But I've been reading her posts for a few months now.

When the news first broke about the airplane plot and new security measures, Helen wrote this post.

It's pretty innocuous to me. She's not saying anything that I haven't seen many others say. And, above all, y'know, an opinion? She's entitled to one. She's even entitled to make it public on the internet.

A US political blogger, of whom I've never heard but who is apparently pretty popular, linked to Helen's post, in the process calling her a "sad moonbat" and basically painting Helen Commie Red and Un-American Cowardly Blue in the process.

Read the repercussions of Helen having an opinion here.

She got death threats, people.
Threats against her puppy.
Her reproductive rights called into question.

All for saying that, gee, I'm a little sad at the shape of the world today. And because some female political commentator, who doesn't know Helen and who doesn't read her blog, decided to twist Helen's words anyway to suit her own political agenda. Of the two people involved, I certainly know which one I'd characterize as "sad" - and it ain't Helen.

You can disagree with someone's opinion - feel more than welcome to disagree with mine - but let's leave the (highly illegal) death threats at the door, 'kay?

I hope Helen reported the threats to the FBI and the sender's ISP...

You Know You've Been Out of the US Too Long When...

I just returned from a week in the States, in Florida and Georgia to be precise. I had an amazing time in both places. But Atlanta was special because I hung out with truly extraordinary, wise and luminous women at the Romance Writers of America National Conference. I didn't realize how much I missed girl talk until I stayed up until the wee hours eating junk food and drinking copious amounts of alcohol, reveling in female camaraderie.

The women I met, goddesses all, fed an hungry place in my soul I didn't know existed. I'm so much the richer for knowing them.

And yeah, really inspirational writing stuff ensued, but this is my expat blog. And there were several incidents that made me realize that living in the UK has rubbed off on me.

I've always been told by Brits that Americans are friendly. They say this as one would say "Your child is lovely" to a mother whose child has rather unfortunate ears and a hooked nose. In other words, "friendly" is anything but a compliment. American-style friendliness is off-putting and uncomfortable to those who habitually ignore other humans even when pressed up against them on a train.

I know.

Because I was off-put and uncomfortable when strangers spoke to me. My parents and I breakfasted at a hotel coffee shop one morning, and we started to discuss friends of theirs who live in Michigan. Or maybe it was Nebraska. Anyway, a very nice couple at the table next to us leaned over and said, "Where do they live? We're from there!"

My parents, who I've always thought of as being on the reserved side, jumped right into a conversation that lasted at least fifteen minutes.

I was appalled. And then I was even more appalled that I was appalled. But I was really taken aback at strangers eavesdropping and then interjecting themselves into our conversation - even though I used to do the same thing as a matter of course when I lived in the States.

The next day, I was shopping at Macy's (the dollar to the pound, man. I couldn't NOT shop. It was like getting clothes for free) and a very lovely woman rummaging through the sales rack next to me held up a blouse and said, "This would be cute on you."

I freaked. Who is this person and why is she speaking to me?! I smiled politely and backed away. Poor woman probably thought I was deranged and/or rude. But I honestly forgot how to respond to her.

And that's when I knew: I've been out of the States far too long.

Here are some other clues I discovered:

1) You tell your friend to meet you by the lift- I mean, elevator
2) You automatically eat with a fork in your left hand and a knife in your right, and you never put down either utensil.
3) You try to get in the driver's seat although you're just the car passenger
4) Restaurant serving sizes look REALLY huge, and you can only finish a third of your plate
5) Cold beer - that's just WRONG
6) You don't even realize you just asked "Where's the loo?" until your parents give you a strange look
7) No smoke in the bar - that's just WRONG (but very, very nice)
8) You say "to-mah-to" without meaning to sound pretentious
9) When did they change the nickel?!?!? And the ten dollar bill?!?!? I'm confused!
10) You say "cheers" instead of thank you
11) You giggle at how cheap petrol- I mean, gas, is
12) You tell your friend you're getting in the queue- I mean, line
13) You look the wrong way when crossing the street
14) You grumble at having to tip
15) You don't take A/C for granted, and thank your lucky stars each day for the miracle of cold air
16) You constantly come up short at the cash register, because you forget sales tax isn't already included in the price

Luckily, I got my "speaking to strangers" legs back before I left the US - just in time to return to "Don't speak unless spoken to" Britain.