6 April, 2008 | 4 Comments

I went to the National Portrait Gallery recently to see the exhibit on the celebrated 18th-century Bluestocking Circle, “a group of celebrated women writers, artists and thinkers who…were not just brilliant, they were exceptional, both for their individual accomplishments and for breaking the boundaries of what women could be expected to undertake or achieve.”

I’m fascinated by the Bluestockings. The exhibit, while quite small, is very educational and worth seeing (and has free admission). There’s a companion book that I’m tempted to go back and buy.

I aspire to be a Bluestocking myself, at least in spirit. Only this morning I said to the men with whom I was eating breakfast here in the hall: “I’m a sophisticated woman of letters who’s been stuck here all year with you jerk offs!” Brilliant women are never appreciated in their own time…

29 March, 2008 | Comments

My winter hibernation has ended and I’m out doing cultural things again. It feels good! This evening I went to see The 39 Steps on the West End. Apparently this theatrical spoof of Hitchcock’s spy thriller has already crossed the pond to Broadway. My friend and I had our own box, which was actually the highlight of the evening. I’ve never sat in a box before. When we first opened the door it was a bit Abe-Lincoln-in-Ford’s-Theater creepy, but I totally loved it. A box is the way to go! If you book theatre tickets, it’s worth asking about a box — since they are on the side, they technically have a restricted view and may be cheaper than seats in the stalls.

As for the play, it was cute. Not necessarily my cup of tea, with all the slapstick and jokiness, but I recognize the talent of the actors (4 actors playing over 100 roles) as they improvised with very few props and virtually no set. Simon Paisley Day, who plays the lead role, looks like he literally stepped out of a classic black-and-white film. I’ve never seen Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps, but it’s playing now at the BFI, so it goes on my list.

After this evening I have the theatre bug again, but next I need to see a play that’s more to my liking. Something that takes place in a drawing room, preferably in the 1920s. There needs to be family dysfunction, unrequited love, screaming, suicide attempts. That’s what I crave.

Link: Guardian review

10 November, 2007 | 1 Comment

Recently, I went to see Carmen performed at the London Coliseum, a production of the English National Opera. This is only the second time I’ve been to the opera in my life. The first time was in Sydney — I was there on holiday and couldn’t resist seeing something in the famous opera house, so I saw Cinderella. I enjoyed the performance, but for some reason I never returned to the opera, perhaps because, let’s face it, opera seems like something for stuffy rich people. After reading Ann Patchett’s novel Bel Canto, I bought a book on opera and vowed to learn more about it, but never did.

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23 October, 2007 | Comments

On Saturday I went to see The Enchantment at the Cottesloe Theatre (part of the National Theatre complex on the Southbank.) What a wonderful play! It ends its run next week, in case any of you in London can get a chance to see it.

The Enchantment was written in 1888 by Victoria Benedictsson, a very famous and celebrated Swedish author who seems to be virtually unknown in the English-speaking world. Apparently, she was the inspiration for Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler and Strindberg’s Miss Julie. Benedictsson based The Enchantment on the scandalous and ultimately tragic affair she had with the literary critic Georg Brandes. Shortly after completing the play, Benedictsson committed suicide by slitting her throat.

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1 October, 2007 | 9 Comments

Another week, another West End musical about a nanny. On Friday night I saw the Sound of Music. I’ve never seen it as a stage play but I love the film and like so many other hideous freaks out there, I can sing along with all the songs. I don’t know why I like this story and these songs so much. Maybe it’s because I grew up with it and it’s always been a part of my life. My mom loves it and I remember when we got our first VCR back in the 1970s, she actually bought the Sound of Music (on two tapes) and it was really expensive. I think it was the only film we owned and we watched it all the time.

In my early twenties I visited Salzburg and I went on the all-day “Sound of Music” bus tour which is the best! The only tourists who take this tour are from America, Britain, Australia and Japan. On the tour, you learn that virtually the entire population of Austria has a pathological hatred of The Sound of Music. Well, that’s not surprising given that the story is about a bunch of Hitler-lovin’ Austrian loonies who run an innocent singing family right out of town.

Though I am a major SoM fan, I’ve yet to attend the sing-along at the Prince Charles Cinema. Shameful! I must book my tickets. I did, however, attend an anniversary screening of the film here in London once and the woman who played Leisl was there.

So you see, I’m hardcore SoM, baby.

