Walk into the yard of the modern reconstruction on London’s Bankside and you’ll feel it immediately. It’s the smell. Not of stale beer and unwashed bodies—though that was the 1599 vibe—but of raw oak and goat hair plaster. Seeing the inside of the globe theatre for the first time is a bit of a shock because it’s so much smaller than you expect from the movies. It’s tight. It’s vertical. Honestly, it feels more like a mosh pit than a temple of high art.
You’re standing in a "Wooden O" that isn't actually a circle. It’s a 20-sided polygon. If you look up, you see the sky. If it rains, you get wet. That’s the first thing most tourists realize—this isn't a museum piece. It’s a functional, breathing machine designed to cram 3,000 people into a space that probably should have only held half that.
The Groundling Reality
If you paid a penny in Shakespeare’s day, you stood in the yard. No seats. No roof. Just you and 1,000 other people packed onto a floor made of crushed hazelnut shells and earth. We know this because archeologists found literal tons of shells when they excavated the original site nearby. Why hazelnuts? They were the Elizabethan version of popcorn. Cheap, easy to snack on, and surprisingly good at soaking up the "fluids" of a crowd.
Standing there today as a "Groundling," you're about eye-level with the stage floor. It’s intimate. When an actor like Mark Rylance or Michelle Terry walks to the edge of the "apron" stage, they aren't looking over your head. They are looking at you. This completely changes how the plays work. When Hamlet asks if he should "be or not to be," he’s not talking to himself. He’s asking the guy in the front row.
The stage itself is a massive oak platform, roughly five feet high. It thrusts out into the center of the yard, meaning the audience surrounds the action on three sides. There’s no "fourth wall" here. You can’t hide. If you’re checking your phone or looking bored, the actors see it. They might even make fun of you for it. That’s the magic of the inside of the globe theatre; it’s a conversation, not a broadcast.
Heavens, Earth, and Hell: The Vertical Map
The stage isn't just a floor; it’s a theological map of the Elizabethan universe. Look up at the underside of the roof covering the stage. It’s painted a brilliant, deep blue with gold stars, zodiac signs, and a massive sun. This is "The Heavens." There’s a trapdoor up there, too. In the old days, they’d use a winch and pulley to lower goddesses or angels onto the stage. It was the 17th-century version of special effects.
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Then you have the stage floor—middle earth. This is where the humans do their thing.
But look down. There’s another trapdoor under your feet. That leads to "Hell." It’s a dark, cramped space under the stage planks where actors would wait to emerge as ghosts or demons. When the Ghost in Hamlet cries out from "under the stage," he was literally crouching in the dirt. It’s a 3D storytelling environment.
The back wall of the stage, known as the frons scenae, is covered in ornate carvings and fake marble. People often think the Globe was plain wood, but Elizabethans loved gaudy colors. They used "trompe l'oeil" painting to make cheap timber look like expensive Italian stone. It was all about the hustle.
The Galleries and the "Lord’s Rooms"
If you had more than a penny, you sat in the galleries. These are the three tiers of wooden benches that wrap around the yard. They are surprisingly uncomfortable. You’re sitting on hard oak, often for three hours straight. Back then, you could rent a cushion for an extra penny, a tradition the modern Globe still honors.
The best seats weren't actually for seeing the play. They were for being seen.
The "Lord’s Rooms" were located directly behind or beside the stage. If you sat there, you had a great view of the actors’ backs, but everyone in the audience had a great view of your expensive velvet doublet. It was the VIP section for people who cared more about status than the plot of Othello.
- Tier 1: Closest to the action, often used by the wealthy middle class.
- Tier 2: The "middle" ground, offering the best acoustic balance.
- Tier 3: High up, breezy, and surprisingly far away from the stage's nuances.
The acoustics are wild. Because of the thatched roof (the only one allowed in London since the Great Fire) and the lime-plaster walls, sound doesn't bounce around like it does in a concrete theater. It’s warm. It’s crisp. An actor can whisper a secret and, if the crowd is quiet, someone in the top gallery can hear it perfectly.
