Day 82: Holiday and Dreams

Thanksgiving Luck

So everyone has left on holiday--off to Prague, Dublin, Endinburgh, Amsterdam, Brussels, Venice, and Madrid. Everyone except me and Andrea; Kim's still super sick in the hospital after her surgery, so I'm going over there tomorrow morning.

Around ten, I took the train to Leicester with my last forty pounds in my wallet. I went up to the ticket booth and said, "I have twenty-five pounds. What's the best seat I can get for tonight?"

The man was ruddy-faced and jollier than typical English men. He pulled up the chart and said, "Well, it's a little obstructed..." he pointed at the very first row, cornered with the pit and the stage. "It's twenty pounds." I asked how obstructed the view was, and he said that you couldn't see people lying down in the back because you were so close. I stuffed money into the window and laughed out loud at my good luck. So cheap! Les Mis in London! I still can't believe my good luck.

Queen's Theater

That evening, I got my act together and headed to the show. I sat next to a pair of girls who had seen the show fourteen times (no joke), and almost blew out my ears leaning too close to the orchestra pit (timpany just below). It was so close, I could see the beads of sweat on everyone's foreheads.

The show was unbelievable. The set was like a wooden transformer, changing from a front gate to a bar to a broken down fort so effortlessly. Traveling through the exposition meant a rotating stage, crazy costumes, and some really delightful shining stars. I'd seen Les Mis in Provo, and I think their Jean and Fantine were so fantastic, but the London Javert, Epponine, and the small boy were totally boss. The show's messages of suffering, slow redemption, loss, trying so hard and still not making it, really draw crowds more than the happy-go-lucky messages of other musicals. I think it's because we all don't know what it's like to be happy, but we all know what it's like to be miserable. The show brings that out in those moments when we hope that everything will be okay for those fictional characters, and it's not. If only we could protect that boy and tell him not to go over the fort. But we can't. And we keep coming to the show, to feel once again that we can't control much, that other people matter more than we, that we need to care about them or our lives are just a waste.

I guess a show like this helps us remember that we all can fall, and we all can rise again. Those relationships we have make us who we are and maybe ideals aren't the only things we should fight for. That's what I came away with. If anyone gets the chance to got to London, go experience Les Mis.

Day 81: Another Year

Film Review

Plans for Christmas lights got hosed--so I marched down Bayswater to the Coronet, toward the mobs of people trying to get in and see Harry Potter. I approved of the healthy push and shove so missing in this country. But I wasn't there to see Harry (not again, anyhow); I wanted to see Jim Broadbent.

Very British indie film--everything felt so real-life; there are sequences of people sitting, looking at each other during an awkward silence. It features a cute couple out in a place like Hampstead, complete with tomato garden and warm kitchen; their friends are struggling with the fact that they're growing old and their lives haven't turned out the way they wanted. It's hard to load those kind of struggles on two peoples' shoulders, even if they are happily married and have had a rich life together. I left the theatre convinced that 70% of your happiness depends on marrying the right person for you, and that it is possible to be happy together ages after the amour has faded.

The film is a lot like King Lear in the way that I know I'll appreciate it a lot better when I'm older. When you're young, your life changes pretty regularly in really major ways: marriages, babies, university, moving. But as you get older, those don't happen much at all. Your chance to "start all over" rarely presents itself anymore, and for many, death isn't much to look forward to when it's the only change left. But the movie was optimistic; things change, and sometimes they stay the same. Sometimes life isn't what you expected or wanted. But you can be happy anyway, really. Happiness is a choice--hard work. But that helps you mature and see the world better.

All the actors were top-notch, the screenplay felt so real, and it's so packed with awkward--you feel like you're eavesdropping on real peoples' lives. There aren't car chases or dramatic concepts developed here, no convoluted ending--just people living another year. Really marvelous.

Day 80: The Daddy of Mosques in the UK

Spiritual and Secular Knowledge

Ben and Andrew came downstairs this morning after humanities to see all the girls stuffing bits of toast into their mouths and trying out different styles of head-scarves--these ranged from Virgin Mary to Pirate to Taliban meets Professor Quirrel (Liz). I didn't even try until we made it to the front patio; I left my coat at home and remained pretty comfortable on our little walk across Regents Park. Sister Seely was nice enough to wrap most of our scarves so that they covered our hair (if you're a woman, get your head covered or you won't get in).

Our tour guide's name was Omar. Nice guy, mid-twenties, landowner in Pakistan. He led us into the main prayer atrium, where we shed our shoes and quickly realized the air conditioning was on. It was a large blue carpeted room, with a gold dome on top, a monstrous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and gorgeous passages of scripture around the rooms. I loved the huge windows--everything felt very open and sacred to these people.

