Across the Thames

I've seen two shows so far - "Lolita" at the National and "Troilus and Cressida" at the Globe (eee!). What an experience London Theatre is! To begin with, walking the streets in the high heels required for my first formal night out on the town was a very bad idea. Cobblestones and three inch heels don't mix, in case you were wondering.

"Lolita" was performed as a one man staged reading/play. How my heart fluttered when the curtain began to sweep slowly off the ground... the full silence that preceded the three hour feast of words was enough to last me for years to come. I don't think I'll ever forget the performance or those ten seconds between the curtain rising and the first shuffling of papers onstage. The performance was at once disturbing and intriguing; as my friend described it "you want to see people who are madly in love end up with the person they love. but when it's a 50 year old man and a 12 year old girl, things get a little complicated." Complicated indeed.

Being a groundling at the Globe (being forced to stand in front of the stage rather than sit - the cheap tickets) was not nearly as glamorous, but it was quite awe-inspiring. What a spectacle to stand in the most accurate representation of Shakespeare's actual theatre - his arena - and see a show of which history is not certain was ever performed during Shakespeare's life. Saved, it was, from the 'palms of the vulgar', perhaps for good reason. "Troilus and Cressida" does not have the appeal of fairies or star crossed lovers or evil leaders. The play is about a stale-mate in the Trojan war and about lovers who are torn apart both physically and emotionally. Today, "Troilus and Cressida" reminds even devout Shakespearean scholars of the mysteries and depths we may never know about who Shakespeare was and why he wrote what he did. 

What I can hope to learn of "Troilus and Cressida" in my classes, I have yet to find out. Perhaps it will only become more complex. But that, my friends, is why I love this thing we call theatre. We may never  understand it, and yet the depths of its darkness cry out to be explored. And there is always some darkness in a piece of writing. That is what makes it art.