The Day Today

The Day Today: That’s Armando Iannucci.  I wish I had come up with that play on words, because the day today, how brilliant is that, but I didn’t.  I put it on par with Bob Loblaw on Arrested Development, and then to cast Scott Baio as Bob Loblaw, and for Baio to agree, Mitchell Hurwitz’s magnificent achievement; someone should ask him to negotiate in the Middle East.  I give bronze to Iannucci, silver to Hurwitz.  But I give gold to Preston Sturges, “if you can’t sleep at night it isn’t the coffee, it’s the bunk.”  Why?  Because Sturges is just plain stupidity, inanity, and then Dick Powell is so invested, is so serious about it, so committed to the gag. 

Anyway, let’s back up.  It was an early morning departure from the hotel in France.  The weather in Nice was of course beautiful.  When I’d arrived, jet lagged, I took a cab, which was the best part of 40 euros.  On the return I took the number 2 tram.  One euro seventy cents.  That’s less than $3 Canadian.  Pretty sweet; clean, efficient, AC, direct to the terminal.

 

BA was late on check-in, fast-track security was anything but, the flight was jam-packed.  But on the plus side we left on time and arrived early.  I had pre-booked the Heathrow Express, which is cheaper (and now that I’m considered a senior in Europe, cheaper still).  Transferred to the Circle line and went 14 stops to Mansion House, where the hotel is steps from the tube.

On left: bread, £5.50; chicken with croquette, £13.50; glass of wine, £14.50 (house white); service £4.19.  Pre-theatre dinner £37.69 ($70 Canadian).  As for that picture on the right, on BA, SO, SO, SO not Air France.  Ugh.

Checked into my hotel sometime just after 3 pm.  Vintry & Mercer.  I lucked out on these luxe digs with a 25% sale on the rate, an upgrade, free breakfast, a glass of champagne and a little arrival treat. 

Although deep East in a super dense neighbourhood, it’s on a narrow street across from St. James Garlickhythe, which hems it in and makes it quiet and protected; a church on Garlick Hill dates to the 12^th century, although the current building was built, after the Great Fire, by Wren.  And the bells ring, sometimes, on the hour, once I heard them on the half.  Haven’t figured out the why of it.

View from my window: Peek-a-boo of the Shard; Wren’s Garlickhythe.

There wasn’t much time after a travel day to see or do much, so I walked the half hour east towards Covent Garden.

Dr. Strangelove may be a hot ticket, and it’s very good, and very funny, but not brilliant.  And I’m not exactly sure why it was even necessary to stage, except there are of course Trumpian tones and Putin-esque references and the craziness of the political world in Kubrick’s film resonate today.  Iannucci is probably most famous in America for Veep, and/or Avenue 5, but in the UK it would 100% be I’m Alan Partridge.  And there’s something about a UK crowd and Coogan that you can tell he has them won over without even trying.

 

Zadie Smith said modern British humour followed a trajectory of Tony Hancock, Basil Fawlty, Alan Partridge and David Brent.  There’s probably some truth to that.  And Coogan is something of a national treasure.

 

It was pretty late when the play go out; I jumped on the tube at Embankment.  I went to the downstairs bar for my free glass of champagne.  There was a huge crowd who’d retired from a black tie dinner, all having a cocktail.  That would be an uncommon site in YVR; twenty random men in tuxedos and their dates in evening gowns, just having a nightcap.