(147-149): I can't escape from Rupert Goold.

Here are the pictures.

DRAMATIS PERSONNAE

Andy: 21 years old, spending a few days in London as part of his loop around Europe. He is, among other things, a food and theater enthusiast.

Marshall: 22 years old, Andy’s classmate from elementary school who is hanging around London after a semester studying history at King’s College. He is, among other things, a self-described food, beer, and film enthusiast.

Weird Indian Guy: Mid-thirties, the man sleeping in the bed below Andy’s at the hostel.

I had actually seen Marshall in Paris a week or two prior (during the time between Berlin and my Music in Cinema exam). Marshall finished his exams around the time I finished most of mine and decided to hop down to Paris for a few days. He knew I was there, so we met up. I told him that I would be doing the same: and so I was now.

(147) is Wednesday, 2 June 2010.

After getting settled in and generally putting my life in order, Marshall and I went to Princi, a quasi-casual Italian eatery in Soho. You can find it here, and I highly recommend you do, because… how best to phrase this… I hadn’t had Italian food since Rome, and it was still delectable. Pretty reasonably priced too, given that it’s in, well, London. Interesting concept for this place: you order like a cafeteria, and then take your food on trays to tables or — if those are taken — to these stand-and-eat tables scattered around the restaurant. As Marshall explained, it’s a more flexible, casual take on a high-quality ristorante.

Afterward, Marshall took me to his favorite pub near King’s College where we had a pint (I found a wheat beer that was actually not the worst thing I’ve ever had) and discussed (among a few other things) world history, the nature of logic, our college experiences, and why we went abroad.

I’ve been making a slight effort in the last year or so to reconnect with people with whom I’ve either lost touch or with whom I’ve never been in touch as much as I’d like. My working theory (yes, science kids, I know it’s technically a “hypothesis”) is that I’ve known a lot of all-around fantastic people in my time, but in many cases it was the wrong time of my life to get to know them. Marshall is a case-in-point; in elementary school, he was one of the sports kids, and I was the kid who got knocked down each (very rare) time I decided to join in football… touch football. But here we are now — almost ten years later — having a substantive, genial conversation over a pint in an English pub. I love London (I went there with my folks back in 2008 and wrote some notes about it on Facebook - about as rambling as this blog!), but for all the sites and shows and good food, seriously getting to know a childhood classmate on better terms was probably the best part.

After the pint, we were both pretty tired, so I headed back to the hostel, where the lights in my room were on, three people were sleeping, and Indian Guy (for now he's just Indian Guy... wait for it) was in the bunk below mine reading a medical journal. I’m not trying to be one of those obnoxious, semi-ageist backpackers who thinks hostels should be 20-somethings only; if all you want (and want to pay for) is a bed to sleep in for a couple of nights, a hostel is a good solution for anybody. But, that said, a hostel guest in his mid-30s with a Blackberry and a medical journal in hand is a statistical anomaly. I shrugged and got ready for bed. When I got back from the bathroom and tucked myself in, Indian Guy’s Blackberry rang — full volume. He answers it. Without leaving the room. Despite 3 people asleep (and one Andy on the waiting list). Takes him maybe a minute to finish his call. Then he gets up, turns off the light, and goes back to his bed.

Now he’s Weird Indian Guy.

(148) is Tursday, 3 June 2010.

Marshall tried valiantly to get us groundling tickets to Macbeth at the Globe, but they were sold out for a week solid. I was disappointed, ‘cause that would have been sweet.

I got sushi at Pret À Manger, a French-named, English-run chain restaurant. They’re everywhere, and in my opinion, they give chains a good name. As a Vassar student, I inevitably encounter the local-versus-corporation discussion pretty often. Here’s my take: as long as a business charges reasonable prices for a good product that I want, I don’t usually care if most of the other such products are physically identical. Now, I’ll try to find a good local place if I’m travelling, but everybody eats at Pret: it’s a local chain. Get it?

London is where I first learned to love sushi, by the way. Last time, though, not now.

After eating, I spent 2+ sunny, blue-sky hours walking through the gorgeous Hyde Park listening to my favorite feel-good music.

I met Marshall at Trafalgar Square and we saw the National Gallery for a while. Afterward, it was getting on food time, so we stopped into a pub near Westminster for fish and chips (which I’d been craving) and a pint (which was a little too hopsy for me).

“Food time” is earlier than “dinner time” because I had to make a 7:30 curtain for All My Sons, an Arthur Miller play starring David Suchet. For those of you too lazy (or too sick of my linking you to things) to click on that IMDB shortcut, he played Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot on TV and — more importantly to me — the arms dealer in the 2003 remake of The In-Laws. It’s largely thanks to him that that movie is one of my favorite comedies of all time.

As for the show itself, I got student-priced (10-pound) seats on the side that had kinda’ crappy visibility (although I was close to the stage) and the first act was a little slow, but the performances were great and Act II was amazing.

