London and Other Places
Apr. 11th, 2022 05:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootR had to go down to London last week, and on Thursday I joined him; the plan was to meet a couple of mates for cocktails and dinner, travel to Stevenage on Friday to join other mates for a night of 80s music, then the four of us come in to London for Punchdrunk's new production, then return to Stevenage mates' place and hang out until catching the plane to Edinburgh yesterday.
London was more London than usual, people on the streets unmasked, solidly determined to forget Covid and have a good time. A long while ago the area around St Thomas' Hospital was hardly salubrious; now Bermondsey and Southwark are full of indy shops, bars, coffee houses, all sorts. Back to the Hyde bar, back to Champur Champur, roaming around Borough Market, enjoying all the life and laughter on the streets, wishing there was more time to go wandering Bankside. Then up to Stevenage where we joined friends for this https://www.gordon-craig.co.uk/calling-planet-earth-i2929
Visage, Japan, Gary Newman, oh, who can forget the decade of relentless eyeliner? New Romantics and frilly shirts for all! Fabulous stuff! Unfortunately, the next day was not as well received...
We had all got tickets for Punchdrunk's new show, the Burnt City https://onecartridgeplace.com/theburntcity/
I always regretted missing https://www.punchdrunk.com/project/the-drowned-man/ but because I had heard about it, I knew that one can generally explore the sets, that there will be drawers that open, files to read, things to find out. For some reason my companions were not aware of this, at least one of them 'feeling uncomfortable' about seeing other people lift things up and examine them. 'We've been told for two years not to touch things,' he said. 'How were we to know we could? No-one told us...'
Personally, even had I not know about other Punchdrunk experiences, I would have taken my cue from the people around me, and observing them not to be leapt upon with frantic forbiddings, felt free to poke around. My own very spoilerful observations are behind the cut, best ignored by anyone who intends to go to this production.
So OK, we are all in masks as well as our covid masks, and we are not supposed to talk to each other, no phones or anything like that, and the place is dark and jumbled. As soon as I saw a shop called Alighieri's Bridal, I knew where we were, and it is Troy and it is Mycenae, but it's a lot of other places too, and yet one very specific place filled with the fumbling, the masked, the silent. There are prisoners here and others who are not prisoners. Room after room soon identified. The Rich Man's room, his polished desk, that leather document holder, the 'P' monogrammed paper; this is about Troy, so P for Priam... But there is another likewise initialled and far wealthier. I note those art deco decanters full of unmarked liquids. Yes, I know exactly where I am.
And here's the thing I guess: there's no wrong answer. It can be Priam's place or the other guy's, it can be both, all part of the game of it.
But now what? I think I detect a couple of plots to follow rather than wander this place understanding more about it, but my friends went to the bar some time ago, telling me to come find them when I was done, and I am aware that they are not happy. So I go to find them.
The bar is full of people, and is of course, part of the whole story as well. My friends look strained and miserable. They don't get it, they aren't enjoying it. We leave.
Outside they ask me what's going on. I tell them what I think is happening and they tell me how let down they feel by the whole thing. £66 per ticket, to go to something which, and I paraphrase them all, 'Only a person with specialised knowledge would understand.' Personally I don't know if that is the case, my feeling is that had they got involved in searching, other stories might have found them. They followed actors, only for the actors to do their stint and go away. In short, they hated the whole thing, and will be writing for their money back. They dub me a 'Professor of Ancientology', which makes me laugh. But disappointment in the show is just the beginning for one of our number, a friend who, while being a splendid person in many ways, is never in danger of making the best of things.
We find that the trains are delayed, OK, so we take a boat up the Thames. And you'd think that would be fine, all the different flats and warehouses along the shores, the water sparkling, those bizarre cable cars and the O2, the Naval Colleges at Greenwich, the Cutty Sark, the many-coloured boats, the cormorants, Tower Bridge, The Tower itself, Old City Hall, HMS Belfast; he wouldn't look at any of it, played a game on his phone, then fell asleep.
We got off close to London Bridge, crossed through a mall with a fabulous sculpture, passed a pub that I know to be pleasant and unassuming (and wished I could be in by this point) then got on our train. At this point he decided to tell us all how he hates, hates, hates London, how it all smells and everything about it is horrible. When I pointed up the beauty of the river trip he countered with stuff about decaying wharfsides, which there may or may not be... I didn't see them and neither, I suspect, did he, for the reasons mentioned above.
