the fourth edition: dated 17.09.25

The Weekly Blabbette

Ponder This: why did a girl on the thirteen-hour-flight from Singapore to London buy a USB while onboard? Are USBs cheaper in the air? What was she doing with said USB? The plane was dark, except the light overhead her seat, and a flight attendant approached her with a USB in a plastic bag with the logo for the in-flight shopping and I sat in my seat, puzzled. I would have bought something to consume myself, had the food and drinks not been entirely provided cost-free. Perhaps she had the bug to buy something and a USB would prove to at least be worthwhile once she landed in England.

Being back in the country after the vacation is interesting. I had an existential crisis about finishing and posting the third edition because I assumed no one would actually care or give a shit, and I think largely that is the truth, but I realised the importance of doing this for myself. Primarily, I write for myself regardless, and accept and welcome and am grateful for anyone who reads it beyond me. But I think realising, or remembering, how little people care for something you put out into the universe means you start to put less effort into it. I had multiple ideas for other segments for the third edition that I cut out entirely because I knew no matter what, if delaying the thing happened, or delaying it too much, all I was doing was giving myself more work for no reward. The crux of why I do this, this specific thing, is to share what I have been doing. Base-level. How I spent my time in Europe.

So why put in the effort for anything but?

People are bound to be bored anyway, because my stories and tales do not involve getting wasted on a Tuesday evening in a London pub before falling into bed with a married Brit and waking up without my underwear. Nowhere to be seen. The wildest thing I did in the first complete Monday-Sunday week overseas was cancel plans because I was exhausted, and pay forty pounds for a train ticket.

So, if this edition feels on the side of less-effort, you can understand why: I’m trying to wrangle myself back. I shouldn’t be exhausting myself trying to meet a deadline in my head, or writing incredibly long paragraphs to make it super interesting and in-depth. Meet the demands of the people, and there are none.

“I’m not a horse”, the words of a different child, completely out of context. I can’t explain why she wasn’t a horse, or if she purposefully doesn’t want to be. All I can understand is that I’m not one either and gee it is nice to not be getting whipped.

Keeley Talks [about things that quite literally occurred to him]

wherein I recount the ways in which I was a tourist in whichever part of Europe I found myself in.

Monday the 18th of August:

I began the day with a brisk stroll through Hyde Park. There’s an exorbitant amount of geese—I know this was likely not a human-made, like planting flowerbeds, but the geese outnumber humans measurably. Let’s be grateful they aren’t hateful—and neither are the swans, which gather largely amongst themselves on one of the banks of the river.

Next I ventured to the Natural History Museum, which was certainly high on the list of things I anticipated. It’s a gorgeous museum, and sprawling too, and everything reminded me of David Attenborough and the marvellous work he has done in research of our planet. From the gargantuan Hintz Hall to hearing his voice in the creepy crawlies section, his presence is never forgotten. The Natural History Museum really had everything: an earthquake simulation, a Dodo skeleton, a giant Sequoia stump, a tonne of taxidermied animals, and perhaps the largest collection of minerals I have ever seen in my life, and there was an entire other gallery of them! My little gay science animal-loving heart was overjoyed—only when I saw a taxidermied saiga I wished I was seeing it for real instead.

Afterwards, I ducked quite literally across the road to the Victoria & Albert Museum, or the V&A, which is much less of a mouthful to say. It is no doubt an overwhelming museum for its size, although likely smaller than the British Museum which is labyrinthine. The V&A surprised me for the extent of what lied within—there was the Great Bed of Ware, an overly-large bed I could see myself never moving from; there was a statue of Medusa that threatened to turn me to stone for how captivating it was; there were statues of naked men bearing dicks and asses a plenty. The Ceramics portion, on the very top floor, seemed neverending while I searched for the Furniture hall, which at last was found at the rear. V&A has everything. Jewellery, stained glass, photography, shoes. Butts.

Without question my favourite section of the V&A was the section dedicated to theatre and performance. I beelined for it the moment I saw the arrow directed towards it, and was stunned by everything I was privy to witness. Elphaba’s dress from Wicked, costumes from Matilda the Musical, stage designs from a variety of productions, a costume from Follies! Shoes Tina Turner wore playing The Acid Queen. An outfit Shirley Bassey was frequent to wear which has impressive detailing. Vivian Leigh’s Oscar for A Streetcar Named Desire. I was breathless. For such an avid admirer of the stage and screen, seeing these pieces of history was a pure delight. There was even, randomly, a recreation of Kylie Minogue’s dressing room. They do love her over here.

