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Post by Steve on Nov 4, 2017 13:21:44 GMT
Loved this. A funny, warm musical about storytelling, family, and the meaning of life, and at a guess, the best version of this show yet! Spoilers follow. . . In the film, Bloom is played by two actors, one in his twilight years and one in his prime. I understand the original musical version used one actor. Really! I couldn't help thinking what "Follies" would lose if it ditched it's young and old actors, and had one set of middle aged actors play their young and old selves? How much more literal and obvious would it be? How much less wistful, poetic, romantic and thought-provoking if young and old could no longer co-exist and observe themselves? In a show about the reckoning of a life, having different timelines co-exist is everything! The film, however, in my opinion, was lousy. Tim Burton's garish colourful carnival sensibility mitigated against poetry and contemplation, and emphasised instead the grotesque and the absurd. Burton's version also mischaracterised Bloom. In hindsight, I'd say that Albert Finney's Bloom was "Trumpian," a narcissistic self-glorifying pathological liar, and his son's aversion to him, played with an enmity bordering on hatred by Billy Crudup, seemed eminently reasonable. Crucial plot points and imagery, in the movie, actively worked against it's theme, that storytelling can be a glorious way to lift our lives from the mundane, a gift, and an expression of love that transcends generations. This new show gets everything right. Kelsey Grammer is warm, where Finney was cold. Aided by Grammer's honed avuncular sitcom bumbler persona (which I fell in love with when I saw an episode of Frasier recorded decades ago), it is clear from the start that Grammer's Bloom means well, even if he irritates. Where Bloom's son William, in the movie, oozed disgust with his father's pathological lying, here Matthew Seadon-Young's Clark-Kentalike of a warm loving son, is frustrated with his Walter Mitty of a father only because he fears he will never know him. Simply put, motivations emanate from good places here, making this a universal family story, that, while a little sentimental, resonates powerfully, and reduced me to tears. When Edward Bloom tells his fantastical stories, this show contextualises them ingeniously, by having Grammer tell the stories to a child actor, as the stories play out in front of them. Although literally the boy could be seen either as Grammer's own son in the past, when he first heard these stories, or alternately, as Grammer's Bloom's future grandson, in fact, the boy is an avatar for the childhood selves of the audience, evoking our own entree into the magical world of storytelling. I found myself thrown back into the stories my own father told me about how he fought lions with his bare hands, back when he used to jump around pretending to be Tarzan, before he put his back out. Through this construct, Bloom's stories become magical, rather than Trumpian, and through the magic of theatre, Grammer's Bloom gets to timetravel poetically, as he wistfully observes the vigour and passion of his younger self (Jamie Muscato), playing out his adventures onstage. While I never saw the Broadway show, I just cannot imagine that it could have been anything but quotidian, compared to the magic of this! New songs have been added, about real relationships and the circle of human life, moving us further from the empty wacky roadshow of the movie, towards an appreciation of the wonder of the real, expressly, family. Appropriately, one song, called "Wonder" is about childbirth, and the other, called "The Road that Leads to You," is about couples. The new songs, like the new frame for the musical, serve the same purpose, to ground the show in the real everyday experiences of all of us, so that what the show has to say about storytelling's function, to enhance our mundane lives, really resonates. All in all, I admit there is a streak of sentimentality, and I admit Grammer is not the best singer, but this is a truly beautiful show! Grounded by fantastic central turns by Grammer (as the out-of-control family member you love to bits) and Matthew Seadon-Young (Urinetown never gave him the opportunity to show such heart), enhanced by lovely supporting turns by Forbes Masson (wickedly funny), Jamie Muscato (tuneful and bold), Laura Baldwin (enchanting), and many others too, this show is simply lovely. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Oct 31, 2017 13:29:17 GMT
Superficial depiction of shyness mitigates against the well-structured plot and delightful songs making the emotional impact they should. . . Some spoilers follow. . . This is based on a film. A film is blessed with a trump card that a stage musical lacks: the close-up. On film, the manufactured tweeness of the plot can be counterbalanced by closeups of faces exhibiting acute and "real" social anxiety, that roots the plot in a common pain nearly all of us have experienced. On stage, where the closeup is impossible, what we see is a supremely poised musical theatre actress command her diaphragm to produce exquisitely beautiful musical phrases, as she looks us directly in our eyes. No amount of gurning anxious overlarge facial expressions will ever convince me that Carly Bawden's Angelique is so timid that she faints at the sight of another human being! And this is not Bawden's fault, an actress so good that her spot-on Squeaky Fromme in Assassins stole the show (for me) even from Aaron Tveit! What is wrong is the slavish fealty to the movie script, which was bolstered by the secret weapon of the close-up. What Emma Rice and her fellow creators needed to do was show less sympathy, and more empathy. They needed a moment at the beginning, before Bawden ever sings, where her character suffers horribly from shyness. They needed to dramatise that moment so acutely that our hearts broke for her. Only then should she be allowed to sing. Anyway, the songs are good, and by the time we get to the interval, the plot is moving at a delicious clip, and the songs hit rate is improving (I did love the song "Savoir Faire" in the first half though.) Yes, in the second half, there is a tremendous run of lovely songs (I'm guessing their titles lol):- After Joanna's Riding sets the scene with a welcoming and wistful "Quelle Surprise," the Bawden-Marsh romantic duet, "Some Things" really moved me, then the best song of the evening is teasingly and energetically performed by the enemble at our main duo "Don't Think About Love!" It's always delicious to be asked NOT to think about something lol! Then we get a touching "Don't Let Her Go" and an even more tender "If you Loved Me. . ." And I couldn't help thinking, as the musical took flight, how much higher we'd be soaring if the emotional take-off had been effectively handled at the beginning! Heck, we might even have another "She Loves Me" (though to be honest, Bock and Harnick are peerless)! Anyway, I loved the second half. And as a bonus, I also lived the comic turns of Lauren Samuels as the sarky Ozzie self-help tape and Gareth Snook as the Mumbler, a man so shy we can't make out a word he says. All in all, good fun. But it could have been great! 3 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Oct 31, 2017 12:24:07 GMT
Exquisite portrayal of social isolation, succeeds also as an analysis of the roots of prejudice, but is capped by a melodramatic conclusion that fritters away some of it's sharpness. Some spoilers follow. . . I liked this very much. Seeing this immediately after "Romantics Anonymous," I thought this was infinitely better at dramatising social isolation. My heart ached so much for Fenella Woolgar's character that if, like "Romantics," this had been a musical, and she had burst into song, my stiff upper tear ducts would have sprung leaks. The setting is (mostly) a gossipy Agatha Christie style tea room, outside London, in 1943, where everybody talks about everybody else. Fenella Woolgar's compassionate, but reserved, Miss Roach is there because the Blitz has driven her out of her London home, and she's struggling to make connections. The bane of Miss Roach's life is verbose, racist, sexist old Mr. Thwaites, played with vim and vitriol by a superb Clive Francis (his vicious bigoted curmudgeons are always a highlight of shows: eg The Gathering Leaves, Les Blancs), who makes sure to prod every exposed nerve she has, whenever she makes an appearance. And he's got plenty to say when Miss Roach deigns to dine with an African American soldier, Daon Broni's Lieutenant Pike. What is especially clever about this play (and probably the book, which I haven't read), and also quite subtle, is the way negative feelings and expressions of both Miss Roach and Mr Thwaites (and others) are shown to be rooted in their common loneliness and feelings of inadequacy. Miss Roach's feelings of inadequacy are particularly triggered by the exuberant witterings of spritely German born social butterfly, Vicki, played by Lucy Cohu. . . Anyway, see the play to find out what happens. Woolgar and Francis are sensational! 4 and a half stars for the first moody 90 minutes, 3 stars for the melodramatic final half hour: 4 stars overall. Well worth it.
