dinos and dancing

Part two of our exciting workshop series featured Jo Breslin and Jill Cowley, two senior theatre instructors in Dance from De Montfort University in Leicester. I met them also in May in Austria and was very excited and grateful that they would travel almost three hours to work with our students. They did a similar workshop to the one I attended, a collaboration workshop which really challenges the participants to look at the ways they interact with others in collaborative arts projects. The students had to create 2 minute story pieces with movement, but were given secret specific instructions. Some were told to waste time by talking. Some were told to be hostile and unresponsive. Some were told to do whatever the group told them to do. These instructions had really interesting effects on the outcomes of the pieces. In the end, it didn't matter what the product was; the process is what everybody wants to talk about. When I did this workshop in May I realized I'm much more of a control freak than I ever knew. Like, a really bad control freak. Underneath my calm, cool, bespectacled facade I'm basically Hitler. Anyway, the students seemed to really respond to the workshop, and hopefully it will help them with Rappaccini's Daughter, the show they'll be performing in Edinburgh in two weeks.

We got to catch a matinee performance of Enron today. Enron just closed on Broadway after only running briefly; but it's no secret why. It's difficult to watch British people criticize and lampoon American business ethics, even if they are 100% correct to do so. The show's been running in London now for over year. They like it. It basically tells the story of Enron's corporate downfall, complete with light sabers, velociraptors, and Wall Street traders hip hop dancing. It's entertaining, provoking, and clever, but it didn't do much for me. I felt the acting was a little flat. It was a matinee, and I felt we got a matinee performance. Yawns. It's a piece that needs a dynamic energy and commitment; what we got was about as dangerous as Driving Miss Daisy. Step it up, guys.

We headed to Islington for our second show, Eonnagata. When I go to Islington, and this was technically only my second time so I shouldn't act like I know anything about it, I think about Hugh Grant in About a Boy. Because he lived in Islington in that movie. Anyway, we had a little time for dinner, so Scott and Alta and I had some nice Thai food at a corner restaraunt. I ordered a chicken curry, and magically what I got was a plate that looked like chicken curry but tasted like Satan's Special Hot Sauce Fire Extravaganza. I don't know what they put in that entree, but it was hotter than Georgia asphalt. I'm still sweating. I don't know who you people are that brag about liking spicy food. You do realize that you CAN'T TASTE ANYTHING WHEN YOUR MOUTH IS ON FIRE, right? Another thing I remember about that meal, besides the nice conversation with the Stringhams, is that our waitress dropped a kidney stone or something while she was running my credit card. She kept clutching her side and moaning. And I would say "Are you OK?" "Would you like to sit down?" but she was bound and determined to get that Visa approved! That's some good customer service.

While in Islington I found a street dedicated to one of my all time favorite guys:

Eonngata was a dance show at Sadler's Wells Theatre. I like Sadler's Wells because it's fancy and modern and new. Eonnagata is a three person modern dance piece about the Chevalier D'Eon, a spy who masqueraded as a woman during the French revolution. I thought it was visually stunning. The lights were fantastic, and the costumes were designed by Alexander McQueen, the offbeat English designer who committed suicide last Spring. I don't have much of a dance vocabulary, but I thought the dancing was fascinating and served to tell a very clear and interesting story. There was a lot of gender business going on, and they kept running around in these nude body suits with veins on them, just like Mr. Body. And sometimes I would think they actually were naked for a few seconds. Anyway, what if they were naked? I'm not judging! It's art. Just kidding, it's gross.

home and away

I met Christina Gutekunst when I was at the IUGTE conference in Austria three months ago and I immediately booked her for a workshop with my students. She's great. Originally from Germany, she teaches at the East 15 Acting School in London, where Stephen Daldry and Alison Steadman both went. I asked her if she would come and do some breathing exercises with my students, partly because I think they would enjoy learning from her, and also because I assume they are sick of me at this point. I'm pretty sick of me at this point. So they need somebody new and exciting to look at, particularly if this person has hair. And if you know Christina, you know she's got some serious hair. So she came and did a really great 2 hour session with my students where they breathed, stretched, and did some vocal work with haikus. This was my haiku:

Everyone's gone home.
The fireworks have ended.
How dark the night is!

