Absent from blogging but enjoying some pre-Christmas culture and seeing Henry IV part one on Monday, and part two last night.
Fabulous fabulous RSC productions with Anthony Sher outrageously good as Falstaff. So good you think you must have dreamt he was that good. The comic timing in the comic bits was brilliant and a wonderful counterbalance to the serious bits. That Billy Shakespeare knew what he was doing.
How Harry Hotspur's wife put up with him I do not know. Short fused doesn't begin to describe him. ADHD at the very least.
Harry Prince of Wales was a thoughtless and shallow young man who had a long journey to go before Agincourt. I wish he hadn't pushed Falstaff aside so roughly though.
Even the seats were good. It's on at the Barbican, the only theatre I have ever been to where there are sufficient women's toilets. It is a great venue, a wonderful arts centre, and a complete maze. I don't think I have ever been there without getting lost. Last night was no exception.
Arriving early, I wandered into a free exhibition, wandered out, and found myself heading involuntarily to an exit. My ancestors had a coppersmith business near to or on part of where the Barbican now stands. However, no orientation gene for the site seems to have been passed down.
If you have theatre loving friends and are wondering what to give them for Christmas, this could be the answer. Tickets start at round £15 and go up to £55, and I don't think there's a bad seat in the house.
The ice cream at the interval was pretty good too.