'Are you two still here?'

When we arrived at Fountains Abbey, we were told that it was World Heritage Weekend, and they had some special events on. As we walked round the grounds they had set up picture frames to recreate the views which various artists had painted.

We had also been told that the Banqueting House was open, so we walked up to it, and found people in 18th Century costume being photographed. Always a sucker for a good posed photograph (and a good costume), I was soon snapping away as well. The photographer saw his chance, and the next minute I was photographer’s assistant, holding the flash for him. As they moved off to take more photos, I commented to Judith that it was all very well taking pictures, but what I really wanted was a big frock.

We walked over to the Banqueting House, and chatted to one of the actors, who was from North Country Theatre. I recognised his waistcoat from YTR (I have a habit of doing this), and soon we were chatting about costume, and costume sources. Looking round inside, Judith pointed out a basket of clothes labelled ‘dressing up’. Well…that’s all the encouragement we needed.

We found a dress each. The actor looked rather surprised when I started to take my shirt off (‘don’t worry, I have something on underneath’), and then I was asking for panniers to go under the dress to give it the correct shape. By this point the other actor had joined us, so between us all we got into the full outfits with straw bonnets, and started posing with the actors outside the Banqueting House. We then posed inside, and Judith decided that she would be a servant, and I tried on the man’s waistcoat and frock coat for a bit of cross-dressing. Other people wandered in and out, but were far too timid to try anything on.

Not us! It was the highlight of the day (and of Judith’s visit).

A tale of two Frankensteins

Having got our ‘hot tickets’ for the National Theatre Frankenstein, we settle into our seats on the back row of the Olivier Circle. Our cast was Jonny Lee Miller as the Creature, and Benedict Cumberbatch as Victor.

The staging impresses from the outset. A bank of light bulbs hangs over the auditorium, angled down towards the stage, and pulses of light shoot down, bringing the creature to life. A huge bell also hangs over the audience, to be tolled at the start of the play, and at later points in the action. Centre stage is a large disc, with a figure inside it, and it is from within this that the Creature is ‘born’.

For the first 15 or so minutes of the play, there is hardly any dialogue. The creature is born, and emerges flailing and crawling, uttering guttural sounds. It is a feat to make all this totally enthralling, and never comic. Miller’s naked form, twitching with aftershocks from the lightening bolts, is a remarkable figure. No sooner born, than rejected by his creator, he is thrown out onto a world which rejects him for his strangeness, his appearance and his inability to communicate. He has a childlike enjoyment of the flying birds, and the rain which falls on him. But his encounters with humans lead only to harsh words, and rejection. To beatings and fear.

Whilst I wondered at the reason for having a steam train* come onto the stage, it is an impressive visual effect, all flying sparks, and clanking noise. Only when the Creature meets the blind De Lacey does he meet someone who does not judge, but educates him, first to speak, then to read. Seasons pass, and he grows into someone who can quote Paradise Lost, and understand the tales of the Roman emperors. But his understanding is warped, and rejection leads to him taking a terrible revenge, before setting off to seek his creator, Victor Frankenstein.

The change of staging, to create Lake Geneva, with some dry ice, and a couple of walkways, is simple but impressive.

Having made a brief appearance at the start of the play, Victor always seems slightly in the shadow of his creation. Of the two castings, I much preferred JLM as the Creature, and BC as Victor. JLM’s creature had more heart, more humanity, whilst BC’s Victor had all the arrogance and hubris of scientist who could play God. Horrified by what he had created, yet unable to take responsibility for it, he is still unable to resist trying again, to create perfection, only to destroy it at the last moment when he begins to consider where it might lead.

The scenes between the two are gripping, and there is a real theatrical thrill in seeing two excellent actors working off each other, probably enhanced by the fact that each knows both parts so well.