I made that last line really creepy, like I was a murderer.

It was great to see Christina and she joined us for lunch at Nando's Chicken Factory, the only place in London with free refills and crushed ice. Christina has never visited the states, so she was suitably impressed by our soda wizardry.

We spent the day in our own backyard, exploring Kensington pretty thoroughly. We started at Harrod's, which is really more of a museum than a department store. There is so much to look at. And in many ways it's better than a museum because you can eat stuff and sit on things. We found some pricy items, including a $4000 leather jacket and some midcentury modern furniture that was so expensive that I started to cry a little. Of course everything you need to know about Harrod's you can find in the food halls, where food is more of a series of giant edible displays than just produce and meat. Little Nicholas was so excited by the Chocolate Hall that he did the Chattanooga Choo-Choo right there. And don't get me started on the fossil room. THE FOSSIL ROOM!

other items of interest:

Harrods has every type of meat possible, including presumably dog and human.

This is the jacket I was telling you about. I thought Lisa would like the jacket, but not the pricetag! Yikes! $3200.

This dress also cost one billion dollars.

I just really like the looks of this chair. They don't carry this line at RC Willey. And no free hot dogs at Harrods! (sad face)

Just some really appetizing veggies!

After the decadence of Harrods we decided we needed some religion. The guilt and, in some cases, buyer's remorse we felt compelled us to walk to the Brompton Oratory, where we could be purged and scourged for our greed, or maybe just sit down for a little bit. I love the Brompton Oratory, because it's got to be the most ornate church in town. With the grouchiest priest on duty who is really more of a full-time camera Nazi. But I lit a candle for my family at home and then the group moved on.

We had an immediate decision to make. Natural History Museum or the Victoria and Albert? Sides were chosen, and then we split and went our separate ways. I opted for the V&A, because I've seen most of the NHM and I get a little dizzy on that escalator that goes through planet earth. While at the V&A I sort of got caught up in Roman busts. And I tried to get all artsy with my camera, with varying levels of success. But here's what I got:




Then I joined Scott and Alta at the V&A fountains, where we dipped our feet in the water, shooed away pigeons, and watched children splash in the pool.

The V&A is doing a really cool exhibit about Grace Kelly right now. And guess who has a giant Hollywood crush on Grace Kelly? If you guessed ME YOU ARE RIGHT!!!! And if you think I was basically the only guy in the exhibit you are basically also right, although Scott Stringham was there for moral support. I think Grace Kelly in Rear Window is borderline goddess, so it was cool to see her actual costumes from the film alongside projected clips from the movie. There were tons of her clothes on display, and hats, and personals. She was really a classy lady. When I was dating in college I kept trying to find someone who was basically Grace Kelly: beautiful and stylish with a wicked sense of humor. And those of you know Lisa know that I did amazingly well. Easily the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.

Tonight we saw All My Sons at the Apollo Theatre with Zoe Wanamaker and David Suchet. It was really great. We had seats on the fourth row, and the set was incredible. A giant clapboard house on a raked stage, with real grass growing in the backyard. Lit beautifully. Acted with passion and integrity. It's hard for English actors to do our stuff; sometimes the accents slip and sometimes they don't really capture the American swagger. But this troupe of actors came as close as I've ever seen. I've been in this show and I know how challenging it is. Arthur Miller is no walk in the park. They made it alternatively funny and tragic, and seemed to find layers and layers in the text that I didn't know were there. It was a near-perfect display of power and emotional depth.

in the trenches

I'm sure I sound like a broken record. I probably am a broken record. But I love the Imperial War Museum. I think it may be the only museum I've visited every year I've done this program. I don't know what it is that touches me so much, or how I find new things to see each time, but so's it goes.

I've been seeing advertisements for the Trench exhibit for a few years now but have never gone. Primarily because it's an exhibit aimed at 8-12 year olds. But I went this year anyway, despite funny looks from the man who took our tickets. Daniel and Alex came as well, as there are safety in threes. There actually is a WWI trench exhibit at the Museum for adults, where you walk through a trench and mannequin soldiers read letters from home and it smells like rubber and gas lamps, but I've done that several times. But a whole exhibit just about the trenches? I'm all over that. Even if it was fairly juvenile. I'm young at heart.


