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April and I only knew two things about what we were going to do on holiday in London before we left. One. We were going to see Les Misérables. Two. We would have terrible seats–we were going to get the cheapest tickets we could find. I threw the binoculars in the suitcase before we left.

Our first day in London we found Leicester Square. The square is the perfect solution for anyone looking for the cheapest tickets to a show in London. The ticketsellers on the square sell last-minute tickets, the ones the theaters haven’t been able to sell, at usually half the price.

When we got to the window and asked for the very cheapest tickets to Les Misérables, the girl said she would have to call the theater and see if there were any tickets left. She said she didn’t think there would be any really cheap tickets left at least.

The girl was on the phone, and the person on the other end of the line must have asked how tall we were, of all things, because she started measuring us according to her height and telling them how tall she thought we were. She listened a bit longer then put the phone over her shoulder and said, “I have two front row seats if you would like them.”

She paused and smiled slightly. “The only catch is these seats are directly in front of the stage. The person from the theater asked how tall you are because if you’re not tall enough, you won’t be able to see much but the front of the stage.”

We took the tickets.

We had no idea what to expect when we got to Queen’s Theater. To our benefit, the seats were absolutely incredible. There are front-row seats. There are back-stage passes. And then there are these seats, which if it’s possible, would be called on-stage seats. We actually had to look over our shoulders to see parts of the set. If I sat at the edge of my seat, I could see right into the pit where the musicians were (which just felt wrong, like I had accidentally opened the bathroom door on someone doing their business).

We watched Les Misérables under a magnifying glass. We could smell the make-up, taste the smoke, the gun shots slapped my eardrums. We watched the sweat run down the actors and actresses’ faces and their spit rained down on the musicians in the pit.

There were moments when I actually felt too close. A fake punch during a fight scene was obvious. I heard smiling actors whispering under their breath. The priest in an early scene was plainly dressed-up as a teenage boy in one of the pub scenes. Some of the boys in the barricade scene were clearly girls in hats.

I think front-row seats may have been disappointing, in fact, if it hadn’t been for our tour earlier in the afternoon of the reconstructed Globe Theater where Shakespeare originally performed most of his plays.

The Globe Theater isn’t much to look at–a simple building made of wood, ground limestone, and thatch in the shape of a giant Cheerio. In Shakespeare’s day, the stage almost always looked the same, two enormous Roman pillars at the front were the defining feature. There were no lights to go by, only daylight. And there was very little in terms of special effects or sound.

The only way theater worked in Shakespeare’s time was if the people in the audience were willing to use their imaginations, to have a “willing suspension of disbelief” as we say. The people were as responsible for making the play work as the actors themselves.

According to what we have to go on in Shakespeare’s scripts, he seemed very aware that his plays weren’t what we would call “realistic”. He often wrote plays within his plays, and he used these plays at times to make statements about theater. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the members of a wedding party watch as a group of country bumpkins attempt to perform a play as a gift to the married couples. Shakespeare seemed to use the play within a play to make fun of the very fact that his plays weren’t very realistic at all. At one point, one of the actors in the mock play poorly dressed as a lion leaves character to reassure the women in the audience that he isn’t actually a real lion.

It was obvious in Shakespeare’s day that a play was being performed. It wasn’t easy to get lost in the moment even with an active imagination.

It seemed the same in the front row at Les Misérables. April and I were keenly aware that we were watching a musical. It was obvious. Still, when we left the theater and began our walk to the train station, I was undeniably moved. Somehow, it hadn’t mattered whether or not I was aware that I was watching a musical. Somehow the musical had managed to stir my soul.

In conclusion, this is what I think: I think it’s okay if we are aware during a play that the play itself is merely men and women talking and moving around on a stage in a room full of people. In fact, I like the thought of Shakespeare’s simple theater productions where people needed to use their imaginations to make a play work.

I like the idea that Shakespeare’s audience knew there was something deeper at stake than fancy costumes, canon blasts, and fairies being lowered on rope from the ceiling. Theater was and will continue to be in my estimations simply about a stirring of the soul.

So here’s a recommendation. If you’re in London, and you’re tall enough, go to Leicester Square. Find out what’s playing at Queen’s Theater, and see if you can get front-row tickets. They’re cheap.

Recommended Reading:
Performance in Shakespeare’s Theater by Alvin Kernan