Nicole schreibt...

Once more I braved the English weather and went across the channel to visit my beloved favourite city, London. Well, it had plenty to offer this november, but more about that later. For once I trusted my life to Lufthansa instead of British Airways and 'lo and behold, German reliability pays off for not only did the plane land even earlier than scheduled, I have never received my baggage so quickly either. And their bagels taste better than BA's soggy sandwiches, too. The superbly quick handling left me with ample time to take the tube into London and to Dolphin Square Hotel in Pimlico. What?!, I hear you ask. Yes, I decided I'm a big girl now and a quite well-earning girl, too, so it was about time to exchange the youth hostel in Soho against a comfy hotel with single room, private bathroom, colour television and my own coffee/tea-making facilities (a big thank you to my friend who made this happen - you know who you are!). After dumping my baggage there I was off again, this time to Kensington to have lunch with the wonderful lady who has enabled me to milk so many German producers for free tickets to their shows in the last years. We had a fantastic meal at Cotto's, a nice little restaurant near Olympia, though I confess that my head gave up after the second glass of wine and let my mouth take over.

After lunch I went back to the hotel to have a bath and watch some telly, before I finally made my way to the West End to meet someone else, an immensely talented and very nice young composer whom I had first met at the musical congress in Hamburg. We had a long, nice chat and he had kindly invited me to see Romeo and Juliet - The Musical with him and two friends, since he had been offered freebies for the show. This had of course some good sides - seeing the show in company and without having to pay for it- but also one bad side: I found myself the sole defender of The French Musical amid three guys who sincerely hated the show. Mind you, I cannot blame them. I had seen the original Romeo et Juliett at the Palais des Congres in Paris last year and loved it. Though Notre Dame de Paris is still my favourite French musical, this came a close second, mostly thanks to Damien Sargue, that incredibly gorgeous little Frenchman who played Romeo over there. When NDP came to London, it was a 1:1 copy of the French original and ripped apart by press and audiences alike. So now they tried to adapt R&J for the English audience but left the show stranded in the middle of nowhere. The only positive thing I can say for this version is that I liked these costumes better than the often cheesy Paris leather outfits. I honestly prefer canned music if it means having a lush 100-men strong orchestra sound instead of the cheap-sounding, tinny band that played live in London. Songs that had been sweeping and grand in the 10,000-seat Palais des Congres hardly roused anyone here and the chart-topping "Les rois du monde" that sent a stir through the Parisian audience went by in London without anyone noticing. The translation (by Don Black) was just as bad as the NDP-translation and left me with an insane urge to go home and listen to the French CD. If adapting a show for the English market meansto butcher and wreck it like this, I guess it would be better to stop bringing the French shows over altogether and leave both countries to enjoy their own shows by themselves. Well, what about the cast? Did I mention I have a bit of a soft spot for the French Romeo Damien Sargue? Good looks aside, how about facts: Damien was a mere 16 when he successfully auditioned for Gringoire in NDP and 19 when he starred as Romeo with a fantastic voice and an impressive stage presence that could capture the huge audience at the Palais des Congres. Now his English (or rather Australian) alter ego is Andrew Bevis, a 29-year old who looks like 18. Sure, he's young, he's quite a good singer and he is good-looking in the babyfaced, squeaky-clean boyband kind of way. But did he capture me? Not one bit. Although the stage of the Piccadilly Theatre is considerably smaller, he never once seemed to own it. Lorna Want was a nice Juliet and at a mere 15 years old certainly someone to look out for (I heard she's already been offered recording contracts), but although Cecilie Cara in Paris was only one year older, she seemed much riper and mature in her way of acting and singing. Cecilie's Juliet was a young woman, deeply in love, while Lorna's Juliet was unfortunately more a bratty teenager at whom you'd like to yell to grow up. TV-star-cum-singer Jane MacDonald, who played the Nurse, certainly has a great voice and can act, but she was let down by the tinny band and unconvincing staging. When her Parisian alter ego Réjane Perry sang the Nurse's big song "Et voila qu'elle aime", it brought a hush to the entire Palais des Congres and it was one of those rare moments when a great voice and beautiful song brings tears to your eyes. Nothing of that in London now. The supporting cast were doing what they could, though the only one to stand out for me was young Matt Dempsey as Benvolio, another name to look out for. But honestly, seeing what the English have done to a great musical, I can't help wishing that they leave the French shows alone in the future. I had all Friday to myself, so I did what I'm best at: Giving my credit card a good battering on Oxford Street. Having a room with television paid off on that day, too, because I could watch live how, at 9 am, firefighters all over the UK went on their 8-day strike, closing down the fire stations and leaving the army to deal with their jobs using 50-year old vehicles. I had a bit of a queasy feeling when I entered the tube station in Pimlico, but business in Central London was as usual apart from a few closed tube stations and a picket line in front of Soho Fire Station, the only one I happened to pass. Shopping was fun as always, especially with christmas approaching, when London's shop windows are at their best. But the real treat of the day came in the evening, when I walked through pouring rain across Waterloo Bridge to the National Theatre. I love the National Theatre, I honestly do. It might be a huge block of ugly grey concrete from the outside, but it's such an entirely different atmosphere from the West End theatres. I have seen quite a few fantastic musicals at the NT's big Olivier Theatre, but this time I was bound for the Lyttleton Theatre in the possession of what was currently one of the hottest tickets in town: "A streetcar named desire" starring Glenn Close as Blanche Dubois. For years I had bitterly regretted that I didn't seize the chance to see her as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard as I had been in New York at the right time, but opted for the (grisly) revival of Grease instead of seeing Sunset Blvd. for a third time.