The play focuses on the relationship between the two main protagonists, at the expense of most of the supporting characters, though Karl Johnson’s De Lacey impresses. It’s in the quieter scenes that the problems of the script emerge. Some of the dialogue between lesser characters is weak, and when Elizabeth, Victor’s fiancée, declares Switzerland ‘picturesque’, I can’t help but cringe.

Finally, Victor and his Creation are alone in the Arctic wastes (further excellent lighting to create the green glow of the ice and the Northern Lights). The Creature’s reason for continued existence has become Victor, and Victor’s reason is to see his creation destroyed. Their final exit, bound together in a journey to the death, is ultimately moving as on what it means to be human, to have human feelings and compassion.

Unusually, at the end of the play, it was difficult to find the words talk about many of the aspects. It was very ‘cinematic’ in that it used the whole expanse of the space, creating stunning visual images, but theatrical in using the technical capabilities of the Olivier to the fullest effect. It is a production that you couldn’t do anywhere else. But the images stuck in my head, whirling in my mind the next day. And I knew that I wanted to see both the alternate casting, and the NT Live showing to see how the cinematic feel was translated for a cinema audience. There was only one problem. All the tickets for City Screen were sold out.

So there began a quest to track down tickets. I got put on the waiting list, but a waiting list doesn’t guarantee anything. It was only on the day of the showing that I got a call around lunchtime to say that they had had a ticket returned. I snapped it up.

Sitting in my seat that evening, looking at the Olivier auditorium on screen was thrilling. It was fascinating to see the alternative casting, the differences, and the similarities, in the performances. But I definitely preferred the casting that we saw live – perhaps because it was the first viewing, definitely because it was in the theatre, but to me it seemed more moving.

What did surprise me about the cinema transmission was that many of the things which I’d thought would look amazing, such as the bolts of lightening, and the scene changes, simply didn’t**. And a lot of the camera angles were rather strange – some scenes were filmed from above, which just felt wrong, as that isn’t the view that you’d ever get as an audience member in the theatre. The clunky dialogue seemed even more so the second time around.

What impressed again were the scenes between the Creature and Victor, seen this time in close up. Cumberbatch’s Creature was more alien than JLM, even more of an outsider, whilst JLM seems more of a physical actor, perhaps one of the reasons I felt that casting worked best.

I am so glad that I had the chance to see it live, and so appreciative that I was able to get a ticket to make the comparison. It will stay in my memory for a long time.

*Not literally, it’s not the Railway Children, after all. Also, isn’t this setting just a bit too early?!
**I am skipping over here the whole Creature’s nappy/loin cloth for the cinema audience.

Sometimes you just have to put a little extra effort in

The National Theatre production of Frankenstein was sold out before we’d even decided the dates for our visit, but there are always day seats, and the plan was to try for those.

Coza says that the word is that the queue for day seats has been forming from 6.30am on weekdays, and 5am at weekends.

‘Ah’, I think, ‘now that’s a bit early’.

There’s a moment, as we consider.

‘I’d do it’, Cat says, ‘after all, we’ve done more, for less’. She’s right, and that settles it.

So on Friday morning, we’re awake at 6am and Cat is outside the NT by 6.30am. We get a text to say that she’s 14th in the queue, and some look like they’ve been there for some time. Given that we expect there to be 30 day seats, we’re on the cusp. I arrive just after 7, having failed to find anywhere en route where I can pick up coffee. The people ahead of us in the line have come prepared, with chairs, blankets, and flasks. I’m wearing my mac, and have a pashmina.

I take over Cat’s place in the queue, and she goes in search of coffee. I suggest towards Waterloo Station may be a good bet. I later get a text to say she’s had to go across the river to Charing Cross.

An elderly chap walks along the queue, checking what everyone is queuing for. It turns out he’s here for Season’s Greetings, ‘I told my sister no one would be here this early for Alan Ayckbourn’ he mutters.

Coza joins us, and the time passes quite quickly. The queue goes back a long way now, but there are seats for all shows (though I doubt if anyone is queuing for Greenland), and standing tickets too. Some time later Coza leaves to go to work, and we watch a chap in the foyer doing some very theatrical, but not very effective, hoovering.

