Showing posts with label shakespeare. Show all posts
Police rejected Lindsey.
Free falafel smells.
- Last night à la haiku
PART I: PILGRIMAGE
And so it came to pass that this weekend many of the young, curious theatre students at BADA decided to make the pilgrimage to the Globe Theatre to see Shakespeare as It Was, as It Is, as it is Meant To Be. And for £5, you can have the extra-authentic experience of seeing the show standing near the stage as a groundling.
An artistic depiction of the historic groundlings.
According to this website, groundlings were theatergoers too poor to pay for actual seats, and frequently partook in activities such as
fist-fighting,
gambling,
drinking,
prostitution, and
bear-baiting.
Classy. Cheap. Perfect.
The shows currently playing at the Globe are Richard III, Henry V, and Taming of the Shrew. Taming, in my opinion, is clearly the coolest of the three, but this weekend we could only really see it at midnight on Friday night. Saturday, technically.
Which, whatever. It's not like I'm ever asleep by midnight anyway. We have 11pm shows at Northwestern. Midnight show at the Globe, no big deal, right?
Let's re-examine:
A three-hour performance. Standing. Outdoors. In London. At midnight.
And the Tube stops running at around 2:30am - meaning we would have no way to get back to Oxford, and would be left to either pay a lot of money to stay for a few hours at a hostel, or not sleep after the show.
So I was like, okay, it's not meant to be. Maybe I'll go see Henry V on Saturday and hear about the young Phoebus fanning instead.
But a bunch of my friends from BADA decided that they were gonna do Taming at midnight, and throughout the week I kept hearing about it. And I was doing such a good job of being responsible. I really was. Every time someone brought it up, this would happen:
Me: Nah, I don't think I'm gonna do that.
Me: I love Taming, but I don't want to pull an all-nighter in London.
Me: I'll just go to London in the morning! Whateverrr.
And as the week progressed:
Me: I want to, but... bad decision... I... rmgmhmrrhrmm
Me: I'll just see Henry V! Really, I'm just as excited about that. The young Phoebus! Fanning!!!!
Me: STOP TEMPTING ME THIS WAY.
Finally, on Thursday night, I was hanging out in Josh's room. He had decided to do Taming at midnight, and so had our friend Angie, who knocked on his door to talk about plans.
Angie: Juli, are you going?
Me: No, I aslkdlsak;l; I mean idk the young Phoebus
Angie: COME ON IT'LL BE AN EXPERIENCE!
Me:
Me:
Me:
Me: Okay.
And that's how I wound up buying a £5 ticket to see a midnight production of Taming of the Shrew.
PART II: PROBLEM-SOLVING
The issue, of course, was that Josh and I were going to be effectively homeless for the hours between the end of the show and whenever London wakes up. Angie had booked a hostel for more than either of us wanted to spend, and our friends Zach and Lindsey were looking into staying with a family friend of Zach's. So the two of us immediately began brainstorming
1. Find park. Sleep in shifts.
2. Find 24-hour McDonald's. Sleep in shifts.
3. Go to club in hopes of being adopted by attractive strangers.
4. Go to Olympic Village in hopes of being adopted by attractive Olympians.
5. Find church. Sleep in pews. (This led to me Googling "sleep in churches legal london?" And it is, but good luck finding an unlocked church.)
6. Stay at the real St. Mungo's.
7. Wander streets. Find mattress store. When mattress store opens, say we are studying mattresses with an Undergraduate Research Grant. Request to sleep on them for educational purposes.
8. Wander streets. Find movie theatre. Buy tickets to first showing. Sleep during movie.
Sleeping somewhere in shifts was looking increasingly likely until about two hours before we left for London, when Zach and Lindsey mentioned that one of their BADA teachers, Kelly Hunter, had offered to let us all stay at her house for the night. And just like that, our crazy theatergoing experience started to seem a little less crazy.
PART III: PLAY
The Globe is on the south bank of the Thames, and you have to cross the river to get there from the nearest Tube station. The easiest way to do that is via the Millennium Bridge, one-time victim of a Death Eater attack, so naturally that was a moment. But it was also a moment because it was a perfect night - clear and not too cold, an almost-full moon overhead, the water below us illuminated by the multi-colored lights on the bridge and some badass floating Olympic rings. The Globe was in front of us, St. Paul's Cathedral behind us, and over our shoulder was the Tower Bridge.
Bad iPod picture makes perfect thing imperfect. :(
And then it was almost time for the show.
Stepping into the Globe for the first time is striking. Especially when you've spent years hearing about it and reading about it as a theatre kid. And even though I recognize the historical significance and everything, I couldn't help but think, oh my God, I'm standing on the set of Shakespeare In Love.
Party like it's 1599.