Beginning to feel annoyed at this outburst about a place that was my home for nearly 40 years, I told him it didn't matter what he said, he would never make me dislike London. This isn't to say that I am unaware of its faults, but it isn't the cesspit he described. I kept things genial, light even, but damn straight it was a shot across the bows, and he subsided, his wife bringing a gentle apology to the conversation.
'He's just disappointed and upset,' she half-whispered, 'and we're country people.'
By his example it should have been my turn to act like a churl and say 'then why are you living in a universally acknowledged dump of a city?' There are nice bits of Stevenage but in general it's not inspiring. However, I didn't do any of this, because we are all good friends, and the idea of the boat trip had been to lift the vibe of disappointment in the group. He was, however, very determined to be upset, and such things have their own levels of infection.
He talked about how all cities smell of weed and he hates that smell.
I tried to engage him on places he liked, North Yorkshire, County Durham. He told me how it needed development but all the money came to the South-East of England so there was no work there and how we just shipped our poverty to China, but also somehow the unions ruined everything by putting workers beyond 'sensible' wages.
We watched Moon Knight. It wasn't his thing.
We discussed Witcher. He, to use his own words, 'doesn't get Witcher.'
We watched a fun video on ancient warfare as it appears in movies. He said nothing other than that it was badly cut.
I made my excuses and went to bed, trying to see my friend more as the Steppenwolf and less as a glowering manbaby dependent on his wife to nurse him out of his sulk.
Next day, he was no longer out of sorts, and had returned to being the excellent chum we all love. After all, everyone has bad days. He informed me that he had got some address for complaining to Punchdrunk, and he was going to write and demand his money back. I think it is a good thing, provided they give him what he wants. Otherwise this will irk him into months, possibly years, of brooding choler.
I also think I wouldn't mind going back to the Burnt City, there's a lot to find. But perhaps it's best if I don't mention that to the others...
London was more London than usual, people on the streets unmasked, solidly determined to forget Covid and have a good time. A long while ago the area around St Thomas' Hospital was hardly salubrious; now Bermondsey and Southwark are full of indy shops, bars, coffee houses, all sorts. Back to the Hyde bar, back to Champur Champur, roaming around Borough Market, enjoying all the life and laughter on the streets, wishing there was more time to go wandering Bankside. Then up to Stevenage where we joined friends for this https://www.gordon-craig.co.uk/calling-planet-earth-i2929
Visage, Japan, Gary Newman, oh, who can forget the decade of relentless eyeliner? New Romantics and frilly shirts for all! Fabulous stuff! Unfortunately, the next day was not as well received...
We had all got tickets for Punchdrunk's new show, the Burnt City https://onecartridgeplace.com/theburntcity/
I always regretted missing https://www.punchdrunk.com/project/the-drowned-man/ but because I had heard about it, I knew that one can generally explore the sets, that there will be drawers that open, files to read, things to find out. For some reason my companions were not aware of this, at least one of them 'feeling uncomfortable' about seeing other people lift things up and examine them. 'We've been told for two years not to touch things,' he said. 'How were we to know we could? No-one told us...'
Personally, even had I not know about other Punchdrunk experiences, I would have taken my cue from the people around me, and observing them not to be leapt upon with frantic forbiddings, felt free to poke around. My own very spoilerful observations are behind the cut, best ignored by anyone who intends to go to this production.
So OK, we are all in masks as well as our covid masks, and we are not supposed to talk to each other, no phones or anything like that, and the place is dark and jumbled. As soon as I saw a shop called Alighieri's Bridal, I knew where we were, and it is Troy and it is Mycenae, but it's a lot of other places too, and yet one very specific place filled with the fumbling, the masked, the silent. There are prisoners here and others who are not prisoners. Room after room soon identified. The Rich Man's room, his polished desk, that leather document holder, the 'P' monogrammed paper; this is about Troy, so P for Priam... But there is another likewise initialled and far wealthier. I note those art deco decanters full of unmarked liquids. Yes, I know exactly where I am.