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Post by Steve on Oct 21, 2017 13:28:53 GMT
Average, but worthwhile. The sort of cold clever effective procedural you expect from Agatha Christie, lacking the overblown camp that keeps her watchable on the telly, but with a hugely impressive "set" that feels just like the Old Bailey, and a warm inviting central performance from David Yelland. Some spoilers follow. . . Don't be fooled by the 1957 movie or the 2016 Boxing Day BBC adaptation. Those are far superior works, which, while embracing Christie's genius for plotting, are vastly enhanced by the work of other brilliant writers:- (1) The 1957 movie is a comedy, by Billy Wilder, who molds Christie's decent, but vacant, underwritten barrister, Sir Wilfrid Robarts (played by Charles Laughton), into an irascible self-destructive fury, constantly trying to kill himself with booze and smokes, while he tries to evade the watchful eye of his ever-present nursemaid (played hilariously by Laughton's own wife, Elsa Lanchester). Everything good about the movie comes from Wilder; (2) The 2016 BBC two-parter is an all-encompassing drama about the dark side of capitalism and the hopeless romanticism that allows us to survive it, which I consider to be the best work of the superb tv writer (And Then there were None, Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, the Death of Dirty Den in Eastenders) and sometime playwright, Sarah Phelps. This adaptation, based not on Christie's play, but on an earlier short story by Christie, retains that story's less-sanitised plot elements, and adds to them a frame all of Phelp's own creation, that sees Toby Jones's solicitor as a Winston Smith type romantic, dreaming his way through a hellish capitalist cityscape. This is an immense work, brilliantly conceived, acted, involving and desperately meaningful and moving. Strip Wilder and Phelps out of these works, and the humanity evaporates away. Christie's play, as is, is cold compelling plotting, and that's all. Luckily, the play has a magnificent setting in London County Hall, which feels just like the Old Bailey, and it also has two notable performances, one of enigmatic charm by Jack McMullen as the Accused, and one that exudes an endearing goodness and decency, by David Yelland. For the set and for Yelland, I enjoyed myself, but I prefer my Christie laced with the humanity of other better writers. 3 stars for the play. 4 stars for the Wilder movie. 5 stars for the Phelps tv adapation. Nb: Other than Christie's plotting, another commonality between all versions of this story (and Brexit) is that many English people are depicted as having enormous prejudice against "foreigners."
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Post by Steve on Sept 14, 2017 11:15:05 GMT
A two hander in which Art battles Reality, in an amusing, unpredictable, inventive and thoroughly enjoyable two-hander. Some spoilers follow. . . So Trevor White, the Canadian actor who I saw play Hotspur opposite Alex Hassell recently, announces himself as Trevor White, the Canadian actor who played Hotspur for a year recently, lol. I'm amused. He says he wanted to stage "Network" before Ivo Van Hove got Bryan Cranston and got in there ahead of him at the National. I'm more amused. He then tells us he's making a play about patricide, starring a guy who really killed his father. It's played in a cage, because the guy's dangerous. I'm more amused than ever. I'll spoil no more, but this one thing: Trevor tells us that "Art is better than Reality," and everytime he decides to artistically augment reality to make the play "better," the play changes a little bit. This is just so fun to watch, that whether or not you are Team Art or Team Reality, you are likely to enjoy the interactions, of Trevor, so wry and amusing, compared to his off-the-wall wild and crazy Hotspur, and Alex Austin, in the cage, brilliantly utilising different accents, as the patricide-committing object of Trevor's musings. This is like a less crazy "An Octaroon" or any Tim Crouch play, but more accessible. Fun. 4 stars.
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Post by Steve on Sept 14, 2017 10:55:35 GMT
Not had much time to comment lately, but I take the time to do so, as I ran into Parsley at this, which proved to be, along with Ben Whishaw's performance, one of the only things I liked about this. Some spoilers follow. . . This lost me from the start, when a chap, who, supposedly visited by God, barely registers the experience as unusual, reacting in an unbelievably plodding and sluggish way. Of course, this is not about God, but how wretched and sad humans are, but this author did better with the same themes in both the previous plays I've seen by him, at Royal Court and the Donmar. In fact, each play this author writes is less interesting than the last, as he assumes Orson Welles' mantle of living his life backwards. The good thing about hating the play, was getting to hate on it with Parsley, the master of hating on plays, who caned it with me in the interval. Parsley never got past the look of the guy with the huge muscles in the tight T-shirt, who I said I thought looked like a member of the crew of the Starship Enterprise, his t-shirt nike-symbol looking like a Starfleet insignia, which of course meant that his character was marked for slaughter. After all, only James T Kirk, or Ben Whishaw gets to dress like that and survive. Comparing this play to Ben Whishaw's previous Almeida show, Bakkhai, which I loved, I think what this show really lacked was a good antagonist to embody humanity's ennui. The Ben Whishaw/Bertie Carvel faceoff of Bakkhai was electrifying for me, especially as both characters had so much ying and yang in them you barely knew who to root for. Here, you not only knew who to root for, you knew there was no point doing it anyway, as the play was entirely lacking in thrust. 2 and a half stars, for Ben Whishaw (and Parsley too, who's powerful and expressive id this show lacked, to it's detriment, much like this board. Please come back Parsley!).