Tuesday the 19th of August:

After a short hour or so train ride to Dover Priory, I arrived in the seaside town and I could hear the sounds of the sea. Gulls. Water lapping at the stones—a beach in Dover is not sand and it never will be, just stones and pebbles. I couldn’t believe I was at the English seaside, staring out at the grey horizon. The weather was rather dull. Regardless, people were still out and about near the water’s edge, and I trekked up a hill huffing and puffing to quickly realise I couldn’t go any further without paying for a ticket to Dover Castle, so I turned my ass around and headed back down because I had no intention of paying for a castle.

At last, I found the path towards the famed White Cliffs. Immediately I was taken aback by the beauty, really. There is nothing quite like it in my neck of the woods, and being in what felt like the English countryside but high above and overlooking the channel took my breath away. The cliffs are gorgeous and no photograph does them justice. I was in another world, transported the moment I left the carpark at the Visitors Centre. Where I bought a cheese and onion pasty and carried it with me for a while, insanely eating while I climbed up a hill. But there was no time to waste sitting down. I stopped and sat down to finish, but only while I stared out at the gorgeous view.

I had one main objective while walking the cliffs: we were walking through that pitch-black tunnel to Langdon Beach. So, after stopping to take photographs of the wild berries, I trekked from the rise of the cliffs down towards the tunnel, killing my feet with how *imperfect* the path down is. Mind you, people are certainly allowed down this path, but the path itself has other intentions—I told myself if ever I was going to break an ankle on this trip, it was to be while I navigated to the tunnel. At last I made it to said tunnel, like a kid in a candy store, giddiness overload. And while I didn’t dare brave the steep ladder that would have set off my anxiety around heights, it was high tide either way, and there was hardly a beach of stones there. But I made it. The dream.

The obvious turn-around point for the walk along the White Cliffs of Dover is the Lighthouse, but don’t ask me whether said lighthouse has a damn name because I have damn forgotten. I just know it wasn’t Langdon Hole, which was a different part of the walk. The Lighthouse has tours, but it’s a rather short lighthouse, although I mean no offence to its size. There is plenty to do at the spot, including getting tea from the tearoom and a series of activities laid out for the kids. I listened to bird sounds briefly merely out of curiosity. The view of the ocean is surreal, and I squinted to see where I imagined the coastline of France would have been. I refilled my bottle and set back out towards where I had started.

Gee, they rob you blind for a train ticket! After exploring Dover town a little, and coming up rather short on things to be interested about, I retreated to the train station and purchased a ticket back to London. 43 pounds! Just to get back to London from Dover, which is only about an hour away! Although I imagine it might take much longer without a high-speed train. I quickly licked my little wound, because ultimately I couldn’t wait to be back in the hotel room resting.

Wednesday the 20th of August:

A rather uneventful day was on the cards for today, but it was absolutely needed—I am a tired boy who has been largely pushing through his pain, so the chance to be able to take a breather because of shifting plans was absolutely needed. Really, though, I sunk into the chance to rest my legs, but my mind still raced to keep being productive because my time overseas is ultimately limited. I can’t exactly say my time in London is short though—one day without a million things planned can offset how busy I will continue to be until I land back in Australia.

Being able to slowly get out of bed, or rather laze about doing nothing for a while before eventually showering, is not something I get much of on a trip like this. My body is overwhelmed, my feet are covered in blisters, my joints start aching at random…I needed a break, and according to my original schedule I was never going to get one. But sometimes you deviate and it does you some good. I was in bed watching Australian Survivor celebrating the chance to rest my feet.

I took a break from being a lazy sloth to go outside and see a little more of the city—which really just translates to “I found the five-storey bookstore I discovered on my first day here, it’s called Waterstones, and I devoted all the time I wanted to looking through it.” It is truly massive, expansive, and blew my mind. Almost everything I searched for I found—the rare occasions I drew nothing I quickly was distracted by the next shiny object. The bookstore had plenty Toni Morrison, Miriam Toews, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Margaret Atwood…those A24 books I would love to own if I was rich…new works by Emi Yagi and Jacqueline Harpman…there was everything. I simply couldn’t avoid purchasing three books: God Help the Child by Toni Morrison, When the Museum is Closed by Emi Yagi, and Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I could have spent an inheritance.