And here's the thing I guess: there's no wrong answer. It can be Priam's place or the other guy's, it can be both, all part of the game of it.
But now what? I think I detect a couple of plots to follow rather than wander this place understanding more about it, but my friends went to the bar some time ago, telling me to come find them when I was done, and I am aware that they are not happy. So I go to find them.
The bar is full of people, and is of course, part of the whole story as well. My friends look strained and miserable. They don't get it, they aren't enjoying it. We leave.
Outside they ask me what's going on. I tell them what I think is happening and they tell me how let down they feel by the whole thing. £66 per ticket, to go to something which, and I paraphrase them all, 'Only a person with specialised knowledge would understand.' Personally I don't know if that is the case, my feeling is that had they got involved in searching, other stories might have found them. They followed actors, only for the actors to do their stint and go away. In short, they hated the whole thing, and will be writing for their money back. They dub me a 'Professor of Ancientology', which makes me laugh. But disappointment in the show is just the beginning for one of our number, a friend who, while being a splendid person in many ways, is never in danger of making the best of things.
We find that the trains are delayed, OK, so we take a boat up the Thames. And you'd think that would be fine, all the different flats and warehouses along the shores, the water sparkling, those bizarre cable cars and the O2, the Naval Colleges at Greenwich, the Cutty Sark, the many-coloured boats, the cormorants, Tower Bridge, The Tower itself, Old City Hall, HMS Belfast; he wouldn't look at any of it, played a game on his phone, then fell asleep.
We got off close to London Bridge, crossed through a mall with a fabulous sculpture, passed a pub that I know to be pleasant and unassuming (and wished I could be in by this point) then got on our train. At this point he decided to tell us all how he hates, hates, hates London, how it all smells and everything about it is horrible. When I pointed up the beauty of the river trip he countered with stuff about decaying wharfsides, which there may or may not be... I didn't see them and neither, I suspect, did he, for the reasons mentioned above.
Beginning to feel annoyed at this outburst about a place that was my home for nearly 40 years, I told him it didn't matter what he said, he would never make me dislike London. This isn't to say that I am unaware of its faults, but it isn't the cesspit he described. I kept things genial, light even, but damn straight it was a shot across the bows, and he subsided, his wife bringing a gentle apology to the conversation.
'He's just disappointed and upset,' she half-whispered, 'and we're country people.'
By his example it should have been my turn to act like a churl and say 'then why are you living in a universally acknowledged dump of a city?' There are nice bits of Stevenage but in general it's not inspiring. However, I didn't do any of this, because we are all good friends, and the idea of the boat trip had been to lift the vibe of disappointment in the group. He was, however, very determined to be upset, and such things have their own levels of infection.
He talked about how all cities smell of weed and he hates that smell.
I tried to engage him on places he liked, North Yorkshire, County Durham. He told me how it needed development but all the money came to the South-East of England so there was no work there and how we just shipped our poverty to China, but also somehow the unions ruined everything by putting workers beyond 'sensible' wages.
We watched Moon Knight. It wasn't his thing.
We discussed Witcher. He, to use his own words, 'doesn't get Witcher.'
We watched a fun video on ancient warfare as it appears in movies. He said nothing other than that it was badly cut.
I made my excuses and went to bed, trying to see my friend more as the Steppenwolf and less as a glowering manbaby dependent on his wife to nurse him out of his sulk.
Next day, he was no longer out of sorts, and had returned to being the excellent chum we all love. After all, everyone has bad days. He informed me that he had got some address for complaining to Punchdrunk, and he was going to write and demand his money back. I think it is a good thing, provided they give him what he wants. Otherwise this will irk him into months, possibly years, of brooding choler.
I also think I wouldn't mind going back to the Burnt City, there's a lot to find. But perhaps it's best if I don't mention that to the others...
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no subject
Date: 2022-04-11 12:00 pm (UTC)The only interactive "theater" production I've ever been to was something in San Francisco, a reenactment of a Roaring 20s speakeasy. I took my older son and his then-girlfriend, and they literally had to drag me away after four hours; I could have stayed there forever.
Will it still be there in August? If we can make it down to London while I'm over visiting you & R, we should go!!!!
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Date: 2022-04-12 07:28 am (UTC)