Given my SoM credentials, you can imagine how excited I was to see this play. I had really built it up in my mind and, well, you can probably guess where this is heading. The play turned out to be only good, not great. It didn’t make me go “wow” like other musicals I’ve seen. There are a few reasons for my devastating judgment, but there were a lot of things to like too.

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20 September, 2007 | 10 Comments

I finally went to see Mary Poppins! It was a fantastic show. I very rarely go to musicals — unless I know the songs and like them, I just find musicals to be excruciating. But seeing such an elaborate spectacle on the stage, with special effects and so much glitz, was a real treat to behold. At the end, Mary Poppins — her trademark black umbrella open — flies over the audience. I may be a dork for admitting this, but I loved that. Maybe I should give musicals more of a chance. I love going to the theatre and now that I have a bit of money, I plan to go regularly. There’ll be no harm in seeing a few musicals in between the dramas about death and depression I normally prefer.

What I like about Mary Poppins the character is that she’s all sweetness and light on the outside, but deep down inside you know she’s a bitch. This subtext is blindingly obvious. In the musical at least, there’s actually something slightly sinister about Mary Poppins. I quite liked the musical number (added just for the play) in which Mary gets pissed at the kids, leaves the nursery and then their toys come to life and terrorize them (including tying them up). Because of this scene, children under 3 are not allowed to see the show.

Mary, I like your style.

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1 June, 2006 | Comments

This afternoon I dragged myself away from my work for two hours and walked to the Courtauld Institute of Art Gallery. I had vaguely heard of this place but didn’t really know what it was. For shame! The highlight for me was the rooms and rooms of Impressionist paintings, including major works by Van Gogh (“Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear”) and Manet (“A Bar at the Folies-Bergère”). I was also surprised to discover artwork by Vanessa Bell and other members of the Bloomsbury Group. Bell’s painting “A Conversation” (loved by her sister Virginia Woolf) was stunning. This thumbnail doesn’t do it justice, as the actual painting is extremely large and sits in one of Vanessa’s hand-painted frames.

And did I mention that students get in free?

Tags: Courtauld Institute

22 April, 2006 | 1 Comment

No, not that kind of night, you little pervs! I saw Irons in the West End play Embers. He is very tall and angular in person, a rather imposing figure. (And given his penchant for flashing the full monty on screen, we’re all more intimately acquainted with him than we want to be.)

Embers is based on the novel by Sándor Márai, which was written in 1942 but fell into obscurity until 1999, when it was rediscovered and became a worldwide success. Though Marai was a celebrated author in the 30s and 40s, after the Soviet takeover of Hungary he emigrated to the United States, where he never achieved any recognition. He killed himself in 1989.

The story is set in a Hungarian castle on the eve of WWII. It concerns two men who grew up together, served in the army together and loved the same woman (think: betrayal, simmering rage, revenge). The entire two-hour play is a conversation between these two men, who are meeting for the first time in 40 years.

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4 April, 2006 | 3 Comments

Spring break started on Monday and lasts for a whole month (yet another reason to become a college professor). I think they should rename it “Spring” break because it’s freezing outside. Spring? I don’t think so.

This month-long holiday from school will have little effect on me, since I’ll continue to be swamped with work. The past few weeks have been nightmarish. Today I forced myself away from the computer and walked over to the British Museum. (If I still lived in Massachusetts, I probably would have gone to unnamed chain bookstore. Ah, London!)

Though I live a mere 10-minute walk away from the British Museum and stroll past it regularly, I haven’t gone inside the place since the last time I lived in London in the late nineties. Personally, I prefer art museums. And now that the British Library has been relocated to St. Pancras, I just didn’t feel the need to go inside. I’m such a jaded bitch.

I like the renovations inside the museum, particularly the new and stunning Great Court (pictured), a lovely town square covered with a glass ceiling. And the Reading Room – where Marx wrote Das Capital – is as breathtaking as ever. The museum, however, was a mob scene. It was so loud inside that even my iPod couldn’t drown out the chattering tourists. Aren’t museums supposed to be quiet or is that just libraries? I had to escape the Greek and Roman and Egyptian plunder and head for the Europe rooms upstairs, where it was much more peaceful. I’d rather look at Renaissance dishes and cameos and religious amulets than broken-up Greek statues and mummies anyway. I know, I’m a freak. Sue me.

