LONDON — “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” as Shakespeare’s Henry IV says. On the day I arrived here last week, my taxi from Paddington Station got caught in dense traffic near Buckingham Palace, where there was a double changing of the guard. First, there were the Queen’s horse guards going through their daily paces to the delight of tourists.
But, unusually, there was also a changing of the guard at 10 Downing Street, as David Cameron resigned and fellow Conservative Theresa May became Great Britain’s 54th prime minister. The British do such transitions with somber flair, by which I mean that they recognize the continuity of their institutions and enjoy the rituals that are part of the occasion even if they are unhappy about what is transpiring.
In this case, Cameron resigned after badly managing his party’s efforts for the United Kingdom to remain a member of the European Union during a referendum on June 23. Cameron was a “Remainer.” To the surprise of many throughout the nation, those favoring leaving the E.U. — campaigning for what has come to be called ‘Brexit’ — prevailed 52 percent to 48 percent. Londoners voted heavily to remain by 59.9 percent to 40.1 percent with support coming from members of both Tory and Labour leaders and voters.
My hotel is tucked on a side street near Old Scotland Yard and Whitehall, the main thoroughfare that leads to Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament and, in the other direction, toward Buckingham Palace. Traffic crept as the changing of the governmental guard took place. I watched it all, first from my taxi and then from my hotel room.
When Cameron left 10 Downing Street to tender his resignation to Queen Elizabeth, movers came to take away his family’s possessions. When he departed Buckingham Palace, another small motorcade arrived 32 seconds later bringing Theresa May to see the queen. In the meantime, other movers arrived at Downing Street to deliver the new prime minister’s boxes.
Many local people, seeking a sense of stability in troubled times, reminded themselves that one resident of 10 Downing Street would be a remainer: Larry, the cat, whose official title is Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office, will continue to do what his feline sensibilities compel him to.
The proverbial upper lip here is not so much stiff as paralyzed. All of my British friends and acquaintances, mostly “Remainers” but also a few “Exiters,” are shell-shocked not only by the results of the referendum but everything that has happened since. The British pound has lost value, the government fell, and many politicians in both major parties either resigned or are on the verge of being sacked. News in Britain is happening at such a clip that it is hard for citizens to absorb each development. Not to mention everything else that has happened in the world, including the horrific act of terrorism in Nice on Bastille Day, the attempted coup d’etat in Turkey and the endless twists and turns of the saga that is the American presidential campaign. To me, the quick change of government here in Britain was admirably efficient.
This week-long visit for work is just the latest in an ongoing relationship I have with London that dates back to 1973, when I was a teenager. The city has changed remarkably, almost unrecognizably, in these 43 years. There have been times when it was charming, others when it was grotty, still others when it was the epitome of cool and edginess and others when it seems to have lost its way. Right now it is the latter. There are only been two constants: Queen Elizabeth II still reigns and Londoners maintain their devotion to culture that gives them meaning. The variety of options for arts lovers in this anxious mid-July is astounding.
As is my wont, I went to as many performances and exhibitions as I could squeeze in among my meetings and appointments. As great art inevitably does, what I saw informed my impressions of what was going on in today’s London. I wondered if David Cameron, who remarked at his last “Prime Minister’s Questions” in Parliament that “the diary for the rest of my day is remarkably light,” might enjoy some of the cultural offerings I enjoyed.
He might consider the Almeida Theatre’s superb production of Richard III. The production, in basic black on an intimate stage, is in modern dress and makes a brilliant connection to the present day in ways I will not divulge. It was directed by Rupert Goold with an excellent company of actors led by Ralph Fiennes and Vanessa Redgrave as Queen Margaret. It has been a very long time since I have heard Shakespeare spoken as well as Fiennes did. By not overplaying Richard’s evil, Fiennes made clear how someone with huge political ambition and no moral filter can wreak havoc on others while wallowing in his own psychodrama. The play will have a live transmission on July 21 to theaters around the world, including many venues in North America. There will be repeat showings for the next month. The only scheduled showing in New York City is at the Kew Gardens Cinemas in Queens on Aug. 14, though others might come to the area.
I would have invited Cameron to the BBC Proms, which began on July 15 and calls itself the world’s largest music festival. I don’t know if he got to Boris Godunov on July 16 in a concert version starring Bryn Terfel with Antonio Pappano leading the forces of the Royal Opera. Promoted on the BBC as “The Power! The People! The Politics!”, it showed how a ruler can suddenly be dethroned. Terfel is a splendid Boris. It strikes me that “the people” in this opera are kept from the halls of power and must watch, with dismay, as one flawed leader is replaced by another.
Had Cameron gone to the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden on July 13, he could have heard Pappano conduct a beautiful Werther. He would have heard Vittorio Grigolo sing “Pourquoi me reveiller?”, about a man who cannot understand why he has been rejected. Better still, he could have found solace in Joyce DiDonato’s gorgeous performance as Charlotte. Everyone in the theater was still talking about the fascinating conversation she had recently with Dame Janet Baker in which these two splendid mezzos from different generations explored their artistry and lives. It has been preserved on video and is definitely worth watching.
On July 14, Cameron could have joined thousands of Londoners in Trafalgar Square to watch a live transmission from Covent Garden of Il Trovatore, conducted by Gianandrea Noseda.
I attended the opera in the theater the next evening and especially enjoyed Noseda’s visceral conducting and the thrilling singing of Anna Pirozzi (Leonora), Marina Prudenskaya (Azucena) and Gregory Kunde (Manrico). Noseda and Kunde both received the London-based International Opera Awards in May in their respective categories. Why is Kunde, a New Yorker, not singing regularly at the Met?
There are interesting things going on at the Royal Opera. The building has been on this footprint since the 18th century and is surrounded by a densely populated area. An expansion done in the 1990s based on 1980s thinking is already out of date. The public areas of the building are being redesigned so that more light is admitted, and there is more interaction between the activities of the opera house and the bustling street life of the piazza of Covent Garden, one of the busiest and most popular squares in London. A company member said to me that the project, called Open Up, “will foster an emotional transformation of an opera house and how people think about opera.” The public spaces will offer dining opportunities to everyone and also have performances and classes. The project, paid for entirely with private donations and no government support, is scheduled to be completed at some point in 2018. Meanwhile, allow extra time when you go to a performance.
There are two art exhibitions I got to that I would recommend to Cameron. One is a big show at the Royal Academy of David Hockney. It is a remarkable unfurling, in 82 portraits, of the kind of psychological subtlety that an able politician could benefit from. I will write about Hockney and opera in an upcoming article.
At the British Museum is a small but beautiful exhibition about Sicily which has seen, through the millennia, the continuous rise and fall of civilizations. We might forget who governed the island in one century or another, but the art that survives tell us how people lived. Or, as Hippocrates reminds us, “Ars longa, vita brevis.”