Last night we went to see a preview of the 'immersive dining' show, Le Chat Noir, in West Kensington. It was a chance for the company to effectively do a dress rehearsal to a full house, feeding us three courses of French-themed food and putting on a slightly bawdy show of songs, dance and magic based on the idea of the original Chat Noir nightclub in Paris.
In a very similar way to the London version of the show Cabaret, we were led through fabric tunnels with Art Nouveau-style paintings on the canvas, and greeted by a French-speaking chap before being seated.
I've been to one of these shows at The Lost Estate before: it's essentially a cunningly-designed small warehouse building that holds probably around 180 people. The dress rehearsals are run-throughs that are attended by people from the local community (or honorary locals like me), and so the audiences are diverse in age, social background and heritage: probably quite hard to please, in some ways, but also rewarding in others.
Just as with the previous one, it was remarkable how well the lighting was designed in the area where we sat at tables and ate together. We were mixed in with other people we didn't know, a charming couple of courting elders and a woman who had come on her own. There was a VIP section too, but there wasn't a feeling of segregation.
The food was nice: paté to start with, with bread and cornichons and tiny pickled onions. We were introduced to 'Erik Satie', and the show began. It was a slow take-off, although the Master of Ceremonies gave it his all right from the beginning. There were four main characters apart from him: a Pierrot, a woman Opera Singer, a woman Burlesque Dancer, and a Magician. There was an excellent band: a violin, a cello, drums and an accordion. In fairness you could say the first section was very much about introducing us to the performers, though it was a little light on energy. You could see that the performers knew what they were doing, but the stops hadn't been pulled out to the full.
After the first course though, things really took off. It's very hard to describe it all. The woman singer with the excellent voice suddenly turned into a Principal Boy, lustily singing the song from Carmen that we all know with such an erotic charge that she ended up performing it as a series of meows to the very flirtatious Burlesque Dancer, who turned out to be very good at 'acting face'. The Pierrot donned a pair of horns and took part in a very funny mock bullfight, and the MC declaimed a completely obscene poem about his aunt's pussy. Oh deary me! All in the name of art, I believe. The magician did an impressive trick involving a picture of a beach with a skull on the shore, and another where he shot a pack of cards that he'd flung in the air and caught the correct one that an audience member had chosen on the point of his sword. It all ended in a mass humpathon, and a lusty round of applause from a pretty sozzled audience. Along with way we'd sung a song in meows ourselves, cheered an execution, got to know our neighbours and had a jolly good, if confusing, time. The design was classy, the serving staff were impeccable, and it was a lot of fun in the end.
Picture of the MC drawn on paper napkin: no phones allowed. He didn't have a top hat- that's artistic licence! At one point he had a microphone inside a tuba, which was very Thomas Truax. I also drew the dancer, who was the favourite performer of a woman sitting at the table with us, and I gave that to her to take home.
In total contrast, this afternoon was spent watching the Ken Loach film The Old Oak. His films are completely pitch perfect; it's hard to believe that the cast are acting. Even in the background of crowd scenes, the cast utterly believe in what is happening in the story. No-one zones out, not even the children. It made me cry and reminded me of all the other real-life people who are just naturally kind, and don't get rewarded for it in any way; it is the way they are made. Unkind people often have the loudest voices and the most bombastic self-belief, but it doesn't mean that they are right.
So a night of artificiality was followed by an afternoon of authenticity. What an intense weekend. It will take at least a week to recover from.
Postscript: I've just remembered that on Batman this morning, our superhero attempted to sing I'm Little Buttercup (from the Gilbert and Sullivan opera HMS Pinafore) to Robin, with a red rose clasped in his hand. I'm pretty confident that this wasn't a dream but it sure as heck felt like it.
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