It’s just such a treat to see my favorite actors live; one, they’re right there. Secondly, and more importantly I think, when they’re onstage, you’re not just being one of the hundreds of millions of numbers in their box office returns and you’re not worshiping them from afar. I always enjoy knowing that — for two and a half hours — your favorite celebrity has nothing better in the world to do than to entertain you in person. I think we often get lost in the reversal.

Back at the hostel, Weird Indian Guy takes another 11:30 PM phone call while half the room is asleep.

(149) is Friday, 4 June 2010.

I woke up at 8 to beat the line again at TKTS, the famous discount theater ticket booth in Leicester Square (and Times Square**). And Weird Indian Guy was gone.

…And then Weird Indian Guy came back from the bathroom.

So, after stopping by TKTS and another box office, I poked around the London Bridge area a bit before meeting Marshall. Our big event for the day was the Borough Market, home to many, many food vendors. Fish and chips (I was downright binging at this point, but it was wonderful), cheese, desserts, Turkish delight, bread, produce, meat, a place with a huge beer selection... whatever you want, it’s all there.

From here, we walked all over… the Tower Bridge, St. Paul’s, the Temple Church**, Marshall’s academic building at King’s college for a semi-panoramic (is that just “ramic”?) view of the city, and a bus mixup on our way back to Leicester Square. We had pub food (Shepherd’s pie this time) and discussed what it means to be a light spirits (versus dark spirits or beer) kind of guy. I learned a lot about beer this month, and I’m kind of glad.

Okay, so I think it’s time I finally explain the title of this entry. At the box office this morning, I picked up two tickets (Marshall accompanied me) to Enron, a brilliant play by Lucy Prebble about the rise and fall of the titular company. It’s basically a classical tragedy about the guys behind it all, which I knew almost nothing about beforehand (although Marshall told me they got the history pretty much right on). I got the tickets for good (student) prices that morning, I felt optimistic, and then I walked by the ads outside the theater. You know, the ones where they show a picture and somebody’s review. Well, one of these mentions Rupert Goold’s brilliant mise-en-scene.

Oh, bullocks…

Mr. Goold has directed many high-profile shows in the last few years. I have seen more plays under his direction than any other contemporary director I can think of (I can only name just one or two others).

And I hate his style. It usually involves loud, staticky TV screens, harsh fluorescent lighting, and enough self-reflexivity and general experimental theater tactics to make even Vassar theater majors nauseous.

Over two years ago, I went to see Macbeth at the Brooklyn Academy of Music with my Shakespeare class. Patrick Stewart was terrific as the title character. The directorial style didn’t get in the way that much, but it was still weird. Then, six months later, in London, my folks and I saw Six Characters in Search of an Author, Luigi Pirandello's modernist play where six characters, whose play was never finished, come to a real-life play rehearsal and insist their story be staged. Goold did a big reworking of the original script (which I later read… not that good) and turned it into this bizarre, creepy, staticky-screen-filled self-reflexive trip of a play. My father still gets props for indulging me and sitting through the whole thing.*** So, when I saw that this show was the same director — making for three shows of his I’d seen in just over two years — I laughed, shook my head, and muttered the title of the entry.

BUT...

...I will have you know that everything about this production of Enron was outstanding. Sarah Rebell, my source on the Broadway world, tells me this same production wasn’t so popular in New York, which I think is a shame because now it's certain (as opposed to highly likely) that none of you will ever know what I'm talking about.

Not that's ever stopped me before.

I think Rupert Goold’s multimedia approach to theater works a lot better in a story that takes place in the 90s and 2000s and on the stock market, where screens and fluorescent lights play a natural part of the environment, anyway. It was just a much better fit of director and script, a script that is so tightly written, often quite funny, and encompasses a great story and character arc. It also does an outstanding, smooth job of bringing uninitiated viewers like me into the fold on complex economic ideas and business practices. I bought a copy of the script at the theater, so I highly encourage you to borrow it from me if you’re interested.

Marshall and I said our goodbyes after the show, agreeing to meet up again back in Washington.

I went back to the hostel to find Weird Indian Guy checking his email on his Blackberry.

--------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes are not a girl’s best friend. That’s because they aren’t diamonds.

* THERE’S ALSO ONE ON HARBOR STREET. It’s like it’s some big secret or something… you can go to this other location and get the same great deals but with far fewer lines. Granted, it’s a much less convenient location and it’s harder to leave and go right to the theaters and see what they offer. But if you don’t really care what you see and just want good prices, consider making the trip.

** My folks and I had tried to get into this one the last time, but it was closed when we visited. I got in just as they were closing, so I took a few shots before they ushered me back out. It’s in the album: nice church. I’m glad I didn’t miss it twice.

*** I didn’t love it, obviously, but I try to show respect and stick around. There are only two performances I’ve ever left early because I disliked them; one was an animated movie that scared me when I was three, and the other was the movie Serendipity when it was in theaters and my mother dragged me to it one day.