Not often are you granted a second chance to see one of your favourite movie actresses live on stage and on top of that in one of your favourite dramas. And the great Ms. Close didn't disappoint me. Overall Streetcar was easily the best show I have seen during this trip, a truly spellbinding drama that made me forgot my surroundings (quite a feat considering the uncomfortable narrow front stalls seats in the Lyttleton) and immerse myself completely in the show. you don't know "A streetcar named desire", go and rent the movie version with Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brandom which is also worth every penny. Glenn Close has played a range of mentally disturbed women already from the bunny-cooking mistress in "Fatal Attraction" via Norma Desmond to the comical Cruella DeVil in 101/102 Dalmatians, so I knew that Blanche would be right up her alley. But I was still surprised at how much I sided with her and despised Iain Glen's rude, ignorant, wife-beating, lowlife Stanley who's out to destroy Blanche and finally succeeds. Somehow I found Iain Glen lacking that last bit of animalic attraction that makes us understand despite everything why Stella loves him. Perhaps it's just me or the fact that I recently saw him as the archetypical English gentleman in "Wives and Daughters" on TV, but he just didn't strike me as right for the role. Scary, though, he was. Australian Essie Davis as Stella held her own between the two movie stars, though I kept wishing that she dumped that bastard Stanley and went away with Blanche. Overall a fantastic evening - and I'd even go and see the show again if it hadn't closed on Saturday.

On Saturday I had lunch with yet another lovely young man, who has written a great refreshing new show called "Area 51" (go and buy the CD - really, it's worth it, if you're tired of all the wishy-washy soap operas of the last years and long for something fresh!). We had a great Indian meal in Covent Garden and on the way back passed by Dress Circle, that lovely little showbiz shop in Monmouth Street. It had been seriously damanged by fire some weeks ago and as it happened, today was the big re-opening. Frances Ruffelle was inside singing some songs for the champagne-guzzling patrons, but we remained outside for a chat with other theatre lovers. After saying goodbye I went to the Queens Theatre to see "Contact", the dance revue (often falsely called a musical) devised by Susan Stroman. I love dancing and the producers knew how to make me buy a ticket: They cast the male lead with the hero of my teenage days, Michael Praed aka Robin of Sherwood. Well, 17 years have passed since Michael roamed Sherwood Forest as Robin Hood and they haven't passed without leaving him with a headful of grey hair, but hey, none of us looks as good as we did 17 years ago (was that a wrinkle I discovered in the mirror this morning? Heeeelp!). Overall I enjoyed Contact very much, though it's beyond me why this show that doesn't even have live music but uses canned existing pop music could get away with winning the Tony Award as best new musical. Was there really nothing else on Broadway that year? Contact consists of three separate ballets - first the instantly forgettable "Girl on a Swing", then "Did you move?" and finally Contact, the centre piece and best one by far, story-wise. Leigh Zimmerman has reaped a lot of praise for starring as the "girl in the yellow dress", but I saw her standby Candice Evans who didn't really impress me. Sure, she was a great dancer, but she seemed like any of the tall, blonde, pretty and very cool bitches that roam the big cities these days - certainly not the type that would save a tired manager's life, by dazzling him with her energy and joie de vivre. I like Sarah Wildor much better, the daydreaming wife in "Did you move?", whose big eyes and dreamy smile reminded me strongly of Amelie, the lovely French movie heroine.

I went back to Dress Circle after the show to meet my friend, get a glass of free wine and listen to some of the musical offerings in celebration of the re-opening. Then we were off to what should have been the highlight of the trip (if a certain Ms Close hadn't hogged the limelight), Macbeth at the Albery Theatre, starring Sean Bean. Although I had seen him in quite a few movies already, I hadn't really noticed him until I began importing the entire "Sharpe" series on DVD. Whereas Mr Bean usually plays psychotic baddies in Hollywood (or English) movies, he plays a dashing hero here and looks very dishy in the tight-fitting uniform of a 19th century rifleman in the Duke of Wellington's army. Now Sean Bean hasn't been on a stage for something like 14 years and this Macbeth, although directed by Edward Hall, one of the hottest young directors in town, was very much his vanity project. Alas, it showed. Okay, there have been worse attempts at doing Shakespeare and most of the blame should be laid at Mr Hall's door - some people might like modernist stagings with machine guns and combat gear instead of medieval armour and swords, but I certainly don't. But when the gorgeous Sean was left alone on stage with Macbeth's lengthy monologues, he failed to really capture me and my mind began straying into directions I'd rather not mention here in order to avoid this page being X-rated. However, the show was saved by his excellent leading lady Samantha Bond, who gave a fabulous Lady Macbeth and a great supporting cast that included Julian Glover as Duncan and Barnaby Kay as Banquo. Edward Hall had a few great ideas in his staging - the banquet where Macbeth sees Banquo's ghost was fantastic and a blood-chilling moment. But overall the play failed to engage me as much as Streetcar the previous evening had. Sadly we failed to meet Mr Bean at the stage door afterwards, too as Ms Bond told us that he had sneaked off via the side exit because a sore throat required him to go to bed early. Now I cannot imagine Hollywood's bad guy in bed with chicken broth and honeyed milk and no one expected him to repeat Macbeth's big Act III-monologue, but to sign a few programmes, so I was a bit pissed off, but then that's my usual luck with meeting celebs. My friend and I went to Joe Allen's instead and had a great meal in wonderful showbizzy surroundings, before heading back to Pimlico in a cab. >Overall it was a great trip that enabled me to see some old friends and make new friends, though when I look back at the show it tells you something about the state of the West End: The best show I saw at the National Theatre, the other two shows I enjoyed very much were a play and a dance revue, but the only true musical I saw was rather bad. Perhaps I should have given Our House a chance, but overall the musical theatre scene looks bleak in London and with only a revised Tell me on a Sunday to look out for in 2003 so far, it doesn't look like it's going to improve any time soon.