Götterdämmerung – Riding to the Theatre

I still walk up to the second level of the double decker bus so that I can have the best view of the city, wherever I am going. I will say that the bus propelled me up the last few steps, faster than I wanted to go. I sat down to listen to the names of the streets as they are announced: Ravens Dale, Holloway to Nag’s Head, Squirrels Lane, Strawberry Vale, Squire’s Lane and Tally Ho Corner. Oh yes, there was a Christ’s Church in amongst the more common names as well.

Listening to the street names, I feel as though I am in a Jane Austen movie, though I recognize that what I am seeing below on the streets is fusion culture: old churches, stone row housing and MacDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Domino’s Pizza, and Costa mixed in along the High Street. As well, the bus only stops if you lean off the curb, one arm outstretched, showing you have your Oyster Pass in hand and would like a lift.

The Phoenix must have been a movie palace, the grande dame of movie theatres in the 1940’s. There is a staircase climbing to the doors on the second floor and in that foyer there are tables and chairs where pre-theatre patrons still have a drink or a sandwich. The seats have so much leg room that there is almost enough room for someone crawling over to the middle of the row to get by without having already seated patrons getting up. Almost. The theatre slopes down at an angle so that everyone can see over someone else’s head. I am reminded of that today, because when we were at Masterclass, the patron behind Rebecca asked her if she could slouch down in her seat so that she could see over her.

The seats are numbered, so people are looking for the right row. But there is no lighting down by the metal medallion on the side of the row that gives the alphabetic character, so many white-headed people are bending and then crouching from the waist and then tucking in their chins, trying to get close enough to the bronze plate to see if they are near the right row. The trouble doesn’t stop there. The seat numbers are written on the bottom of the seats, which do fold back, but there is no way to stand back far enough to get a good read on the integer that on the bottom of that chair. They whisper to someone who is sitting close by, “What seat number are you?”, hoping that person can remember, and further that they, themselves, can still remember what that person said by the time they get to what they think is their chair.

The theatre had 8 golden sets of panels on each side, each sculpted out of plaster were mixtures of cogs and gears, half masks of the Greek comedy and tragedy figures, Pan’s pipes, serpents’ tails, papyri, and Roman columns. The panels were reflected by the hidden lighting in the bottom of their frame – up as people were walking into the theatre and dimmed when the show started. Bands of decorative plaster molding crossed the ceiling, showing off vines and flowers.

Women had glittering jewellery around their necks, were wearing soft mohair coats or sweaters, the darkness reflected the iridescence of their scarves and I let my eyes rest on the hand knit Aryan sweater one man was wearing. One wizened old man was holding the Met's Opera Cast Sheet in his hand, the same one that we get at our theatre at home. He had it carefully folded into columns and a hand magnifying glass, trying to read about the Prologue before the show started. Others in the opera set were more progressive, having electronics in their hands, checking their Blackberries for the last time before the opera started, or reading their Kindles in the few spare moments between sitting down and the show beginning..

I captured my favourite piece of dialogue between the theatre goers at the end of Act I. The man beside me slipped out of the theatre with his coat. A woman came over, stood by that seat, asking me if it were empty, and then said to her husband in the row behind me, “Sweetie. The opera is long. You should get up and stretch.” When he didn’t make a move, she said a little louder, “Sweetie, are you going to move?” I wasn’t looking so I couldn’t tell if he was talking back to her or not, but she continued, “I just had a man tell me to take a sedative after I behaved so badly toward him. But they were whispering to each other during the performance.  No.  My seat is fine.”  Then she left us to go back to her seat.  I bet the people around her were glad to see her coming back.

I watched the audience laugh when the Live in HD Host, Patricia Racette, told all of us at the opera that we were in for a six hour stint. Did your audience laugh at themselves, as loudly as our did. People had their suppers in hand – some the deal from Boots (a drink, a sandwich and a snack for £3’s). Others pulled from their bags, Tupperware containers full of sandwiches and one couple had their own bottle of wine, I noticed. As well, there is a pizza joint where you can pre-order a pizza  down the street and I noticed that someone had  picked theirs up at one of the half time markers.  That was the idea I had, if one of the kids had come along with me.

Steve keeps asking me why I would do six hours at the opera.

Part of why I like to go is because I see all of the above.

Arta