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Post by Steve on Sept 14, 2017 10:30:58 GMT
And from me lol. The most visceral, violent primal rush I've had at the Globe in ages, using Emma Rice's speakers to drum, drum DRUM that war beat, and rock loudly for two exciting Forbes Masson performed rock-war-song-dances, with a little thematic anti-war addendum layered on top through the story of Boudica's daughters. Some spoilers follow. . . Basically, it's The Magnificent 7/Seven Samurai type structure, with Boudica training her daughters for battle, as she rounds up disparate Britannic tribes to team up to take on the Romans in a revenge quest. Probably not very historically accurate, as Boudica was dead by 31, and so her daughters probably wouldn't have been old enough for the depicted storyline, and she herself never reached Gina McKee's age. That said, Gina McKee is fantastic, looking preternaturally young in her Boudica-of-Britannia blue headdress and robes, and overcoming the obvious miscasting of such a considered thoughtful whispery actress as this bloodthirsty, battling beast of a Boudica. There's some rollicking comedy too, as the Romans initially consist of some petty, preening Frankie Howard and affected Kenneth Williams types, to contrast with the fierce Britons, before the Romans' roll on the excellent Clifford Samuel, as military leader, Suetonius, to give their side some fearsome discipline and gravitas. The sheer Emma Rice speaker noise, mostly drums, but also two great stomping, song-dances led by a wonderful Forbes Masson, who otherwise plays the most reasonable and sensible Briton on the battlefield, couples with some superb in-the-round staging to create a real thrill for the senses. The best thing about the blood-stirring frenzy of it all is how thoroughly the show rouses the audience in the pit to join in the partisan bloodthirsty rowdiness, before slapping down all the stirred-up aggression with the play's anti-war all-people-have-their-reasons coda. It worked. This is not a complex play, commendably clear, if a little simplistic, in it's anti-war message, but it's not so much what is told, but how it's told, that makes this such a kick-ass piece of storytelling. From the pit, I felt surrounded by, and involved by, the action, and the staging, and also, Emma Rice's lighting rigs were used judicially to accentuate the sometimes haunting atmosphere, and spotlight key characters in the murk. (I suspect this play will work better and be more exciting at night, as what scares one in the night is often commonplace and silly in the stark light of day). In respect of the lighting, and loud speakers, and use of pop music to stir up the audience, I see this as a kind of swan song to Emma Rice's short reign, which, like Boudica's, was all sound and fury, signifying something. Of course, in one critical respect, this show is the antithesis of Rice, lacking her spirit of "love," which word is currently streaked in neon lettering down the side of the Globe. Instead, this show is an analysis of aggression and hatred, with the seductiveness of the former used to comment on the prevalance of the latter. Boudica's two daughters, Natalie Simpson's Blodwynn and Joan Iyiola's Alonna, who carry the ultimate meaning of this piece, are thankfully excellently acted, especially by Iyiola, who works sensitive wonders with her facial expressions, amongst the carnage of the show, to accentuate the play's thematic resonance. Overall, rousing fun, which makes me really really wish I could afford to hire Forbes Masson to preside over the revelries of my next birthday party lol 4 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 29, 2017 23:03:22 GMT
Saw this tonight, and (eventually) loved it. After oodles of poetic telling in the first half, the play pays off with some transcendent showing in the second half. Some spoilers follow. . . Back in Thatcher's eighties, while Adrian Mole was making his comically ambitious life plans, the less deluded working class folks in "Road," in Lancashire, were making plans as far ahead as seemed possible: for the night. The immediacy of the concept, involving characters, living for the moment, looking for a buzz, is at first stunted by poetic speeches by these characters, who all live on the same Road, about their lives. There is so much telling, and so little showing, that it's difficult to engage, despite the production design directly connecting us to the stage by a flight of stairs, and despite Lemn Sissay's narrator speaking directly to us. Two Alan Bennett style monologues did hit home in the first half: one by Mark Hadfield's old soldier, remembering better days, and an even better one by June Watson's old dear, putting her face on. The moment she remembered the curve of her mother's white hair, now echoed by her own hair, was so well performed by Watson that I welled up. But by and large, the first half, while poetic, doesn't really connect with the audience. It does however set up a terrific second half, in which two vital set pieces prove so unforgettably, electrically alive, that the magic of theatre gathered myself and my companion up, and left us tingling with that feeling of discovery and excitement you get when a show really pays off. One such magical moment involves a phenomenal Michelle Fairley, on a drunk date with Mike Noble; and the other involves Noble again, on a double date with a dreamy Dan Parr, a fierce Liz White, and her hilariously obliging and clueless sidekick, played by Faye Marsay. These scenes were so involving, and so thematically resonant, that even the obligatory (and utterly apt) playing of the music of Elbow felt earned and just right, rather than some mere storytelling shortcut. Whatever you do, do not leave this show at the interval. The second half pays off brilliantly. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Jul 19, 2017 22:59:44 GMT
Saw this tonight, and loved it. Propulsive in it's staging, if not in it's narrative, faithful to the source material, this is a delightful, loveable, eccentric, joy from start to finish!
Some spoilers follow. . .
All the threads from the novel are there, as I recall, in this tale of an eventful year in the life of a teenage boy: the acne, the unfaithful mum, the rotter she falls for, the moping dad, the bully at school, the competition with his friend Nigel for the attention of new girl, Pandora. In fact, the only story thread that is short-changed is the acne, which was definitely far more significant and traumatic in the novel, and indeed, in most teenage lives.
And because there are so many story threads, the narrative is necessarily somewhat meandering.
But in every other way imaginable, I thought this was a gorgeous entertainment, full of love for people and period, graced with memorable songs, marvellous performances, and wonderfully eccentric, comedic moments.
Twice, all these elements came together to achieve the kind of magical and delirious set-pieces that make a musical unmissable and unforgettable: in the songs, "If You'd Lived" and "The Nativity," the former a wacky teenage version of "It's a wonderful Life," the latter the most bizarre and funny Nativity play you ever saw! It's worth attending just to see these set-pieces.
But all through there are delights. John Hopkins, no stranger to being very very silly, most memorably in "Ben Hur," is hilarious again, as the principal antagonist, a moustachioed, thrusting baritone, named Lucas, with more deep throbbing sex in his voice than Barry White. In the song "Begging You for More," he gets all Escamillo the bullfighter, in his passion for Adrian's mum, Pauline, and it's a laugh riot. Pauline is played beautifully by Kelly Price, sympathetic yet horrifically self-absorbed.
As Pauline's cuckolded husband, George, Dean Chisnall is as likeable and moving as his love rival is unlikeable and funny, the musical a triumphant blend of sentiment and comedy. Chisnall has the loveliest voice in the ensemble, duetting beautifully with Kelly Price on the songs, "I Miss Our Life" and "My Lost Love."
As for the kids, three share each role, but the central duo we got tonight, of Harry Potter lookalike Connor Davies, as Adrian Mole, and Hermione lookalike, Georgia Pemberton, as Pandora, were absolutely perfect: Davies channeling Adrian Mole's clueless resilience, while Pemberton channeled Pandora's poise and grace.
Overall, while meandering story threads do slow down the narrative, every single element of this show put a perma-smile on my face, which I can't seem to shift. Don't miss.
4 stars 😊
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Post by Steve on Jul 16, 2017 17:09:11 GMT
By the little guys, about a little guy, a little gem of a musical, staged in the Little. Some spoilers follow. . . If I have a reservation about this one-man musical, it's that it's littleness tends towards cutesiness. It's subject is a fathers-for-justice type campaigner, who stunt climbs, in a superhero costume, the kind of building that risks getting him shot as a terrorist. The take of this musical is entirely sympathetic, and portrays him as a gentle character driven to extremes by injustice. If Martin Scorsese made a movie of this, by contrast, one can imagine the character's stated motivations would remain the same, but the character himself would be revealed as delusional, a Travis Bickle or Rupert Pupkin, with psychological issues in play beyond the simple story he tells himself. But these first time musical makers (Michael Conley, Joseph Finlay and Richy Hughes) are themselves "little" guys, and empathise so completely with their flawed, placid, loving, little guy lead character that this feels like a Disney portrait of the truth. And that's a plus, in a way, as Disney could do way worse than hire this team to adapt one of their stories. Everything about show is loveable. The lead character, Colin, is loveable, his mildness, his chirpiness, his humour, his loving nature, even his mistakes, emolliated by modesty, are loveable. The book is loveable, the lyrics are loveable, the music is loveable, even quoting "If I loved you" from "Carousel" at one point. In fact, my mind was so thoroughly disneyed by this "superhero," that instead of questioning his insanity, I shed a tear or two, against my better judgement. Michael Rouse is absolutely fantastic, his mild-mannered Colin goes from soft-voiced defeatism to self-mocking wit to soaring emotional triumphalism. It's a terrific performance. This show teams with love, and is a superb calling card for the team involved. Other than "the Clockmaker's Daughter," I can't recall a British musical, emerging on the Fringe, that I enjoyed this much. If you go to the Southwark, Little is better than Large. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Jul 16, 2017 16:26:01 GMT
Saw this last night, and was underwhelmed. It's like Yasmina Reza's "Art," crossed with Marx's "Das Kapital," but unfortunately, more the latter than the former.
