Nicole schreibt...

The regular outings to London in January once started because of the "Get into London Theatre" discount weeks happening then, though more recently I've hardly ever had a chance to actually take advantage of those. Which made me question the whole January thing as I headed to Welkenraedt on a very cold Thursday finding the town and the Belgian Ardennes inches deep in snow. But while the Belgians are generally not known for great management, their trains put the shambolic mess of the German Railways to shame and both the Intercity to Brussels and the Eurostar were on time. Once in London at my usual Travelodge in Covent Garden I was for once not down on the lower floors but high above in the skies (well, 8th floor) with a fabulous view across London to the City. A more auspicious start I couldn't have wished for. Things continued in this vein with me being able to bag a table at Dishoom without an endless wait to enjoy some fabulous food and a ticket to the front row of the Dress Circle at the Coliseum. Which brings me back to the "Get into London Theatre" scheme where I had considered a discounted ticket to finally see "Kinky Boots" again but was turned off by the lousy seat they offered me. Instead I was tickled by the English National Ballet's "Giselle" as I would really love to see all the great ballets of the canon at least once. So far I've felt I couldn't add yet ANOTHER genre to my already stuffed London schedules, but this time it worked well, especially with the discount for what must be one of the best seats in the house for ballet, giving me a clear view on the stage and the orchestra pit for all of £40. While I was a bit disappointed that I missed Michaela DePrince (who wrote a book about her incredible way from war orphan in Sierra Leone to European prima ballerina by way of the USA) by a day, the principals were universally fantastic with Laurretta Summerscales as Giselle, Xander Parish as Albrecht, Fabian Reimair as Hilarion and Isabelle Brouwers as Myrtha. The story fits on a stamp: Local girl Giselle falls for prince-in-disguise Albrecht and dies of a broken heart when jealous Hilarion reveals he's a prince (betrothed to a princess to boot). Giselle is set to become one of the Wilis, enchanted maidens who can't find rest after their early deaths who'll force every man to dance until he drops dead from exhaustion. But Giselle manages to set Albrecht free, so he'll live and she'll find eternal peace at least. The floaty dreamyness of the Wilis in the second act and Albrecht dancing for his life was one of these rare moments where I was completely transported to another plane and forgot everything around me. I guess I will have to start keeping an eye out of the National Ballet's schedule and see what I can squish in in future. Too bad classical ballet is another genre that died on the German altar of brainy "Anspruch" where everything reeking even faintly of beauty and entertainment must be sacrificed. I often use a full free day to go day-tripping outside London but with the arctic cold I didn't feel like going anywhere. Nor did any exhibition or museum tickle my fancy and shopping would only cost bunches of money, so I decided to actually do sod all and hide in a warm lovely day spa off Old Street. The building used to be a Victorian wash house before being converted to a leisure center including the spa in the basement, so it was quite interesting in itself. I spent three hours in the spa's saunas and steam baths before treating myself to an Ayurvedic massage that left me oily all over. And oily I remained for the rest of the day as I had no time to shower and everything back at the hotel before rushing off again, this time to King's Cross to meet a friend ahead of the show for the evening. She had been recommended a pub nearby which turned out to be a wonderful choice, a proper neighbourhood boozer where friends come to drink and eat after work, play some pool or darts and the atmosphere was truly great. We lingered for a long time with cider and proper English cuisine (yes, Fish and Chips, what else) Amusingly the Trump inauguration was being broadcast on a telly in the corner, leading to much frowning and tutting towards the television half the time. After a lovely time at the pub and being joined by another friend who came along to the show it was time to head over to the "theatre", an ugly tent construction behind King's Cross that reminded me of the hastily erected tents in Germany during the "musical boom" of the 90s when producers were falling over themselves to cash in on the hype. Hype this was too, David Bowie's "Lazarus", some sort of jukebox musical with his greatest hits, claiming to finish the story of Thomas Newton "The Man Who Fell to Earth", which had just opened on Broadway when Bowie (conveniently) died, stirring fresh interest in his work. I freely admit that I know only a few of his greatest hits and don't know the movie at all, but there was another reason for rushing into this: Michael C. Hall, better known to the world as psychopathic serial killer Dexter, playing the lead and singing Bowie. We had been lucky enough to snag two of the £15 front row seats and lucky this was indeed because I would have been seriously annoyed if I had spent £70 on this hot mess. I shan't even try to recapitulate the plot as nothing much made sense, but in itself the chaos and nonsense were oddly compelling and you