[I am deeply indebted to a meal deal. The concept alone is genius—you get a main, a snack, and a drink together for a set price from one of the little supermarkets, i.e. Sainsbury’s or Tesco.]

Over the course of my time in London, I have been periodically reading Troubling Love by Elena Ferrante. Given the ample opportunity to read, and the three newly-purchased books, I committed to finishing the novel that day, and did so. Ferrante easily establishes herself as one of my favourite novelists, and Troubling Love is everything I could imagine from a work of her creation. Deeply emotive, seeping in the pain of the past, with a compelling older woman at the centre, the narrative is complicated by the death of Delia’s mother, who may or may not have committed suicide. Every chance I get to read Ferrante, I will take it—I am so enthralled by her prose, even if it has been translated out of Italian.

Thursday the 21st of August:

First on the agenda: The Design Museum. Fashioned over three floors, the free exhibits in the Design Museum range from artist residencies to an exploration of the importance of design in day-to-day life. Bethan Laura Wood’s work is overwhelmingly intriguing and bursting with colour, and I would love to have the carpet in my house. Probably not the caterpillar-inspired cabinet though. She also designed a mug that would stain over time purposefully and based on how the user sipped out of it. The museum also featured glass made from mussel shells and technology through the ages, including one of those TVs that looks like an egg with an opening on the front.

After devouring a beef empanada, I wandered off to Kensington Palace and got more acquainted with Queen Victoria’s childhood. Having lived on the grounds until she was eighteen and took to the throne, Victoria’s father died early, her mother was desperate to get the regent if the current king died too early, and an ass named John Conroy thought he could be controlling, manipulative, and trick Victoria into signing away her own power to him so he was guaranteed a sense of control in her cabinet. Thank god for Indian exercise clubs and a governess who stood firmly with the future queen. Victoria’s childhood may have been complicated, but she was a fine ruler—and thankfully without Conroy’s grotty paws anywhere near her reign. She also married her cousin, because of course she did—I don’t care that he was handsome and they had a wonderful connection, that’s your cousin, Vicky.

The current temporary exhibit at Kensington Palace featured many royal garments and uniforms from the history of the royal family. This included: several of Princess Diana’s outfits, Queen Victoria’s black mourning dress, and two of Princess Margaret’s evening dresses. There were also a series of beautiful designs inspired by the original garments, and I awed at the talent of the designers to create their own masterful looks. Runaway approved too. It was something special being in the presence of clothes Diana had once worn—but it’s always something special being anywhere near something that honours Diana, a woman who died before I even was alive.

While in the King’s apartments, a guide with the Palace was delivering a talk on Queen Anne in the King’s Drawing Room. I stopped, paused the audio guide I was listening to, and listened instead to the guide talk about Queen Anne’s rise to the throne and her friendship with Sarah and Abigail, akin of course to Yorgos Lanthimos’ film The Favourite. And thank goodness the guide mentioned it! I adore The Favourite and feel immediately like rewatching it now that I have stood in the rooms in which she once resided. Did you know she had the Orangery constructed as a greenhouse? It’s an absolutely massive building. It is now unfortunately a restaurant.

Friday the 22nd of August:

Time to say goodbye to London and make my way north to Liverpool! I hopped on the train at Euston, prepared for a two hour train ride that went surprisingly fast, all things considered. Sure, I felt a little sick in the stomach for most of it, and I grumpily got annoyed with the people sitting near me, but water off a duck’s back truly. We made good time, and I had arrived in Liverpool, rearing for a different weekend.

Liverpool is understandably much smaller than London, and wandering the streets headed to my accommodation I quickly realised the pavement is much bumpier and more awkward to navigate too. It’s all crevices and lifted pavers and nothing is simply flat and smooth, and I was exhausted before I even made it the twenty-five minute walk to The Georgian Town House Hotel.