And the show was incredible. It was so refreshing to see a Shakespeare play performed without a gimmick or concept. All of the actors were impeccable, of course, but without being slaves to the text the way so many students of classical theatre are. And seeing a midnight show as a groundling is honestly the closest you can possibly get experiencing a Shakespeare play as a rock concert. Characters jumped off of the stage and exited into the crowd, appealed to the audience, encouraged us to clap along to their songs. It was dirty and ridiculous and there was an actor who looked like Orlando Bloom, so it was basically the best Shakespeare experience ever.
PART IV: PASSENGERS
But by the final bows, even Orlando Bloom couldn't keep us from feeling like we were going to fall over. All of us were exhausted. I think I was dehydrated. Angie left for her hostel, and it was time for the rest of us to catch a cab to Kelly Hunter's house.
So we struggled back across the Millennium Bridge, parked ourselves on a street corner, and tried to hail a cab.
For the first half-hour, every one that passed us either already had passengers or was impossible to flag down. Finally, we managed to get one to stop.
Driver: Where are you going?
Us: Teddington.
Driver: Teddington?
Us: Teddington.
Driver: Zone 6? That's too far. I was about to head home for the night.
For those of you unfamiliar with the layout of the city of London, it vaguely resembles this:
Certified accurate and to scale.
So yeah - Zone 6 is far. In a fit of desperation, I went, "We'll tip you!" but he was already driving away.
And then it started to rain.
At least another half-hour passed, and it was looking more and more likely that we would need to revert to one of the ideas Josh and I had brainstormed when we thought we wouldn't have anywhere to stay. It was getting colder and rainier and closer to daylight, and our only companions on the street were a group of very drunk women dressed as Pink Ladies and the guy running a small falafel store that was inexplicably still open. At this point I was less invested in cabs and sleep and more just basking in the inevitability of human oblivion and the smell of Middle Eastern food. But Lindsey was still motivated, and decided that she would stop the next police car we saw to ask for the best way to get a cab to Teddington.
A few minutes later, a police car rolled up to the red light. Lindsey ran over, waving, and just as she reached it, the light turned green, and it sped off.
Even the constables didn't care about us.
It began to rain harder.
I tried to remember if there had been any viable nearby options on stay4free.com.
Sunrise approached.
The rain continued.
Finally, at a quarter past four, we acquired a cab.
I don't really remember getting in the cab, but I do remember all of us collapsing in laughter because we were in a cab on the way to our teacher's house in who-knows-where, London, after standing for over an hour in the rain after standing for three hours at the Globe. And I do remember going, "I should totally be drafting a blog post," and pulling out my Shakespeare notepad and writing this as neatly as I could in a moving vehicle:
"No, no, sun, you stop that, you go back down." - Lindsey, 4:20am
WHY AREN'T WE HORIZONTAL???
And at a quarter to five, we made it to Kelly Hunter's house. Kelly Hunter, if you ever Google yourself and find this blog post, please know how eternally grateful we all are to you. Josh and I don't even know you, because sadly you are not one of our BADA teachers, but you saved us from sleeping in shifts in a park, and you also have very comfortable pillows and a wonderful collection of DVDs.
We all pretty solidly passed out by five, and at 8:20, we were awake and ready to journey back to the West End to buy show tickets for another titillating day of theatre.
But that's for another blog post. Because Aaron Carter just came on shuffle, and it's been a really, really long 48 hours, and I should probably go to bed or something.
Sleep sweet, blogosphere.
(This post to you brought by Kelly Hunter, male gymnasts, sympathetic taxi drivers, and Jason Mraz.)
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On Wednesday, I had two life-changing experiences.
The first was in the form of a cookie. A peanut butter and milk chocolate Ben's Cookie, to be specific. You guys, I don't know what's in these cookies. Most likely drugs and aphrodisiacs and nectar of the gods. All I know for certain is that the cookie I had is probably the best thing that's ever happened to my mouth. I am enraptured thinking about it.
akdlsafkd;sgk;dg
When my friend Matt tried a Portillo's cake shake for the first time, he said, "This is the kind of moment that makes you an artist, because it changes your perception of what a milkshake can be."
The same is true of Ben's Cookies. If you are anywhere in the vicinity of the UK, or this planet, or, like, the Milky Way, go. I implore you.
My second life-changing experience came in the form of Aunt Petunia.
Once or twice a week, BADA brings in guest artists to impart their wisdom on us young and impressionable students of theatre. Last week, it was Fiona Shaw, most famous for her work in Harry Potter, but also a total theatre beast who has performed in about a million high-profile Shakespeare productions and a touring one-woman production of T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land. And MOST importantly, she had a recurring role in season 4 of True Blood!
(That was sarcasm, by the way. Her entire resume is way, way cooler than True Blood.)
The point is, Fiona Shaw is a genius. She's down to earth in a be-my-best-friend way - although fully aware of the fact that she really knows what's up - and sassy and funny and full of life. There wasn't a single dull moment in the entire master class. It could have gone on for six hours and I don't think anyone would have complained. And if you really want to know how incredible she is, I was so enthralled with how she was working that I completely forgot I was watching Aunt Petunia. And it takes a lot for my Harry Potter-wired brain to do that.