Some spoilers follow. . .
I'll refrain from saying what actually happens, at dessert time, at a dinner party for very wealthy people. Suffice to say, there is a plot, twists occur at about the rate you'd expect in a well-plotted play, and the value of art is discussed.
Between twists, we get the kind of super long speeches that anyone who saw the same writer's "Daytona" will be familiar with. Except, in "Daytona", the speech Oliver Cotton gave himself was filled with mystery and intrigue, and the one he gave Maureen Lipman was elegiac and moving, whereas the endless enormous speech in this play felt to me a LOT like "Das Kapital," a tediously lengthy and lengthily tedious rendition of a dull one-sided tome that killed my enjoyment of the passable plotting and cutting characterisations.
The two most enjoyable characters, for me, were in support: Teresa Banham plays the American philistine wife, of a posturing master-of-the-universe, with such blase honesty that I couldn't help laughing at her every utterance; and similarly, Graham Turner's blundering stuttering hesitancy as an old-soldier-turned-servant, of yet another master-of-the-universe, had me equally amused and charmed.
The two masters-of-the-universe, at the centre of the plot, are themselves well-realised by Michael Simkins and Stuart Milligan, the former all poise and fake modesty, the latter all charm and honest arrogance.
But these worthwhile performances struggle to stay above the surface of a mahoosive, blunt, capitalism-bashing club of a speech, that not only outstayed it's welcome, but was propagandist and inaccurate.
There are entertaining elements here, but this play's attack on First World Capitalism makes "Bodies" at the Royal Court seem subtle.
2 and a half stars.
PS: For perspective, I rank this at the bottom of this year's theatrical excursions, along with the unfunny "The Miser," but above the execrable "Mudsummer Night's Dream."
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Post by Steve on Jul 16, 2017 15:39:39 GMT
I wanted Phoebe Waller Bridge the most. She makes me laugh so much. But Jodie Whitaker will be great.
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Post by Steve on Jul 15, 2017 10:17:39 GMT
Finally saw this Thursday night. I laughed, I cried, I loved it. It's a compassionate joy, a sitcom whose situations and characters feel utterly real. Some spoilers follow. . . The premise felt like a sitcom: a lesbian, who doesn't fancy men, has a partner transitioning to a man. God alone knows what exactly Ray Cooney would have done with that, but this play does the opposite, committing fully to the situation, truth and feelings of the characters before anything else. The comedy that flows is a product of these unique and beautiful situations and characters. Once upon a time, this sitcom would have starred Tamsin Greig, as the nervy, diffident, neurotic, hesitant lead character, Alice. One of the joys of this production is watching Alice McCarthy slither perfectly into Greig's mantle, fully inhabiting the trademarked, boggle-eyed, confused, frozen existential angst that Greig so perfectly brought to every sitcom she ever did. As the woman Alice fell for, and the man that Alice feels a whole lot less for, Anna Martine Freeman's transgender character, Fiona/Adrian is beautifully realised, her excitement at becoming a man blinding her to the lack of excitement in her partner. In support, Ed Eales-White is the soul of supportive cis decency, and Ellie Morris is outstanding as Lelani, the impulsive exuberant young Dutch girl who takes a fancy to Alice. To digress, I give particular credit to Morris, as her shy stuttering Lucy, in "Peter Pan Goes Wrong" underwhelmed me. What I now realise is that her Lucy was the victim of Mischief Theatre's relentless writing and re-writing of their plays, identified so usefully for us on this board by Dawnstar. When I saw Daisy Waterstone originate the role at the Pleasance Theatre, Lucy's shyness was SO exaggerated, her stuttering SO pervasive, her meekness SUCH a plot point, that she was one of the greatest drivers of laughs in the whole show. By the time "Peter Pan Goes Wrong" played the Apollo, the part was less shy, less stuttering, with vastly less stage time, while the Mischief principals had vastly increased the stage time of their own roles, by comparison. So I was disappointed with the decrease in laughs I got from the character of Lucy. But in this show, Morris is a force of nature, offering an effervescent performance of a wild and crazy dutch girl, embodying a role that functions the way Italy used to, in period dramas, a catalyst for repressed English people to emerge from their shells. Everything about Morris' ecstatic Lelani delightfully sparks the fires beneath McCarthy's Tamsin-Grieg-esque frozenness. Morris' eyes widen and widen and widen still further, as if on cocaine-fuelled stalks, her body bounces, and a febrile energy fills the room whenever she is onstage, meaning that every scene she is in is playful and exciting to watch. A splendid buoyant supporting performance, that lifts the whole production. The sensitivity with which the plot is worked out is spot on. Only the faintly scented lingering whiff of sitcom and setup prevents me from giving this the full five stars. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 15, 2017 9:11:19 GMT
An issues play that tries hard to balance it's agenda with compassion for the characters, and fails, because the fix is so obviously in. I do love Vivienne Franzmann, but of the four plays I've seen by her, I liked this the least. "Mogadishu," I loved. Perhaps because she herself was a teacher, and lived and breathed the milieu, Franzmann constructed a "Children's Hour" type narrative, about a false accusation by a pupil against a teacher, that was not only dramatically enthralling, but also compassionately discovered the complex and confusing humanity behind the motivations of every character. "Pests" I liked almost as much, but for a different reason. Franzmann constructed a unique language for her characters that perfectly reflected their isolated and marginalised world, an experimental choice that worked so well, the Royal Court production left an indelible imprint on me. Some spoilers follow. . . Franzmann's willingness to be experimental results in the most rewarding plot point in "Bodies," that one of the characters is not real, but the fantasy projection of another character. This fantasy character, established as such in the first ten minutes, becomes a conduit and a focus, a prism reflecting all the hope, love, need, despair of all the other characters. A brilliant idea that works brilliantly. Also intriguing are the different ways Franzmann looks at "bodies," how they fail, and how those-whose-bodies-work can aid those-whose-bodies-fail. Justine Mitchell and Philip Goldacre are both terrific as characters whose bodies fail them, Mitchell's Clem unable to conceive, and Goldacre's David (Clem's father) unable even to feed himself. The mirroring of the father's and daughter's plights offers much useful food for thought. Unfortunately, like a hungry shark, Franzmann then allows the issues of her issues-play to devour the complexity of her characters, till there's nothing left but the bloody entrails of liberal guilt. . . Everything about third-world surrogate, Salma Hoque's Lakshmi, is botched in Franzmann's desire to get to the moment she spits at the Royal Court audience. The concept of her spitting on us is great, in and of itself, but to get there, Franzmann must contort the plot. She invents circumstances where terrible things must happen to the surrogate's own children in order for her to be a surrogate at all. This is ridiculous, and a sign that the fix is in. Further, as Samuelwhiskers points out, by not characterising Lakshmi herself at all, Franzmann neglects her character even more than Clem does. And then, to compound the problem, Franzmann is faithless to Clem herself, having her make statements entirely out of character to make her seem more feckless and more deserving of being a human spittoon. Justine Mitchell is typically great as the Yerma-desperate Clem, Jonathan McGuinness endearing as her supportive husband (he seems to have the role fulltime now, on the Royal Court site). So too does Hannah Rae make a wonderful stage debut as Clem's daughter, empathetic and mercurial, and Lorna Brown offer gravitas and humour as Clem's father's carer. But it is Philip Goldacre, as Clem's father, David, whose performance I will most treasure, his juddering movements and slurred speech suggesting bodily degeneration, while his playful humour and eagle eyes suggest a diamond sharp mind. All in all, this is an issues play that eats itself, and it's a shame, as Franzmann's ability to think round issues, as well as her experimental and innovative ways of presenting them, are generally terrific. 3 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 11, 2017 13:03:24 GMT
