Part of last Saturday's adventure in London was the unbelievable experience of stepping foot inside the Globe theatre for the first time. I have been waiting to do this for many years, ever since I started learning about the baller that is William Shakespeare, and developing a serious crush on him and everything he's ever done.
The first picture was taken the exact moment I looked up from walking across Millenium Bridge and saw it on the other bank. I wanted to cry it was so cool. Obviously it looks just like every picture I've ever seen, both in fellow pilgrims' photos and in educational drawings.
We had tickets for the yard to see a show called The Lightning Child, which was based on the ancient Greek play The Bacchae. We got there early to ensure we would get a good place to stand, and did we ever! We were right at the front and I held onto that stage for all it was worth. Again, I might have welled up a little. The current Globe might be a reconstruction, but just thinking about what it stands for, and all the immortal words that were performed on its original stage just a few blocks away, and all the groundlings who came before me to watch the actors play out stories that are still alive today-- ugh, it's just the best. The show itself was a little over my head. It included a great deal of what I can only imagine is symbolic nudity and violence and gore, but when they dismembered a man onstage three feet away from me, I must admit they lost me a little. The foul language and significant amounts of blood seemed gratuitous and didn't have enough of a plot to back it up. Regardless, it was amazing to stand there and watch the actors work in this ancient space. I'm so incredibly grateful I got to see a show there, especially considering the season ended the next day.
One last tidbit from my magical day at the Globe: about 10 minutes after intermission, I noticed a commotion over to my left. A boy who had been standing in line (in the queue, what what!) in front of us had passed out. He was extremely pale and lying on the ground. Within seconds, several of the stewards were at his side and wheeling him out in a wheelchair. I looked at Christine and we both shrugged, worried for him and wondering what had happened. Then, about 20 minutes after that, I started to feel warm. And my head started feeling a little fuzzy, and I was sort of dizzy. Christine asked me if I was okay, and told me to sit down. I did, fanning myself, and after a few minutes of contact with the cold concrete floor, I thought I'd stand up again. This whole time, a woman in gold lamé was standing about a foot in front of me, holding the severed head of her son, dripping blood all over the stage, and giving the longest monologue known to man. It should be noted that I'm not squeamish, and I have never fainted in my life. But after a few more rounds of standing up and sitting down, I realized I should probably remove myself before I caused another ordeal. We started moving towards the exit and immediately one of the stewards was there, asking me if I felt alright. She told me to lie down on a picnic table with my head in Christine's lap, and she held my feet up for several minutes. Props to the stewards at the Globe! Seriously, she was so incredibly nice, and after following her advice I felt better, even if I also felt rather foolish. She says this happens to a lot of people, because they've been standing for so long. Now, I have definitely stood for longer periods of time than this, but I figure it must have been the ghost of ol' Will tapping me on the shoulder or something, and my brain just got confused about where it was supposed to be.
Now, I've mentioned Ms. Fey's remark on the blog here before, so at the risk of sounding redundant (leave me alone, I have one joke, guys) , I have a final remark to make. "Tina, I'm calling your bluff. This was my moment."