I interrupt my whinging and Bulgarian ethnic slurs to bring you news of this out-of-this-world experience: The Doctor Who Experience, to be exact. Also, seeing Dr Faustus at the historic Globe Theatre last night, which would otherwise be unrelated.
THIS TIME, IT’S NOT.
Originally, I learned about it when I was in Cardiff and saw a sign on an area map that there was a Doctor Who tourist trap near the Torchwood set/Millenium Centre. When Karen and I were in the area, we couldn’t find it. The signs were there, but the exhibition itself was not. When we got back to the hostel, I learned that it had been dismantled and moved as of April 1st. Crushing disappointment.
Yesterday, since I decided to spend the next 3-4 days left in London (more on this later, too) I needed to figure out something to do beyond sitting on the couch and watching shit BBC3 TV. I got the bright idea to check what was on in The Globe, and then I got distracted by reading about some article explaining how H&M can get away with stealing so many prints from, like, Anna Sui or Diane von Furstenberg, which actually doesn’t interest me in the least. While on this page, it was hard not to notice a blinking advertisement that said “CAN YOU FLY A TARDIS?” The rest is history… It was showing at the Olympia 2 in Kensington. I booked a “Silver Package Adult Ticket” for 12pm on Friday where I get a tour and a whole bunch of fun stuff included (lanyard, signed certificate, poster, book, etc.) WEE.
I left here at 10:30am because I was so nervous about getting there on time. (It was fine. St Johns to Cannon Street, District Line to Kensington (although I got off at the wrong Kensington and had to hoof it from there.)) I knew I was in the right spot when I saw a TARDIS lurching out of the side of the Olympia like some weird crash site. The guys in the reception area knew immediately that I was there for the exhibition (because nothing else was going on) and I even went into an elevator with, like, a real bellboy/elevator man.
There’s a mini walkthrough with the sets from the Hungry Earth/Cold Blood episodes. I took a picture of two frightened schoolgirls in exchange for them taking a picture of me with a Silurian. The old gentleman who was the main chaperone was hilarious and we ended up bonding over the Weeping Angels. That sounds weird. You know what else is weird? Hearing ten-year old children yelling “I WANT TO SEE THE WEEPING ANGELS. AND DALEKS! EXTERMINATE, EXTERMINATE, SEEK AND DESTROOOOYYYYYY.” It gave my heart like a deep cardiac plunge of joy to hear this stuff. To make it even better, I was the only ticketholder for 12pm who wasn’t a member of this large school group, so I pretended I was with them for over half an hour. As a result, I got to touch some stuff and linger longer in some areas. After a while, they figured out I wasn’t with them. Still.
We watched this pre-simulation video from Matt Smith about the crack in the Universe, which ROTATED ON THE SCREEN and the screen split vertically to let you walk into the Starship UK set. Whilst we don our “radiation goggles,” Matt Smith comes on the screen again and explains the dilemma he’s in as THE TARDIS MATERIALIZES IN FRONT OF US. I mean, it was hidden behind a gauzy screen but I was standing next to a Smiler the whole time and wanted to get the hell out of there. Thus, we walked through the TARDIS policebox doors and into one of the actual sets of the interior with an actual TARDIS console that beeped and booped and had a moving floor to simulate flight/disaster. The mock-dilemma escalates in mock-emergency because we were under a Dalek invasion, so we literally ran into the next room, me feeling as excited and young as these shrieking ten year-olds. In the next room, though, I was standing near a wall where an animatronic Dalek just came out and pointed at me to scan our brains. You watch the TV show and wonder how something that looks like an overturned bin with knobs on it could possibly destroy the whole of the Universe, but when this Dalek pointed its little plunger-and-whisk combo at me, I almost shit my pants. Of course the Doctor saves the day, and then the staff realized I wasn’t with the school group, so I had to go my own way onto the last of the exhibit.
Here, there were really valuable pieces from the entirety of Doctor Who, including the ENTIRE Doctor wardrobe with models, dating back to 1963. I almost reached out to touch Tom Baker’s scarf and David Tennant’s trench coat. Almost. I didn’t want to get kicked out. An American guy took a picture of me with a Matt Smith wax figure and I took a picture of him with the row of Daleks. His iPhone had a TARDIS screen on it, to give you an idea of the fandom surging around the memorabilia in this room. Some kids were playing in the shell of a Dalek and I was taking MySpace-like pictures of myself with the gasmask little boy a la ARE YOU MY MUMMY. There were models of Slitheen, Judoon, Oods, some other things I’ve never even watched yet.