I saw this last week, but had nothing much to add to Oxford Simon's excellent account, with which I completely agreed. Looking back, here are some things that strike me: (1) Thank goodness the endless tiresome references to other shows have been largely excised. Those were so unfunny that the low strike rate of the humour became overly annoying in the show's original iteration; (2) The 4 monks choir is terrific, and if one of them is the theatreboard member I believe him to be, congratulations! (3) Neil Moors does indeed have such a full deep rousing throaty voice that he's every inch the jaunty King Richard; and (4) James Thackeray as Prince John is EVERYTHING. Oxford Simon saw Alan Cumming in him, and I agree, he has all the charismatic, prancing jollity of Mateo Oxley in "Shock Treatment," or to quote a reference more people will be familiar with, all the snide, camp fun of a young Alan Rickman. I fully enjoyed the show, despite it's low grade humour, but there's not enough King John, not enough at all. If he could have been in every scene, and also lent a bit of his spunk to the Assassin, things would have been more fun. As there is simply not enough King John, 3 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 11, 2017 12:38:13 GMT
Anyone seen this? I have heard no buzz about it at all, and they're papering like mad. Yes, I very much enjoyed it. Passes the Bechdel test one billion times over, as Queen Anne emerges from pre-throne hibernation to struggle for agency against her uber-influential childhood friend, Sarah Churchill, in a play written, directed and designed by women. I only really knew that the acts of union were passed in Queen Anne's reign, so this was super-informative for me, as well as entertaining. I'm glad I saw Romola Garai as Sarah Churchill, because much as I adore the Stratford originator of the role, Natascha McElhone, it always takes me half an hour to stop hissing her when she's onstage, as that wry sly half-smile instinctively preps me that I'm in the presence of a terrible villain. And the last thing a somewhat one-dimensional, Anne-favourable play like this needs is for the principal antagonist to be simplistically caricatured by the audience, as the text itself tilts to Anne over Churchill. As it is, Garai's straightforward stumblingly blunt directness, seen in such roles as Cordelia in Lear, or Becky in The Village Bike, but epitomised by her blundering Emma, in the BBC miniseries, lends the fierce Sarah Churchill a credence that balances the plot beautifully. Garai's Churchill instantly had me conceiving that Emma Cunniffe's lumbering droning whining Queen Anne may indeed be a useless "lump," who needs to be harried and hectored along every step of the way. This makes Cunniffe's achingly moving search for agency tremendously stirring and touching, in reaction to such a conception. Plot machinations are beautifully worked out, and are so effective that I wished the play to keep going after it ended, which is always a good sign. Cunniffe is tremendous in her role as Anne, and deserves award consideration, for her ability to draw such a fine line between heroic and irritating, between vulnerable and impossible, that she somehow makes join the dots historical plot threads edge-of-the-seat intriguing. . . Support for the two leading ladies is strong from a typically witty and cunning James Garnon, as the power hungry speaker of the House, and an especially enigmatic Beth Park, simultaneously sly and straightforward as the ever-threatening Eve to Garai's Margo Channing of a Sarah Churchill. For the history, for the drama, for the intrigue, and for Garai's and Cunniffe's performances, I thoroughly enjoyed this. 4 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 9, 2017 11:40:08 GMT
A lovely portrait of a thirty-something woman spinning her romantic wheels in London. Some spoilers follow. . . This is from DryWrite, the company that Vicky Jones and Phoebe Waller Bridge create theatre for, written and directed by Vicky Jones. Except unlike the other ones they've done, this doesn't star Phoebe Waller Bridge being mean to people, something I've always found incredibly funny. Instead, this features Amy Morgan, as Dee, a messy experimental thirty-something from Swansea, relocated to London where she drinks shedloads, and maintains relationships with 5 other people, some of whom know about each other. If there is one thing that will turn people off about this play, it's the lack of narrative thrust. This play is far more interested in character, than plot progression, yet perhaps lack of plot progression is the whole point, since beneath Dee's cheery, open, experimental, funny facade is endless ennui. The lack of a propulsive plot will be a deal-breaker for some, but if you're willing to look past that, the portrait it paints of a woman of a certain generation, out of sorts with the generations above and below her, hits bullseye for humour and truthfulness. Designer Ultz takes the listless Dee's metaphorical spinning of wheels, and makes them literal, placing her messy apartment on a revolve, which keeps her literally spinning, in fits and starts, all evening. To appreciate the design, avoid the first three rows, as Dee is hemmed in by appliances of all sorts that restrict a good view of her apartment unless sufficiently elevated. As Dee, Amy Morgan is believably natural, a feisty and funny fish-out-of-water Welsh-girl-in-London. (In Gavin and Stacey terms, she is a perfect blend of Stacey's innocence and sweetness, with Nessa's toughness and cynicism, making her complex, more real and recognisable than either). Of the 5 people Dee has relationships with, it's Edward Bluemel who makes the most indelible impression, as Dee's nineteen year old hurricane of an intern, south Kensington posh yet youthfully uninhibited, so eager to please he will happily wear Dee's dresses if it turns her on. Also memorable is James Clyde's Brexiter, whose topical anti-immigration politics and stern sexuality Dee finds challenging and stimulating, and who she refreshingly refuses to judge. So too is Matthew Aubrey loads of fun as Dee's ex from Swansea, hopeful to get back with her, trudging up to London to fix her toilet. Overall, this play may have a minimal plot, but it has the feel of lived experience, and it's got loads of laughs, the biggest of which feature Edward Bluemel and Amy Morgan playing off each other beautifully. 4 stars PS: The title of the play is "Touch," and Pride Day is certainly an appropriate day to attend a theatre in Dean Street to see a play called "Touch," as I must have (inadvertently, I swear) touched about 500 people getting in and out of that venue lol.
