Oh Pshaw! Wednesday 3/8. [photos: granite sarcophagus; the Garrick Theater in Charing Cross.] The weather forecasts are unambiguously unsettled for the foreseeable future. Every day there is going to be rain, sometimes heavy and sometimes with wind. But, it’s not nearly as heavy as what we think of in LA as ‘rain’, and we’re getting used to it, so today we decided to go to the British Museum and then take a chance on rush tickets for the theater.
First I tried to find an Internet café near our flat. On the way I found the worst flea market ever – used DVD players, record players and books all uncovered in this light rain. Sheesh. The bits of old machinery were getting most of the attention, but all I could see was junk. Anyone who wades through all this and finds that 200 year-old teacup deserves his good fortune.
Down the street was the café and thank goodness I brought a flash drive; most of these places do not let you use your own computer. Starbucks does, but we’re so far out in the toolies that there aren’t any within reach. Really. It’s like living in some off-kilter parallel universe. I could not get one of the photos to display, but otherwise was able (as you can see) to upload the blog. Later in the day in London we must have seen half a dozen more Internet cafés – were they always there and we just missed them? – so on future trips I will carry the flash drive always.
The British Museum needs no introduction. We went straight to the Assyrian and Egyptian wing and marveled. Alice’s favorite piece was a granite sarcophagus completely covered with hieroglyphs [see photo]; mine were the two massive (12 feet tall) winged, human headed, five-legged evil-spell-deflecting Assyrian statues. The five legs are intended to represent only four legs, but unless you put five on then from some angles you only see three. Well, that’s the explanation they gave. Since these are mythical creatures, who knows?
The King’s Library room is unique. The title of the permanent exhibit is "The Enlightenment." It purports to be a demonstration of a new interest in science, history and natural history, but IMHO it is a perfect example of Rich Brits (no offence intended; every culture has its dominating moments and we’re just getting over ours) and their Magpie Complex (now this *is* a British Thing) which forces them to collect for the sake of collecting.
Our recollection is that this was the first part of what became the British Museum, so grateful thanks are due. The room itself is magnificent: a football field long, 50 feet wide and high, lined with book and exhibit cases, and with waist-high glass cases all over the place. It was closed for a long time and reopened in virginal condition and has that classical/Wedgwood look to it: pastel colors, gilt decoration, austere but beautiful echoes of Athenian pottery design.
The displays are Magpie heaven. There are Etruscan helmets, Inuit scrimshaw, obscure histories of the Peers, Roman cameos, stuffed birds – it’s all there. The museum tries to make sense of it all but there are just too many threads. The only way to see it is to browse and stop at whatever takes your fancy. I stopped at the stuffed bird case, of course, and found an error! One shelf had labeled the four birds out of order! My letter to the Times will be scathing.
The Reading Room has been restored and re-packaged courtesy of Readers’ Digest (it’s dedicated to the Annenbergs). Virtually all the books have been moved to a new location, but ‘readers’ can use a computer system instead. At the entrance are bookshelves and selected biographies of former readers such as Lawrence Durrell and G.B. Shaw, who spent 8 years reading about 300 books a year to make up for his lack of higher education. In his will he named the museum as one of his three legatees in gratitude. There was a bust of him perched nearby, so we took it as a good omen for the evening.
We walked from Bloomsbury to Trafalgar Square in the rain. Traffic was busy both on the sidewalks (umbrella collisions were frequent) and in the streets. We passed by a movie premiere for "V for Vendetta", complete with klieg lights and a dozen people costumed as the lead character (a cross between the Phantom of the Opera and the Scarlet Pimpernel). We have traveled 6000 miles from Hollywood to see this? We inquired at the Garrick Theater and were able to buy ‘concession’ tickets as senior citizens (60+) for 15 pounds on the list price of 40. The play was "You Can Never Tell," by Shaw, directed by Peter Hall, and the marquee player was Edward Fox (aka "The Jackal").
The Garrick was very much like the Duke of York from last night. The ground floor (‘stalls’) is below ground, and in this case it seemed like two stories. There are three levels and 8-10 boxes, the ones closest to the stage being used for lights and loudspeakers. We think seating capacity is 500-700 people – not large. Both theaters are over 100 years old and ancient playbills are framed on the walls. At the interval you can buy tiny cups of ice cream for $3.60. Décor is more restrained than the Coliseum, but then, how could it not be?
"You Can Never Tell" is typical Shaw. There are outrageous people who get taken down several pegs, lots of long witty speeches, and over-the-top emotional outbursts, most of them played for comedy. This play is lighter than most. It takes place at a seaside resort where the waiter (Mr. Fox) is the all-knowing authorial presence. As the playbill goes, "Mrs Lanfrey Clandon and her three unconventional children celebrate their return to England after eighteen years of living abroad. However, a chance encounter with the staunchly traditional father (ed. note: this is a major euphemism; he brushes his teeth with laundry soap because he was once punished by having his mouth washed out with it) they had previously abandoned entangles them in a series of wonderfully comic events."
At the British Museum Shaw’s short biography included the note that he wrote comedies because he couldn’t get people to listen to his ideas in more serious formats. He certainly fires salvos of theories on women’s liberation, manners, and social position in this play. However, the thrust of the play is that everything is a gamble, your preconceptions are no more likely to be right than not and in the end, "you can never tell." Submit to fate and your feelings; it’s as good a way to go as any.
The acting was superb. The run started in October and the timing was perfect, as one would hope, but the acting was fresh too, as if it were the first night. This was the kind of experience everyone would want from a London night in the theater.