Within the Aldwych Theater on an April evening this spring, a London audience anticipates a performance of "Top Hat," adapted from the 1935 movie of the same name.
Like many people around us, there's a keen familiarity with the brilliance of Astaire and Rogers, their dancing prowess, the splendid movie costumes and even the less than compelling story line. We admire Irving Berlin's signature songs, are careful not to be too critical of the actors' dancing ability, and I compare the production's dress designs to those of the vintage film. No ostrich feathers float across the stage. Apparently, Astaire hated Rogers' dress because the errant feathers continually attached to his impeccable tuxedo.
On another night, we're transported to different favorite film as we watch incredulously when water pours down onto the theater stage.
An agile actor cavorts, umbrella in hand. He's mimicking a celebrated scene from "Singing in the Rain." Playfully, water is kicked over the edge of the stage and into the first few rows of seats. People duck or raise plastic sheeting to ward off the drops. We're sitting far enough away to observe in total dryness. I can't help but envision Debbie Reynolds, spunky in her first movie role and brazenly undaunted by the much more seasoned Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor. This talented trio from the 1950's is well-represented by their twenty-first century counterparts.
From a satisfying sleep, we're jarred awake by a clamorous noise. It takes a moment to focus and quickly we determine the source is external. The initial sound is repeated several times and looms louder with each successive boom. Clearly alarmed by the unbidden sounds, we connect with the front desk. After voicing our concern, the unruffled staff member responds, "Because the fire brigade is here, it won't be necessary to evacuate the hotel." She explains further that an explosion in the adjacent building has caused a fire but everything is under control.
We're not so sure that her assessment is totally accurate but are comforted by the growing number of firetrucks assembling below our windows. Men in chartreuse jackets bustle about. An emergency services tape is positioned across the entire street and traffic, road or otherwise, is quickly curtailed. A small crowd gathers as is common in such circumstances. Thankfully there are no ambulances arriving with sirens blasting. No injuries accompany the blasts. Smoke billows into the overcast sky and intermittent rain mixes with its greyness.Later we learn that repairs to the damaged equipment will require many days.
We're safe to shower and descend for another fine English breakfast.
Timing our trip to exclude the weeks of Diamond Jubilee celebrations as well as the crush of Olympics athletes and spectators, we're content to appreciate a week of London spring with repetitive rain and classic cool temperatures. The city and its residents appear prepared to welcome visitors galore and rather stoic about the disruptions anticipated. It may just be British will in supreme evidence, but there is no doubt they are ready.
During our London week, we linger long in pubs and restaurants, sampling typical fare and multiple pizza meals, meeting fellow travelers seated nearby.
Returning to the Tate Britain Museum, last visited in 1980, we notice decades of changes as well as the graceful retention of an outstanding collection, excellently displayed.
Students still sprawl in front of masterful paintings and attempt to capture some of the magic.
We miss our British views.
No comments:
Post a Comment