From bard to verse

I didn't take the whole day off to visit the Globe. But I wish I had. Alas, I only turned up for the final hour of the days events.

Red ribbons adorned the theatre itself, and the forecourt was filled with ambling tourists, and entertainers to amuse them. Curiously the entrance way was also guarded by a small regiment of transvestite traffic ladies (replete with lollipops), who also appeared to serve several other functions during the festivities. Quite what their significance was, or how they related to Shakespeare I couldn't say - there didn't appear to be any mention made of them in the programme. Tempted though I was to ask, I eventually decided against it. No answer could possibly be as delectable as the mystery, after all.

I brushed past the good natured crowd and made my way into the theatre proper. On my prior visits I'd always been on the ground floor, either on a bench or else pressed in amongst the crowd who congregate at the front of the stage during each performance. There's many a fine view to be had from that level, but I couldn't resist the chance to wander freely amongst the rafters so I made my way upstairs, where I chanced upon a fine vantage point from which to view proceedings.

I was just in time to begin watching the final groups performance. The stage was filled with people, looking curiously anachronous, their modern attire slightly ill at ease in such a setting. Unfortunately, as I'd discovered when I turned up, there were only a limited number of people allowed on the stage and I'd already missed my chance. I confess, I would have liked to venture up on stage. It was a rare opportunity - one not likely to repeat itself any time soon - and I am saddened to have missed it. But I'm content enough to sit back and play observer for the most part, and it certainly proved a rewarding experience here.

As was to be expected, the abilities of those on stage varied wildly, but it would be have been churlish to criticise them, not to mention quite at odds with the atmosphere of the event. This much was clear to all, and the audience was generous in their applause. Again, it should come as little surprise to discover that the classics were largely adhered too. A Romeo, here, a Juliet there and a small squadron of Hamlets waiting in the wings to be ushered on by another of the ubiquitous traffic ladies. I had some sympathy for the poor young lad who was the fourth to perform Hamlet's infamous soliloquy and was clearly intimidated by those other Hamlets before him. Still, his attempt was heartfelt and the relief on his face at the audiences approbation was heartening. I was surprised to see the ages of all involved vary so wildly too. The youngest was a lass of not more than four years, coaxed on by her mother, but there were plenty of other children up there. Alas, one thing quickly evident was that the acoustics of the Globe lend themselves poorly to subtlety or the quiet speech of the very young. That said, one lad, of six or seven, was extremely voluble in his request for the crowd to lend him their ears. They responded in kind.

I'd hazard that the public on stage included several drama students, and would-be or are-be actors, since there were a number of turns of, to my mind, a professional standard. Possibly the most interesting of these was a Richard III who emphasised his winter of discontent by playing balefully on a mouth organ. And I have to applaud the bravura of one woman who launched forcefully into an excellent recitation of speech that I failed to recognise, only to halt after the first line, peering at her script, when she realised she wasn't wearing her reading glasses - she recovered admirably and continued without further hesitation. My favourite of them all? That came near the end. It wasn't the best reading, by any means, but it seemed an apt way to end the affair. Thus spake a Prospero:

We are such stuff / As dreams are made on
and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep

'Nuff said. I could have spent the whole day there, listening to and watching these fragmented interpretations of Shakespeare. I didn't. My loss.