Welcome to the Land of Theatre Tourism

The neon sign on display at Theatre Royal Stratford East in Stratford, London.

Last month, I went on my first ever trip outside of North America.

I’ve described it often, inaccurately, as my first international trip, mainly because the only part of Canada I’ve visited feels more like a long road trip than an international adventure. We’re spoiled, with Vancouver so close by. We were spoiled when my family made the 22 hour drive one summer, stopping at every major city along the way, blissfully unaware of where we’d be sleeping that night. We didn’t even need a passport for that trip.

So when I returned to the US on October 30, just in time to watch the Washington Nationals win the World Series, all I wanted to do was talk about what I loved about London: the tube, the amount of time Jeremy and I had to talk, the food at Dishoom, the way almost every book cover looks more beautiful than it ever could in the states, the time I spent with Duncan & Effie and their family, and the Tate Modern. But at the end of the day, that’s just a list of things that only I experienced. That’s not a conversation. It’s not even a travel recommendation.

Since colonialism is such a big part of white America and white England’s origin story, it’s only fitting that I left London wanting to take something back — something big. We saw four plays during our five nights in town. It was, admittedly, too many shows. We made the rookie mistake of seeing a play the night we arrived and I’m sorry, I cannot tell you if it was a good play because time was playing so many tricks on me that night. But at almost every theatre we went to, I felt invited in.

I also never felt like the youngest person in the room. Ever.

I’m perpetually early to see plays. I never want to run in at the last minute, even when my seat is assigned. And, until relatively recently, I used to dress up for the event in honor of my lapsed Catholicism and the new church that I’d found. I’m kidding, but not entirely. I used to dress up to honor the artists that were contributing their work to the performance I was about to see.

These days, I’m completely fine wearing jeans to the theatre. But I continue to feel the sighs of ushers who are still very much training for the evening — so please do not even ask where the bathroom is. And the tone of box office personnel who were really hoping that no one would be there 45 minutes before the show because what they really want to do is be on Twitter. (I have been this box office person. I get it.) And if you want a concession, don’t even think about it until 30 minutes before curtain and even then you need to finish your food and drink before you enter. No food or drink! Oh I love to be yelled at before letting actors make eye contact with me.

The Old Vic with the sign for Lungs on the railing. We purposefully planned our trip for the middle of this show’s run so that we could support Duncan and see these incredible actors tackle his play.

In London, every single one of the theatres we went to had a bar.

Like a real bar with taps and mixed drinks and people hanging out before and after the show to talk about the plays they’d seen and the lives they’ve lived. Two of the theatres we went to had full restaurants, with reservations and waitstaff and friends making an entire evening out of the play. I was joking with myself that The Young Vic was going to have the youngest audience, but as I looked down the aisle at The Old Vic, Theatre Royal Stratford East, and The Hampstead Theatre, all I could see were folks in their 20s and 30s. Even at a matinee in the middle of the day, which Duncan said was an outlier. Folks were skipping work to see The Queen and Doctor Who, he said. But they were skipping work! To see a play!

When I tell my non-theatre friends that I’m about to go see a play, there’s sometimes a fear in their eyes. Why would I subject myself to the expense, the time, the staying out past 9PM-ness of it all?

That’s another thing. We never paid more than £20 for a ticket. And that’s where it starts.

I know that the UK values the arts in a way that the US never has and likely never will. I know all about the government subsidies given to museums and performing arts organizations. But I also know that I saw field trips of grammar school students in yellow vests at every single museum I visited. I know that the arts are an extension of the educational system there — not an afterthought, not something that you’re missing math class to experience. (Excuse me, maths.)

The set model for Sweeney Todd, which was on display in the theatre wing of the Victoria and Albert Museum. Yes, the V&A has a theatre wing.

I don’t have any of the answers.

But I sure have a lot of questions. And it starts with this: how can we bring just one ounce of that energy to theatres in the United States? (Or hey, even locally in our own communities.) How can we encourage our larger theatres to use their space for good instead of alienation? How can we make pay-what-you-can and ticket discounts louder and more available to young people who need them? (I’m looking at you, any theatre who has buried PYWC on your website during a redesign.) How can we encourage folks to stay after the show? (Don’t say talkback. Nothing says run away at curtain call quite like a talkback.) How can we admit that the current model of theatre-audience fellowship is not working?

I want plays to be cool again. I want theatres to make fearless, terrifying new work that they know an audience will come see again and again and again. But if the work you’re doing and the way you shepherd in your audience is leagues less appealing than HBO (or even Netflix or a very compelling podcast series), you’re not going to keep us. We’ll remain borrowed time, itching to get back to a room that wants us more.

I don’t have a good way to end this because I don’t want it to end. I want this to be the souvenir I brought back from my trip. This reminded me of you. So let’s grow it together.