Entering Duckie is entering a kind of community. Well, not entering. Getting wedged in, let's say. Once you leave the tube, pass a Nandos, wait at the traffic lights as a few ambulances fly past you, you might notice the small but charming structure of the building. Vauxhall Tavern is curved. The facade is split between a brown brick and seductive red and black painted wood with pillars holding the structure up. This all passes in a blur and before you know it you've entered the club with your bag checked and your age correctly guessed without a request of ID. Through a sea of bodies and hot, wet, floating smoke stands a smartly dressed drag King behind a small table who takes the entry fee of £6.
It took me a while to find my class mates who were also attending. I had just come from work. I hovered near the bar, reflecting on the workers who have not been released from their jobs as early as I have. People seemed to be friendly. I noticed there were lots of groups of people. I seemed to be the only individual without a collective but I was comfortable taking in the loud pop music and rumble of conversations that rose above the music. I spotted the head of a taller friend and set off up some stairs, across an elevated area, down a few. After hugging as many of the group I could I placed my bag between my feet, knotted my coat around my waist and bobbed along to the beat of the music. The atmosphere was alive, excitable, fun. I noticed there were a lot of middle aged men who I presumed were gay. In front of us a group of 4 bald men danced better than any over-35's I'd ever seen.
After a while Duckie's host, Miss Amy Lamé, appeared from behind some red curtains. A pillar limited my view a little but I was struck by how confident she was. Having done some research into Duckie a while ago I know this was a weekly occurrence for her. Her familiarity with the audience and my newness to the Tavern made me feel welcome. Once she introduced TV TV as Donald Trump I knew there would be no problem with accessibility of understanding here. The audience are united in their hatred against leaders like Trump and the other leaders that TV TV represented. But despite the fear and anger that fuelled a lot of the comedy, I understood Duckie to be more about love and accepting all versions of it. And this performance was really just preaching love and acceptance by embracing sexist, racist and homophobic leaders' hypocrisies. All the while, snippets from news readings and pop music distorted and further humiliated the edited speeches of leaders such as Nigel Farage, Theresa May, Kim Jong Un... I found a lot of the editing rather witty and intelligent and enjoyed the active audience, one of which who jeered 'Shut up!' repeatedly at 'Theresa May' (I think).
After the applause of the show we scrambled for fresh air and burst out of the lively space. It was rather sobering out in the dull glare of the street lights. Was our belief of a prejudice world suspended? With the harsh focus on the inadequacies of politicians speeches, definitely not. But I think it's safe to say that my anxiety regarding the injustice of politics was momentarily reduced and I hope to return to such a place of rebellious and passionate expression soon.
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