Woefully Incompetent Badgers

Our Shakespeare class saw Henry V at the Southwark Theatre (not the Globe, but a block away from it so greatness via proximity). First performance I’ve seen in ages that I was completely taken in and enchanted by rather than Cappie-ing it in my head. The performers were dressed as dodge ball players and the stage painted as a Risk board to emphasize the game-like nature of the play’s portrayal of war. Excellent use of slow motion pinball battle sequences (how often do you get to say that?).

At the intermission Chloe and I sipped wine and chatted about the foundations of morality and religion, a moment which may have been the high point of my intellectual life thus far and quite conceivably ever.

Saturday we took a train to the countryside to stay with one of Chloe’s cousins who lives in Kent. The countryside is gorgeous, the cousins were lovely, the dog was adorable, delightful weekend. Ninna is a terrific cook and her kitchen has an aga, which I think is the neatest kitchen appliance I have ever seen (It’s like an oven that’s constantly on with different compartments that are always at certain temperatures and a range that’s always hot).

We saw Rudyard Kipling’s house and gardens one day and Winston Churchill’s the next (Chartwell). The National Trust gift shops are amongst my favorite places for souvenirs, to say nothing of their cream teas. With regard to this post’s title, Kent is apparently overrun with badgers which aren’t even very good at being badger-y and do things like fall out of hedges backwards into lanes. Also pheasants, I saw two from a distance, and so many sheep.

There were in actuality only a few things I came to London determined to do. I planned on seeing this or that museum, I hoped to stop by a market or two, I deemed several historic landmarks more than worthy of an afternoon. But I was hell bent on seeing the sequel to Phantom of the Opera premiere in the West End, and see it I did.

Love Never Dies does not defy description per se, but it does blow a raspberry at it. Let’s try “a glorious and trite mind-blowing rebellion against continuity and canon”. Does it help if I told you I shook with just barely contained silent laughter for the entire production? The images projected on elaborate smoke screens so frequently you wanted to tell Weber to just make a movie already, and the lyrics so bad –vulgar even- you didn’t want to believe they were real, and the plot twist you could see a mile off and still never wrap your head around.

When the cast inexplicably joined hands and began to bow, my first reaction was to remain seated and calm until someone somehow explained something. But no, the musical really was over, and Chloe and I were spilled summarily into the street to ponder what it was we had just seen. Chloe was completely dry-eyed, the first time she’s left a theater without mascara streaked down her face since we’ve been theatergoing companions; whereas I actually had tears welling up from sheer confusion. We are still turning to each other at regular intervals and proclaiming with outrage that this or that detail is fiercely illogical.

And of course, even as we watched it, we were keeping a sharp eye on what the best duet was going to be. The winner is ‘Devil Take The Hindmost,’ which I highly doubt is destined for a cabaret near you at any point in the near or distant future, but I take a great satisfaction in having called dibs on the role of the Phantom before the song was even over, such was my insight.