Friday, 15th of September.
End of waiting. Tonight, Kevin Spacey will be on the stage again. Although I will fly to London in two weeks, I couldn’t resist the temptation of the First Preview. I listen to the traffic news at 7:45, shortly before I’d enter the motorway. Stop-and-go between Helmstedt-center and Helmstedt-west due to a heavy goods vehicle’s break down. I drive through the city to Helmstedt-west. The next traffic news at 8 am doesn’t mention the HGV anymore. Well then. The sun shines brightly and it’s fluent traffic.
I arrive at the airport Hanover in a good temper and about a cigarette’s length before check-in begins. As greeting, there’s an announcement saying that the airport fire department carries out a drill in the western part and there’s no reason to worry. I check in my suitcase containing toothpaste and deodorant as flight baggage and grant myself a breakfast for 4.50 Euros. To cut the rolls I get a cardboard knife. It’s rather drilling than cutting.
It’s dead at the gate. The flight is not fully booked. An older gentleman passes me with a seeking expression in his face. Obviously, he’s looking for more than this little cafeteria at the corner. Then he thinks to have found it and opens a glass door. No good idea. That’s the emergency exit. An alarm goes off. The young waitress at the cafeteria fights not to burst out in laughter. Three security officers try to calm the sensor. Minutes later a fourth officer joins them, and eventually the alarm gives up.
Later, in the aircraft, I find the older gentleman sitting directly in front of me. He wants to go to Canada. The steward explains to him he must not leave the security area in London. I wonder if he’ll manage. I buy a ticket for the underground at Heathrow. The ticket machine says it takes credit cards only. But doesn’t accept mine. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m trying to push my credit card into the slot for banknotes. The ticket machine is peeved because it lasts that long and I’m asked to start the procedure again. Luckily this is no ticket machine of the Deutsche Bahn, so it’s done quickly.
In Picadilly Line, a funny man sits vis-à-vis perusing a book. He wears a cowboy hat, a colorful scarf, and a blue-white-checkered shirt protrudes from beneath his yellow shirt’s collar. In addition he has worn out jeans, and his bare feet stick in blue moccasins. From time to time he looks up reflecting or ticks off a line with a sharp pencil. At Southwark, I buy a sandwich, something to drink and a map, that contains even the street of my hostess´ in October. I check in at the hotel. It is 13:45 o´clock local time and after having the sandwich, I grant myself a nap. Afterwards I could walk at the banks of the river Thames.
When I wake up, outside it’s all grey. Hmm. No walk then. I have an appointment with Robin in the lobby at 16:45. I leave my room and bump into her immediately. She’s got her room vis-à-vis. We join Andrew in the lobby and go to the theater. I want to collect my tickets. One of two desks is closed although a young man sits behind it. The lady at the opened desk is just trying to verify some credit card payment by telephone for a couple waiting in suspense. It takes a while, so she waves for other queuing people to collect tickets for this evening. The man in front of me is meaning well by sending me to the desk. But I don’t want a ticket for tonight only. Actually I want some more for September and December. I’m asked to queue again. Okay. After a while, the young man at the second desk opens it. I have already my ticket for tonight. "What do you want from me then?" he asks bewildered. A lot, I think, and while I’m searching for proper English words, the lady from the other desk helps me out. Then I overhear her explaining to a customer, that there’s no guarantee on the tickets purchase, that Kevin Spacey will be on stage.
I have a glimpse at the casting list at the wall besides and at second place, the first name is definitely longer then five letters. My blood runs cold. Could it be true that Mr. Spacey left the First Preview to his understudy? That would be...not amusing. Then I buy my first tickets as a member of the Old Vic Club – it’s for The Entertainer next spring. Now I have a closer look at casting list. Alas, it’s in order of appearance, and the fourth entry is Jim Tyrone – Kevin Spacey. Sigh. There’s a weight off my mind.
We go downstairs to the Pit bar, but it’s still closed. However, we’re allowed to take a seat, and I am confirmed: smoking is still allowed here. That’s fine. Shortly before six o’clock, we march the few meters to the Lower Marsh to La Barca where I booked a table. I decide on delicious Tagliatelle Carbonara. The dominant waitress puts the napkin on my lap. I wanted to go for the Lady´s. Robin as a convinced vegetarian nibbles at her green salad and a slice of garlic bread. That’s not my taste.
Then we go to the Old Vic to see A Moon For The Misbegotten. The play by Eugene O´Neill is placed on a poor farm in Connecticut in 1923, when America is ruled by prohibition and depression. Lots of whiskey and earthy sense of Irish humor dominate the play. However, it’s no comedy by far. Josie, the farmer’s daughter, is fallen secretly in love to the second-rate Broadway-actor Jim. She can’t imagine that this womanizer could be interested in her. Then there’s this romantic moonlight night. But he doesn’t want the usual pleasure, but a rather loving and forgiving mother.
Finally Josie gives him the love he wants, because she loves him, and lets him leave for good - because she loves him. I had hoped deeply after seeing the play in Leipzig earlier this year that the Josie -performer might be better in London. It is much more than this. Her name is Eve Best, and she is "simply the Best". This woman stands on stage during the total running time of about three hours (excluding the interval), and she is breathtaking. I’m amazed right from the start. What an actress! She’s able to show all nuances of Josie’s emotions. I don’t find myself watching Eve Best for a single moment. There is Josie.
