For a long time the only action you’d get in the Bush was crackhead spotting, but things are changing. (N.B. Bush=Shepherds Bush. Not George Bush, the Australian Bush or a bush between the legs) As Notting Hill house prices rocket like Armstrong, people are beginning to totter over the roundabout, and with them brings a demand for restaurants, theatre, Westfield and a snazzy new green (incidentally it was shat on almost immediately) You should see THIS. Yup – it seems you can take the Bush out the shit, but you can’t take the shit out the Bush.
The Bush theatre has been knocking around for years, but it was tiny. I mean really tiny. I was once so close to Joseph Fiennes in Anthony Weigh’s brilliant play on paedophilia 2,000 feet away, I felt a bead of his sweat hit my forehead. That was HOT, but other evenings were just hellish.
No longer – it now resides in the Shepherds Bush Library. A moment of silence for the library please. Books are NEVER the eviction I’d choose in Big Brother. However, it does mean the Bush Theatre has upped its act, and this was certainly evident in Disgraced. I hate to name drop (lying – I love it) but my aunt’s sister’s bloke was performing in it, so it called for a family night out on the Bush.
Ayad Akhtar’s Disgraced won the 2013 Pulitzer Prize for Drama and I am bloody pleased it did. The writing is teeth clenchingly good. We watch the downfall of a successful and happily married lawyer, Amir Kapoor. Having spent years detaching from his Muslim upbringing, it’s soon clear what he thinks is quite different to what he feels. Amir hosts a small lunch with his wife, where things escalate out of control. Drunk and under pressure from work, he says things which cause extreme offence. The New Yorker facade Anish has spent years building up, crumbles in seconds. He is left only with an identity defined by the long rejected culture of his childhood.
The play is brave and poignant, and the production polished. On leaving the theatre my mind was buzzing with questions about the self and what it means to be human. I can’t say I’m any surer…
Minds in overdrive and tummies starving, we descended upon a Lebanese restaurant (my Dad’s choice, and a very funny one for a family outing) The walls were covered with hideous moving pictures of the Eiffel Tower, and the staff kept trying to smuggle us into a seedy sitting room in the basement. They were obviously lacking a booze license. Occasionally a dolled up chica would waltz around demanding shisha. It was a hot spot for action and the chicken was yum. And being naughty feels so good – even if it’s just eating in an unlicensed restaurant.
It was quite an evening for Shepherd’s Bush. And me. I won’t be watching crackheads anymore, but will keep a close eye on the career of Ayad Akhtar.