Pretty much on the dot of 9.30am they open the doors. Once inside, there’s a bit of a fracas ahead of us, for it seems that a woman has pushed in at the last minute and bagged a front row seat. There are complaints to the box office staff, and to security, but there’s nothing that can be done about it.

When we reach the desk, all front row have gone, but we secure 3 seats at the back of the circle. For £12 they’re a bargain. Success, and the queuing feels worth it.

Tickets safely stashed, we head for a hearty, and warming, breakfast. Those pancakes sure taste good!

I feel I’m rather letting my blog name down at the moment

It isn’t that I’m not seeing theatre (though I’m not seeing as much as I would like to), it’s just that I’m not writing about it. I have written more about walking over the last few months than I have about theatre, and that’s rather shocking.

To bring you up to speed, I have seen the following:

Twelfth Night
Peer Gynt
Dido, Queen of Carthage
His Dark Materials Parts 1 & 2
Barbershop Quarter – an Avignon Festival Fringe show – in French!
Blood Brothers

Quite a mixed bag really, and all enjoyable in their own way. Twelfth Night was a YTR production, and was pretty good, though I didn’t like their Olivia. Peer Gynt was a National Theatre of Scotland production, but it was at the Barbican, and I wondered if once again the Barbican was going to be the theatrical pits. Thankfully, though not ‘my’ Peer, which is much more beautiful, there were a lot of things I liked, and ultimately it moved me. Dido I enjoyed, though as a play it’s clear from the writing that Marlowe* wasn’t Shakespeare (not even very early Shakespeare). Some good performances though. If this is all sounding a bit half hearted, well, none of the productions were standout.

I did really enjoy the two parts of His Dark Materials at West Yorkshire Playhouse. I hadn’t really liked the books and had stalled part way through the second one, so I came to a lot of it new. What stuck me was that it’s a very complicated story. As with most alternate universe stories, there’s a lot to take in, as you can’t rely on the natural order of things to carry you through, also, the names can be difficult to remember. The other problem with any fantasy story is, of course, how do you stage it? This one has an ‘armoured bear’, and I’d never actually worked out what one of those was in the books, never mind what it might look like on stage.

They actually did it very well, though I felt Part 2 worked much better than Part 1. It was definitely a production where you needed to see both parts – a potential problem in Leeds, as there were considerably more performances of Part 1.

As for the last two, well, one is coming up in my ‘holiday blog’, and the other is a whole other story.

*Though it is equally very clear that Shakespeare knew the play, and ripped off some of the ideas mercilessly for Hamlet. It’s a good job Marlowe was dead by then, as Will did it all so much better

The other birthday blog

When I realised that my birthday fell on Easter Sunday this year, I was a little underwhelmed, as it’s the only day apart from Christmas Day that lots of places are closed. ‘Quite rude of Jesus to try and steal your thunder’ as Coza said.

Thankfully Cat was up for a visit to Cragside in Northumberland, using our trusty NT cards. It didn’t seem to take that long to get there, even with a coffee stop, and we were soon parking up and walking to the house in the most glorious weather.

We went round the house first. I’d been before but it was years ago, and couldn’t remember much about it. The first sense is that it is very much a home. Domestic in style and in the size of the rooms, which feel cosy and homely, albeit very Victorian. There was a fondness for stuffed things that I wasn’t keen on. There should have been a dressing up room!

Afterwards, we explored the huge grounds, along the stream and out to the lake and the formal gardens. Incredible to think that the vision of one man transformed this moorland valley into what can be seen today. It’s both a monument to that Victorian hubris which had such total belief in the longevity of what they were creating, and testament to ingenuity and inventiveness of the Victorians.

There was a hillside where we rolled mini crème eggs, and Cat accused me of cheating as I didn’t tell her it was a competition until she’d had her turn. I also ate (home made) cake. Well, it was my birthday.