17 March, 2006 | Comments

I went to this exhibit at the National Gallery yesterday with a friend who was over from New York on business. (Hi David!) This amazing collection of paintings celebrates the American artists who ventured to Paris in the 19th-century to soak up the creative atmosphere. The remarkable thing about the exhibit is its abundance of women, from the well-known artist Mary Cassatt to virtual unknowns like Cecilia Beaux and Elizabeth Nourse. What a treat!

As for the blokes, there’s plenty of John Singer Sargent, Childe Hassam and James McNeill Whistler on display, including the famous painting of Whistler’s mother.

The symbol of the exhibit is Sargent’s scandalous Portrait of Madame X (pictured), which is absolutely huge. It’s difficult to imagine the dust-up that occurred when this portrait of American Virginie Gautreau was displayed at the Paris Salon in 1884. The striking Madame X, who left Paris in the aftermath, favoured lavender face powder and rouge for her ears. In the original painting, one of the straps of her gown was slipping off her shoulder, implying that she had just emerged from bed. Sargent later altered this part of the painting. There is at least one novel and one work of non-fiction about the painting and the scandal.

The good news for my friends in the northeast US is that ‘Americans in Paris’ will be travelling to New York and Boston when it leaves London in May!

10 January, 2006 | Comments

We went to the theatre last tonight to see And Then There Were None, based on the Agatha Christie novel. I love Christie mysteries and have been dying to see this play since it opened last fall. It was supposed to run until February but a few weeks ago it was announced that the play would end its run on 14th January. The West End shows are struggling right now. I read somewhere that the bombings this past summer might have something to do with this. Whatever the reason, each time I’ve gone to a play I’ve been upgraded from the nosebleed section to a much nicer seat because the theatre isn’t full.

While writing this review, I learned that And Then There Were None is based upon the novel Ten Little N***ers. Yikes. In 1940, soon after it was published, the offensive title was changed to Ten Little Indians, which is still not great, so I guess that’s why it’s mostly known as And Then There Were None. The various titles are all taken from different versions of a nursery rhyme that drives much of the plot.

The story has been made into two different films and has been performed on the stage several times. Most recently it’s become a video game. In the play’s program, it says: “In Buchenwald concentration camp, Jewish inmates acted out an amateur production of And Then There Were None and several later claimed that this helped them retain their will to live.” I found this little factoid curious to say the least.

And Then There Were None – the first Christie mystery to appear on the West End in 13 years – is one of her darkest stories. [Spoiler Alert: The entire cast of ten is killed off one by one in rather gruesome ways.] There is no Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple on the scene to solve the crime either, which sets it apart from Christie’s other mysteries. When the new play was launched, it was hoped that it might become the new Mousetrap, the Christie whodunit that’s been playing in London for over 50 years (and should have its name changed to Tourist Trap, in my opinion). But after watching the new play tonight, it’s quite obvious why it will not have such longevity.

As previously mentioned, And Then There Were None is quite bloody. I have not read the novel it’s based on, but I’m sure the new stage adaptation has been made more shocking in the hopes of winning over contemporary audiences. Part of the attraction of Agatha Christie stories is that they reveal the evil side of humanity but manage to do so in a cozy, quaint way. There’s the non-threatening elderly detective on hand to solve the crime and a charming or exotic location. While there is a body count, the whole thing is rather civilized. But in And Then There Were None, we have projectile vomiting, severed heads, gun shots, pools of blood, and the sound of birds munching on a corpse. The last image of the play – a woman hanging from a noose, her body slowly dangling from the ceiling – is the most chilling. After all, this isn’t a film with all sorts of special effects. We’re watching a real person (Tara Fitzgerald) in a bloody nightgown hanging from a rope. I’m impressed at how the production crew staged this hanging. It looked real, which is what made it so disturbing.

And Then There Were None shows the messiness of murder, the true horror of it. And while I certainly enjoyed the play and I am surprised it’s closing early, it’s not the stereotypical Christie mystery that fans have come to love. Not only is the play a bit too much like a slasher flick, but the payoff at the end – when we find out whodidit, the best part of a Christie story – is not gratifying enough.

21 December, 2005 | Comments

I’ve had a lovely birthday today. Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes! I feel so loved – on two continents!

I ended up staying in London and going to the theatre. Everyone I know in London (other students, mostly) has fled for the holidays, so I ventured out alone – but not lonely, if that makes sense. If I feared being alone I wouldn’t have moved to a foreign country where I knew a total of two people. I needed to be alone today. It was a day that called for that sort of introspection.

