Into the Apollo

Like many other people, I was very upset yesterday to hear of the accident at London's Apollo Theatre when parts of the roof fell down onto the audience during a performance. It is something one simply does not expect to happen. Miraculously no one was killed. I know this theatre well, having seen many plays there over the years, and just a couple of weeks when walking past the rear of the theatre, I spotted an open door in the back wall, beyond which I caught a magical glimpse of a lighted chandelier –presumably a lighting fixture above the stage or possibly in the auditorium. Such things are not meant to be seen from outside –the interior of a theatre is a private world of magic, so peeping inside felt a little bit like half-opening a present before Christmas. I was struck by the contrast of the majesty of the chandelier and the bland normality of the brickwork of the theatre. Whereas the front-of-house and auditoriums of many London theatres are gilded temples, everything backstage and back-theatre is startlingly basic. But the lavishness of many of these old theatres, like so much of the stucco and moulding that came crashing down last night, is an illusion. They may seem solid and ever-lasting, but clearly they are not. Location: London, England