LONDON THEATRE MAGIC
A reporter takes a break from politics to savour the delights of the West End
Judi Dench could teach Hillary Clinton a thing or two about backbone.
In the perfect stillness of a London theatre, where audience members are savvy enough to stop eating candy during a big scene, Dench is delivering a master class in political gutsiness in Shakespeare’s “The Winter’s Tale.”
As Paulina, the ally of a wronged queen, she is unflinching as she faces the jealous king Leontes, played by Kenneth Branagh. He hurls insults — “audacious lady,” “mankind witch,” “gross hag” — not unlike Donald Trump’s attacks on Clinton and Carly Fiorina.
But Dench doesn’t blink, which you can actually notice because of the intimacy of London playhouses. “I’ll ha’ thee burnt,” Leontes rages. “I care not,” Paulina replies. “It is an heretic that makes the fire, not she which burns in’t.” With her steely voice, Dench is the real Iron Lady of Britain this winter, once again proving the power of a confident woman in a world of churlish men.
I had the theatre of politics on my brain as I took a break from covering the 2016 presidential race to indulge in my favourite form of escapism: plays and musicals in London.
Instead of listening to the same speech at three campaign events a day, I wanted to lose myself to the heady dreams, hilarious squabbles and heartbreaking fates of a strongwilled scientist, a raging drug addict, a onelegged transvestite, a junkyard full of cats and other unforgettable souls.
But I also came to the West End to feel a world apart — not just from the crude, improvised drama of the televised presidential debates but also from the familiar haunts and customs of U.S. theatre.
London theatre isn’t necessarily better, but its distinct pleasures and surprises can be thrilling, not least all of the acting royalty.
Dench and Branagh are rarities in New York.
Their scene alone was worth the price of admission, which can be as little as 15 pounds (about $22).
While no one clapped when they first took the stage (entrance applause is still a no-no here), several audience members gave standing ovations (which are becoming a bit more common).
“Americans stand for their celebrity actors, while the British are much more reserved about standing up for anyone,” said Polli Phippen, a dual citizen of the United States and Britain who lives in Windsor, England.
She was one of those on her feet at “The Winter’s Tale,” though. “When you believe the acting is some of the best you’ve ever seen, it’s all right to stand.”
More than 14 million people see shows each year at the 60-odd major theatres clustered around the Soho neighbourhood and Leicester Square (known as the West End) and beyond, compared with about 13 million at Broadway’s 40 theatres and tens of thousands more at several major off-Broadway theatres.
Ticket prices tend to be lower.
The best seats at the hottest shows go for around 70 pounds, about 30 per cent less than on Broadway (where shows are generally more expensive to produce).
“We got to the theatre around five and were told to come back at 5:30 to get on line, but we stayed, so we were the first on line,” said Janis Lefkowitz of Gaithersburg, Maryland, a friend’s mother I randomly met for the first time at Nicole Kidman’s recent play, “Photograph 51.”
“We weren’t given much info from the box office staff so we just hung around. They did, however, say that sometimes they got 20 or so tickets and sometimes they had no tickets at all, so no guarantees. Eventually, someone came out, about 6:15 and offered us two tickets, full price” — 65 pounds each.
If the British are more serious about theatre than Americans, who don’t treasure plays the way we used to, audiences here aren’t too serious about it. Some wear jeans, T-shirts and sneakers to shows.
Like their Broadway brethren, the artful dodgers snap photos of the performers. Ushers are known for their ruthless shaming techniques, like making them delete the photo as the show continues and then glaring at them awhile more for added effect.
And some people don’t make the most ideal seatmates.
One steamy night in late July 2014, I was in one of the uncomfortably tight seats in Wyndham’s Theater to see a revival of David Hare’s “Skylight.”
During the first act, the woman to my right kept pushing her bulky handbag against my arm and at one point took out a hand-held, battery-operated fan to cool herself.
She was so irritating that I prepared a few words in my head as Bill Nighy worked up a sweat (literally) on stage. When the interval arrived and the lights went up, I turned to her — and it was Helena Bonham Carter. I completely wimped out and joked about the heat; she widened those beautiful saucer eyes of hers with mock exasperation and made my night.
An audience’s response to music left a different impression during this trip at “Sunny Afternoon,” a new show about the Kinks that won the top 2015 Olivier Award (London’s equivalent of the Tonys).