The first thing we watched was this cartoon where they explained WWI in about two minutes, complete with maps and German caricatures with heavy accents. Then we entered the exhibits, where we got to stamp on rats on the floor. You would step on them and they would explode red with blood. So you really just jump right into this exhibit. I got to try on an infantryman suit and hat, and then we watched an informative little video about lice attacking a solider's chest. He was actively trying to rid himself of them, but they were fighting bravely. At one point the captain of the lice shouted "We're losing ground! We can't hold the nipples much longer!" There was also an interesting little depiction of trench toilets, where we learned that every soldier produced "one kilo of pee and poo per day." Later we got to smell mustard, chlorine, and phosgene gas and then we got to hide in the trenches while bombs dropped around us. Basically it was the three of us, a bunch of 10 year old boys, and some really bored parents. But I thought it was awesome.

After the War Museum we walked to the Tate Britain, stopping briefly at the Museum of Garden History, and then stopping again to take a picture at Lambeth Palace. Lambeth is where the Archbishop of Canterbury is based, and it was built in the 13th century. So it's super old. And super not open to the public.
Next stop was the Tate Britain, which I always like. It's airy and light, and I like all of the classical paintings. Not that I saw many of those, however, since Daniel and I spent the majority of our time in the Rude Britain exhibition. "Rude" over here means dirty, though I didn't think the exhibition was that dirty. Only in a Benny Hill kind of way. There was a suggestive can of pork and beans, but that was about it. Anyway, the exhibition explored comic British art from the 17th Century to present, with a special focus on social satire, politics, and the absurd. Here are some highlights:

James Gilroy, Doublures of Characters

George Bickham, The Late Prime Minister

James Gillray, Plum-Pudding in Danger

Thomas Rowlandson, The French Dentist Shewing a Specimin of his Artificial Teeth and False Palates

James Gillray, Following the Fashion


One of the best moments of the Tate Britiain was meeting up with Mark and Stephanie Oram! Mark is a former student of mine who is now studying directing Shakespeare at Exeter. It's the same MFA program I did ten years ago, so we had a lot to discuss. Mark and Stephanie joined us for crepes at the Kensington Crepery, which some of you will be pleased to know has expanded! There is now a "Crepery To Go" next door with an opening connecting the two restaurants, so now you can get the same delicious crepe goodness without all the snooty french service and warm tap water. It was great to catch up with the Orams while devouring the best crepes, literally, on the planet.

Tonight we saw La Bete at the Comedy Theatre downtown. It starred David Hyde Pierce from Frasier, Joanna Lumley from Absolutely Fabulous, and Mark Rylance from a very interesting story in my past not appropriate for this blog. Mark Rylance, it should be said, is a genius and his performance was spellbinding. I've never seen a performance quite like it. He had a 33 minute monologue in the first act that was hilarious, and not even remotely dull for a moment. It's like an Olympic feat what this guy does in this show. The play is about an acting troupe in the Neo-Classical French 1700's, but it's very timely as well. It's a slap in the face to those of us who are unwilling to admit that we are theatre snobs. It makes a case for theatre being entertainment, rather than an exercise in elitism. And it was something I needed to see. I'm guilty of it. La Bete reminded me that there is just as much merit in Grease as there is in Shakespeare, as long as it affects an audience. And possibly more so, if it can be entertaining as well. But it did it in a way that was so clever, funny, and brilliantly acted that I never felt too much reprimand. The show transfers to Broadway this Fall. New Yorkers, don't miss it!

ever truly yours, john keats

The Sunday morning Kensington bells pealed me to church again at the Hyde Park Chapel. Daniel, Cherie, Alex, and Becca came as well. We were all a little bleary eyed at 9 am, but it's so great to feel a little bit of home once a week. Hearing American accents at the pulpit feels very Edgemont 6th to me, and add in a rousing version of Come, Come Ye Saints for Pioneer Day and it's a little transportive. Then you see that the ward activity is a trip to some place called Clacton-on-the-Sea, and the guy blessing the sacrament has a Jamaican accent, and you remember that you are in London again. And yet you still feel at home, even away from home.

