A Confession to Make
There wasn't much play today, due to the outing this evening. The profs all paid for us to see Merry Wives at the Globe--an event that inspired everything from rejoicing to groaning about standung up for nearly three hours. I for one remembered I couldn't feel my toes after Henry IV. But I was optimistic that the comedy would be worth the standing.
Which brings me to that confession--the day the Pope was here, I had massive cabin fever by five, and went in search of a crew with plans that evening. I found a contemplative Andrew tuning the Centre's guitar in the sitting room and asked if they were going out to play. Apparently he thought I said, "Going to a play?" to which he said, "Yeah, but we all got our tickets beforehand." I was super confused. Henry the Fourth at the Globe, £5--a play I'd never heard of before, but him, Nikki, Ben, Sarah and Liz were all going. I ran and asked Liz if she still wanted to sleep (definitely vampiresque by the time I made it upstairs) but Sarah gave me the I-have-waaay-too-much-homework-for-Shakespeare look (such a thing does exist, profs.) So I bought her ticket and found myself on the Tube headed to St. Paul's.
Henry IV
We sat in line for some two hours, foregoing the pictures until inside the actual theatre, debating whether to buy hot dogs from that stand or that stand. It was a beautiful, cloudless day and I'd given up bringing a coat (such faith in the weather) from my training from SRO concerts. When they finally let us in, we scrambled to grab a place at the coveted wall, and ended up scrunched at stage right. It was like something out of Shakespeare in Love--the walls were painted with images of Dionysis and other gods; stage heaven and hell, although the set was a big structure meant to be bottom and top floor meets fly rail; big family crest banners dangling from every seat landing, and an open ceiling beyond the stage where we saw deep purple evening setting in. I was still surprised how warm it was. We sat for the few minutes before the show started. I stared at the groundling floor as it filled, imagining pistachio shells that had undoubtedly caused the actors so much grief to clean up in the days before popcorn.
Eventually, the crude Commedia Arte came to introduce the show and we all had to stand. That first act, I realized Falstaff was the same bad guy in Speed Racer and V for Vendetta--and it showed. His stage focus and presence made every time he entered the best moment ever. And Prince Hal? Definitely high-fived me! Gah, it was like being back at that Muse concert, except waay nerdier. The actors in Henry IV were magical onstage--Falstaff and Hal had brilliant chemistry, and every side character had trouble breaking focus busting out laughing--everyone, that is, except Falstaff. What a guy. The only one who really irritated me was Hotspur, who had the same voice inflections and hand gestures the entire time, which is wearing on the ears as he has the second most lines. My favorite scene was when Hal gets called in by the King and is cornered in a chair; the audience thus far has laughed harder than we can remember, and we're anticipating more jokes, when Henry IV positively screams at his son, who looks legitimately scared. It was some fantastic acting that just changed the mood on a dime, til the air was thicker than cold custard. I still get chills thinking about it.
Other fantastic things? Ad-libbing, Welsh singers, solid stage combat, and that random would-be boring scene that started with a man leaping out of the trapdoor in Elizabethan underwear, pursued by a vehement girl dressed likewise, who seems intent on causing him the most bodily harm possible. While the boring conversation goes on, we focus on the couple racing around the stage and eventually going back underneath, trying not to laugh too hard at the thumps and clangs and yells issuing there, and mostly hoping that no one's saying anything important. But no worries--Hotspur's rebellion is destroyed, Hal will become king in the next segment, and Falstaff lives on to star in Merry Wives of Windsor, the show we actually saw today.
Merry In Windsor
What's the point of a comedy where there's no cross-dressing? Apparently Queen Elizabeth, who liked Sir Falstaff so much, commissioned a show starring him. Naturally Shakespeare made the man a dog whose only goal is to bed two married women at the same time. But unlike the wise, reality-aware Falstaff we knew and loved, this one was foolish enough to pick two best friends, and drunk much more than the other actor was. We laughed much less, acquiesced that the show was for clearly younger audiences, and were dazzled by costume effects and body humor. I stood next to Rachel, who was so excited to be in the Globe and loved every minute of the show--one can't help but feel in company with so much enthusiasm. She made sure to document that I was there too.
The trip home from Henry definitely had us sitting on the Tube massaging our groundling feet and exclaiming how awesome the show was when two Welshmen started singing randomly. We all looked over and Liz cheered and clapped. "You, yeh got Welsh blood in yeh?" She said she didn't know. But the guys seemed to think so and came down the car for another stop and kept singing as they disembarked. Liz planted a big wet one as they waved through the train window. I told her to wash that off before she ate anything. Nikki said that kiss didn't count. Liz could only say, "Isn't this great that we're all here together??"
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