Saturday, April 25, 2009

Classes En Plein-Air and Seeing James McAvoy on Stage

Friday, April 24, 2009
London

It is unusual for my students to have classes on a Friday...so their faces were as long as a month of Sundays today. NYU-London had scheduled Make-Up classes today for the ones we will miss on Bank Holiday May 4 (Don't know what the Bank Holiday's for...but I will find out soon--my British cultural ignorance surfacing again).

With The Order of the Phoenix coming along nicely, I showered, breakfasted (yes, I am losing weight but slower than I had hoped) and made my way to campus by bus--I have purchased a 2-week bus pass again. Another fabulous day meant that the sun was shining brightly, the temperature was so comfortable I actually walked out of my building without a coat and it felt good to be alive.

While sorting out the many student essays (drafts and final papers) that I had graded this past week, I discovered that I had left a few graded ones at home. I groaned to myself. It meant that I would have to return home during my lunch break to pick them up. Still, I didn't feel too badly about it as the weather was bracing and it would be great to take a walk at lunch-time.

Classes held in plein-air, i.e. in the Gardens of Bedford Square to which we, the NYU Community, have a personal key, meant that I marched my students across Bloomsbury Street, sat them down on the grass and taught in the full glorious sunshine of a golden spring morning. Can there be more unexpected pleasure than this sort of treat affords?

At lunchtime, I zoomed off home, picked up the papers I had left behind and returned to teach my second class whose faces grew even longer after they received grades on their essays and my comments. A few of them gave oral presentations using Powerpoint on Irish London, South Asian London, Vietnamese London and African London--all of which were fascinating and made me want to hop on a bus to go out and discover these quarters (Kilburn, the East End, Old Street, etc.) When we did not require the use of audio-visual equipment any more, I marched them out into the gardens as well--at least that seemed to raise their spirits--where a lovely graduation party was under way with scores of people sipping wine and nibbling on finger food and "things on sticks" as Hyacinth Bucket would say (Keeping Up Appearances). It did not deter us from finding a quiet corner and carrying on with class. I have to say that I have already begun to feel withdrawal symptoms at the thought that my teaching year at NYU-London is coming to a quick close. God alone knows how I will get through the actual departure--not, I am sure, without loads of Kleenex!

I got on to the bus then and hopped off at Shaftesbury Avenue (after I had done some printing at my desk and tweaked our proposed itinerary for Chriselle's visit to London) and arrived at the Apollo Theater to see Three Days of Rain, a play by Richard Greenberg starring James McAvoy, Nigel Harman and Lynsey Marshal. Needless to say, I booked tickets for this one to see McAvoy--not that I particularly like him. I saw him in Becoming Jane (and did not like him at all but then I did not like the movie either) and then in Atonement (where I think he was terrific) and in The Last King of Scotland (where I thought he did equally well), but because I know in my bones that he will shape into one of the great actors of our time.

The play is a finely written, tension-filled family drama. Three young folks (a brother and sister duo and a friend, Walker, Nan and Pip) meet to hear the reading of a will upon the death of their architect fathers who happened to be business partners (Ned and Theo). Tension mounts when Walker makes the discovery that Nan was once intimate with Pip whom he had always thought of as his best friend. The scene them swings back forty years to the 1960s when the three actors on stage play their own parents. That's when several parallel discoveries (including one of sexual intimacy) are revealed echoing those of the previous half of the play. This sort of clever crafting of plot through flashback makes for first-class drama and requires actors of the highest calibre. The selected three, in my opinion, did not disappoint. The two German ladies sitting besides me with whom I entered into conversation (0ne happened to be a Professor of Art History in Munich) informed me that they had seen the same play at the Donmar Warehouse, ten years ago, with Colin Firth playing McAvoy's role.

What fired the production for me was the fine acting. The play is set in Manhattan which meant that they used New York accents--McAvoy's was particularly impressive considering that in real life he has a broad Glaswegian one having been raised in Scotland. Lynsey Marshal was just as good though there were shades of Vivienne Liegh's Blanche Dubois in her portrayal of the giddy Southern belle Lina. The sets were sparse and the effects, particularly the rain which one critic described as "pure theatrical Niagara", were very good indeed. The theater is one of the smallest in the West End and though I had the very last seat in the house on the ground floor, it made very good viewing indeed.

My student Meg who is currently taking a course on Contemporary British Drama had seen the play last week. She told me, during our morning class, that the actors emerge at the end of the show to meet fans. Armed with my Playbill, I hastened to the back of the theater to the Apollo Theater Stage Door and waited-- feeling for all the world like a groupie!--until the actors showed their faces. I thought that Nigel Harman has all the makings of a future star and I was delighted when he signed my program. Ditto for Marshal who impersonally and indifferently scribbled her name in several programs (including mine) while showing more interest in some people, presumably of importance, who chose to enter the theater through the stage door at precisely that point. When, eventually McAvoy emerged--there must be a strategy here...save the best for last kind of thing--there was a bit of a frenzy, but McAvoy was gracious and smiled warmly for the cameras as he autographed programmes (mine included). I have to say that this too was a first time experience for me. I mean imagine me standing there alone at a stage door to get my Playbill autographed by the actors I have just seen on stage. I have never done this before--not after any of the scores of plays I have seen in my lifetime in Bombay, Broadway or the West End. Still, I have to say that it was an exciting experience and one more thing to write home about. I actually saw something interesting--a number of what looked like 'dealers'--guys whose trade lies in haunting stage doors with Playbills in their hands to obtain the signatures of the cast. The Playbills, I imagine, will appear on e-bay tomorrow!!!

Back on the bus, I braved the awful traffic of the West End at the end of show time and returned to my flat a little after 11 pm when I chatted with Llew and went to bed.

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