After making our way down a few flights of stairs at the Harold Pinter Theatre (many seating sections are below ground) my friend Seth and I squeezed through our narrow row to our seats. (Like Wyndham’s, the Pinter has hallmarks of an older theatre: modest legroom, few urinals and balcony rows that are dizzyingly steep.)
While the first 15 minutes had a mellow vibe, the music grew louder until finally booming with “You Really Got Me.” I found myself nodding along with the familiar chords and noticed that Kenny Lefkowitz, Janis’ husband, was moving his head to the beat, too. No one else was, as far as I saw — just us two Americans.
But later, near the end of the show, dozens of audience members nodded in time and even sang along to the tune “Waterloo Sunset.” Kenny and I were less familiar with that song, but the British love it.
A woman had tears streaming down her face as she sang the lyrics. I couldn’t remember anyone crying at a London show besides “War Horse” (and that was me, sobbing). When “Sunny Afternoon” ended, I asked her why she was so moved.
“While I think Americans know the Kinks from ‘You Really Got Me,’ ‘Waterloo Sunset’ is more famous here, a very romantic song, just lovely,” said the woman, Suki Lowres of Guildford, England.
“My husband isn’t here for it, and he really loved the Kinks. He loved that song. I miss him, and I’m just thinking of him.” Teary again, she headed out. “Sunny Afternoon,” the relatively rare new musical made in Britain, is typical in one respect: It began in the safer confines of a smaller, government-supported theatre (in its case, the Hampstead) and then, once successful there, moved to the West End for a commercial run.
This happens far more than off-Broadway shows moving to Broadway. In other words, you can often see hits-in-the-making in snug, up-close spaces and at lower prices before they go to bigger theatres, including to Broadway.
Perhaps the best place to see future hits is the National Theatre, arguably the most important stage in the English-speaking theatre, given the artistic calibre and creative range of its shows.
The National has four stages, the Olivier being its massive flagship, named after the theatre’s famous founder.
Another stage, the Dorfman, recently had a new work, “People, Places & Things” by Duncan Macmillan, that was one of the most powerful and painfully funny plays I’ve ever seen. It will transfer to the West End in March with its star, Denise Gough, reprising her performance as a young actress going mad with addiction.
After a recent performance, Gough hung out in the Dorfman’s café with friends, while other actors ordered pints at the National’s cosy new lounge, the Understudy, or headed to the food carts alongside the busy pathway by the River Thames.
An audience member at “People, Places & Things,” Arun Blair-Mangat, a young actor now appearing in the Broadway import “Kinky Boots,” said that many of his peers aspire to work at theatres like the National, the Almeida and Royal Court in hopes of being part of the next hit show that goes on to global success. They also like seeing shows where they began.
The trip was not without a bit of politics. I suggested to Seth that we attend the prime minister’s question time in parliament, which happens every Wednesday at noon.
Seth arrived there at 10:15 a.m. to get in line for us; I arrived 20 minutes later, only to learn that you couldn’t save spots in the queue.
As it happened, Seth was first, and he was the only person who got into the House of Commons to watch, as the other tickets went to lawmakers for constituents. I gnashed my teeth for an hour, imagining that the concept of holding a place in line was a grubby U.S. impulse in the eyes of our former masters.
Dench limited her political crowd work to the onstage king and queen, disappointing fans at the stage door. After an hour of waiting, a crowd of 50 had dwindled to two: A young Italian actress, Alessandra Ricottilli, and her British friend.
Ricottilli had woken up in Bologna at 3 a.m. and flown to London to attend the 2:30 p.m. matinee to see Dench and also Branagh, for whom she brought a copy of “The Winter’s Tale” in Italian.
As the evening air turned chilly, Ricottilli noticed a man walking from the sidewalk to the stage door to head inside the Garrick Theatre.
“Excuse me, is there any chance of seeing Mr. Branagh, Ms. Dench?” Ricottilli said. “I clean toilets,” the man said. Her face fell. In that moment, Ricottilli reminded me of a voter at a town-hall meeting, disappointed that the candidate didn’t pick her to ask a question. But then, as happens in politics as well as theatre, and life, the bigger picture came into focus.
“I got to see these two actors together on stage! Fantastic!” Ricottilli said. “How rare is that! How special!”