I didn't work with her personally, but I still learned so much. I don't think I stopped taking notes the entire time. Here is some
+ In English, we tend to speak in C Major. In Ireland, they speak in a minor key.
+ All you have to bring to a role, essentially, is yourself. "Keep the things that are uniquely your own, but find the universal truth. No, not the universal truth - forget I said that. Find the 'thing.'"
+ “Never allow yourself to be entirely in control of the ‘thing’. There is a gap between desire to be triumphant and natural human failure.”
+ "There is nothing normal about ordinary speech if it's on the stage."
+ When asked how she chooses projects, Fiona responded, "Oh, in my experience... things tend to choose you."
+ "If you have a grand speech, do it in a loo."
+ "It is tragedy, not heroism, that makes tragic heroes interesting."
+ "Artists paint skulls in the desert because they're there. Create the art that's there."
And finally -
+ On bringing herself to a role: "It's only you if it's scary for you to be you."
Vulnerability in the creative process. I think that's the 'thing.'
I can't possibly translate this woman's amazingness into the language of a blog post. She was just everything.
Now let's discuss the Olympics. There are TVs in a grand total of zero locations at Magdalen College, so most of BADA travelled to Copa, that swanky bar that nearly bounced me that one time. Since that unfortunate occurrence I've been determined to go back dressed to the nines and experience Copa in all of its Brit pop-blasting, alcohol-saturated glory. I could not have asked for a better first Copa adventure than attending during the Opening Ceremonies.
10. Epic Kenneth Branaugh being epic.
9. Cheering loudly for the obscurest of nations. Federated States of Micronesia YEAH
8. The Independent Olympic Athletes. I don't know who you are, but I salute you. And your krumping.
7. Playing the Industrial-Revolution-or-District-12? game.
6. HUGE INFLATABLE VOLDEMORT. And just generally realizing how grateful I am to Britain for giving me my literary childhood.
5. Sometime around the E-countries, Copa came to life. The lights went down and British pop music came on, and suddenly we were all watching the Olympics and dancing to Queen.
4. David Beckham + torch + boat.
3. Finding out Mr. Bean has the same fantasies that I do!
3. The moment when all of the fiery rings came together.
2. Being in a bar in Britain and yelling absurdly for the United States with a hundred other Americans.
1. JK Rowling reading Peter Pan. I may or may not have burst into tears.
I sort of hate to refer to things as triumphs of the human spirit because I think it's rarely true, but the Olympics actually fit that description. And the watching the Opening Ceremony an hour away from where it was taking place, surrounded by drunk patriots, drenched in Brit-pop and celebration and the beer someone spilled on me - it was the best possible reminder that though we might live in an imperfect world, we are part of something extraordinary.
Okay. Done being serious.
Yesterday, I partook in another important British cultural experience, as well as an actor's rite of passage: a visit to Stratford-upon-Avon, birthplace of
this guy.
Stratford is a town full of possibilities. In ten hours, I saw the possible birthplace of the man who was possibly the greatest writer of all time. I rubbed the stone upon which said man's possible father possibly sold gloves. I even saw the place where he was possibly buried!
I almost napped in this church. If it's a good enough resting place for Shakespeare, it's a good enough napping place for me.
Secretly though, the man who was possibly Shakespeare was possibly kind of a jerk. He possibly cheated on his wife, which put him in bad standing with the church. Luckily, he was possibly wealthy enough to buy prime real estate for his grave.
I should probably cut Stratford some slack, since it's difficult to be certain of anything that happened like 450 years ago. Possibilities and all, it's a pretty righteous place. They sell baguettes on boats!
Best barge experience ever.
Theatre is everywhere. Of course, there's the world-famous Royal Shakespeare Company, where all of BADA saw a production of The Tempest last night. But there's also park where you can see free live performances of shows performed on a barely-there set by costumeless actors surrounded by trees where people have hung poems, As You Like It-style.
You're like a baby kangaroo
Short, brown, and chubby
Oh, Joey.
As You Like It As We Like It, amirite 10 Day Shakespeare?
I'm pretty sure Stratford also employs a group of people whose sole job is to create relevant puns. Shakesbeer is on tap at every pub, Shakesbears sold in every gift shop. The gift shops, by the way, are excellent. I bought some souvenirs for people (Reid... get excited), and came thisclose to purchasing a bright pink quill, because how awful/hilarious/awful would it be to walk in with it on the first day of fiction sequence?
Am I a Serious Writer yet?
But enough of this. I must away. In about an hour, award-winning playwright, DePaul/Yale School of Drama/BADA alum, and Steppenwolf ensemble member Tarell Alvin McCraney is visiting for a Q&A!!! If there's anyone who can give me answers to the questions I have as a student of theatre, it's him.
