On arrival at St Pancras we crossed Euston Road and headed into Bloomsbury. Our first stop was Judd Books, which we saw on our previous visit to the area, but which we had had no time to investigate. Today we stopped, and immediately this item from my current (and ever expanding) 'want' list was spotted and acquired at a fraction of its cover price:
Sadly, I felt obliged to leave on the shelf the secondhand biography of JFK on sale for £63.50.
Continuing on, we paid our second visit to Skoob Books in the course of two weeks. On our previous visit I had seen, dithered over and ultimately decided against purchasing, these two gems - a decision I came to regret the moment it became too late to rectify. This time there was no such wavering:
I can't remember exactly when I started to read Ed McBain's "87th Precinct" series of (US) police procedurals - I guess I was in my late teens or early twenties. The early Penguin editions are so much more attractive than later ones, and this particular title has also been on my 'want' list for a while. "The Great Escape", written by an Australian fighter pilot who lived in the camp from which the titular breakout occurred, is also available in more modern editions than this one from 1957 - but, really, can you imagine a more beautiful cover? (Later addition: See here for an interesting comment from another Penguin fan.)
On to a branch of Pret A Manger opposite Russell Square underground station (seen in the background in these two pictures):
A later Google search revealed that the oxblood red tiles seen on the facade of this and a number of other Tube stations are the result of a design decision by the architect Leslie Green, who died at the age of 33.
Acceptably refreshed, we continued by Tube to St Paul's, where Amanda, emerging into the sunshine, asked if we were in the right place, as the immediacy and enormous scale of the cathedral just a few yards away meant that, paradoxically, it was hard to see...
No such problems here as we headed down Peter's Hill towards the river:
and the Millennium Bridge:
After a quick drink in a nearby Starbucks we made our way into the theatre:
While in younger days I stood happily for hours at rock concerts, I now know my limitations, and we had therefore decided to forego the 'experience' of standing in the yard and had opted for seats in the Middle Gallery.
My usual rigorous research had confirmed that, unlike the three front rows of benches, the fourth row has a back against which to lean, and thus we found ourselves in the relative comfort of Section F, Row D (perching on cushions hired for the princely sum of £1 each).
During performances the "no photography" rule is enforced by a large number of volunteer helpers, but these pictures give some idea of the stage layout and the view we had from our seats:
The obligatory selfie:
So - what of the performance itself? I lack the skills to provide a truly informed review, so I leave that to the professionals. The Stage provides a useful summary of reviews from other publications, and for anyone wanting more details, these are all worth skimming:
We bought our tickets back in January, knowing nothing about the production itself, and relatively little about the controversy surrounding artistic director Emma Rice. Over recent days I had started to read reviews of the production, and I confess that the more I read, the more I had come to have concerns about (that is, "dread") what we were about to see.
Never mind the transference of the action to a Scottish island in the 1970s (never properly explained, beyond the preponderance of kilts) - the insertion of musical numbers including "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge and the casting of Le Gateau Chocolat as Feste the fool were just a couple of concepts that persuaded me that, though this might be Shakespeare, it might not be Shakespeare as I like it...
And so it proved. BUT I have to say that, in spite of that, I thoroughly enjoyed the show - for that's what it was - a show, which could have graced the stage of any West End theatre. By the end I was cheering as loudly as anyone, and had been completely won over by the sheer brio of the individual and collective performances. I did have one reservation: Katie Owen's Malvolio was so funny (and, ultimately, endearing) that when the plot required other characters to turn on him and seek revenge, it seemed out of place; an article in the programme confirmed that this was an issue with which Rice herself had struggled.
So, in summary, a great show, but not necessarily great Shakespeare.
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