We didn’t quite make it all the way to Big Ben, and had to head back over the Thames sooner than planned in order to get to the theatre on time. It didn’t help that we ran into a used book sale on the way – twenty English majors, on their way to Shakespeare’s old theatre to see a medieval play, have a very difficult decision to make. Kinda like when Spiderman had to pick whether he saved the bus of innocent people or Mary Jane.
The Globe is a fantastic spot for a show, especially one like we saw. The building was reconstructed to be like the one that stood there in Elizabethan times, and was apparently built without any modern tools. It’s an open air space – even when it rains, which it most certainly didn’t today – with tiers of balconies in a semi-circle around a wicked looking, gilded stage. The open space near the stage is for the standing Groundlings, kind of like the setup at a rock concert. Our seats were on a wooden bench (you could buy cushioned pillows in the lobby) to the right of the stage; pretty close, but with a pillar directly in front of us.
The story of a dude bored with his studies and aspiring to loftier heights, so much so that he ends up selling his soul to the devil, is an old one; hell, Marlowe’s play itself is 400 years old. It had an old-school feel to it, for sure, with long, eloquent speeches, lavish costumes, religious imagery and symbolism, and a general atmosphere of something tried and true.
The first half was decent, but not as good as I had been hyped up to think. Screw this, says I, I’m joining the poor souls on the ground. I don’t want to look at Faustus’s half-concealed side profile anymore – I wanna see when he spits.
That’s kind of my thing. If I go to a concert and don’t end up in the artist’s personal space, it almost feels like a waste. It's all about endurance, and counting on the fact that nobody else is stupid enough to stay standing in the same spot for 10 hours. These can attest to that creepy persistence:
Maybe creepy was an understatement
Once I got up alongside the wooden catwalk . . . what a change! I was actually euphoric once we left the theatre – I loved the second half of the show, and was just absorbed in being a fan. The actors came right out next to me and interacted with the crowd – just like catching a pick at the KISS concert. The costumes and over-the-top theatrics were right in front of my face – just like Gene Simmons at the KISS concert. Faustus got his head lopped off, and I’m still not sure how it happened (the rest of the group – poor suckers – stayed in the seats, and missed this little touch) – I assume KISS pulled a similar stunt at some point in their careers.
It was fun, and it was dramatic. Doctor Faustus was straight up entertaining.
This afternoon was definitely my standout theatre experience, although this could just be the start of great things; we’re heading to Oxford tomorrow, to see The Wild Bride by the Kneehigh Theatre Group. Their story sounds pretty cool: they’re a troupe exclusively bashed out of Cornwall that prepares their shows, usually seeped in surrealism, in obscure places, like barns. The Blues-Gothic feel of tomorrow’s show sounds cool too, and the timing is right, since I’m already in the zone of being fascinated by the consequences of selling your soul to the devil.
At any rate, after Faustus got pulled off and damned for eternity, he ended up partying with the demons and the furies, rocking out on the lute with Mephastophilis, so maybe the consequences aren’t that bad after all. I might have to look into it, to wish for more time to live this dream.
Cheers,
rb
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