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Post by Steve on Jul 8, 2017 10:13:27 GMT
And NEAPTIDE Ronke Adekoluejo (Val), Adjoa Andoh (Beatrice), Simon Armstrong (Sid & Cyril), Thomas Arnold (Colin & Roger), Maureen Beattie (Joyce), Morfydd Clark (Poppy & Terri), Karla Crome (Diane), Helena Lymbery (Anette & Marion), Sarah Niles (Linda) and Jessica Raine (Claire). I went to the Neaptide reading on Thursday night, and loved it! Vivid performances rendered vital the humour in the play, but the substance had massively dated, though critically, not in one way! A word about the format of these readings. The playwright and directors are under instructions to get the plays to run ninety minutes without an interval. This is so that, after a five minute break, a 40 minute discussion can take place in the Lyttelton Lounge, where the writer (together with the director of the reading) gets to discuss revisiting the work, after which everyone can go home at about 10:15pm. For "Neaptide", the playwright, Sarah Daniels, gave Sarah Frankcomm, the director, carte blanche to cut her play down to ninety minutes. This involved excising one character, Jean, the roommate of the lead character, entirely out of the play. When I watched the reading, I had no idea that this had been done, and not knowing the play, had no sense it was incomplete in any way. Thus, I conclude the character of Jean was pretty much superfluous. The play, which involves a closeted teacher, Claire (Jessica Raine) instructed by her headmistress to punish a brave girl, Diane (Karla Crome) for being an out Lesbian, is severely dated, thank goodness! In the play, we are told that in the early eighties, the consequence of Claire stepping up, and coming out herself, would be that she would inevitably both lose her job as a teacher AND lose her custody bid for her child, for whom she was the primary carer. Today, these consequences seem not only ludicrous, but illegally discriminatory, so we've clearly come a LONG way, and the play is rendered, to a degree, a relic unlikely ever to see a large scale production again, and more the type of fare that the Orange Tree or the Finborough might nostalgically revive, with major doubling of cast members. In two key ways though, the play still breathed: (1) The humour: Daniels, a writer who went on to create the first gay teacher on "Grange Hill," is an absolute pro at comedy, creating believably comic situations and hilarious naturalistic dialogue. Strength in the ensemble brought this out to perfection: Ronke Adekolueojo's spaced out Val, playing off the manic denial of her mother, Maureen Beattie's Joyce, who, in turn relentlessly bulldozed the ever patient decency of her other daughter, Jessica Raine's Claire (nobody does intelligent world-weary frustration as compassionately and convincingly as Jessica Raine), who, in turn was threatened by the bold, heroic toughness of out student, Karla Crome's Diane, herself resisting the brazen prejudice enforced by overbearing yet brittle headmistress, Adjoa Andoh's Beatrice. The dialogue is so natural, the characters so distinct, that we got all the comic milking of a sitcom, without the typically wretched phoniness of that format. Of all the actors, Adjoa Andoh was the funniest, able to embody the strict fierceness of the headmistress, as well as simultaneously illustrate the slippery comedy and brittle tragedy of a character, herself a gay woman, enforcing heterosexuality as the compulsory norm, desperately trying to stop the "endemic" of homosexuality (the character meant "epidemic," of course, as pointed out by Jessica Raine's sighing Claire) overtaking the school; (2) Teachers today: In the chit chat that followed the play, gay teachers in the audience identified themselves by raising their hands. They were asked to keep their hands raised if they were out about their sexual orientation, and all hands came down. Anecdotally at least, it seemed, changes in the law and in attitudes have not come so far that gay teachers are free of the fear of persecution by uneducated parents, who conflate sexual orientation with a proclivity to abusiveness, a conflation that perniciously persists, particularly in the tabloids. So the play still speaks to the plight of closeted teachers. Sarah Daniels herself was delightful, in the chit chat, as funny as her play. She joked about how dated she feared the play was, grateful to discover it's still topical in Chechnya. But if many of the issues in her issues play are as stiff as Monty Python's parrot, in her hilariously modest and quick witted turns of phrase, both she and her play remain very much alive.
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Post by Steve on Jul 3, 2017 11:56:22 GMT
Well. This didn't tickle my nethers at all I'm afraid. I'm afraid I spent most of the show wondering: 1. Were Sandra Marvin's crocs making her walk like that or was she unbalanced by the turban? 2. Where was the interval? I was dying for a G&T at half time. 3. Who has Alexander Hanson narked off to be given such a nothing part? Same goes for dear old Rosie Ashe. 4. Who thought that Donmar entrance needs a bar area for people to hang around in? 5. Why can't I write reviews like Steve? I bet he doesn't get distracted by the stitchwork on Sandra Marvin's frock. and more importantly 6. If I stared at Studly Fraser long enough, would he throw away his notepad and ditch Rosalie Craig to invite me to a little committee hearing of his own? Ryan, intrepidly, I'm on the case to address your concerns: 1. From the Independent, two years ago, I discover Batmanghelidjh customises her crocs and turbans: "The turban is made up of two scarves and I'll put on gloves, some earrings – it doesn't matter if nothing matches. I have to wear clip-on earrings because disturbed children will pull on them. It's hard to find clip-ons that are glamorous, but there's a wonderful retro shop in Notting Hill called Amanda's, and she'll give me a call whenever she finds any. The kids are forever trying to get me into a pair of trainers, but I say they're like ugly boats. Instead, I wear Crocs with badges and bits all over them. The kids love them and will talk to them and touch them." Marvin's outfit not only replicates this look, but Marvin beautifully captures her walk, which is a consequence of obesity caused by a pituitary condition. 2. The interval was in Parsley's pocket when he walked out with it. Either that, or Showgirl's petition, for an early finish time, finally reached Josie Rourke's desk. 3. Hanson and Ashe were hired because they can make nothing parts seem like something parts. 4. Who gains by clogging up the main entrance, Ryan? The shopping centre you have to traffic through to get in the side entrance. S'all I'm saying. 5. Because you're effortlessly funny, and verbosity isn't funny. I only write long reviews to annoy HG anyway. When I saw Camila Batmanghelidjh in 2013, I was mesmerised by her "stitchwork," in fact, and spent hours counting the ears of corn depicted on her outfit, and drooling for Nandos butter-roasted corn on the cob. 6. After reading your review, it might not be a notepad Mr Fraser is brandishing at your hoped for hearing.
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Post by Steve on Jul 3, 2017 10:58:56 GMT
Georges Bizet's Carmen, adapted by Peter Brook, plays Wilton’s Music Hall. Blurb: "The youthful stars of the Royal Opera House's Jette Parker Young Artists Programme perform Peter Brook’s radical reworking of Georges Bizet’s opera in an intimate setting. " The Royal Opera House have half the allocation, which will be hard to get, as their Friends will buy it up. However, the Wilton’s Music Hall allocation, for the other side of the auditorium, just went on sale, and if you're interested, that is available now: www.wiltons.org.uk/whatson/358-la-trag-die-de-carmen
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Post by Steve on Jun 29, 2017 11:34:09 GMT
Saw this last night. The songs are lovely, the costumes are lovely, the set is lovely, the actors are great, but the storytelling is a shambles. Some spoilers follow. . . Having read this thread, I was expecting a disaster, and for me, it isn't, as there is too much to love here. While there isn't a song as catchy and fun as "Pick Out a Simple Tune" in this show, that's because there aren't ANY new songs written for British musicals that are as catchy and fun as that. And as far as Stiles and Drewe go, this is lyrically cutesy, as you'd expect from a children's show, and musically excellent, as I found myself humming along with multiple songs, in particular, the sweet "Messing About in a Boat," the jocular "The Open Road," the dangerous "The Wild Wooders" and the Disney-like, "A Friend is Still a Friend." Once the album is out, I think people will come to the view that the songs are excellent. The set and costumes are cute as a button, adorably quaint for adults, and sweetly enchanting for little ones. The actors are perfect: Simon Lipkin makes ratty a joy, embodying this noble and decent guide to the Riverbank with that indecisive hesitancy that imbues this and so many Lipkin characters with that welcome side of humour. Denise Welch may not be able to sing, but her forthrightness and effusiveness endow Mrs. Otter with a Loose Woman likeability that will be a delight for the older crowd. Neil McDermott is a terrificly charismatic antagonist as the Chief Weasel, a demonic David Bowie with just enough self-conscious smirk to avoid scaring the kids. Gary Wilmot is an endearing father figure as Badger. Rufus Hound gets as wild and crazy with Toad as he possibly can. And the lead character, Craig Mather's Mole is as curious and as sweet as any children's hero setting out on a great adventure. Except there is NO GREAT ADVENTURE. There is only a mishmash of conflicted characters, expressing a mishmash of muddled values, in a mishmashed muddle of events. Don't ask me whether the dating of Kenneth Grahame, or the updating of Julian Fellowes, are responsible, but this is the sort of "adventure" we get (including some spoilers): Our adventuring heroes, Mole and Ratty meet in the boat, set their sights on meeting Toad, who Ratty says isn't very nice. When we meet him, he is in fact detestable. Confusingly for children, we drop our adventurers, Mole and Ratty, to follow the "zany" adventures of this detestable Toad, who, from nowhere, we are now supposed to like. Ratty and Mole, the ones we actually like, moan about how terrible Toad is, which makes our attention to Toad seem misplaced, and also, for children, is doubly confusing, as their heroes are so incredibly square and compliant, fearful and undesirous of having the sort of unbounded fun that children usually want. While Toad commits crimes, a girl is kidnapped, but noone cares, and her storyline is strangely dropped, while everyone sets about rescuing Toad from his self-inflicted wounds instead. The Stoats capture Toad Hall, except that it's confusing what they are capturing, or who it belongs to. Ratty and Mole have a story digression in the woods that has nothing to do with any of this. By this time, noone knows whose story we are telling, who we are supposed to care about, or what the stakes are. At the very very very end, Rufus Hound's Toad suddenly becomes the fun, wild but likeable, character he should have been all along. But it's too late. What should have been the exciting adventures of a loveable variety of characters, playing off each other, has in fact been a confusing mess. A massive opportunity squandered! Regardless, those songs, those actors, those costumes, that set, are such diverting comforting pleasures, in and of themselves, that I got 3 and a half stars of enjoyment.