We all sat around him and he answered our questions. I asked what the biggest challenge being a Muslim today was--he told me, after a moment of contemplation, "Knowledge is power. And ignorance is not bliss." A lot of people found this very cryptic, but I didn't at all; we're Mormons, for crying out loud. Everyone thinks things from us marrying multiple wives, having horns, not believing in Jesus, and even stealing maidens in the night through secret tunnels under the temple and then throwing them into the lake. All of these are absurd. But a Muslim like Omar, who's a British bio-chemist and student, has to be lumped into the same category as oppressive (and oppressed) regimes in the Muslim community, lumped in with ignorant cultures, and lumped in with terrorists. He encouraged us to look at Islam socially and politically, as well as spiritually and religiously. This combination of secular and spiritual knowledge is what makes up all religions, he explained.

Although our fundamentalists haven't killed anyone yet, that's not to say they won't in future. Omar gave us a lot of passages from the Koran illustrating the inherent equality of men and women (Muhammed's wife, for example), living harmoniously with other religions (no compulsion, a struggle in the Middle East and elsewhere), and that one unforgiveable sin is to harm another person. He said that it's hard to hear about pockets of the community who oppress their women because that is not doctrinal. Before now, every Muslim speaker we've had have tried to acknowledge that such acts are upheld by Muslim belief, but Omar shut that theory down. He even called it disgusting.

Brother Seely told us that he believes Muhammed was inspired to create Islam in order to prepare lots of people to accept the Gospel. For people whose religion it is to submit to the will of God, it would not be much of a switch at all. Our tour was punctuated by call to afternoon prayers; a hundred or more men (including Omar) packed into the first ten or so feet of the room to stand, kneel, and prostrate themselves on the floor, recognizing the almighty God and approach Him in the best way they knew how. It was very humbling, actually; bit awkward to lie prostrate, but I guess sometimes we forget who we are and who exactly we're praying to. It was a great reminder being in the Mosque.

Day 79: Primary and the Blitz

Now and Then

Primary Program is the same wherever you go, it turns out. There's always the kid who is pulling the hair of the girl in front of him; there's always the girl who sits so everyone can see her underwear; there are always kids clearly too old to be there, but who read their lines robustly, as if demonstrating how it's done; those who are so excited their parents are there that they can't stop waving and those who cry to be in front of so many people. I suspect that these cute antics are the reasons why the Programs continue to this day. Our program did just fine. I had a good time singing next to Alicia (she kept wanting to sit on my lap, but I had to say no :(. )

Kim here has a kidney infection (we think), and she's been sicker than a dog for nearly a week--no sleep, no food. Poor thing. She had to cancel her Norway trip and might have to cancel going to Spain for Thanksgiving, and that's a lot of money down the drain. Having someone so ill in the house is a great way to get everyone involved in service and issues bigger than themselves. I sure hope she gets better soon and that it's nothing serious.

The fireside featured a bishop who was four years old during the London Blitz, and he was excited to tell us about it. He showed us pictures of piddly bomb-shelters, blackouts, craters in the streets with Fords in them, the famous smoking St. Paul's Cathedral, pictures of his family and himself as a little boy. I learned so much about the Blitz and what happened, how long it lasted, why the Chronicles of Narnia children were sent away, etc. Winston Churchill must have been a little peeved, but there was nothing that could be done. Happily a lot of the major sites were not bombed; because it was so dark, the Germans needed landmarks to navigate.

Day 78: The Magical World of Harry Potter

Not Quite a Review

You know what's sad? The entire theater was EMPTY when we went to see Harry Potter. Opening Day. What the--? We went to the Odeon at Whiteley's, super early too, so as to procure Ben and Jerrys and other goodies. There were 12 of us and like 8 other people. I guess the cinema isn't a big thing in the UK. Embarassing. The show was really fun to see (mostly because we got to see London a lot and squeal about how we'd been somewhere or other). I had to pee, not once, but THREE times during the movie. The only concern I had was coming back and seeing Harry and Hermione slowdancing...? Confusion. But it was so fun to see everyone from Leicester on the big screen, giving their all to the last Harry installment probably EVER. Hooray for smart lines and awesome camera and for not sprinting through the plot like crazy people! Bellatrix Lestrange is really, really scary--Emma Watson said acting like she was scared and tortured was not difficult. Helena really looks unhinged in that scene. Also Dobby is boss. Snape was only there for two seconds. Sadness. Secretly not excited to see the next movie because it's all over after that...I sure hope the next big thing is lying in wait.