The gift shop was unreal. As I later told Liz, I nearly bought lifesize cardboard cutouts of the TARDIS or a Weeping Angel, but checked myself. 1) I can’t fit them in my suitcase and 2) if we ever had an apartment together, a Weeping Angel is the last thing you want to see in the dark when it’s 4am and you wake up really needing a pee. So I bought some Dalek expandable towels and a Cyberman mask for myself instead of blowing dozens of pounds on DVD sets, comics, books, Adipose stress-relief dolls, reproduction Sonic Screwdrivers, or Dalek bubble bath.
It was truly amazing. Despite my utter devotion, though, I felt weird walking around Kensington by myself, clutching a big white bag that said DOCTOR WHO EXHIBITION on the side. I walked into a Sainsbury’s and bought chicken breasts and avocados just to have one of the orange Saino’s bags to cover my purchases. Dumb.
This all brings me strangely roundabout to the Globe last night, where I finally saw my first stage production of Dr Faustus instead of having to read it or– Lucifer forbid– read it out loud in a class of freshmen. I had the utmost pleasure in seeing the role of Mephistopheles acted by none other than Dr Who’s companion Rory, Arthur Darvill (“in real life.”) It’s like the role was written for him. Imagine Darvill as Roman Centurion Rory in his grief and rage as he shoots Amy, and that was EXACTLY how Mephistopheles was portrayed. Darvill went the route of utter remorse and frankly looked like some brooding Conor Oberst of the Underworld with the arms folded, leaning against a pillar and trudging to do Faustus’ biddings. It was hilarious, but it was also really powerful to watch this guy who played the most wishy-washy whipped Dr Who companion become a screaming demon in a doublet and enormous shoes.
Faustus was quite good without being too obnoxious, although I think he giggled a bit too much. Robin was also really good. I didn’t think his character was all that funny in the text, but the actor definitely clowns very well.
Darvill looked up into my balcony and I thought I’d faint from the tortured look on his face.
The spectacles of the play were amazing, with these dragons carcasses and furred demons on stilts. To my complete delight, the last spectacle consisted of the entire cast manipulating these bloody dead bodies being tortured in hell, and Mephistopheles and Faustus were playing rock renditions of the song ON THE LUTE.
HURRR.
I was sitting next to three Californians in the middle gallery, second row. The guy only started talking to me after I’d had a moderately-priced-but-still-revolting-Budweiser (or maybe I talked to him first because of that.) He said they run their own outdoor theatre company in California, yet he couldn’t remember the name to The Two Gentlemen of Verona after he described the plot to me. I told him about The Two Gentlemen of Lebowski but he stared at me blankly for a bit until the bell rang for the end of intermission. He couldn’t understand what I was doing there and where I was from, whether Central Jersey, North Jersey and did I permanently move to England? I think he was a bit slow in that Californian way.
Also, there were two high school-aged tour groups there, one from China and one from Italy.
The leader of the Italian tour group sat next to me during my solitary beer and tried to soothe her charges. “Gianna, do you like the play so far?” And this girl Gianna, whatever, stereotypical Italian name said, “Yes, but my English is not good enough. I do not understand everything.” The teacher lady just shrugged and, I guess, comforted her with “Neither do I. I don’t understand a lot of it because it’s not really English.”
I was like, OF ALL REMARKS TO MAKE WHILE SITTING NEXT TO ME. Let it flow over me and yell in my head “WTF, WHY ARE YOU–, ARE YOU–, HUHHHHHH.” At least they have the sense to try and enjoy it rather than to, like, talk on the phone or clip their toenails the whole time. Which I saw others do. Talk on the phone, I mean.
Overall, I’m pleased with the collective £60 I spent on a most excellent 24 hours of enlightening endeavors.
Filed under: Brands, Language, Movies, Theatre, Travel | Tagged: Cardiff, Dr Faustus, Dr Who, Globe Theatre, London, Marlowe, Olympia 2 | Leave a comment »