Tag Archives: Theatre

Not Exactly Shakespeare. It’s Panto!

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The Edwardian theatre shouted out promises of the way theatre should be. Elegant entrance hall with chandeliers and embellished ceilings. Winding wooden stairs leading to the first, the second and the third floors of seats. Old royal boxes overlooking the sides of the stage. Big billowing musty curtains hanging down the sides. Exposed brick walls and renovated intricate angels over top of the proscenium arch. They even have a live band!

Thoughts of Shakespeare and his company came to mind. Pantomime would just be a throw back to Shakespeare’s time, really, I rolled back a century to my high school teachers hammering away into our heads the difference between live theatre today and of the yesteryears – damning the numbed patrons of today and their lackadaisacal television-watching ways.  Back then, Shakespeare would perform to raucous crowds of hundreds on their feet, shouting back at him and the actors. Men dressed as women was also classically true to form – just like tonight’s show would be. This is how theatre should be! I grinned at myself as I nestled into the back row with the optional 50p rented binoculars hanging there tempting me to shove some coins into.

Pantomime has it right.

The butterflies entering my stomach told me that I had been missing out, that my teachers were right; that apathetic Americans sitting in their comfortable reclining chairs barely noticed that what they were witnessing would never ever be witnessed by another human being again. For every single live show is exceptional, new and tailored for that night’s performance. Theatre isn’t cinema, and shouldn’t be treated as such. Where is the interaction? I couldn’t wait for the curtains to be opened and for the audience to start shouting back at the actors!

No wonder the English are the true thespians, was another thought as the heat from the other bodies slowly started to warm up the massive hall.

Children high on Christmas sweets eagerly pulled their overfed teenage parents hands to quickly get to their seats. Four mentally ill patients yelled, bounced about and finally threw themselves next to Jock. Oh, this was going to be entertaining alright!

The live orchestra begins. The curtain raises….

Oh, did I mention we were watching Aladdin? We are. We are watching Aladdin – so perhaps my expectations should have been a bit lower. Gay robotic Aladdin enters to an alarmingly old equally brittle Princess Yasmin. Doesn’t matter. Voices are excellent, and high school dancers enter the stage to create the illusion that the other cast members can move.

It’s not that I was completely expecting Shakespeare, but, let’s face it, I was expecting Shakespeare.

Once I got over the camp bad jokes, the inserted modern pop song adaptations and really low budget special effects, I was in. The actors weren’t taking this all too seriously, so why should I? Just jump on board and scream as many times as possible! The guys next to Jock certainly were…and kicking the chair in front, and standing up and throwing things!

“When I say ‘Well In gang,” you say “Well in Wishee,” screams the over the top, but hilarious, pot bellied ex-soap actor Michael Starke as the character Wishee Washey. I had to ask Jock what he was saying. Still no clue what “Well in” means, but hey, I went along with it.

“If you see a ghost, make sure you scream really loudly to let us know he’s here,” bellows the John Waters’ Divine-wannabe in his/her eighth costume change.”BOOOOOOOOOOOO” screams all when the villain enters. “It’s behind you!” “One, Two, Three!” “Hankey Twankey!” – all various things we trumpeted at the top of our lungs at different parts of the show.

Ice cream during intermission another unknown tradition to me being introduced.

It wasn’t Shakespeare, but would I go again? Yeah. Definitely. I wonder what Pamela Anderson has to offer in the West End’s production of Aladdin…

Marathon and Dublin Done!

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After that turbulent four hour ride on the ferry, many sick persons anxiously leaving the boat, a two hour drive north to Dublin, and a rowdy entrance to our cheap as chips hotel – we have seen, done, (Jock has ran), and completed Dublin.

Our hotel is cheap, clean, nicely built and modernized, but the surrounding area is G-H-E-T-T-O. Our first evening, we didn’t venture outside from the long day of traveling and decided to get some food in the restaurant in the hotel. All appeared nice until I went to get us all drinks at the hotel, and noticed there was not one single female anywhere to be seen, and the stares sent a few chills down my spine. I thought the Irishman with a Guinness was a stereotype, but I didn’t see one pint without Guinness in it.

There have been multiple times of misunderstanding between me and the Irish as well. Ordering food, I asked for some gravy on the mash. He gave me a plate extra of mash, no gravy. I had to correct.

Stopping for directions when in a rush is a mistake. Like when Gemma and I were trying to rush to the next point in the marathon to get out our pom poms and do a little cheer for the boys, and got a bit lost. We asked this sweet man. Unfortunately, a sweet woman from the neighborhood saw we were lost as well, and decided to chime in.  They are soooo sooo nice about it, but they describe each turn so specifically. They describe the trees you will pass, the pub they used to frequent as a kid, the turn in the riverbed and how it won’t hit the church exactly. But, unfortunately, they don’t know any names of the streets.

Asking for anything to do with numbers is a mistake as well. Like the number for a taxi cab that contains multiple threes. All I heard was TURTY TREE FITTY TREE TREE FO FI FUM. After five times of asking the sweet man to repeat, we gave up and pretended we knew.

Luckily, my accent, I’m finding, is closer to the Irish accent than the English and Welsh (Gemma and Liam are from Wales and Jock, obvi, is English).

BUT, they can be the best. Like last night when Gemma and I went to see The Birds at the Gate Theatre. I went to the loo, was washing my hands – as you do – and a nice girl about my age turned and said “Oh, honey, you might want to untuck your skirt from your tights.” My face grew flushed with blood and I couldn’t believe my narrow escape of every woman’s worst nightmare – the skirt in the tights fiasco! I thanked her a million times.

Most importantly – Jock finished the Dublin Marathon in a record time! 3:58:20! So so proud of him and Liam. Liam ran his first marathon about twenty minutes later. That’s impressive as well!

One of the pictures I managed to get of ANOTHER MAN while trying to catch Jock. No idea who he is. But, you can kind of see Jocko’s eyeball as he runs past the 18th mile mark. He was just so fast!

Other’s include our trip to the Guinness Storehouse, More Marathon Pics, Gemma and Me. More to follow of Dublin castle, etc. Sorry, no pictures of my bathroom foible will show up here.

Now, off to Kilkenny!