What Are The Differences Between Swedish And UK Theatre?
I’m sure most of the Theatre&Tonic readers attend British theatres for their fix of escapism.
But have you ever wondered what theatre is like outside of the UK? Luckily for you, we’ve got just that with today's post. Becky is a literature, culture, and media master's student at Lund University and often heads to the theatre in Sweden whilst studying there. Her experiences in this post will hopefully encourage you to check out some European/International theatre in the future because isn’t it interesting? Don’t forget to follow Theatre&Tonic on Twitter for the latest news, reviews and discussions around the theatre, but for now, enjoy this post which considers the differences between Swedish and UK Theatre.
One of the great privileges of living and studying abroad has been the ability to visit Malmö and Copenhagen and watch musicals (mainly at Malmö Opera, with a single trip to Det Gamle Scen). Only by watching have I been able to recognise the clear differences between theatre in these two places and the UK—especially the West End. Somewhat unfortunately, these differences often show British theatre in a negative light, leaving me something greater to ponder upon: where have we gone wrong? Nonetheless! Here’s an insight into these differences, hopefully highlighting why I’ve found seeing theatre out here so gratifying.
Pricing
I won’t forget my close friend turning to me and saying, “oh, you’re under twenty-six! It’ll be so cheap!” when we were booking tickets for Malmö’s The Sound of Music. She was right: I paid less than twenty pounds for an incredible seat in the stalls. At Chichester (my local regional theatre in the UK), they have a great scheme called ‘Prologue’, where those 16-30 can buy one of a few £5 tickets to most performances, and they regularly have fairly decent student discounts. As these schemes go, Chich’s is one of the better ones, which is saying something, certainly. But at Malmö, for instance, all tickets other than the top band are eligible for a discount; here is an example from a Wednesday night performance for Funny Girl:
The main price is ~£65 (steep, yes), and yet nearly anyone can get a discount. Here, young people are “up to and including 26 years,” and the price of that seat is thus ~£28. The same goes for children “up to and including 17 years,” pensioners who pay ~£58, and members who pay ~£55. For the cheapest band, a student pays 110sek, or £8.75. I should stress that these tickets don’t appear to be limited; if enough students wanted to occupy every Band B and below seat at a discount, it would seem Malmö Opera would allow them. That’s incredible!
“But Becky,” some people may say, “these are prices you can see a West End show for—why would I pay those prices for a random Swedish theatre?”
First of all: I have seen some things in the West End I regret paying £15 for. Secondly: Malmö attracts Sweden’s stars, just like the West End attracts the UK’s. The fundamental difference is that Malmö doesn’t try and upsell you on merch, or programmes (which are free!), and I didn’t even think drinks were that much more expensive than I’d have paid in a Swedish bar.
I would not be surprised if Malmö were expensive by Swedish standards, seeing as it’s an opera house and has its own opera company. Göteborgsoperan is hosting the first Swedish-language production of Wicked later this year, and I’d be curious to see their price bandings. Either way, I think these ticket prices are a steal, seeing as I can do a round-trip to see high-quality theatre for less than ~£17 from my front door. Talk about bang for your buck!
Captioning
I was lucky enough to see Så som i himmelen (rough trans. ‘As it is in heaven’) in Malmö in spring 2022. It’s one of Sweden’s biggest original musicals of the twenty-first century, and it’s beautiful—its name comes from the film of the same name. But I’ll be honest: other than the penultimate number “På grund av dig”, I wasn’t overly familiar with the material, and my Swedish isn’t as good as I wish it were. Thus, I was saved by Malmö’s seemingly permanent subtitles in both Swedish and English. Malmö is an area of Sweden with a dense student population (of which many are international) and immigrants who may not know Swedish. Either way, it’s great that captions are not an afterthought, especially when compared with how organisations like StageText in the UK have to run as charities, and captioned performances have to be sought out. I feel far more comfortable knowing that most things I see (particularly those translated from English) will have captions and an English translation available—even if I can get by with my very subpar Swedish, it helps to keep up, and it’s great for D/deaf and hard of hearing patrons.
Stage door
Absolutely not a thing in Sweden. The screaming outside the &Juliet stage door? Yep, probably deemed disruptive to neighbours and rude. Signed programmes? Unlikely to be acquired. Being called a mirage on a rainy night in Glasgow? Yeah, nope.
“The ‘celebrity’ associated with many West End names is not something ascribed to Swedish performers. ”
I think this may come from the cultural difference, where Britain is increasingly being influenced by American fan culture and the parasocial world of social media. I even went to a concert by Magnus Carlsson, who hosted an official meet and greet in the lobby of the concert venue (and said my Swedish was okay, reader: it was not) and signed albums there and then. It felt more human, and far less awkward—we all queued up very politely. I’ve always personally found lurking outside the stage door a little bizarre, and for it not to be a thought to anyone was nice; at the very least it means the cast can get home at a sensible time.
Cloakrooms & Intervals
This was the case at both Malmö and Det Gamle Scen, where . . . everyone hangs their coats up in public cloakrooms. You basically just remember where your coat was, and no one will take it. At Malmö, I believe they give you a number, but no one’s guarding them—and everyone puts their coat away before the show. It means there are far fewer things on the floor, and this helps when it comes to the midway break because. . .
Nearly everyone leaves at the interval.
I know most people in an interval in the UK do leave their seats at the midway point, if only to stretch their legs, but basically no one stayed seated at either theatre I went to. My friend said, “oh no, we should go out, it’s weird not to. No one stays.” I’m lazy, and I have a pretty good bladder, so I tend to stay seated during intervals—less fuss, less effort, and I can sit and quietly catch up with my WhatsApp groups and Twitter notifications (the latter I never have, admittedly). In both Malmö and Copenhagen, I was standing slightly awkwardly in the foyer, rucksack at my feet, because leaving is just the “done thing,” even if you don’t need to. This also meant no ushers standing in the aisles selling ice creams, a staple of a British theatre trip; it made me miss the prosecco ice lollies at Matilda.
The Curtain Call
These go on for approximately five minutes; nearly as long as the applause at the final show of Come From Away. At Malmö, the cast go off, they come back on, they go off, they come back on. . . literally until either they or the audience chooses to stop. A strange case of who blinks first? It’s a recognition the cast undoubtedly deserve—especially at Så som i himelen—but my hands just are not used to it.
You can follow Becky on Twitter!