To the Phoenix Cinema in Finchley for a screening of The History Boys, preceded by a Q&A with Alan Bennett himself. A comical moment kicks off the proceedings when the National Treasure is welcomed to the stage. He has to walk down the auditorium aisle from the back of the cinema, but his way is obstructed by a handful of latecomers still getting to their seats, along with a smattering of people suddenly getting up to go to the refreshments kiosk or the toilets. He stands halfway along the aisle, waiting for these people to pass, with an embarrassed smirk as the applause continues for just that little bit too long. Given he’s a writer who specialises in the very English fear of social embarrassment, it almost seems scripted.
And then, as with so many London Q&As in cinemas I’ve attended, the microphone doesn’t work. The event is a benefit for the venue, a beautiful Edwardian cinema struggling to retain its independence. I can only hope they spend some of the revenue on better microphones.
From yesterday.
A giveaway sign that Dad doesn’t live in London: as we walk around town close to 4pm, he looks on the umpteen aggressive vendors of free newspapers as a curious novelty and a generous service; not the plague of superfluous irritation they’ve become for commuters.
