saturday, in the park

I've never been in the Serpentine Gallery before, but we stopped by today just in time for a fantastic Icelandic art show! The artist was Hreinn Fridfinnson, and I'm not going to lie: there were displays of shoes in front of mirrors, a bunch of chicken wire cutouts stapled to the wall, and painted doors with holes kicked through them. Really kooky and modern. Super Bjork. You know the stuff. But there were also these really great photos of Reykjavik and Icelandic sheep fields, and they were accompanied by these incredible little folk tales. There was one about a man who was going to dynamite a giant piece of rock on his property, but then one night he had a dream where a little man came to him and told him not to disturb his "home." He promised that if he did, something bad would happen. The man decided to go ahead with his plans, but before he blew the rock up his chickens stopped laying eggs! They went from 235 a week to zero. So he decided not to blow the rock up, and the chickens all started laying eggs again. Supposedly, this was a true story. I sure love stories about Icelandic elves! Remind me to tell you more when I see you live.

The park was unbelievable today. London was....wait for it....almost 90 degrees today, and it was amazing. We walked through the Kensington Gardens, sat at the Peter Pan statue for an hour, and sat with our feet in the Diana Memorial for a good hour or so. It was fun to see the people of England in mass enjoying the sun. Boating, swimming, picnicking. Playing Frisbee. My only complaint is that some of those people should have put their shirts back on. But everyone's a critic!

To escape the heat, eventually, we went to Natural History Museum. They promised this fantastic Arctic explorer's exhibition, but it cost money and Uncle Scrooge wasn't in the mood. I wanted to see the arachnids and take the escalator through the center of the earth. And that's just what I did!


We also went to Nando's again for Aurora's birthday. I'm loving the crushed American ice at Nando's so much that I dream about it at night.

Tonight was an adventure. I took Susan, Liz, Alex, Cara, Rick, and Jaclyn to the Globe to see Othello, and as fate would have it Othello was not playing. So we made a mad dash for the National where we grabbed the last few tickets for the closing night of The Philistines. Loved the show. This was a new translation by Andrew Upton, who is Cate Blanchett's husband. Here's the deal, though. It's a Russian play and they aren't easy. You don't get out of a Russian play without a little depression and a slight desire to start a revolution. The acting in this thing was, as the Russians say, off the hook. Really amazing. Funny, powerful, and completely committed. And the other thing about Russian plays is that they start off so slow and then explode in the second half. The Philistines was no exception. The ending was a huge payoff for all the doom and gloom of the first act. It was the most challenging play we've seen, and I thought it was fantastic.

Our night was far from over. Jaclyn, Alex and I stayed at the National after the play because there was some kind of video rave happening. They were projecting these monstrous images on the side of the theatre. It was really fascinating. Then we worked our way home, but not before seeing the Thames river police searching for a suicide jumper, finding him, and giving him CPR. We were at the scene of the crime. We also offended some lesbians, and bought some Krispy Kremes. We got to Big Ben just as it struck twelve and they turned out the lights. It was 74 degrees, and here are some pictures to prove it. Courtesy of A. Ungerman. Click them - they get bigger, and they are fantastic:

avenge me!

Last year I got all into Jack the Ripper. I took the tour and read all these books about him, and then I got all into killing prostitutes in the East End. Well, you know what I mean. It was a phase! Anyway, this year I'm all into the Princes in the Tower.

If you have read Richard III you know that Dickie, in his quest to become the king, had his two nephews imprisoned in the Tower of London and, according to widespread legend, smothered there. Or that's how the story goes. They did disappear in the tower, in fact, and the skeletons of two young boys were found under the stairs hundreds of years later. And then Billy Shakespeare writes a play all about this hunchback with a withered arm who murders his way to the top.

Turns out, Richard III was nothing like that. He didn't have a hunchback - in fact, he wasn't deformed at all. He was no 'bottled spider' or 'elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog' as he's politely described in the play. In fact, he was a pretty nice guy. A good king, who was exceptionally nice to the poor. But as Queen Elizabeth was not a direct descendant of Richard, and her family line was at odds with his, it was in Shakespeare's best political and financial interest to revision the character into something villanous, wretched and brutal. And the the story stuck. That, my friends, is how history is written.

