LONDON THEATRE AT ITS BEST: Part 1 of 2

This year London "Theatre" runs to George Segal and an unusual selection of American actors as tourism is off 10% and there’s a push to pull "colonials" into the stalls. So tickets should be easier than ever. We know, we’re theatre buffs. On our last London visit we survived a long, bumpy and late flight from Idaho. We grabbed bags, trained into Victoria Station, bought our underground passes, took underground with a transfer at Earl's Court to Parson's Green, had a lunch beer in our favorite pub where they remembered us from our last trip and walked a couple of blocks to our favorite B&B. Sally, our hostess, was delighted to see us. "Well, you're late, but you made it. Going to rest from jet lag?" she asked.

"Nope, we're off to the British Museum to see my favorite sculpture and then it's "pub grub" and Kiss Me Kate."

KMK, whatever its drawbacks, does keep you awake. We stayed 12 days and managed 12 performances -- no theatre on Sunday, but you can double up on matinees. This may seem excessive, but London Theatre -- only folks from the "colonies" spell it "theater" -- seems one of the seven wonders of the modern world.

Thirty years ago London theater was the stogy repository of Shakespeare and required a suit and tie or a "proper dress." Don’t get us wrong, we like Shakespeare well enough sit through both parts of Henry IV on one night, and I’ve seen the Bard’s entire canon at least twice -- well, except for Titus Andronicus. Seeing that twice would be “cruel and unusual punishment."

But today's theatre, thanks to the rise of British musicals like Cats and the solid training of its traditional theatre schools and regional "bush leagues," offers a happy mix of classic to experimental drama, bawdy to beautiful revivals, a chorus of musicals and some eccentric items such as When Did You See Your . . . Trousers?.

Most of all, London theatre is humane. Shows start at a reasonable hour. So everyone can make the last train home. You can see a matinee and an evening performance without risking shin splints on the dash from theatre to theatre. Seats are comfortable. Aisles are wide and box offices, especially the half price box office in the Leicester Square Ticket Booth seem convenient to shopping and attractions like the National Gallery.

Nobody shoves. Nobody, save a few French tourists and what sound like New Yorkers, jumps lines. Some nod, but few snore, and the now acceptable informal garb should not suggest less than full audience attention.

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