Afterwards, I had a hankering to visit the Northumberland coast, the scene of childhood holidays, so we went across to Alnmouth, and walked along the beach by the sand dunes. It was busy, yes, but not ‘Scarborough busy’. It was glorious, and as I sat and ate an ice cream by the dunes, it felt like a good birthday.

The Handbag Walks, Part 9

The last time I went to Fountains Abbey was April last year. Shona's birthday. I remember it vividly, particularly the whinging that went on about the 'long walk', and the fact, having reached the Abbey, we sent Cat and Steve back for the picnic. Corinne joined the National Trust that day. I didn't, it took me another year.

On Friday, I went again. This time we started at the Abbey end. The weather was glorious, as good as we've had all summer - I even wore my sun hat!

As we walked through the park, it didn't feel very far at all. Of course, we stopped for tea and cake when we reached the other end. That was 'lunch'. Walking back we decided to go up over the hill to the High Ride. There'd been no chance of that last time. I discovered new areas of the grounds that I'd never seen before, including the Temple of Fame (above). There was a lot of posing done. By the time we finished, and walked up the hill, only slightly out of breath, it hadn't felt like a long walk at all. We were soon back to the visitor centre, and yes, there was another tea shop.

I think I'm really getting the benefit of my NT membership.

Deja vu

Yesterday morning I got up to find I'd missed 3 calls, asking me if I wanted to go walking at Beningbrough. 'I did that on Monday!' 'Well, you can do it again, can't you?'

So we were off, on a misty morning, and we walked along the river through the parkland, even though the house, and, more importantly, therefore the tea shop, wasn't open. I guess we did a couple of miles again. I did a bit of whinging, as I was wearing the non-trainers again, and the grass was damp. They got muddy, and my feet got wet! It's all very well saying 'stride out, and think of Mr Darcy' but it doesn't work with wet feet.

We stopped at a garden centre on the way back. It had a tea shop with luscious home made cakes, and I didn't even know it existed. Fancy that.

It's all getting a bit energetic though, that's 3 walks in a week!

Beningbrough

After our shopping we head out to Beningbrough Hall to celebrate my new membership of the National Trust, and to walk.

As we drive in, I can see all the cars. ‘Look, we’re going to have to park miles away!’ ‘Val, we’ve come to walk!’ We change into ‘walking’ shoes. Cat has the proper shoes, I have my non-trainers, which are at least flat, and which I used to use for exercise class.

Avoiding the small children hunting for Easter eggs, we strike unerringly across a field heading for the river, somehow finding the one muddy patch as we cross it. I whimper a little, as I get a streak of mud on my nice white shoes. But we make it to the river bank, the path is dry, and it’s very pretty and peaceful.

As we head towards the village, we cross the bottom of lots of gardens, some with their own landing stages, 'how fab is that?' and then head back up into the village past the pub. It’s closed down since we were last there, so I find myself scrambling over a rusty old gate. We walk back up the village, and past an old vicarage that could be straight out of Pride and Prejudice. It’s idyllic, and makes a country cottage look quite appealing, as long as you could have a place in town as well.

As we head back into the park we realise we have to climb over an electric fence, so I kindly allow Cat to test it first, to see if it’s on. It isn’t. A change of shoes later, and we’re heading for the tea shop, and the house.

Inside, there are lots of portraits of Restoration and Georgian figures, from the National Portrait Gallery, and some huge, and rather oppressive four poster beds. They’ve worked hard to make it interactive, but I’m disappointed to find that what I thought was a dressing up room, turns out to be half a dress so that you can emulate a portrait. I mean, what use is that?!

Finally, we hit the gift shop. There’s a second hand book shop upstairs, and there are quite lot of plays. Of course, I bought some of them. But I didn't bother with the Pinter.

Reader, I married him*

The new BBC serialisation of Jane Eyre started last night. 4 weeks of sheer indulgence (and a bit of hiding behind cushions from the mad woman**). So, in celebration of this fact, Cat, Corinne and I took ourselves off yesterday afternoon to Belton House near Grantham, which was used for the scenes at Gateshead Hall.