If you go to the Tower of London, and you visit the Bloody Tower, there is a counter machine where you can vote on who you think killed the princes. Option A is Richard III. Option B is Henry VI. Option C is that they were never murdered; they just disappeared. Please choose option C. It's really your best bet, and it may help to clear a slandered man's name.

Speaking of clearing up past crimes, Alex, Liz, and I saw a terrific play tonight at the Old Vic called Gaslight. It was a Victorian thriller, which means it all happens in one drawing room, with lighting, music, and costumes doing all the visual work. It also stars Rosamund Pike, which helped a great deal. Now the most beautiful woman in the world is my wife, Lisa. Everyone knows it, and there's no reason to debate it. The second most beautiful woman in the world is Rosamund Pike. You may remember her from Pride and Prejudice. She played Keira Knightley's older sister, Jane. This play was all about poor, timid Rosamund being slowly driven crazy by her murderous, controlling husband. Until she turns the tables on him. Ha-ha! You bastard! It was so Victorian - the plot, the style, even the Old Vic itself. But the most Victorian element of the production, surprisingly enough, was added by the audience. We gasped, we booed, we clapped, and sat on the edge of our seats as if it were the most natural thing in the world to act that way at the theatre. At one point a character accidentally left his hat on the table, which would have had disastrous results for Rosamund if the husband had discovered it sitting there. Alex and I both clenched our armrests and whispered in panic "The hat. The hat!"

I guess certain plays are like time machines, and if they are done pitch perfect, we go where they want to take us.

we ape, we mimic, we mock. we act.

There was a lot of Laurence Olivier happening today. First off, we talked about his Othello in class this morning, and then we saw an Olivier display at the Theatre Museum this afternoon. Tonight's play, The 39 Steps, had nothing to do with Olivier, except it's the sort of play he would have done, and the theatre where we saw it, The Criterion, is actually underground. You walk in off the street, but then you have to actually go downstairs to see the play. Like three flights of stairs, and then there's this amazing 19th Century theatre. I think Olivier must have done a play there at some point. Or maybe Vivien did. While the air raids were happening and London was burning.

Many of my students were unaware that London was blitzed during WWII. I don't think I knew until college. It's amazing how little we know about the rest of the world.

I love going to Benjamin Pollack's Toy Shop in Covent Garden. Lisa and I went there last year and I bought my paper Globe Theatre. I also bought some really cool Commedia cards which are in my office at UVSC. I didn't buy anything this year, but it's fun to look. I saw these really cool snakes that my boys would love, and an original printing of Shock-Headed Peter.

I also took the group to Neal's Yard, which is this really cool little enclave hidden in the middle of a non-descript street downtown. You go down this secret alley, and suddenly there is this explosion of color, flowers, and hanging plants. Neil's Yard is all about the acupuncturists and the oatmeal soap, so we just breezed through it. But it was fun to see something so colorful on sort of a grey day.

By the way, the weather has been fantastic all week, until today. It was a little windy and we wore jackets again.

The theatre museum is closing down, which is really sad. I've been there many times, and today will be the last. It closes August 10th. I was excited to get my group in on one of the last tours. It's such an inspiring little place. Such a great artistic heritage. All these photos, playbills, costumes, and sets from the past 400 years. I guess it's moving to three rooms at the V&A. I'm happy that it's not disappearing altogether, but it will be sad to see what was once a cool little museum relegated to three cramped rooms at the V&A.

In a few years I'm going to direct The 39 Steps for the folks back home. I'm determined, after seeing it tonight. I already know who I'm casting. It's a fantastic play. The funniest comedy I've seen in years. It's based on this really stodgy adventure story by John Buchan, which was made into a film by Alfred Hitchcock. The play version retains Hitchcock's plot rather than Buchan's, but makes it completely ludicrous by the sheer fact that only four actors are playing 139 roles. It was incredible to watch all of these characters, all the quick changes, and the inventiveness: including shadow puppetry! Oh, I'm going to steal all of the bits. It was so funny. After the spectacle and big-budget blow-hardiness of last night, it was a testament to me that theatre is still alive - and it happens on bare stages with minimal budgets and creative practitioners who prefer imagination to bombast.

fairies, mummies, and witches

This morning I was at the Kensington Palace gift shop buying a fairy book for Phoebe, and the clerk was a really helpful young man from Turkey. He was extremely polite, and I could tell that he was pushing himself to make conversation at the register.

"So.....you are learning about fairies?" he says.

