Theaterland

I have become one of these people whose life is planned so long in advance that they can never tell you whether they are free on a particular night without consulting their diary first.

It all happened quite recently and I blame London's theaterland. During my first three years in the city I rarely went to plays or concerts. There was so much excitement in my life and so many new rhythms to adapt to that I didn't feel like I had the energy. Money was also a deterrent as good tickets to a top play usually set you back at least 40 pounds (more if it's a musical) and I was still getting over the fact that lunch --namely a sandwich and a bottle of water-- cost as much as a decent bottle of wine at a supermarket in France. Still, Alessandro and I made it to two shows in our first year: A Scottish play at the Donmar and a Berlioz requiem at the Royal Albert Hall. We didn't understand 20% of the former and walked out from the latter on a rainy, grey and windy Sunday afternoon, nearly suicidal. That's when I understood that there is something to be said in favor of light-hearted entertainment. The performance arts are like relationships in some ways, you see . Yes you have to work at it a bit, and yes you sometimes have to close your eyes on the annoying stuff to appreciate the luminous bits. But if it is THAT painful, well, it's not working.

While these poor choices put us off for a while, I still felt a longing to watch a play at times and finally decided to go without my other half on another dreary winter afternoon last year. I bought discounted tickets to Frost-Nixon, a political play warmly recommended by my friend Abby. And just like that, I was hoooked again. I came home and started avidly reading reviews of plays currently showing, made a small selection and got on the various theater Web sites full of hope and anticipation. How naive.

I couldn't get a ticket to a single one of the plays I had set my heart on. Never mind I thought, I shall be more organized. Next time I read a review about a great play, I shall waste no time and book right away.

More disappointment follows.

I couldn't for the life of me understand how other theater fans in the city could consistently beat me to the reservation game. I wasn't trying to snare two pit seats to a U2 concert in 2020 for god's sake. Only when I studied the question more carefully and discussed it with Abby, an old hand at the game, did I uncover the rather prosaic explanation: membership.

The deal goes like this. You pay a small, or in the case of some organizations not-so-small, fee to become a member of your favorite production company. In exchange, booking opens to you about two weeks ahead of the general public. What this means, however, is that you can NEVER wait until the press reviews to book a play at one of the big London theater institutions, such as the National Theater and the Donmar.

The other issue I have with this system is that it creates a two-tier society, to borrow European politicians' favorite expression. On one side you get the theater equivalent of Apple devotees, committed enough to spend hours researching the upcoming season, subscribe to a flurry of industry newsletters, and affluent enough to afford membership fees at half a dozen insitutions. These guys see everything and get the best seats at the lowest price. On the other side you have normal folks with a busy job, a family and no inclination to plan their social life like a spinster. These are the guys that must be won over. Yet their life is made impossible by the reservation system.

I don't know that there is a miracle solution. But perhaps opening only half of the performances to members could be a start. In the meantime I shall be the one sending emails informing (girl)friends that Jude Law will be Hamlet at the Donmar next summer and well, sorry, it's sold out already.

What's hot in the next few months then:

Oedipus with Ralph Fiennes at the National

Ivanov directed by Kenneth Brannagh at the Donmar

Madame de Sade with Judie Dench at the Donmar

Gethsemane, a thinfully disguised play about the Blair years at the National (You can't book that yet unless you're a member.)

More to come later.