Keeley’s Blunder: This is perhaps the oddest, most awkward check-in I have ever encountered. There is no reception desk at the property, and the front door is naturally locked, so I stood there awkwardly trying the doorbell, hoping someone would help. I was mid-trying to figure out a new solution when the owner came past and thankfully helped, and let me know I was supposed to get a code on an app I just don’t have and never would’ve?? She was lovely and helpful and showed me into my room, which was thankfully on the first floor, so no lugging my heavy suitcase up any more flights of stairs. Finally, some peace.

After setting into the room—it has incredibly high ceilings, a massive bed (at last), and a shower with an unusual system for operation—I ventured back out into Liverpool to do a little more exploring. I briefly ducked into FACT, which was part cinema, part art exhibition space. I for the slightest moment thought about seeing a movie while I was here in town, but I was saving money where I could, which meant it was much more efficient to watch something I’d downloaded on my phone back in the room with the curtains drawn and my clothes half off. Liverpool’s biggest shopping centre, St John’s, is a tad disappointing to witness—it feels old and unexciting, with shops I have never heard about and a vibe that feels grungy and reminds me of Caboolture. But that’s merely the shopping centre—the rest of Liverpool is teaming with culture, although the culture is grunge and underground and hipster, as opposed to high-class artistic.

Afterwards it was time to compare several different supermarkets for breakfast foods, snacks, and dinner—I visited my very first Lidl, which seemed rather similar to ALDI, which I in turn visited…my first European ALDI. Iceland feels off-brand but different again, and Sainsbury’s and Tesco’s are of course old reliables I will turn to again and again. Especially because I can save money with a cheap meal deal. I picked up a packet of Granny Smith apples, some porridge oat bars, and these Kinder Pingui bars I’m obsessed with from Lidl, and then got dinner as a meal deal separately. By then, I was ready to collapse back on the bed and relax.

Saturday the 23rd of August:

Struggling to sleep, struggling to stay asleep, is always something that troubles me. I will always say a new environment makes it more difficult for me to get adjusted, comfortable, and stay asleep. Last night was probably the least sleep I’ve gotten since landing in England—I woke up far too early, unable to fall back asleep, plagued by a distant beeping and an uncomfortable temperature and the anxiety of not having enough energy for what was to come during the day. It would be lovely to not have a difficult relationship with sleep, but I make do.

The reason for being in Liverpool was abundantly clear—I wanted easy access to Chester Zoo, which is deemed UK’s best zoo, and for good reason. It’s a sprawling haven divided into five zones, it’s truly massive and I spent most of the day gasping with my jaw hanging open. Let us begin where I did: the yellow zone, the welcoming zone. The highlights were: the lion-tailed macaques, a creature I had never seen before; the sleepy lowland tapir; the onagers, which look like a beige donkey and seem very nonchalant about doing much of anything; and whatever the hell phloeomys are (they’re adorable!). I was disappointed to not see any tamanduas or anteaters, and happily avoided the bat tunnel, which had an awful queue to get in the entire day anyway.

Crossing over a wooden bridge, the next area of the zoo was the blue zone, perhaps the most impossible zone of Chester Zoo to boil down to any defining feature. The highlights of the blue zone were: the flamingos and Latin America birds, whose enclosure you could wander through—I spent an awful long time here admiring the flamingos and the juveniles, who were still a light grey colour—; the giant otters, at last a different species of otter and incredibly large in contrast to the much smaller Asian short-clawed; the Humboldt penguins, because who doesn’t love watching a penguin swim around in front of a giant glass wall; and the brief glimpse of a snow leopard. I was disappointed to not see the fossa, but so intrigued by the bush dogs, which I saw scurrying around the second time I walked past their enclosure. It was also in the blue zone I noted just how many motorised scooters there were at the zoo—you could almost believe the place rented them out on entry like strollers.

I wandered down to the third leg of my journey: the green zone, or an almost-rainforest zone. It teeters on the cusp, but was not definitively built with a theming in mind. The highlights of the green zone were: seeing two jaguars, including one which many people were incorrectly labelling as a “black panther” (it is of course melanistic, meaning the pigment of its fur is blacker instead of the expected coat); the lazy, lazy sloths hanging above an aquarium of piranha; the babirusa chilling by the fence, minding their own business; getting my first glimpse at an aye-aye, albeit in the darkness under a red light; and the adorable duiker living peacefully with the okapi.