After some pad thai, it's off to do more homework. I feel so awesome getting everything in on time! I guess the best part of today was realizing that we've been to Tottenham Court Road and Diagon Alley for REALSIES. And saw Rupert and everything. It's so enchanting to look at the pavement in the scenes and know exactly what those stones feel like under your feet, or imagine the smell of the streets, or wonder what road they just stood on and what bus that was that just raced by. So marvelous! In Paris, I was sad a lot of girls hadn't seen Ratatouille and did not indulge my reasonable search for Gusteau's. I think the things that aren't real are as exciting to us as people who really lived; going to Fleet Street and wondering which of the barbershops Sweeney Todd worked in is a chilling experience, or seeing a dark alley on Baker Street and wondering if Holmes is on the trail, or visiting Bloomsbury and checking all the windows to see if Peter is listening in at Wendy's stories, or going to Portsmouth and wondering whether Captain Wentworth is out at sea, or seeing a large estate out on the moors and wondering whether there isn't a secret garden locked behind those monstrous walls--it's the fairyland I hoped it would be. It might have taken a while to get here, but London is some sort of fairyland and living here feels like I'm living someone else's life.

I'm pleased to announce that the Shulers have invited me to Thanksgiving dinner with them, so I'll be well looked after. Bit different food, I can only imagine, but still--there might be real football on the television. That would be marvelous. Gotta write some essays tomorrow, blech. Hopefully I'll go hit up Regents Street and see the lights. That would be a fun outing for sure :)

Day 75: This is the War Room

Snarky Winston Churchill

Back across town we go! Some of the girls weren't super impressed with this site (it's not a pretty cathedral after all), but I loved it. In a basement, across from parliament, is a museum featuring the actual war rooms used by Winston Churchill at the start of the Blitz. We equipped with audio guides that led us through solid concrete hallways, adorned with fire alarms and yellow arrows painted to show the soldiers the exit; some of the rooms had doors with little peepholes, and some were just behind glass. We saw Churchill's bedroom (complete with desk and telephone and bottle of bourbon), his wife's bedroom (pink), his lieutenants' quarters (tiny), a little bathroom permanently occupied (the other side was a telephone to the United States government, no toilet at all), the stenographers' maproom complete with clicking and flashing and urgent reports, kitchen, mess hall, music from the forties, Churchill's voice from the news reports, and room-sized maps featuring the infiltration of those dirty Jerries across Europe.

I loved learning about Churchill, how he was the opposite of diplomatic, that he used these war rooms to be in the "middle of the action" (Parliament would get bombed first, for sure), and that his go-get-em attitude gave his men a lot of optimism where optimism was due. I certainly wish our goverment were like that; President Obama's diplomacy and inability to speak without a teleprompter makes him look utterly weak. At least guys like Churchill and Reagan said what they thought, and I don't remember them ever losing to some foreign power.

My favorite part was the gift shop. Everything was themed forties, and some were handbooks on how to get along with girls/boys, advice on bomb shelters, emergency preparedness, dresses, aprons, and even pro-British propaganda against the Nazis! So delightful. Will they ever have museums featuring the War on Terror? Hopefully it won't be on home soil, that's all I have to say.

Day 73: War Horse

A Packed Week

Between Evensong and an opera, this week'll take the mickey out of us all.

This play marks one of few seen in England (I do hope it's not the best). I read on the Tube about how some guy in the backstage crew of War Horse had been bullied so much that he couldn't stand it anymore and quit. Sissy? Maybe. I tried not to think of that during the show.

Minimalist?

Being a theatre minor, I did my best to suspend disbelief and snootiness. The plot goes a little something like this:

A poor boy gets a horse. He loves it to adulthood. The poor family sells the horse to a captain in WWI. The boy enlists to find the horse. WWI kills most everybody.

With the exception of the bogus plot, lame lanes and excessive overacting (this is NOT me being snooty--this opinion is shared by most students on the program), the director did spectacularly on production design. Obviously the horses were puppets, made of wicker and operated by four to five people. As soon as you suspend your disbelief, a bamboo pole becomes a horse corral, the horses are moving of their own accord, and the goose is your favorite character ever.

After studying all those WWI artists like Levinson and Dix, it was clear that scenes in the play were trying to relive those paintings, and succeeded really well. I was just bothered by the plot, honestly. It's like that part in Independence Day when New York is blowing up, and Vivica what's-her-face is yelling for her dog, and Boomer leaps through the firey air to safety. Even though everyone else dies. I sure hope they don't make a movie.