An Englishman Abroad - Gary Naylor Goes To Copenhagen

Though it’s perhaps unfair to compare the two Capital Cities of the UK and Denmark, I shall, despite the fact that Copenhagen is more akin to Glasgow in size. It is, nevertheless, devoid of provincialism - that this is the administrative and cultural centre of an old, seafaring country of islands, rather like our own, is written in the streets and you feel it in the air.

Any European capital must have its opera house (except in Italy, when it’s pretty much anything above a village that gets one) and Copenhagen has its statement building of course, but not without some controversy. This is a country in which the State works, with perhaps no more than a 20th century level of public distrust and disappointment in government. A high taxation economy for sure, but just look what it pays for.

That expenditure did not, however, include its opera house, built in the early noughties and funded by Maersk, the name on so many shipping containers around the world. That did not sit well with many Danes, especially Henning Larsen, its architect, who was so pissed off by the piper, Mærsk Mc-Kinney Møller, calling the tune that he wrote a book about it, the advanced ages of the men proving no obstacle to the bitterness they felt. That said, what’s opera without a feud ?

Your correspondent was braving the chill winds for another feud, first written by our own Shakey in Romeo and Juliet, and then transformed by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim with West Side Story. Three years ago, this production won a five star review from BroadwayWorld (Google Translates is your friend) and it’s fair to say that, like the guests at Frank’n’Furter’s castle, I was quivering with anticip...pation.

Half an hour earlier, I was merely quivering, standing in the open, very clean, very cold air on the little boat that glides between Copenhagen’s islands, its electric motor silent, the bikes that fill this most civilised of city’s roads inaudible, the ticket all-in with your bus-metro-boat pass. It’s hard to put into words just how easily Denmark lulls you into relaxed mode, like an antithesis of Italy. It’s a contradiction I know, but I love both! 

First port of call was the impressive Royal Danish Playhouse, the equivalent of our National Theatre, which stands almost opposite Operaen (The Opera) on the sea and is also beautifully appointed. Five minutes gliding across the still water and I was at the building that has the look of the now abandoned City Hall near the Bridge Theatre in London, but, like so much else in Copenhagen, much, much more expensively constructed and maintained. Our privately funded Barbican Centre is already facing into a mammoth renewal project - but they do things differently in Scandinavia.

The 19th century Old Stage still sits magnificently on a magnificent square looking like Werner Herzog is longing to haul it over a mountain. In use to this day, I shall book a guided tour for my next visit to the land of big theatres and little mermaids. 

Back in the 21st century, after a flash of our QR codes by one of the many staff who all look like they’ve stepped out from an H&M poster, we were into the beautiful circular foyer as spacious as a London theatre’s is cramped. Level after level stretched above us, staircases spiralling round to max out the potential for views. There are five - I counted them - floors inside the auditorium and a scarcely credible 14 in total, five of which are underground, within the building. ‘House’ seems too small a word.

After a jolt at the cardreader prompted by the price of a cup of coffee (but then I recalled the prices at the bars of the West End, so…) I eyed my fellow audience members. Like a typical London throng, they were oldish, wealthyish and whiteish - taller, healthier and far, far less frazzled though. It’s amazing how not having to suffer a jam-packed, deafening Tube ride at greenhouse temperatures before the added delight of the lift at Covent Garden station can improve your demeanour. I’d suggest that it was the Ozempic that was holding back the middle-age spread, but I’ve been coming to Scandinavia for three decades and they have always looked like that. I hope my sons got more than their share of maternal Nordic genes and a bit less of mine!

The show itself was a huge production, with a splendid orchestra under Robert Houssart playing the greatest score in Musical Theatre from behind the stage, often descending below before ascending above, the music hitting us like a tidal wave. There was much use of height in the staging too, platforms rising and falling, the dynamism of New York evident despite the bare set, the vibe a little like the celebrated Nick Hytner production of Guys and Dolls recently.

Everyone looked fantastic, naturally, with Linda Arunee Drenck cast perfectly as Maria, convincing as a teenage ingenue, but with the voice to deliver those songs and that pain. Julie Steincke all but stole the show as Anita, sassy (of course, she’s sassy!) but, after the horrific scene in Doc’s shop with the psychotic remnants of The Jets, incandescent with anger and irrevocably hurt. It’s seeing that rape on stage that forces you to understand her betrayal of Maria, a volte face that needs that appalling crime to work dramatically. 

Mikkel Hoé brings all the boyish charm to Tony and can really sing to complement the fine acting required. His quality was such that I was struck more strongly than ever with the parallels between “Tonight” on the fire escape and the window scene in Shakespeare’s play. I’d like to see him essay a Romeo in London some time soon.

Just time for a very cold boat and very comfortable metro ride back to the hotel and a Youtubeing of PJ Proby’s “Somewhere” (my favourite version, capturing not just the dream of “a place for us” but also the frustration that there isn’t one) before bed and a reckoning with the credit card tomorrow.  

And also a Champions League football match - and that was a lot cheaper than London too!

West Side Story at Operaen Main Stage until 21 December. Prices start at 150 Danish Krone (about £17). In Danish with English surtitles.

Photo images: Miklos Szabo