After church I had a great chat with Kate Kinsell Ngai, who lives in London with her husband Mathew and their cute little fat baby Amelia. I tried to pick Amelia up but there were two problems. 1. She's a chunk. 2. She didn't like me at all. Doesn't she know I'm the baby whisperer? Well it was great to see Kate, who seemed happy to see me, presumably because I didn't try to physically pick her up.

After church Scott Stringham made all of us in the group a potluck brunch, and it was fantastic having a little home cooking. Katie Sullivan was on bacon duty, and she did a great job with that. Everything tasted perfect - French Toast with Nutella and berries, and a little dollop of that whipped cream that Alex made, even though he forgot to add sugar. Herewith are shots of various Wolverines enjoying their brunch:




Lisa, I need to recant something. Last year you asked me where, if I could live anywhere in London, I would choose to live. I think I said Chelsea or Mayfair. I have definitively changed my mind. I want to live in Hampstead Heath. I went to Hampstead Heath for the first time today, and now I'm wondering what took me five years to get there. SERIOUSLY. I don't know why people even go to London when they can just go to Hampstead Heath. It's exactly what you want England to be.

I went to Hampstead with the intention of seeing John Keats' house. This is where I feel a little sheepish. There is this fantastic movie called Bright Star that came out last year, which I saw twice, checking my man card in at the door both times. It's exactly the movie for you if you like movies where people write poetry, cry, catch butterflies, churn butter, and die of tuberculosis (SPOILER.) I do not like those kinds of movies, no sir, and I would never go walk through Keats' house listening to the Bright Star soundtrack. That's for sissies! (shame face.) The movie is all about how Keats has a chaste affair with Fanny Brawne, a young lady who lives in the opposite side of a house divided into two parts, like a Georgian duplex. After walking through the house I was amazed that there was enough room to make two houses out of one. It was a charming little cracker box. Creaky staircases, lots of wallpaper. Here are some pics:

Hampstead Heath is built on a series of hills outside of London - I'd forgotten what it feels like to walk up or down, London's basically flat - and it's great exercise. Plus, it's so freaking quaint and villagey. It's London's answer to Montmartre:

Here's the village church. I went inside and there was nobody there. Just a giant grand piano. Draw your own conclusions:
A detail from the church window. I thought I looked kind of like this guy:
Flask Walk:
Great little Georgian flat on New End Street:
Typical front porch:
After hiking (literally) through the village, I moved into Hampstead Heath itself. It's a 3 square mile mass of trees, paths, brambles, woods, meadows, and lakes. It's so dense that I got lost a few times. Lucky thing that I'm an eagle scout:
The view of Hampstead village from the Heath. London City is in the background:
Some really awesome plane trees I found:
This is the public toilet. Even the public toilet is basically a fairy tale:
After exploring the Heath until a homeless person sort of scared me, I moved back into town and found Fenton House, which was built in 1686. Handel spent time there. So did Robert Louis Stevenson and A.A. Milne:
And then I was back in town. Sorry if I went a little overboard on pictures. There are about 50 I didn't post, if that tells you anything. Hampstead Heath sort of blew my mind for an afternoon.
After making my way through town I bought tickets to see Inception, a movie that absolutely nobody has been talking about incessently on facebook. I saw it here, at the Everyman Theatre.

I was warned when I bought my ticket that I would be on the second row (assigned seating, now there's an idea) and that it might be a little hard on my eyes. I just smiled, knowing that the Hampstead Heatheans have no idea what a real movie screen looks like. The picture was crystal clear, the sound was terrific, but the screen was about the size of a Twister mat. All the same, I got to sit in an overstuffed recliner with a special button you could press if you wanted to summon a waiter with Diet Cokes! The movie, incidentally, is fantastic. It's a really complex and creative treaty about the workings of the subconscious, and it was a perfect way to end a day that felt, for a guy who needed some fresh air, like a dream.