An Ode to London
Saturday, I was lucky. I was lucky because it rained – in a fairly adamant and persistent fashion that very loudly called for the roofed version of evening entertainment.
In London, there are for sure a great many rain-proof places to take refuge during the absence of summer but there is only one place that the sun personally retreats to to hibernate: the Old Vic Tunnels, the vaults that not only carry Waterloo station but also a good deal of damp and artistic atmosphere. Home to productions, performances and installations of all kinds, the tunnels never released me un-amused and neither did they last Saturday.
Motto of the night: Slapdash - a theatrical improvisation event.
With no expectations and an absent mind, I took my seat and the spectacle began. 5 minutes later, my mind had returned to the here and now and was drawn into the spontaneous and unpredictable nature that is inherent to the art of improvisation.
I am not a critic. I am not a native speaker of the English language. I am a euphemist. And I am unpretentious. But I am the audience.
In this particular case, the audience couldn't have been more aroused and entertained.
On stage, most versatile groups and different characters indulged in a combat of words and breathtaking speed. Smartly and swiftly the Thespians wielded their whetted swords and jumped almost belligerently at the instructions of the goading conductor who skill- and willfully changed and directed the course of the performance.
My personal favourite of the evening: The School of Night.
But this comes as no surprise. I have always fallen for the somewhat eccentric and alchemical wordsmiths who unlock the magic of words with the suave manners of a cavalier and dance on my simple soul to leave footprints of inspiration that I want to cut out and carry along forever.
The School of Night is a troupe of actors that combine mindful and shrewd literacy with a well-rehearsed style but in the end it was the surprising and spontaneous attribute of this night as well as the sheer concentration of verbal and artistic elegance that made me fall in love.
When I left the Old Vic Tunnels that night and walked through the rain-swept streets, it became apparent once again that London might not be a home but that it doesn't have to be for the above and many other reasons. After all a wise head once said:
"And remember, the belly of the whale is laden with great men".
And so I say thank you to the School of Night and look forward to further dismantling this city into small pieces of delight.
http://www.theschoolofnight.com/