I laughed. "Actually, I'm buying this for my daughter."

"Oh." Long pause. Money quietly exchanged. Then: "I don't know anything about fairies."

"Well, they are mean." I said, which is true - at least the Elizabethan ones.

His eyes got large. "They are MEAN?"

"Yeah, supposedly. They look beautiful, but they do terrible things."

At that moment some snooty women behind us hisses "Excuuuuuuse me, but could we hurry this up?"

"Look! There's one right behind me!" I said. And he nervously laughed. I'm not making many new friends this year.

I was, however, reunited with some old friends today, and by old I mean a couple of thousand years. No trip to London for me is complete without stopping by to see the mummies at the British Museum. They look really dead and gross like always, so it's good to see that not everything's changing in our fast-paced world. It's good to know you can count on dead Egyptians when the chips are down.


Oddly, my favorite part of the museum today was, of all things, a Japanese art show! We saw an actual Hokusai, though not The Wave, which was in storage. But we did see Tametomo and His Son Rescued By the Tengu:


I also enjoyed the Turquoise Mosaic of a Double Headed Sepent, which looks like this:


And, of course, the Parthenon Galleries:


Tonight we saw Wicked, the big smash hit of the West End. Despite being about 10% as clever or as well written as The Drowsy Chaperone, and despite every song sounding exactly the same, Wicked is packing in seats every night while The Drowsy Chaperone is closing next month. I don't understand it. My taste must really be off. Wicked is the 'prequel' to The Wizard of Oz, and it's pretty spectacular; it's got more green light bulbs and flying monkeys than you could shake a stick at. Everybody gets to sing a big power ballad while they stand and look at another character. It's guaranteed to please teen-age girls and gay men worldwide. I guess I'm a snob. I was captivated by the spectacle, but the rest of it was rated N for NERDY. Most of my students disagreed, and I was happy they enjoyed it. But jeez, Louise, that show was a big emerald headache.

of interest

A few interesting things we saw today:

A living statue that wouldn't move even after we put money in his cup, so a big rip-off.

A man who could get out of a straightjacket in two minutes by dislocating both of his shoulders. Not a rip-off.

A man who swallowed a 4 foot long balloon whole.

A jogger who looked like a monkey (just an observation)

A Coke fountain with crushed ice at Nando's Chicken.


A Midsummer Night's Dream at Regent's Park


A bunch of Americans hanging from the poles of an empty tube car. That was us.


A drug bust. Not us!

A really big clock.

i don't wanna show off no more

OK, so, yeah, it was my birthday. I'm 35, if you are counting, and I hope it shocks you. I look great!

If I had to spend my birthday away from home, I'd do it in London. Except maybe I'd have my family with me. That would complete it. Because I realize that birthdays aren't really about you, they are about the people you choose to spend them with. Think about it.

I spent the first half of my day waiting for the wolverines. They ambled in, one by one, looking groggy. Mark Pugh, my program assistant, brought four with him, and another six or seven came on their own throughout the morning. Two got left behind by cancelled flights or missed connections, so they get here tomorrow. But all morning I lay reading in my bed until I'd the hear the buzz upstairs. I'd run up and find a bleary eyed student ladled with luggage on the front porch. And I would take them in and give them shelter, like a nun at a convent. Yes, that's exactly it. A nun at a convent.

Once Mark got here I left him in charge of door duty and ran down Old Brompton and up Gloucester to my favorite little pizza joint. I had a nice pizza with olives, bacon, mushrooms, and tomatoes. I don't know why I did the tomatoes - I hate tomatoes! I guess I was feeling healthy. Somebody stop me before I start eating healthy food - it's really not my thing. Unless Lisa makes me do it. I miss her.

Once everyone was here we did a giant neighborhood tour. We hit all the exciting spots: the laundromat, the Sainsbury's, the church, that really ridiculous golden Albert monument, the bus, H&M, the tube, and I pointed out to everyone the KFC where Miles wet his pants. It's important that they know that story.


But my birthday didn't really kick into gear until tonight, when I declared that we would be doing dinner and a show! The dinner would be my choice, and so would the show. What? I'm the special boy. That's the dealio. So we had pub food at the Angel & Crown on St. Martin's and everyone seemed to enjoy their bangers and mash served up by really authentic English servers. By really authentic English servers I mean some Asian girls. Then we made a mad dash - literally a mad dash - like, on foot - about ten blocks to catch the 7:45 showing of The Drowsy Chaperone. We got amazing seats on the floor at the student rate - 15 pounds. That's super cheap, yo.

