But, damn, I want some sort of credit for walking the streets of London in my 1920s get-up. Dudes, I RODE THE FUCKING UNDERGROUND while wearing a fascinator.
And, honestly, I didn't "walk the streets" dressed like this. I fucking strode. First, because it's something of an empowering outfit; and second, because, fuck it, I know people are going to stare at me while I'm crossing Leicester Square, I might as well fucking own it.
I'm saying "fuck" a lot. So did the Feasty Blinders.
So, yeah, Peaky Blinders pop-up. I thought I read somewhere that it has nothing at all to do with the television program and is instead based on the real gang in Birmingham and...
... yeah. And it's got all the characters that were invented for the TV program, and the fact that the show ends with the band playing a ten-minute of cover of "Red Right Hand" is PURELY coincidental. Tonight was the last night of "Feasty Blinders" and I wouldn't at all be surprised if it was because of Cease & Desist letters.
You buy your ticket online and you aren't told of the location until a few days before the event. Fuck that, I Googled. (Well, honestly, no luck there, but I found it when I searched Twitter.) A cabaret/club I could easily find. OK then. Had some issues ordering tickets because it was one of those rolling on-sales, so I couldn't buy tickets until they e-mailed me a code, and they didn't e-mail it to me until the middle of the night (because time zones) and long story slightly less long, I ended up with a shit restricted view ticket. (I almost didn't buy it, but, at that point, I sort of bought it out of spite, if that makes sense.)
And then, Monday, I got the email with the location and it was a different damn club. (Points to London for having at least two 1920s cabaret establishments, so the switch was easy.) The good news is my shit rear stalls ticket turned into a balcony ticket. The better news is I showed up in time to claim the best seat at my table -- right up against the railing, with a terrific view of the stage.
I am sitting next to a British couple and I bring out the small talk. They've ordered a bottle of Moet, so I ask if they're celebrating anything. They explain that they're spending 6 months doing fun things to celebrate their 25 anniversary. I understand immediately. Boy, do I understand (says the woman with a two-year-long celebration of turning 50). We chat and she discloses she's a HUGE fan of the TV show (no shit, lady), so we talk about that for a bit and we manage a good two hours (in between dinner courses and entertainment) before the husband asks if I'm thumbs-up or thumbs-down on Trump. Honestly, in the current climate, I'm impressed it took that long to ask the American about her politics.
The entertainment is a band, doing swing-style covers of a lot of things you wouldn't expect swing-style covers of. (Like, You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) or Time of the Season.) There were a couple of burlesque dancers who we saw four freakin' times. (I wondered if one was an understudy. I wondered this because she kept looking at the other girl, while the other girl kept smiling and looking at the audience.) And then there was the whole Peaky-- sorry, sorry, FEASTY Blinders thing. Whereby the members of the Shelby family and Alfie Solomons were opening up the Eden Club they'd taken over from Mr. Sabini. This was SO not Peaky Blinders, you could pin down exactly which season and episode it wasn't taken from. There's fighting and cussing and the dude playing Tommy keeps saying "No fucking fighting," and everybody laughs because we know there's going to be fighting.
The 1920s attire wasn't mandatory, but nearly everyone played along. (To the point where the people who didn't stood out.) Props to the dude who went full-on shirt, waistcoat and cap... but accompanied it with shorts in deference to the weather. (I only noticed him in the line for the bar; sitting as his table, he looked the same as everyone else but was probably more comfortable.) And there was something very cool about it all. People drinking and dancing at a club is something you see every day; but people being all dressed up in their '20s finery added some much-needed flair.
Look, when you get right down to it, the Peaky Blinders tie-in element was a little disappointing. I'd bet they spent more time on the mediocre burlesque dancers than the Peaky storyline. (And as soon as you say to yourself, "I wonder how they're going to end it," you instantly figure it out.) But it did bring two important things to the table from the audience point of view. First, it got us all dressed up so we were in the spirit of playing along. And second, it got us all immediately on the side of the good and righteous Shelby brothers (and their nice, peace-loving friend, Mr. Solomons) against the evil Sabini. We weren't 300 strangers in a club; we were all friends of the gang, come to have a good time in the city.
Or, as the band leader put it when he promised to play as long as we wanted to listen, "Let's get fucked!"
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