THE PLAY
OK, so I took myself down to the Old Vic theatre yesterday to watch the Propeller all-male company perform Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night”. As I’ve mentioned before, understanding Shakespeare – to me, as a foreigner – is about as easy as understanding Chinese at the best of times. I did get, however, that this was a comedy based on mistaken identity. Not unlike many of Shakespeare’s plays.
The most confusing part was obviously that the woman pretending to be a man was played by a man – so not that easy to spot unless you know the story. Or understand English as it was spoken in the 1600s. So in short, the woman pretending to be a man acts as a confidante to her new boss, a Duke, that has a crush on a Lady – but instead of making these two a happy couple, the Lady falls in love with the messenger (yes, still a woman), while the pretend-male falls in love with the Duke. It all sounds like an episode of East Enders, really. With slighlty better language.
I actually found the other story quite funny; a bunch of people fooling one of the Lady’s staff into thinking she wants to marry him – causing him to end up on the stage in yellow fishnet stockings and a g-string, grinning like mad.
My biggest problem is that I never thought Shakespeare was particularly funny. I guess it has to do with when you don’t understand half of what’s said, it’s very easy to miss the point completely. As previously mentioned, English is not my first language. Hence, I’ve got a little trouble getting the subtle jokes. I like Shakespeare’s tragic dramas and unhappy endings better. Though I had a good laugh at times – usually at the fool in tights – I did leave the theatre thinking I’d missed half the point. Which isn’t the performers’ fault. In fact, the performers themselves do extremely well.
I’m sure that the critics will embrace it, as they tend to do with Shakespeare.
BEFORE/AFTER:
I had dinner in the theatre’s restaurant before the play. A couple of glasses of wine a couple of hours before going into the performance is usually not a problem, as I don’t get tipsy that easily, but I don’t have much of a party bladder. So for this reason I made my way to the bathroom, came back and stopped abruptly in front of a man I – for a moment – thought I knew. I was about to go “Heeeeeeeeey!” when I realised… this is Kevin Spacey… he doesn’t know you… you don’t know him… move it along before you make an arse of yourself. Now.
Even though I just lingered for a second, the poor guy stopped his conversation mid-sentence when I halted – even though it was literally for two seconds – looked up at me and seemed like he expected me to say something. I moved away, the words “damage control” going through my head, and out of his sight.
To my dismay, I had to go again less than half an hour later, and I found myself lingering around the corner, peaking out to see if Kevin was still there, but I couldn’t see him. Good, no way of repeating myself, right? I got to the bathroom, got back out, and as I came out of the little hall I found myself looking at Kevin looking at me from the house piano. I quickly made my way back to my table. Where I stayed put for the next hour. Damage control…
Afterwards, I had big plans to go up to a few people and get their view on the play we’d just seen. I tried walking up to a group of three at first, asking the youngest member of the group if he would like to participate. He looked confused, then kinda agreed, then changed his mind. I noticed that one of the three – a middleaged lady – was looking at us in the corner of my eye, sort of confused as well. After it became clear I wasn’t going to get anything out of them, I went over to my company and he said, “Well done, you just ignored Vivienne Westwood.” 
I’m good at landing myself in it, at least.