I wandered back past the entrance to head towards the fourth leg of the zoo: the orange zone, which is actually the heart of Africa. The first officially themed region, the highlights were: more flamingos! and their more surprising and gasp-worthy cohabitator, the crowned crane; the vultures on their perches; the adorable little dik-diks; the eagle-owl, which people were slightly harassing for not moving and performing for them; the true clusterfuck of porcupines huddled in a corner of their inside area; and my very first aardvark, although it was flipped upside down in the corner in the dark.

Last but certainly not least, I ventured to the far reaches of the north of the zoo, the pink zone, or the islands zone. The walk there reminded me of walking to the Africa portion of Australia Zoo, long and tiring and crowded with people, albeit the path here was narrower and therefore more difficult to avoid getting stuck behind someone. The fascinating thing about the Islands zone was that it was divided by country, beginning with the Philippines and venturing to Bali, and Papua New Guinea, and Sumatra, etc. The highlights were: the warty pigs, which is their legitimate name and not me insulting them; the Bali mynahs; the bantengs, which yes look like cattle; the sleeping Malayan tapir; and the Monsoon Forest as an overarching exhibit. Impossible to not get a Pineapple Dole Whip while I was walking right past the stall. I was disappointed not to see a Sumatran tiger, or the sun bears, and the tree kangaroos were not on show either, but it is always important to remember a zoo should not be constructed to parade animals like they are something to be stared and ogled at. It is important they feel comfortable and at home as best as they can within the boundaries of living in captivity. Chester Zoo clearly values the happiness of its animals, giving them incredible spaces to inhabit. It’s absolutely one of my favourite zoos I have visited, and a major highlight of England.

Sunday the 24th of August:

Time to explore Liverpool further, and off towards the Tate Liverpool, which I quickly found out was actually closed and only had a small temporary set up further down the road, with two galleries. I was somewhat disappointed I couldn’t see the proper gallery as it was, but the new gallery should be excellent, if I ever find myself in Liverpool again. The two galleries were both interesting—gallery one made me emotional, challenging me to stare in the face of the hardships of minorities. One particular piece about the reason why many, many people had not learned sign language in their lifetime startled me—I didn’t realise Alexander Graham Bell hated the idea of sign language instructors so damn much. The second gallery invited us to look at the various artistic spaces of different artists, be it their homes or public spaces redesigned for artistry. There’s a police station and a train station in Liverpool both converted into artist studios.

Initially I had thought the Museum of Liverpool to be closed—while checking the opening times, Google misled me to suggest it was closed on Sunday. But when I wandered past it was very clearly open, so I was thrilled to walk right in and experience some local history. Liverpool’s port is known for its imports and exports, having a long history of being vital to the trade route, or something like that. Liverpool naturally also can call claim to many famous celebrities, including Kim Cattrall, Jodie Comer, Cilla Black, Pete Burns, and of course, each member of The Beatles. The museum featured a wide range of historical memories, including an overhead train system, what the fabled liverbird was inspired from, and just how absolutely massive that one building whose name I cannot remember is.

This was my final proper day in England. The next day, I embarked on my busiest on-land travel day during the trip, travelling from Liverpool down to London, then across borders to Amsterdam. It’s two trains and several hours, with my day officially starting around 5am and ending likely close to 5pm. Perhaps later. It will wear me down immensely, and I’ll arrive in another foreign country ready to pass out. But for now: goodbye, England, until the very end of my trip. I have had an incredible time exploring, and I know there is so much I did not have the time for or missed entirely. Thank you for being a safe place to land the first time I travel overseas.

Next time: we're in Amsterdam! Find out how I embarrassed myself there.

Curtain Call

wherein I give my unfiltered opinions about the theatre productions I saw on the West End…

While in London, one of my absolute priorities was seeing as much theatre as reasonably possible. My one regret while in London was not seeing more theatre, but alas, I am not made of money or time. Over the course of two-ish weeks I saw five musicals, but within my second week of the holiday, I saw two productions: The Devil Wears Prada at the Dominion Theatre; and Titanique at the Criterion Theatre. What follows will be my personal reviews of the productions, from casting to set design, songs to the script, and even the question of which theatre I found the most gorgeous. Places everyone, it’s the curtain call.