can't fault Bowie's greatest hits from "Heroes" via "Absolute Beginners" to "Where are we now". The cast was amazing too - not just Hall, of whom I had expected nothing else (and really enjoyed seeing him so close up all the time) but 16-year-old Sophie Anne Caruso as the "Girl" (dreamt up by Newton), Amy Lennox as Elly (real - I think) and Michael Esper as Valentine (jury still out, I personally think he was a manifestation of Newton's darker side, but only God and Bowie know). Amusing tid bit at the finale was the lady behind us in the second row, crying all over, while handing Hall some sort of card during the bows and who had apparently seen the show +30 times. Maybe at that point things finally make sense, who knows. Nevertheless, an oddly fun evening was had. Next morning I had time for a bit of shopping before meeting my friend again, this time down in Victoria where we'd see "Rent" together at the St. James Theatre, a show that meant a great deal to both of us. For me "Rent" was such a wonderful fresh breath of air in the 90s after all the weepy blockbusters about Phantoms, Beasts and historical figures - finally a show set in the here and now, among young people, using modern rock music. I saw it several times and had a dream come true when I was able to catch it late in its New York run, but during the 00s "Rent" seemed to fade from view. I really wasn't sure if it had stood the test of time or felt terribly dated - but luckily I needn't have worried. It caught me up in emotion just as it did back then and didn't feel dated at all (even though Mark would now probably be a hipster filming with his iPhone while sipping organic soy latte). When Benny rolled out his plans for the new condos, I couldn't help thinking of the on-going gentrification pricing people out of their areas. And when Mark and Roger sang how America felt like the twilight zone, I just had to think back to the pictures of the inauguration of the Orange Menace. The cast was universally fantastic, though the standouts for me were the incredible Layton Williams as Angel and Lucie Jones who got the tricky part of Maureen just right. Philippa Stefani's Mimi may not have had the strongest voice, but managed the trajectory from sexy stripper to dying drug addict heart-breakingly perfectly. If there was one fly in the ointment it was Ross Hunter's weird hairdo - a starving artist like Roger would not spend precious dollars on a can of hairspray every day. Nonetheless, he was a great Roger and perfectly matched with Billy Cullum's Mark and Ryan O'Gorman's Collins. Still deeply moved by the wonderful finale (if there's a Death Scene of the Year Award, it should go to Stefani and Hunter) I almost wished I had more time to digest it all. Instead I had to say goodbye to my friend and move on back to the West End for a quick dinner and the last show of the trip. While I gave up on TV series "Glee" within two seasons, I had always thought that Amber Riley had an incredible voice, so when news broke that she would open "Dreamgirls" in London as Effie, I knew I'd have to be there - even for full price. Worry was afoot when she was out with pneumonia for a longer time, but luckily she recovered just in time for me to see her - and to blow me away. "Dreamgirls" charts the story of the fictional "Dreamettes" (very much based on The Surpremes and Diana Ross) where fat unattractive Effie may be the greatest singer in the group but still gets chucked aside for more attractive bankable Deena. It gives Effie one of the greatest showstoppers in the history of musical theatre with "I'm telling you I'm not going" and while the first act is nicely filled with good tunes, I just couldn't help being impatient for the biggie. Which Amber Riley delivered with aplomb and the best set of pipes I may ever have heard in London, nearly taking the roof off the Savoy Theatre. But while it's a chance for the singer to really let rip, apparently the audience sees it as their chance to also go crazy, greeting every big note with a round of applause and ending on a standing ovation - which sadly kinda took me out of the dramatic moment. Not to mention the (German) idiot beside me, who did not just bop along to every uptempo number (blithefully unaware or not caring that this makes the neighbouring seats shake as well) but made some jerky movements during the song as if singing along inwardly. I guess if I see "Dreamgirls" again, it'll have to be from a box. This said, "I'm telling you" was the only moment of imbecility, so I could enjoy the other big tunes like "I am changing" and the wonderful "Listen", written as a new solo for Deena for the movie version and turned into a heartbreakingly beautiful duet between Deena and Effie. And it wasn't just Amber Riley who gave a stunning performance, Liisi LaFontaine as Deena and understudy Jocasta Almgill as Lorrell were just as great, as were the male leads, Adam J. Bernard as Jimmy and dashingly handsome Joe Aaron Reid as Curtis, both of whom I'd love to see turn up in London's Hamilton. "Dreamgirls" may overall not be the greatest show, but it has some fantastic moments and dang it, I'd see it again just for those. But for now my time in London ended and it was back on the Eurostar on Sunday morning (finally one of the new trains with free WiFi!) and onwards home. More trips are in the ether though (as usual) and an intriguing detour to Manchester, so see you up north soon!