I don't know if you are familiar with this show, but it turns the wacky up to eleven. It won all kinds of Tony Awards on Broadway but it's closing here. I have no idea why. It was one of the funniest, most entertaining things I've ever seen. It's a spoof of those cheesy old 1920's musicals. There is a song in it called I Don't Wanna Show Off that was written for my sister Courtney. Lots of tap dancing, spit takes, Charleston, blind-folded roller skaters, a Chinese number, and a romantic song about a monkey. I loved it.

Afterwards we walked all the way through town and then took the tube from St. James' Park to Gloucester Road so I could have some birthday cake at the Patisserie.

toréador

I had an enjoyable day with Alex Ungerman today. Alex is one of my students from UVSC, and also a terrific actor who has been in a few of my shows. The great thing about Alex is that he likes to walk around town, even though his feet hurt him. Actually, just one of his feet, which is curious. Anyway, we walked around a lot today buying power converters, bath towels, and soap. Jeez, when am I NOT buying power converters and soap these days! If I had a nickel.....

Anyway, Alex and I also chanced upon a wonderful show tonight called The Car Man. To be honest, we went to it because it was the only thing playing tonight. Seriously, the only thing. But I saw that it was a Matthew Bourne piece, and I'm all about the Matthew Bourne and, as has been very well documented, the modern dance. Turns out this was an adaptation of Bizet's Carmen, except all dance, and set in 1960's America. It was all about a greasy auto shop in middle america, so you know you're going to see people ordering fries at the burger joint and then doing Pas de bourrées. The poster said it was "thrilling" "glamourous" and "sexy," and boy, howdy! The sexy didn't stop! Where's the hot tamale train, Mary Murphy? Alex and I really liked it. Not the sexy, I mean the dancing. It is so exciting to see creative minds working and reinventing. I forget how amazing theatre over here is. It really is an art form and you leave the theatre completely inspired. And by inspired, I mean that I did some Martha Graham contractions on the tube.

On the walk home, we saw this:

and also this:

and pondered the meaning of life:

day one, this year

I made it safely to Britain, and had an unusual sensation of comfort when the plane hit the tarmac at Heathrow. Last year when I flew to London it had been five years, so it took a while for me to get my groove back. This year it had only been fourteen months, so it wasn't long before I started calling sweaters 'jumpers' and saying 'alright?' instead of hello.

My flight over was fine, and thankfully I sat by no talkers. Flying out of SLC I was squeezed between a portly business type and an Indian girl studying economics. She was no fun! Just reading her text book the entire time and highlighting exciting parts of it. Business man struck up a conversation immediately, telling me all about himself. I started feeling really heavy like I knew that a five hour conversation was budding and there was no way out. But interestingly enough, he asked me what I did for a living and I told him, and the conversation was over before we had even flown over the Great Salt Lake. I don't know what it is about my profession that stops these conversations dead. Was he annoyed by my job? Intimidated by the artsiness of it all? Did I have nothing to offer him professionally? Well, I wasn't crying me a river or anything. He shut up for the rest of the trip, and I was spared more small talk with a mid-level ding-a-ling.

The rest of the flight was fine. I slept.

In order to stay awake once I got to London, I took a train down to see Adam in Brighton. We had dinner with Loraine, as well as Jennifer Knudsen and her three kids. They are visiting for six weeks which, with three kids, would put me in my grave. Jen seemed to be doing fine. We had dinner at Bill's, which is this magical place where they put fancy origami vegetables on everything. Adam and I saw the Simpson's movie, and I slept through more than half of it. It was a combination of jet-lag and not enough Ralph Wiggum.

Now I'm back in London and Alex Ungerman is helping me prep for the onslaught of weary Wolverines tomorrow. We have to go buy Oyster passes and get tickets for The Drowsy Chaperone tonight. Will this job ever END?

A few observations about Britain this year:

1. Everyone is wearing stripy things. Stripes are in.
2. The weather is drizzly, we are using jackets.
3. The British people seem a little fatter to me.
4. Do I have to call potato chips crisps?
5. Everyone is reading Harry Potter on the tube.

Here is where I live: