Right Around The West-End

My experience with theatre in London is inextricably linked to a friend from work — Zack. I’d just moved to a new city, and I knew no one outside of work. Mentioning to someone that I wanted to explore the West End, I was told that Zack, on our floor, loved the theatre. One day, I went up to him and asked (rather nervously) if he’d like to go see a play together. He, thankfully, said yes, and that is how we found ourselves at The Book of Mormon.

With Zack, I’d found a friend who not only loved the theatre as much as I did (perhaps even more), but also someone who was far more seasoned within the scene. Soon, he’d introduced me to the world of theatre beyond the classic West End musicals — beautiful stories, captivating actors, and brilliant set design at the National Theatre, the Young Vic, and the Donmar Warehouse. We’d make plans, stop at a local spot for a quick pre-theatre meal, get our programmes, take our seats, and watch the magic happen.

While theatre on Broadway felt larger than life, theatre in London had a heart that beat with the quiet, reassuring hum of community.

You know what they say, art needs friends.

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A note on the reviews that follow:

Theatre, more than most art forms, lives in conversation. We argue about it at the interval. We talk about it on the walk home. The reviews in this section honour that, in their form. They follow a classical scaffold — Dramatis Personae, Prologue, Act the First, Act the Second, Curtain Call — and their critical heart is a dialogue between two voices. Mine, and Viola’s — the part of me that London has kept, the part that knows Shakespeare and loves him in my place. We watch together. We disagree gently. We arrive somewhere neither of us would have reached alone.