Charles Dickens and Forbidden Planet

No, I did not meet Charles Dickens on a Forbidden Planet. Though that has possibities for a short story.

Dickens House

When can I move in?

This is, like the Sherlock Holmes Museum, a house that has relatively small floors but many of them. I remember reading a book on Victorian London that described the houses in detail—tall and skinny, with about three or four flights typically. Sally had felt out of place at the Sherlock Holmes Museum and described it as fannish rather than scholarly, but she wasn’t as certain about whether the Dickens House was more scholarly or fannish. I think it qualifies as both—after all, there are not only things like manuscripts, but also little things that Dickens owned. But no wax figures.

Dragon claw holding a crystal ball—I thought a modern phenomena, but Dickens had a pocketknife with that for a handle, holding a red and white porcelain ball. The claw looks like it could have come out of the same mould as any contemporary dragon claw pendant.

Forbidden Planet

It really is forbidden—we wandered back and forth around that weird intersection, around Oxford Street and New Oxford Street and all these other interconnecting streets (gee, doesn’t that sound like Piccadilly Circus), and her majesty—big surprise—got all foul tempered yet again. There she was, complaining, grumbling, stomping, and grabbing the map out of my hands. I, on the other hand, stepped into a comic books store and asked for directions (rather more productive than having a temper tantrum)—it turned out that my map, which came with Forbidden Planet marked on it, is incorrect—the store had moved. We eventually found it, in any case, and I admired a lot of books and action figures, and Sally bought a bunch of Dr. Who books. Some statues were inside a great glass case—they included a beautiful Edward Scissorshands (at least 16 inches tall and out of my budget) and some Dr. Who figures.

The performance of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, at the Olivier Theatre (part of the Royal National Theatre) included a scene in which the mother character rides around in a carriage (the stage had a revolving section, like in Les Miz) and behind her “carriage” landed a huge pile of horse dung, which stopped right in front of her husband, Hero’s dad. He stood still looking at it with a scowl, downstage center. My sister and I sat in the front row, and she laughed so loudly that the actor, without changing his facial expression, turned to her and scowled at her the same way. I then laughed louder. Soon quite a number of audience members were, like the actor on stage, looking at us!

The chorus consisted of approximately six young male actors who continually made quick changes because they played different groups of characters, such as slaves, eunuchs, and soldiers. At intermission I said, “There sure are some cute chorus boys.” Sally agreed. We also both thought that one of them looked a lot like Michael Crawford when he played Hero in the film version of Forum. During the curtain call, when the chorus members made their bow, Sally let out a loud, shrill, and extremely enthusiastic “Whooooo-hoooo!” True, I think she said at intermission that chorus members don’t have it easy and she’s been one a couple times. And I mentioned the time I was a wardrobe mistress, so I also relate to all the quick changes they did.