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA at the Dominion Theatre

The Devil Wears Prada is an iconic 2000s romance between Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep, and the musical for the stage takes everything you adore but hardly does anything new or interesting with it. Granted, the script remains largely unchanged, so every quotable line remains intact and delivered by one member or another of the talented cast, but if you were lingering around hoping they would attempt to have an identity of their own you better hope to be thrilled by the glacial pace they move at.

As the one musical I saw in London that I had not heard a single song from, there was a lot of pressure for the music to be interesting. With music by Elton John and lyrics by Shaina Taub and Mark Sonnenblick, there is the idea that the final product should be, but every song is labouringly unexciting except maybe the titular number and Nigel’s defining number “Seen”. Otherwise, as seen by the roll-out for the cast recording, they tout “Miranda Girl” as their version of a lead single, and golly is it unexciting. Surface-level and pigeonholing Andy Sachs into the role of the innocent, excitable new girl on the scene, Georgie Buckland has talent but her take on the character feels wrong. It’s the idea in theatre that everything needs to be bigger and flashier, and for Andy Sachs, it leaves her feeling overly eager and at times insufferable for it.

I can’t talk about the music of The Devil Wears Prada musical without mentioning how much I absolutely hated the character assassination within “I Only Love You for Your Body”. Here is a song that does not understand the characters of Andy and Nate AT ALL and pretends they are the sort of people to jokingly pretend they’re vain and body-obsessed until it actually wears off on them. “I Only Love You for Your Body” is not even a strong song, either. It offers nothing to the plot except this pseudo-narrative that you can be in love with someone without just obsessing over how hot they are, but because this is essentially our introduction to Andy and Nate’s relationship there is no previous knowledge of what their relationship is like, and this literally never gets mentioned again. The song sucks and made me think they were writing the relationship to be more insufferable when in reality…Andy and Nate’s relationship is virtually an afterthought in the musical.

Vanessa Williams is a fantastic Miranda Priestly, but largely because she isn’t doing a Meryl Streep impersonation. She takes the role on with her own charisma, delivering the classic lines without treading over the material in an attempt to be the film’s Miranda. It was surreal to be witnessing Vanessa Williams on stage in front of my eyes, and there are certain things like that you just appreciate, especially because she was fantastic. Even if they cut one of my favourite moments in the film, where Andy is egged on into going upstairs and she makes awkward eye-contact with an emotional Miranda. But maybe it wouldn’t have been so feasible on stage.

Amy Di Bartolomeo is the other true standout for me—her Emily feels like a sendup to Emily Blunt’s performance without being an impersonation. Honour without repeating. She’s hilarious, endearing, with a fantastic voice despite having uninteresting songs to work with. Di Bartolomeo is perfectly cast and oftentimes holds her own opposite Vanessa Williams.

Did I hate The Devil Wears Prada musical? No, of course not. I got to experience a film I absolutely adore transported onto the stage, starring Vanessa Williams. The music is disappointingly bland, and a musical relies so much on music to be successful, but it wasn’t a complete waste. There is a lot that can be done to salvage this musical, but I wonder if its worth saving. As a novelty vehicle for Vanessa Williams, The Devil Wears Prada might have hit its peak on the West End stage. Release the cast recording and maybe we move on.

TITANIQUE at the Criterion Theatre

I first saw Titanique in Sydney earlier this year and absolutely loved it. It is one of the most hilarious musicals I’ve seen on stage—it is raunchy, crude, inappropriate, and lowkey unhinged in regard to the fact that it so boldly parodies a film about an actual disaster. In case you are unaware—Titanique is the plot of the film Titanic but if Celine Dion was actually on board the famed “unsinkable” ship, and everyone sings Celine Dion songs to advance the plot. It is just so thick with jokes and hilarity, and I was somewhat worried about understanding the British humour within it. Another thing to note: Titanique adapts to where in the world it plays, and when I saw it in Sydney there were various Australia-specific jokes that wouldn’t land overseas no matter what. They just wouldn’t be funny if you knew nothing about Australia, but I’m grateful for having seen it here first to at least understand the context of any reference I didn’t entirely understand. It isn’t impossible to pick up on context clues though. But Titanique’s adaptable script means seeing it in London made me feel like I was a proper Brit laughing along to jokes I would otherwise probably not find so understandable.