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2017 17:25:36 GMT
I loved this, a thrilling* musical verbatim battle between the Brexit-voting, pennypinching Committee and Camilla Batmanghelidjh, the embodiment of so much unashamed otherness that the cowed Committee would rather just hammer her partner-in-kindness, BBC insider Alan Yentob again and again and again instead! Some spoilers follow. . . *Of course, this show may not be thrilling if the prospect of hearing half the testimony of a Parliamentary Committee about an overspending charity really turns you off. I say half, because this show runs 1 hour 30 minutes without an interval, and the hearing it is extracted from was 3 hours long. In fact, it's less than half the original hearing, as said running time also includes multiple injections of written testimony submitted by interested parties to the hearing, read out by the actors, as well as the musically-rendered, poetic repetition of key phrases that Hadley Fraser (or should it be "phraser"?) and Josie Rourke wish to emphasise (For example, "We want to learn," which got me thinking, "what you really want is a scapegoat!"). Because I confess, I came to this show biased and invested, as I admire Camilla Batmanghelidjh, having attended a Kids Company (Batmanghelidjh's now defunct Charity) Christmas event in 2013, in which she raised a ton of money for the most vulnerable children in London, including the children of drug addicts, violent abusers, sex workers and the poor, and all combinations of the above. That holiday period, she had already overseen the wrapping of 7,000 presents, as well as food parcels for their families. She was Santa Claus to these children, albeit not bedecked in a blood red suit, but all the fabulous colours of the rainbow. Still, even for those who consider Batmanghelidjh to be "the loathsome Batman woman" or simply "that dreadful woman" (descriptions taken from this thread, above), there is still much to stimulate, as this is a dramatic face-off between two sides, and if you really do hate her, you can just root for the other side, The Committee (of Brexit-voters). The inclusion of that critical detail in this show, spelled out at the beginning, that the members of this Committee all voted for Brexit, is topically energising but also problematic. For the Committee's Brexit stance ostensibly has nothing to do with monitoring the spending of a Children's charity, except to exercise a Remainer like me to internally rage at the Committee "So you are willing to tank the economy to slow down immigration, but you begrudge the poorest kids in London getting a fancy pair of trainers to treasure at Christmas!?" (At one point, indeed, the Committee all accusingly hold up examples of the fanciest footwear, as if treating poor children with such trainers were a terrible crime). But this is problematic, as voting Brexit is patently not a signifier of heartlessness, and if Brexit voting audience members get the feeling that the show is implying as much, that will alienate them, and will not serve the needs of the children, which ultimately is all that matters. Sumptuous strings underlie most of the musical phrasing in the show, which infuses dry political statements with swells of emotion. An enigmatic Sandra Marvin is fantastic as Batmanghelidjh, embodying the unnerving unshakeable confidence that Batmanghelidjh had, that she was always doing the right thing, no matter how spendthrift and questionable her accounting practices. As Alan Yentob, Omar Ibrahim is more openly bruised and fazed, infusing Yentob's defeated martyr with a rebellious and incendiary compassion for the Charity's children, who he insisted be prioritised before spending cuts. Marvin and Ibrahim are the stars of the show, as the focus is on them, two lone figures, humiliated by the tabloids, facing off against the vast panel of the Committee and Public Opinion. Their back is to the front facing audience, so while seated, the front facing audience must watch the faces of Marvin's Batmanghelidjh and Ibrahim's Yentob on two big panel screens directly above the arrayed Committee, who directly face that audience. In a side seat, I could see the profiles of both the Committee and the Questioned facing off. But the front facing audience need not fear that they will not directly see the faces of the stars of the show, as, at emotional highpoints in their testimony, Batmanghelidjh and Yentob spring from their seats to pace the floor, facing the audience in all directions, as they sing impassioned defenses of their actions. On the Committee, I was delighted to see David Albury, who impressed as the junkie, Fleetwood, in Southwark's "This Life" and who impressed again as the Committee's Junior Clerk. As Chief Clerk, Joanna Kirkland is a wonderfully empathetic circus master of the proceedings, a uniquely unbiased voice, standing between the condemnation of the Committee and the indignation of the Accused. Alexander Hanson is his usual delicate yet commanding self, as the Conservative Bernard Jenkin MP, confidently and precisely leading the Committee through some lovely sounding harmonic interrogations, and I also loved Anthony O'Donnell as Labour's Paul Flynn MP, hale and hearty yet flinty. As far as verbatim musicals go, I enjoyed this much more than the equally brilliant "London Road," which, with the poor working girls dead, had no rooting interest, as it revealed the shallow callowness at the heart of middle class flower arrangers, enjoying tea and biscuits on top of those girls' graves. Here, Marvin's Batmanghelidjh and Ibrahim's Yentob may be buried, but they furiously and entertainingly resurrect themselves and their cause for an almighty and ambiguous battle, which noone can win, and only London's most vulnerable children must lose. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2017 15:17:52 GMT
Just read a post in another thread, in which Cardinal Pirelli referred to "the judgmental certainties of [David] Hare," and I remembered I'd recently seen a marvelous short film written by him, responding to Brexit, starring Kristin Scott Thomas, called "A Time to Leave." It has a real stinger of an ending, which probably falls into the category of "judgemental certainty" lol, but it struck me as terrific and insightful, regardless. That film and others, including a superb one starring Penelope Wilton by Abi Morgan, and still others by James Graham, Gary Owen, Maxine Peake, etc are all linked here: www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlfYT-Za_x2IujkmppbC7abJ9GTMp8ood
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Post by Steve on Jun 22, 2017 22:22:35 GMT
I am very tempted to go to this, though I have never 'prommed' before. Would it be worth going on the day? I only wouldn't want to make a trip down from the north only to be disappointed I can't get in haha. In case you didn't know, the matinee show still has tickets, that you can book right now to guarantee your entrance, ranging between £20.36 to £73.40 here on the Albert Hall website: tickets.royalalberthall.com/booking/production/bestavailable/54854If you want the £6 promming ticket, I think it will be of only average difficulty to get for several reasons: (1) There are two shows, so there are double the tickets available; (2) The most fanatical prommers prefer classical music and won't be there (the promming queue is the most snobbish queue I have ever joined, with immense disdain dripping from the lips of everyday prommers, for anything other than classical); (3) The weekend promming pass, which allows holders to fill the promming section with a pre-bought ticket, is not valid for the matinee, so there will be a huge amount of extra promming passes available at that matinee; And remember, if you queue for the matinee, and the cut-off excludes you, you can just queue for the evening and be at the front of the queue, I think. Also, note, as regards evening performances, the BBC announced that this year that "a limited number of promming tickets will be available to book online between 9.00am and 12.00pm on the day of the concert for main-evening and Late Night Proms." This is specifically to help people like you, coming from afar, to secure a ticket in advance and know you won't be coming for nothing.
