I'm going to start the recap of my weekend in London with a list of my purchases (no heart attacks, parents): eight books, a pound of Cadbury Dairy Milk, two tote bags, six playbills, and two sheets of London Underground stickers; also purchased were five travel-size bottles of hair gel. If you can't figure out my weekend's itinerary from that, you know nothing about me.
This past weekend was my second time in London and I think it's fairly safe to say that I fell head-over-heels in love with the city. I didn't appreciate it before; I compared it to New York, thinking that because London was less crowded and a lot quieter, it was inferior. That was before I lived in Prague, which, though pretty, shuts down at 8 p.m. and is virtually silent. I'm now slightly obsessed with London in a pretty bad way. Expatriation is definitely in the plans; God save the queen.
Anyway: arrived Thursday around noon. Getting into London from Stansted took a lot longer than I expected it to, so upon making it to Oxford Circus, I jumped in a cab with all of my stuff and headed for show number one: War Horse. The show just announced a New York production at the Lincoln Center, which is great, and I'm sure it'll be really well received in the States, but I can't help but be disappointed that they changed so much from the novel (I had just finished days before and it had me sobbing on Prague public transportation). It was still a beautiful show, though, so good job, National Theatre.
Ollie met me at the theatre afterward like the wonderful friend that he is and helped me find the hostel and then the Adelphi Theatre. The hostel was decent; I think Munich spoiled me rotten but it was fine for what it was: a place to sleep. Anyway, Ollie escorted me over to Charing Cross and I prepared for what was to be the culmination of 12 years of obsessive Phantom of the Opera love: the fourth preview of its sequel, Love Never Dies.
I wanted to like the show. I wanted to like it SO BADLY. I like Andrew Lloyd Webber for the most part; I ADORE Phantom, and this show starred Ramin Karimloo, who is outrageously attractive AND talented and wonderful. But Jesus Christ, what a load of shit. There is one good song but the rest of the show is essentially ALW taking a knife to Phantom and killing everything likable about it. He engaged in character assassination (quite literally), essentially rewrote the plot to allow for massive holes that allow Love Never Dies to make sense within its own alternate universe, and made every sympathetic Phantom character a total asshole. When did Christine and the Phantom have time to get it on? Why did Raoul have to become an alcoholic douchebag who would literally bet his relationship with Christine to try to one-up the Phantom? And was the fucking creepy love child necessary? And, spoiler of spoilers, CHRISTINE FUCKING DIES. What's worse is that MEG FUCKING KILLS CHRISTINE. This show was so painfully unnecessary. I thought about lighting a candle outside Her Majesty's Theatre because of what ALW did to my favorite show of all time. What a miserable, disappointing night.
Ahem. Anyway. Friday morning had me waiting in the freezing rain outside the National to queue for day tickets for The Habit of Art because God knows I will not miss an Alan Bennett-penned and Nicholas Hytner-directed show that stars Richard Griffiths and Frances de la Tour. Only waited an hour and got a seat on the aisle of row C in the stalls (orchestra to you Americans), and it was a beautiful show that was really just a big love letter to theatre. Obviously totally worth the experience.
After waiting on line, I headed to the British Library, which might be my favorite spot in London. There was an exhibit on 19th-century photography that I wasn't crazy about, but I still had total dork moments in front of the Gutenberg Bible and the handwritten Beatles lyrics on display. Afterward, Stephanie showed up at the hostel and I directed her to Southbank, whereas I had to go to the BBC Television Centre for my tour. Frankly, my interest stopped after we hit up the newsroom so I wish I had gone with Stephanie to the Tate Modern, but at least my trip to Waterloo let me stop at the British Film Institute FINALLY.
I had pre-booked my tickets for Saturday (The Misanthrope with Damian Lewis - unf - and Keira Knightley and The Caretaker with Jonathan Pryce) so there was no waiting around for hours, though there was an impromptu trip to the Apple Store because my iPod was acting up. It's always fun to take time from a vacation to go deal with Apple bureaucracy and the Genius Bar - NOT. But anyway, went from there to the Tate Modern and then to the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery, which I absolutely adored.