Featuring hits like “I Drove All Night”, “All By Myself”, “Beauty and the Beast” and of course, the song that started it all, “My Heart Will Go On”, Titanique is like a Cliff Notes version of the film, because there was no way in hell we need the full three hours on stage, even if it is as hilarious as Titanique is. Every memorable moment is spoofed—Rose is mere inches from killing herself off the front of the ship, and Jack basically convinces her to step down because he wants to tap that ass; the Heart of the Ocean is absolutely massive, half the length of Rose’s body, and when she poses in the nude for Jack to paint her like one of his French girls, it looks gaudy against the literal pixelation of her body.

The show really allows its cast to have fun. There are elements of improv scattered throughout—at one point in the musical, when Jack and Rose meet at the clock, Celine Dion improvises each performance what they said to one another, typically a reference to something in the pop culture sphere, and the actors for Jack and Rose lip-sync along and basically do whatever Celine tells them. The role of “Victor Garber” …yes, they literally just named him after the actor instead of whatever his character’s name is in the movie…is a double-cast with Jack’s Italian sidekick who is *quite literally* Luigi of Mario & Luigi fame. It’s animated, it’s stupid, but we love it and eat up every bit of it like spaghetti, or pizza, or something else inherently stereotypical. The role of Ruth DeWitt Bukater, Rose’s mother, is always played by a man in “loose drag”, in that you can very much tell it is a man wearing women’s clothing with not a lot of makeup. If anything, the decision makes the character truly pop on stage and makes her more relevant than I imagine she really is in the film. What can I say, people love a sassy diva cussing out her daughter and lusting after the attractive Cal…

When I saw the show in London, the actor playing Ruth built upon the scripted outburst the character has when she gets absolutely livid with Rose. It’s an outstanding moment in the show overall—Ruth breaks the fourth wall and starts harassing the on-stage band, tossing their sheet music everywhere, having an all-timer breakdown. But I don’t remember when I saw it in Sydney seeing the actor curse out the theatre for being so stinking hot, and in the moment you could just taste the passion in the actor, who was sort of embracing being a diva in the sole moment they realistically could before it became a shamed-upon taboo again. I was in hysterics and my stomach hurt.

Titanique is so much fun and if you are ever able to go see it, I highly recommend it. Especially if you can ease off taking everything so seriously. It’s high camp, laden with pop culture references, including a Drag Race lip sync for your life, and stacked to the brim with Celine Dion songs. It’s on a smaller scale to everything else I saw while I was in London, but that doesn’t take away from how incredible it is and how much fun you will have while sitting in the audience, grateful you weren’t on the ship while it was sinking. Or maybe envious, too, because you could have met Celine Dion.

SUPERLATIVES

Favourite Musical: Cabaret. This was such an incredible dream come true to me and I absolutely loved Cabaret. If I ever get the chance again, I will see it without even thinking.

Favourite Songs: “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” from Evita and “Cabaret” from Cabaret.

MVPs:

Rachel Zegler [duh]
Rob Madge
Vanessa Williams [duh]
Amy Di Bartolomeo
Diego Andres Rodriguez

Most Gorgeous Theatre: the Theatre Royal Drury Lane.

Best Aesthetics (pre-show): Cabaret.

Best Costuming and Set Design: everything but Evita [they did nothing]

Shows I Wish I’d Had the Time and Money to See: My Neighbour Totoro; Back to the Future the Musical; Six; Wicked [because I’m told they “do it British” with accents and I’d kill to see that]; Matilda the Musical; The Lion King; Stereophonic; The Play That Goes Wrong; Les Miserables; The Mousetrap [because it has been open in that theatre for so damn long].

Go Forth...

I love to recommend things. As someone who consumes a lot of media, lots of art, I am always brimming with something to recommend, something for someone else to ingest...even if their opinion on the thing, the art, the media differs from mine. It is always important to remember that tastes vary, and one person's snide disapproval of something you adore does not diminish the fact you love something. So, go forth and ingest something from me to you. Sounds like I'm regurgitating into your mouth.

Films: West Side Story (2021); The Devil Wears Prada; and both versions of Suspiria.

Books: When the Museum is Closed by Emi Yagi [she falls in love with a talking statue]

Music: "River Deep, Mountain High" [Glee Cast Version]; "Dangerous" by Hailee Steinfeld from the Sinners soundtrack.

Television: the "Ted & Mary" episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm because we love Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen; and This Country