All the World's a Stage...

The last few days back in London have been lovely! The weather, which up until now has been more like fall, has finally turned and I've even been able to wear shorts! No more pasty, white girl. Amazingly - I am MORE pale than most of the Brits who live here year round. I take it as a sign that my bloodline is more pure...and I am therefore entitled to use any of the PRIVATE, FENCED OFF RICH PEOPLE GARDENS that I come across - and believe me, there are a LOT of them. Scaling wrought iron fences is a bit of a challenge though...

I have settled into a routine of getting up in the morning and leaving the flat for most of the day to just walk and walk, and read. On Saturday I made my way ( for a second time) to Portabello Market. Heaven! Miles and miles of antique stalls where, YES, I can touch anything that I'm interested in! Yeah - interactive museum! It took me 2 1/2 hours to walk up one side before I stopped for lunch. Nestled in amongst the many booths was a table where a lovely young lady was selling....you'll never guess....SHROOMS! Yes - we're talking the "best way to eat them is in a Blizzard from Dairy Queen" variety. In fact she was selling a melange of varieties...South American, Mexican...a few others. ( None from BC). It seems that there is some loophole in the law here that makes it LEGAL to sell shrooms so long as they are sold as FRESH mushrooms, and not dried. It is also legal to sell growing kits.

What is going on in the UK?! Legal shrooms, vibrator dispensers in public washrooms....What next?! Beneath the stiff-upper-lip exterior - could it be that I have landed in a nation of people who "GO"?!

I didn't purchase any in case you're wondering. I was tempted - but have no interest in doing mushrooms alone, in a foreign country.

On Sunday I walked for 2 hours along the Thames....ending up at the Globe Theatre. I bought a last minute ticket ( which cost 25£!!! The 5£ tickets were for the stalls and I didn't think that my ever declining body could handle standing for 2 1/2 hours, no matter how good the Shakespeare!). So - I ended up in the very TOP, last row which was a blessing as it's one of the only rows in the theatre with a back on the seat. It also afforded me an excellent view of the entire theatre. I bought a large cup of red wine and some salted nuts and settled down to watch Measure for Measure. ( I will pause here to add further detail to the seating. From what I could tell it was nearly sold out. All of the seats were full, FULL. You are crammed in there like sardines and I couldn't help wondering what that would have felt like 500 years ago in a theatre crammed with people who bathed only a few times a year. As it was, the man that I was pressed up against smelled faintly of SKUNK. No word of a lie! Lucky for me, I am one of a few people in the world who actually enjoy the smell of skunk. It's a good, honest earthy smell to my nose and makes me think of summer camp.)

As often happens to me - it took my ear a while to settle into the language, so I was happy for feeling a bit drunk, perhaps the wine even helped a bit? It was a wonderful production. I was drawn in by the simple, simple staging and the lack of set - which allowed the words to stand on their own. The actors, especially Mark Rylands who played the Duke-who-disguises-himself-as-a- Friar, were excellent! All of that wanky theatre talk aside though - there was something even more absorbing going on......

As the play unfolded - I became aware of the fact that the entire audience was truly focused on the story. (maybe because it's a lesser known Shakespeare to the general public, so they HAD to listen to get the story?) Regardless - as plot points were revealed the audience cheered and clapped, or laughed....some even danced to the musicians who opened the show. They celebrated when the "villain" got his just desserts, they nodded in recognition when the Duke struggled to reveal his feelings of love to Isabella....and when the show closed with a dance number everyone clapped in time with the music. It left me feeling extremely moved, and struck by the importance of what we ( so many of my friends in the theatre, or the world of art) DO.

People LOVE to be told stories. I would go so far as to say that after sleep, food, shelter and sex....once work is done and the sun goes down - our next DESIRE is for stories. Isn't that what we do all the time? We see an old friend and ask, " What's new in your life?".....or someone returned from a journey, " What happened? Tell me all about it?"....A couple in love, " How did you meet?".....Even the news, though we call it "FACT" is still the telling of stories from elsewhere in the world....Someone tells of a book they just read, " What was it about?"

I took a workshop not long ago in which the main thrust was Character, and how what's MOST important is character over narrative. This I'm not sure about. The more I think about it, the more I think that, a) it's extremely difficult to separate the two in the first place....and, b) that character, while important, is merely a tool with which to embellish Narrative. It's a detail through which the story is filtered. We may prefer some characters over others, for whatever personal reasons....but what is Character if NOTHING HAPPENS? And if you create an interesting character, in order to put them into various situations and see what happens - then you're still, in the end, going after narrative.

Mmmmm....this whole TANGENT to come back around to the point I'm trying to make: As difficult as this business is we MUST continue to tell stories! It seems to satisfy an deep need within each of us - an ancient and basic need. I imagine a primitive society in which, after sunset, everyone gathers around the fire to hear stories. It passes the time, it entertains, it helps us understand the world around us, it helps us to understand ourselves. Unless we're out camping, we may no longer gather around the fire - but we do go into theatres, or the movies, restaurants, or bars where THE LIGHTS ARE DIMMED and stories are told - by actors, or our friends. There is ritual here...when we take the time to dress up, meet up with friends...go into a darkened space, hear a story - and come out thinking about our lives, or what we would do in similar situations, we discuss with our companions....We are changed, for a brief time taken outside of ourselves....And we are happy even, to be told the SAME stories over and over again. Look at the financial success of Hollywood! Last night I saw a trailer for a teen film called the Cinderella Story....not even an effort to disguise what story they're telling again - but we LOVE that story!

So. Some of us are touring the Fringes, or making preparations for this season's productions....and always there is the struggle to get an audience. Many people have forgotten their NEED for stories ( in the way that many Americans no longer recognise the thirst impulse and mistake it for hunger which is leading to so much illness). I felt proud sitting in the Globe Theatre the other night. I felt I belonged to an ancient and NOBLE profession which seeks to give people something they yearn for. It is a sacrifice and it is a SERVICE. To stand in the light and offer stories to those who sit in the dark is an INTIMACY. Love your audience - even when they are small. Don't give up - serve. Think of the hundreds and hundreds of years of RITUAL that hold you up when you step onto the stage, or when you sit down to write. At the end of the day - when I don't know where my next pay cheque is coming from - I still feel SO LUCKY to be in this profession. I could never do anything else. To look down at the people who STOOD for nearly 3 hours to watch a bit a Shakespeare and see them changed by it - THAT was a great reminder......and I'm learning that the money always comes at some point anyhow. To be a part of the "second oldest profession" in the 21st Century - that's something else!!!

Hmmm.....Lecture over. I'm in love with the theatre and needed to share it.
Missing all of you....

R