I’m so happy about this cast. Colm Meaney is better known to Deep-Space-Nine (Star Trek) fans. As a trueborn Irishmen, the part of Josie’s father Phil Hogan seems to be tailored for him. This man is a chiseller with rough humor but a good heart. After about twenty minutes, Jim Tyrone comes on stage from far behind. Now, I would like to give away the first gag, but some of my readers might go to the Old Vic themselves, and I don’t want to spoil them.
So much for this: I’ve read the play in German as well as in English and I’ve seen it in German (Leipzig) as well as in English (Broadway-TV-production, starring Jason Robards), and no-one had the idea to perform these two Latin lines in a way that made me cracking up laughing. One woman in the audience seems to be especially amused. She even laughs loudly at moments, the rest of the audience doesn’t consider to be funny. In the sold out house, this is a quota of 1:1000.
Perhaps I should mention that I had originally tickets for the front row. I had been so happy. But due to the set, two additional tiers are installed now. Well, I am happy they can sell more tickets. By the way, the set looks somewhat cheapy. The wooden shed seems rather painted. That blue sky projected to the walls appears also somewhat faked. But I totally forget about this first impression because I am captured by the performance. In the interval, a German couple behind me complains about not getting Meaney´s lines. No surprise. An Irish drunk speaks rarely Oxford English.
At curtain fall, they are bringing down the house. Eve Best is really happy. Then Kevin Spacey signals the end by clapping his hands to the audience. The applause dies out immediately.
We leave the theatre. I meet Robin and Andrew at the stage door. A lively Dutchman is already waiting there and begs us to take a picture of him and Mr. Spacey. Andrew does him the favour. About twenty people gather around. Then a homeless person emerges, begging for money and threatens us, he’d be the first at the hatch. "I’ll catch Kevin Spacey before all of you!" he calls.
Most people avert their eyes. Two men think if they give some bargain, they would get rid of him. He has his share of the Americans, he was wounded in the Gulf war, he says. Now he stands right in front of me and looks me straight into the eyes. If I’d like to have his autograph.
He’s a human being as well. Somehow he’s right. And he’s obviously not drunk. His face is scarred and the upper incisors are missing. Again he asks for a Pound Sterling. When he realises me taking out my wallet, he ups the ante to twenty Pounds. I give him the one.
When the hatch opens, the little Dutchman jumps to Kevin Spacey, immediately grasps his hand and pulls it outside, turning to Andrew and grinning into the lens of his camera. Take one more, he commands. Mr. Spacey seems to be slightly confused. I am slightly sour. I think, this Dutchman actually wants to confirm the prejudices about his compatriots demeanor abroad. What a shame. Then it’s our homeless persons turn. He asks something I can’t get beside the movie title "The Negotiator". Mr. Spacey denies, saying he has nothing left. He answered level headed and politely. The homeless man however wants obviously more.
Then Mr. Spacey has enough. He takes the young man’s upper arm and pushes him not rudely, but decidedly aside and pays his attention demonstratively to me. I am happy that it didn’t close the hatch. He spots my equipment and wants the pencil, but first of all I shake hands thanking him for the evening. Not only for his performance. As an artistic director, he has chosen the play and the director and were involved in the casting. Then I thank him for the fan meeting in Recklinghausen and hand out the photo. His face certainly brightens. I send Marion´s regards and let him know that Sonja can’t afford to come to the Old Vic because she’s a student, and I’d need his help to surprise her. Would he sign the poster for her? Of course! What was the name?
Well, enough, there’re other people queuing. I hold the casing of the permanent writer and Mr. Spacey tries to insert the pen. Damned, I’m trembling! Ouch. By the third attempt, I interrupt the process, confessing I’m too nervous and take the open pen back, getting an indulgent smile from the gentleman, thanking him again and leave.
Artfully, Robin persuaded Andrew to let Mr. Spacey sign the photo in the film magazine she brought for me. Now there you can read "To Simone. Thank you. Kevin Spacey ". Ah.
Afterwards we go for another drink in the Pit Bar. There is one reserved table for the actors and their friends. Next to me, Talulah Riley leans at the wall and chats with her boyfriend. Behind Robin, David Liddiment stands and speaks to a young man, of whom I am not certain, whether he played the Harder or not. I’m terrible in recognizing faces. It is my second whiskey and about midnight when Kevin Spacey comes downstairs.
Jeans, dark short jacket, the hat backwards as usual. He gathers his people for partying. We don’t stay any longer. I am tired. In Germany, it is two o'clock in the morning. I rest really uneasy. Jim Tyrone called it the Heebie-jeebies. Robin gets up for having breakfast with me. Outside it is grey, nevertheless I do the half hour walk to
Liverpool Street station. Stanstedt express departures 8:40. I fly back by Air Berlin.
I’d chosen another airline to be back earlier. My sister celebrates her 50th birthday today. While I check-in I learn about a delay. First it’s only one and a half hours, but when we finally arrive to Hanover - far away from the terminals - the delay is almost three hours. In Halle, we meet some of the remaining guests, the buffet is empty besides some desserts. My son might be not innocent because he’s holding his belly. My sister is delighted by the gift. Well, then everything’s alright unless my condition. I am quite overtired. But I would do it all again.
Best wishes,
Simone Ziegert
(Germany)
© 2000 - 2006 Driving Mr. Spacey!
