Apollo Theatre

Stand still on the pavement for a moment and listen. Taxis hum past on Shaftesbury Avenue. Somewhere a doorman calls out a show time. Above you, pale stone climbs towards the sky, carved with figures that have watched this street for well over a century. This is the Apollo Theatre, and its front is one of the most decorated faces on a street that is full of theatres.

Before we look up, think about the street under your feet. Shaftesbury Avenue was cut through the old, crowded lanes of Soho in the late nineteenth century. Planners wanted a cleaner route and fresh air in a poor district. It was named after the Earl of Shaftesbury, a Victorian reformer who campaigned for the poor. Within a few decades, the new avenue had become a line of playhouses. The Apollo joined that line at the very start of the twentieth century.

The theatre opened in 1901, in the last days of Queen Victoria's long reign. That timing matters. It makes the Apollo an Edwardian building in spirit, from an age that loved ornament, confidence, and comfort. The architect was Lewin Sharp. It is one of the few theatre designs credited to him, so this façade is, in a sense, his signature on the city. The man behind the project was the businessman Henry Lowenfeld.

Now let your eyes travel up the front. The stonework is heavy with sculpture. Look for carved female figures near the top of the building. They are usually described as muses — the goddesses of Greek myth who inspired music, poetry, and drama. It is a fitting choice. Apollo, the god who gives the theatre its name, was said to lead the muses. So the building tells a small story in stone, from the name over the door to the figures at the roofline.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. Look at the corners and the upper levels, where small domed turrets break the roofline. They give the theatre a slightly French feel. Edwardian builders often borrowed from French palace style, because it suggested luxury and a good night out. From the opposite pavement, these turrets frame the whole façade like the corners of a picture.

The first production here was a musical comedy called The Belle of Bohemia. Light, tuneful shows like this were hugely popular at the turn of the century. Audiences came for songs, jokes, and glamour more than for serious drama. Over the following decades, the stage hosted almost every kind of show — comedies, serious plays, revivals, and new writing. The Apollo has never been the largest house on the avenue, and that is part of its charm.

Inside, the theatre is built on four levels: the stalls, the dress circle, the grand circle, and the balcony. The upper balcony has a reputation for being very steep. Theatregoers often say it feels like sitting on a cliff above the stage. If you have a seat up there tonight, take the stairs slowly, and hold the rail. Once you sit down, though, the view straight down onto the actors is unusual and quite dramatic.

The auditorium is warm and close. Gilded plasterwork curves around the boxes and the edges of the circles. Deep reds and golds fill the room. Because the space is fairly compact, even the back rows feel connected to the performers. Actors often say that a theatre of this size lets them speak quietly and still be heard. For the audience, it means you catch small things — a glance, a breath, a change in tone.

Now for a moment in the theatre's recent history that surprised many people. In December 2013, during a busy evening performance, part of the auditorium ceiling came down onto the audience. Dozens of people were hurt, though thankfully nobody was killed. The show that night was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. The theatre closed for repairs, and the event led to closer inspection of ceilings in old theatres across London.

That story is worth remembering, because it shows what it means to keep a building like this alive. The Apollo is a protected historic building, listed for its architectural importance. That protection keeps the façade and the interior features largely as they were. But old plaster, timber, and stone need constant care. When you sit inside, you are sitting in a room that people work hard to keep safe and beautiful at the same time.

Step back and look along the street. The Apollo is one link in a chain of theatres on this stretch of Shaftesbury Avenue. Each has its own lit sign, its own posters, its own crowd forming before curtain-up. In the evening, the lights reflect off the wet road after rain. People queue, check tickets, and spill out of nearby bars. This mix of grand buildings and everyday life is what has defined the West End for more than a century.

If you have a little time, walk a few steps into Soho behind the avenue. The narrow streets there are older than Shaftesbury Avenue itself. They still carry the layout of the district that the new road cut through. You will find small restaurants, music shops, and late-night cafés. Coming back out onto the wide avenue, you can feel the difference between the planned street and the older, tangled city behind it.

Before you go, look up at the façade one last time. Find the muses near the roof. Notice how the stone has darkened in some places and stayed pale in others, after more than a century of London weather. Listen to the street around you — the engines, the voices, perhaps the first bell calling an audience inside. The Apollo has heard these same sounds every evening since 1901. Tonight, you are part of them.