Following the bomb at Manchester. armed police at Waterloo Station, not noticed elsewhere.
Tube to Piccadilly Circus from where we strolled up Great Windmill Street to peer at places long gone. The Red Lion had morphed into some chain pub but there was compensation in the form of the Lyric, a relic from the past, a reminder of what pubs used to be like. Some movement with the times in that there was the occasional glimpse of food and they did serve wine as well as beer. But it was a pleasure to visit the place.
We could not remember when we had last been at the Apollo (search of the blogs this morning only revealed the arty magazine) which turned out to be a properly florid theatre, with plenty of gilded papier-mâché. Drinks dear, stalls more or less full.
Bravura opening performance with Eve Best as Olivia Brown doing a number on the list for her upcoming dinner party. Moved onto to a rather too bland and nice Sir John Fletcher and a rather too irritating and crass Michael Brown (Olivia's son). Edward Bluemel as this last did not pull of the trick of playing a pain without being one, although things got better as the show went on. Vivienne Rochester had the same problem playing Miss Dell.
Entertaining switch from the fancy flat of the first half to the rather grubbier flat of the second - with its reminder of how things used to be for most of us. With the one piece, all-in-one kitchen cupboard and the butler sink. I wonder now whether more might of been made of it being time to move on from the former? That the days of fancy flats for the few were over? Or, at least, should be over. Such social commentary as there was, was more in fun than in anger.
As seems to be usual these days, the first half seemed to drag a bit. With this dragging being so usual that I have to wonder whether it is me rather than the show. Although I stick to the theory that most plays would be better under two hours rather than over two hours.
As is also usual these days, the programme gave plenty of space to the creative team and other hangers on. I wonder whether, say fifty years ago, the acting team did better? Or had glossy programmes with lots of glossy advertisements yet to be invented?
Failed at celebrity spotting, with no-one from ITV3 spotted either on the stage or in the auditorium. The best we could do was a sprinkling of unknown but arty looking types in the bar.
Moaning aside, overall verdict, a good show. But rather late home, it being close to midnight by the time we turned in. Rather last by our standards.
PS: according to wikipedia: 'the Red Lion public house was built on the corner with Archer Street in around 1793. In November 1847, the Communist League held its second congress in a room above the bar and it was here that Karl Marx and Frederick Engels submitted their proposals for writing the Communist Manifesto'. Which I sure I never knew when I used to use the place, despite my lefty leanings. At which time, the rooms above were used for quite different purposes.
Reference 1: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Lunt.
Group search key: gw1.
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