I enjoyed The Misanthrope to a degree, mostly thanks to Damian Lewis who was just spectacular. Keira Knightley, on the other hand, tried, but doing an American accent is not her strong suit. I liked how the script was updated to, you know, not be 17th-century France. Damian Lewis was really impressive. Likewise, The Caretaker is nowhere near my favorite play, but Jonathan Pryce has this incredible magnetism as an actor that made it impossible to take my eyes off of him onstage.
Excitement in the Tube! I was waiting to head to Trafalgar when the trains on the Bakerloo line were held. It happens quite a bit so it wasn't a big deal, but then a (soothing, British-accented) voice came over the loudspeaker and declared that all of Oxford Circus had to be evacuated due to an unidentified emergency. Oxford Circus is a fairly large station with three different lines, so you can imagine the stampede out of there as the police and the Tube employees rushing down the escalators as a few thousand people were trying to get out.
Sunday was one of those days that went on forever and ever and was stressful and wonderful at the same time. I decided not to risk not getting Waiting for Godot day tickets so I was there by 9 a.m. for a 10:30 box office opening. Of course I was the first one there, but I would not have left London had I missed seeing Ian McKellen and Roger Rees do Estragon and Vladimir. Sitting in the cold rain for 90 minutes was a small price to pay for the front-row center ticket that I got for £11. I was so close to the stage that I could see up Ian McKellen's nose. I SAW THE MAN'S PORES. And while I'm still not an enormous fan of the play itself, Ian McKellen and Roger Rees gave two of the most brilliant, powerful performances I've ever seen; I'd rank them alongside Ralph Fiennes' Oedipus and that is high fucking praise coming from me. I'm just in awe of them as actors and of the fact that I saw two legendary actors give the performances of a lifetime. God, I love London theatre.
Beyond that, Stephanie and I hit up Abbey Road (overrated but cool) and the Victoria & Albert Museum (interesting but I wasn't really in the mood). We ran to Westminster and Trafalgar to take pictures together to prove that we were actually in London together, then I went to my show, and then we headed to Hammersmith for the Mika concert.
I don't think I've had more fun at a concert than I did at Mika's. While he took forever to start, the man is nothing if not the consummate showman, and the entire concert was theatrical and melodramatic in the best way possible, and honestly, I'd expect nothing less from Mika. It was incredibly crowded (and the audience was diverse- everyone from six year olds to middle-aged men and women were there) and hot and sweaty, but I had such a great time dancing and shrieking lyrics to songs I adore.
Afterward we caught one of the last trains to Gatwick for the evening, where I wound up passing out on the linoleum using my coat as a blanket and my wet towel as a pillow. Clearly we weren't the only ones either too cheap to book another night at a hostel because the airport was PACKED; I couldn't even get a bench so I embraced my inner hobo and just slept on the floor. The British are also incredibly intense about security so I was forced to go buy a 100 mL container to pour my hair gel into. Pushing hair gel into a plastic bottle isn't the best way to spend 20 minutes that I could think of, but I got the job done. Garnier products are too precious to just abandon at security. It's also not like I'm plotting to use hair products to disrupt national security or anything, but I'm sure I, with my total lack of sleep, looked really shady. Obviously.
Anyway, Prague was really pretty when I got back today (blue skies and no snow, though I kind of miss it). I still love London more (and there were 11 more shows I'd have seen if I had all the time in the world) but it was nice to come home. Not so nice was oversleeping after my post-flight nap and barely making it to class, but I digress. While I'm glad I had the extra night in London, though, coming back the morning of classes is really rough. It's also pretty odd to realize that just two hours ago you were in London or Paris or whatever and now you're about to pass out in class #3 of the day. Whatever. Hail Britannia.
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