London's West End vs New York's Broadway

Michael Collins—your intrepid author

Whilst in London last month (the reader will note that I’ve taken care to say ‘whilst’ instead of ‘while’ to give this opening sentence a bracing British flavour, and will further note that I’ve written ‘flavour’ instead of ‘flavor’ for a double shot of Englishness so potent as to make one wonder whether the author is in point of fact Stephen Fry writing under a pseudonym),  I took in a revival of Simon Gray’s play The Butley at the Duchess Theatre. The play, starring The Wire’s Dominic West, was a ruthless delight, bitterly funny and suddenly sad; but this isn’t a theater blog, is it? No; no, indeed. It’s a blog about travel. And here’s a tip for the traveler preparing to take in a play on London’s West End: you can bring your drink to your seat. And not just if you pay extra for one of those adult sippy cups offered for an extra fee at some Broadway theaters – any drink at all, at no additional charge. You can take in a pint of beer. You can take in a Pimm’s Cup. You can take in a glass of champagne. And people do – I’ve attended stock car races with fewer frat-house-style plastic cups of beer in view. Such enlightened liberality makes theater once again what it was originally meant to be: something diverting to watch while downing pint after pint of ale. The groundlings taking in the latest offering from that upstart crow Shakespeare at the Globe Theater across the Thames half a millennium ago with a turkey leg in one hand and a cup of mead had it right. Theatre is entertaining; theatre plus a pony keg is transcendent.