Yes, more of the UK experience at long last. For those of you desiring a reminder (and I can’t blame you: the last instalment was a month ago after all), head to the entry in the Table of Contents above titled “On Merry England’s Far Famed Land”.

Are you all sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…

Having now slept and started to adjust to the fact that I was in the cradle of civilization and culture (Stratford-upon-Avon), the opportunity to learn something about this place of great acclaim presented itself. So, who better to drag me about the town of historical import than that Man of Great Historical Import himself: Our Man in Shakespeare’s Stratford: Stephen Newman, BA (Hons.)!!

That’s him on the left, hoisting a pint in the Black Swan Pub just around the corner from the Royal Shakespeare Company’s venue called “The Other Place”. It also happens to be about a block from the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Coincidence? Hardly.

I noticed that, for some strange reason, much of Stratford’s historical spots and locations of significant events seemed to be in Public Houses. Now I did not object in the slightest. Heavens, no! But it did seem quite intriguing at the time. He claimed that the route of our historical walk was principally one that he and Hilary took of an afternoon and also a fine overview of the area’s past.

I would hesitate to suggest that the precise route may have been altered to include more salubrious pauses along the way, but one might be forgiven for suspecting him of doing it for the benefit of a traveller’s acclimatization to the local customs.

As you go through the day, you can simply click each of the images to make them larger. If you wish to see the whole set of photos I took that day as a slide show, then head to the set on Flickr here: long link shortened.

The Black Swan Pub was our first port of call of any great note. The place is just as tiny as you can imagine from the image to the left. Yes, that’s really all it is. We didn’t really poke about much, but as near as I could tell there is this one room that you see here, then a room much the same size on the other side of the entrance, a space outside the front raised above the road, and then a back-yard kind of patio thing (if I’m guessing correctly by the indications in the rear near the bar). And that’s all. this most infamous of modern theatrical watering holes is not much more than about 1,000 ft² in total, and doesn’t seem to have been re-decorated since… well it doesn’t seem to have be re-decorated period to be honest. How can one renovate history, after all? There’s some astonishingly young looking faces on those walls, let me tell you. Derek Jacobi with hair…? There it is…!

And the local brewers’ India Pale Ale is a wonderful example of how it ought to be made. Read the rest of this entry »

I know I ought to be saying things about how things in general are with the trip (weather, driving, culture, how many times I’ve heard the word “toilet” and screamed…) but all I’ve got for you right now is a review of the RSC’s production of Twelfth Night. In a word: BRILLIANT!

Stratford After Dark [#2265] Taken outside the church where Shakespeare is buried, using tiny tripod and insanely wide lens.

I’ve seen Twelfth Night only once, as far as I know, but the difficulties inherent to the script were not entirely overcome. A very fine production it was, I quickly add, but the play is a tough one to present completely realized. It takes a very careful approach to story-telling that is both completely controlling and at the same time able to be loose enough to let the tale breathe (for a plot summation, go here).

I’d love to show you a photo of the inside of the space, but the taking of it was met with a cry akin to the WWII one of ‘put out that light!’ After being told that “there’s no photographs to be taken inside the theatre”, I pointed out that it was the interval and the performers weren’t on stage, but the reply was “there’s no photographs to…” yeah yeah yeah, shut up you ‘job’s worth’; clearly you’re neither listening to me nor brooking any logic from some up-start, long-haired Yankee (who’s actually a Canuck but you can’t tell the difference and that would send you into a real tizzie of confusion) with some flash digital camera, and so on. So, have a look at the photo of the street there on the right. Nice, eh? Yeah… Not a patch on the theatre, though, is it (if you’re really interested, head here for a gallery of the Courtyard Theatre’s construction and interior)??

What’s key to the play working — to my mind, anyway; others will probably disagree — is the scene late in the 3^rd act where Malvolio discovers the letter planted by the three sneaky bastards who wish to shame him. Malvolio has, until now, been only seen as a po-faced ice-boy who has more than a few books on etiquette and decorum shoved up his back passage sideways. Suddenly, we see that he’s been harbouring a secret passion for his mistress and would love nothing more than to give her a bit of the old ‘extra servant attention’. Suddenly he’s a steaming pile of emotional jelly as his long-crushed fires leap to the rafters and his little footman comes to attention after years of neglect. Not only so we see the other side of him, we realise how restrained the world of his household is, with his mistress still mourning her brother’s death some years ago and also still in mourning so deep she’s still wearing nothing but black (at least in this production)) and refuses to reveal her un-veiled face to anyone but the most trusted servants. He’s supported that, the entire house at the very least observes the official mourning by wearing an arm-band (ibid). The other home in the area — of the Duke Orsinio — is in a similar state of reduced joy, as the Duke is yearning for the Lady across the way and sends his new servant to woo her.

I’ll skip the long explanation about who the servant actually is and who the Lady thinks the servant is… it’s a farce, so everyone falls in love with the wrong people for the wrong reasons, but everything’s right in the end (oddly, no-one runs off into the forest at any time, though… I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare…).

Anyway… Read the rest of this entry »