Why the Architecture Dictates the Art
Shakespeare wrote specifically for the inside of the globe theatre. He didn't have spotlights. He didn't have microphones. He didn't even have much in the way of scenery.
Think about it. If you’re performing Macbeth and it’s a bright Tuesday afternoon in July, how do you tell the audience it’s a dark, stormy night in Scotland? You do it with words. "How goes the night, boy?" asks Banquo. That’s not just dialogue; it’s a lighting cue. The architecture forced the playwright to be a master of "word-painting."
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There are also the "pillars." Two massive, hand-carved oak trunks hold up the stage roof. They are painted to look like marble, but they are solid trees. These pillars are a nightmare for sightlines—there is almost always a pole between you and the lead actor—but they are a godsend for comedy. Actors hide behind them, eavesdrop around them, and use them as makeshift trees or masts of ships.
The Tiring House: Where the Chaos Happens
Behind the frons scenae is the "Tiring House" (short for attiring). This is the backstage area. It was a frantic, loud, sweaty space. There were no long corridors or private dressing rooms. You had a bunch of men—remember, no women on stage back then—changing into elaborate, heavy silk costumes in seconds.
The costumes were often the most expensive thing in the building. Many were second-hand clothes bought from the servants of deceased aristocrats. So, you’d have an actor playing a King wearing a real King’s old coat. The contrast between the dirty, hazelnut-covered floor and the shimmering gold thread of the costumes must have been staggering.
Modern Lessons from an Old Space
Sam Wanamaker, the American actor who spent decades obsessing over the rebuild, wanted to prove that Shakespeare’s plays only make sense when performed in their original context. He was right. When you see a play inside the Globe today, you realize it’s not "polite" theater. It’s loud. People boo. People cheer.
One thing people get wrong is the "Authenticity" trap. The modern Globe uses LED lights for evening shows because, well, fire laws. And they have speakers hidden in the oak for sound effects. But the core physics of the room remain unchanged. The wind still blows through the open roof. The pigeons still fly across the stage during the soliloquies.
It’s a reminder that art isn't something that happens in a vacuum. It’s influenced by the temperature of the air and the smell of the person standing next to you.
Practical Insights for Your Visit
If you’re actually planning to step inside of the globe theatre, don't just book a seat and hope for the best.
First, decide if you’re a sitter or a stander. Standing as a Groundling is the "real" experience and it’s usually only £5 to £10. But you cannot lean against the stage. You cannot sit down. If you faint (and people do, especially during the gory parts of Titus Andronicus), the stewards will haul you out. If you have back issues, pay for the gallery.
Second, bring layers. Even in the height of summer, the Thames breeze can make the "Wooden O" feel like a walk-in freezer. Conversely, if the sun is hitting the yard, it’s a heat trap.
Third, look at the craftsmanship. The building was constructed using 16th-century techniques. No nails. No screws. Just thousands of hand-carved oak pegs. The whole building is essentially a giant 3D puzzle held together by gravity and friction.
Finally, don't be afraid to engage. The actors want you to react. In the 1600s, the audience was part of the show. If you see a villain, hiss. If a joke is funny, laugh loud. The architecture is designed to amplify that energy, feeding it back to the stage in a loop that you just can't get on a movie screen or in a standard proscenium theater.
The Globe isn't a museum. It's an instrument. And when it's played right, it's the most electric place in London.
Next Steps for Your Visit:
- Check the weather forecast specifically for the South Bank; the open-air design means the show goes on regardless of rain.
- If you are standing in the yard, wear thick-soled shoes; the concrete beneath the hazelnut shells is unforgiving over three hours.
- Book a "Guided Tour" during the morning if you want to see the theatre without the crowds, as this allows you access to the higher galleries that are often restricted during performances.
- Visit the nearby Rose Theatre site (just a few blocks away) to see the actual archaeological footprint of a rival playhouse, which provides a sobering sense of how small these spaces truly were.