This morning we took the Tube into London and went to the National Portrait Gallery. We'd just quickly walked through this museum a couple years ago, and we decided we wanted to do it more completely this time. It's a wonderful but strange museum. It isn't really an art museum because quite a few of the portraits there are not great art. And, in a modern sense, it isn't a history museum, either. We no longer view history as the exploits of a group of heroic people, particularly when almost all of them are male, white, and affluent. But despite these failings, it is still a fascinating place to learn about some people you never knew existed, and to learn a little more about some other than you thought you knew a lot about. We did the audio tour, of course. We like audio tours.
After the museum, we met Vicki and Jerry at the Palace Theatre to see the matinee of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
This was a big hit in Sydney. It's an adaptation of the movie of the same name about the exploits of three female impersonators traveling through the bush from Sydney to Alice Springs. I think there is some original music in it, but mostly it borrows freely from lots of earlier hit songs. That makes sense for people who specialize in lip synching, I suppose. The special effects are good, and the costumes are utterly amazing and absolutely hysterical. Vicki and Jerry had a great time. I did not expect to like it - being like Mikey, the kid in the old Life cereal commercials who hates everything - but I had a good time, too. Afterwards we had dinner at this neat place called Wagamama. It's sort of like Noodle Planet in Westwood, but a little nicer and with an alcohol license.
It was still light when Jerry drove us home past some of the landmarks of London’s tonier neighborhoods.