I saw As You Desire Me, starring Kristin Scott Thomas and Bob Hoskins. It was wonderful. The play was written by Italian writer Luigi Pirandello (1867-1936). I’d never heard of him, but he won the Nobel Prize in 1934. The play was made into a film starring Greta Garbo in 1932. As You Desire Me is drama with a capital “D” – lots of screaming and the waving of pistols. I expected to be entertained but not moved, so I was surprised when the play spoke to me in a real way. The play is about identity and memory. Only a few days ago I wrote that I sometimes felt like a tabula rasa, and this is exactly how Thomas’s character – who has amnesia and doesn’t know who she really is – describes herself in the play. It gave me chills.

After the play I walked along the Golden Jubilee Bridge and saw Big Ben, Parliament and the London Eye all lit up (I was still too terrified to ride the Eye). It was lovely to walk along the pedestrian bridge on such a mild winter night and hear the Thames splashing below. If you must know, it felt like a dream.

I walked through Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus. I had dinner at Mildreds, a veggie place in Soho. I had a very English dinner – mushroom, porcini and ale pie with fries and mushy peas; for dessert, fruit crumble with lovely English custard. And all of this was vegan! I normally can’t eat traditional English food, so this was a real treat. People who eat in vegetarian/vegan restaurants are so wonderfully dorky – great fun for people watching.

Now I’m home. Will curl up with a good book. It’s the longest night of the year. Enjoy!

P.S. Same-sex civil partnerships became legal in England and Wales today. Unlike when same-sex marriage became legal in my former state of Massachusetts, people in this country haven’t become unhinged. Mazel Tov to Elton John and his new hubby.

1 October, 2005 | Comments

This afternoon I was at the theatre, darlings. Originally performed in 1958, Epitaph for George Dillon has been “unjustly neglected,” according to The Guardian, and is now revived at the Comedy Theatre on the West End. The play stars Joseph Fiennes (Elizabeth, Shakespeare in Love) and Francesca Annis (who is probably most famous in America for her May-December romance with Joseph’s brother Ralph Fiennes). I knew I wanted to see the play after watching an interview with Annis on television. At 61, she has had a long and distinguished career in the theatre and in smaller films. Unlike many British actresses, she said she made the decision early in her career that she would not go to Hollywood, because to do so would mean becoming a sex object valued more for looks than talent. Bravo! I was so pleased to hear a respected actress discuss this issue. When so many others sell their souls (Minnie Driver, where are you?), it’s great to see a woman who still has artistic integrity – and a thriving career, unlike most over-50 Hollywood actresses.

Epitaph for George Dillon was written by John Osborne and Anthony Creighton before Osborne hit it big with Look Back in Anger. It’s the 1950s and George Dillon (Fiennes) is an unemployed actor and playwright who moves in with the Elliot family. Mrs. Elliot sees George as a replacement for the son she lost in the war and allows him to sponge off the family while he pursues his art. George’s contempt for (and fear of) the suburban values of the Elliot family explode in a powerful scene between he and Mrs. Elliot’s sister Ruth (Annis), which was wonderful to watch. Ruth wants George to admit he is a failure as an artist. George replies that he has not failed, but is “waiting for success.” Success does come, but at a price. The play raises many interesting questions about the nature of art and the artist, about what constitutes success and failure and “selling out.” It was a wonderful play with a stellar ensemble cast.

24 September, 2005 | 2 Comments

I wanted to see a play on the West End today, but by the time I got around to purchasing tickets, there wasn’t much to choose from. My choices were A Few Good Men starring Rob Lowe and The Woman in Black, a ghost story that has been performed at the Fortune Theatre for the past 15 years. Well, I didn’t come all the way to London to see Rob Lowe in anything, so I settled on The Woman in Black, which I thought might be cheesily fun. After about 20 minutes I knew the play was awful, but it was awful in a campy way, which made it bearable. There were a lot of empty seats (shocker) and the people in the crowd were behaving as if they were at the cinema, loudly chomping on Maltesers and opening bottles of soda. Most of them seemed bored as hell. I’m not even scared! a tourist from Japan sitting near me complained loudly during intermission. In fact, the scariest part of the whole experience was the upper circle of the Fortune Theatre – the bleacher seats, if you will, which still cost me £14.50. This section of the theatre was so steep that one clumsy move could have sent me tumbling down a flight of stairs and possibly over the railing into the seats below. I’m not kidding. The sign outside said “A truly nerve-shredding experience.” If they were talking about the theatre, I agree.

View of the stage