It was a gorgeous afternoon, and the house was fascinating, beautifully light and airy, with a wonderful elegance, apart from the tv connections (it was also used as 'Rosings' in Pride and Prejudice), and we spent a lovely afternoon wandering through the house and grounds, and sampling the restaurant and gift shop.

The best bit, however, was the 'dressing up' room. You know how I love a big frock! Now it's frequently a bone of contention with me that they focus on children for dressing up opportunities***, but here was different. Not just a couple of dresses, but a whole rail, and not just fairly tatty costumes but ones with boning, and bustles, and proper underwear. Well, petticoats, and crinolines, it would have perhaps been a bit much to go as far as corsets!

And that was it, we were in there, much to the bemusement of some of the other visitors, but with the assistance of the very helpful attendant. Despite all my time working in costume, I'd never worn a crinoline before, and it was a revelation, the way it swung, and seemed to float around you, rather than the much heavier full petticoats. I was thrilled to find that I could actually get into one of the dresses, as I'd sort of resigned myself to being dresser and photographer - and I liked the colour too.

Of course, having got these dresses on, we didn't want to take them off, and the poor attendant was eventually packing up around us. But they have missed a trick in then not letting you wander the house 'in costume' as that would give a truly authentic feel (although it's probably against health and safety - grrr!).

Wonderful *sigh*

**seriously, she's scarier than a dalek!
*There just didn't seem to be a better title for this, even though it's ripping off the title of the current BBCFour Documentary on romantic fiction.
***and don't even get me started on why the Disney Store doesn't do Disney Princess dresses in adult sizes!!

Pemberley

Last night I stayed near the village of Disley in Cheshire, in a lovely hotel ovelooking the rolling hills. Yes, I know I don't want to live in the country, but I can admire a view.

What I hadn't realised was that Disley is also where Lyme Park is, and sadly I didn't have time to go and view 'Pemberley' and the lake where Mr Darcy went for a swim*. If I'd have realised I'd have driven over earlier yesterday and gone for a look round. I love visiting stately homes, it's that history thing again, and yes, in my head I'm wearing a posh frock, with a few servants at my beck and call. Well, I've wandered round Castle Howard thinking myself in Brideshead Revisited in the past.

*we all know it isn't in the book, but it is the enduring image from the BBC adaptation

There beneath the blue suburban skies

On Sunday we visited the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, both of which are now open through the National Trust. The house that John grew up in is remarkably unchanged, with many of the orginal fixtures and fittings, and very middle class - hardly the home of a working class hero - it has a 'morning room' for goodness sake!

Paul's home is lower down the social scale, being a council house, with a small garden and an outside toilet, and is more of a re-creation of what it would have been like. What makes it is particularly evocative are the photographs, taken by Paul's brother Mike (late of The Scaffold), which are placed in the parts of the house in which they were taken. These black and white images show John and Paul in a corner of the living room, writing 'I saw her standing there', Paul stumming a guitar in the back garden (a scene that they have tried to re-create, by placing a deckchair beneath a line of washing, however, visitors can no longer sit in the chair since a large visitor sat in it and broke it), and climbing a drain pipe. Images of life before it all began.

Whilst my reaction wasn't that of some of the American visitors that they get - some of whom have been known to kiss any original artifacts - seeing the houses really helped me understand a little more about how incredible it must have been when Beatlemania really kicked in, and for a while, they were still living there. You forget that they were really part of the first generation that had the opportunity to be 'teenagers' rather than just go out and get a job.

I don't think you can be of my generation and not have been touched by the music of the Beatles - a memory evoked by a particular song, a particular lyric - and it was fascinating to see where they came from and learn more of their backgrounds. I have been playing my Beatles cd ever since the weekend and finding a new resonance in Penny Lane, having seen the bank, and the shelter in the middle of the roundabout.