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Post by Steve on Jun 21, 2017 23:20:53 GMT
Saw this tonight, and it's average. Blurring of the boundaries between moral and legal arguments, coupled with oodles of unnecessary exposition, squander the potential of this fascinating court case, in which the audience are the jury. Some spoilers follow. . . A fighter pilot (Ashley Zhangazha) has defied orders, and shot down a passenger plane to prevent terrorists crashing it into 70,000 people in an arena. Is he guilty of murder? Given that it was the hottest June night in 40 years, he was pouring with sweat, so he looked super guilty. And that was as good a legal reason we were given to convict him as any other we heard all night. For this show never defines the law we are to apply, it never sets out the available legal defenses, and it never defines what leeway (or not) the judge has in sentencing, should there be a guilty verdict. The fact we are in Germany, applying German law, means that British audiences have no shorthand to guess any of the above either. We are told that certain rulings by a European Court define certain human rights, giving an essential value to the human lives on board the plane, but we are explicitly told that this is not binding as far as criminal law goes. Confusing indeed, we are left to our own devices. The first hour of the show is tedious. We are informed that the facts are agreed on by all parties, told what they are, but then forced to listen to witnesses redundantly recount all these agreed facts regardless, which takes us nowhere. After that expositional hour is over, a brilliant half hour follows, in which intricate and intriguing moral arguments are made by the prosecuting and defense lawyers. As the prosecutor, Emma Fielding is especially commanding and convincing, and completely redeemed the show for me. Forbes Masson was great also as the defense attorney, but his arguments are nothing you haven't heard before. Anyway, after the arguments, we adjourned for 15 minutes (the interval), upon which the second "half" of the show was 15 minutes long, in which three hundred audience members pressed buttons and voted on the defendant's guilt. The result was a 2/1 landslide that I anticipate will be repeated at every show. The flaws in the show were compounded when Tanya Moodie's Judge referred, in summation, to legal defenses, and absurdities in German law, that we had not even been apprised of before we voted. The voting buttons are a great gimmick, as they invest you in the show, and keep you interested in endless exposition that would otherwise have you parsleying for the exit. But that half hour of moral arguments that follow the first hour of exposition are terrific, so it's worth staying for that. 3 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 13:35:26 GMT
I was at the Albert Hall show.
Poor Idina Menzel was recovering from laryngitis, and worked around this brilliantly by approaching risky notes cautiously, and then raising the volume confidently.
This was a terrific show for Menzel's willingness to really be present, to openly and honestly share her life. She told us of her "ups and downs," of her huge "sensitivity" that makes her hard to handle and "high maintenance." She told us of her heartbreak at the end of her previous relationship and her sorrow for "ruining [her] son's life." She told us how she had thought to exclude her song about her burning love for her child, "Perfect Story," for it's untimely "unfortunate metaphors" regarding "London Bridge" and "flames," but how she would perform it anyway, to share that love she felt with us.
She told us how her "ego" could not stomach an empty seat on the front row, and she invited fans to jump over the barrier that separates the stalls from the arena. One woman hesitated, but a young man named Jason climbed over it and took the seat. Jason was invited on stage for selfies with Menzel, while she cheekily ripped into him as to why a guy as "handsome" as him was coming to a gig alone. When a woman asked for her daughter to get a selfie, Menzel immediately agreed and took the selfie, but then let rip that the girl was not "eight" and needed to get some "independence" and ask for her own selfie: Menzel's brazen honesty in saying so making me crack up laughing.
Menzel also took shots at herself, as she laboriously dragged a chair to sit on for a quiet number, pointing out that Katy Perry or Beyonce would fly down from above as their chairs appeared magically from clouds of smoke.
Muscially, Menzel included the best song from her album, "Small World," she performed Cole Porter lying sultrily across a piano top, she covered Aretha Franklin in a storming "Rock Steady," she did a little "Defying Gravity" with the help of two massive wind machines, which lifted her hair into a Bride of Frankenstein, and she called children to the stage for the one song they wanted to hear "Let it Go," in a setlist that otherwise made adult theatregoers most happy, with renditions from "Rent," like "No Day but Today," in which she talked of her love for Jonathan Larson, and all he taught her. Indeed, she spoke about how difficult it is for her to cater to all her different fan bases, and of how useful the word "sh*te" is to avoid saying the less acceptable in front of kids.
When the kids (few and far between, at first) finally made it to the stage from all corners of the auditorium, she gave them all a chance to sing "Let it go," and when one boy missed a note and recoiled, she coaxed him lovingly back to try again. If this is how encouraging she is with her own child, she most certainly will not ruin his life, as she feared. As she explained to the kids, she is no Disney Princess, but a "Disney Queen."
Musically, this concert was wonderful despite Menzel's laryngitis. But what was most exceptional was how real and present Menzel was in every moment. I have seen many performers (I'm talking about you, Bob Dylan) give nothing of themselves in their concerts, so when a gig like this comes along, where a vast space feels like a cosy evening in a performer's living room, enchantment is unavoidable, especially in the presence of a Disney Queen lol.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 12:54:12 GMT
An excellent play superbly directed, I loved this. Some spoilers follow. . . If there is a flaw to this production, which follows three members of a family in three different timelines, it's the one Ryan mentioned. Two characters (Hattie Morahan's Carol and Kate O'Flynn's Anna) are vividly and exceptionally conceived, whereas one (Adelle Leonce's Bonnie) is vague, receded, barely there. This is by design, as the numbness of Bonnie is suggested to be a consequence of the historical actions of Carol and Anna. However, this created a displeasing lack of symmetry, as an audience member, in that I was completely gripped by the action left and centre stage, and found the action stage right dull, by comparison. With that one caveat, this is one of the best productions of the year. The casting is spot on. Hattie Morahan is SO good at curling up into a metaphorical ball of confusion, her wide eyes taking in everything and processing nothing. Kate O'Flynn is SO good at the exact opposite, plunging into lived experience with verve, processing too much too quickly, with so much fury that she seems to shatter. Morahan's inaccessible Carol is endlessly mysterious, while Kate O'Flynn's open book of an Anna is so immediate and relateable that she makes you laugh before you have a chance to cry. Adelle Leonce's Bonnie is frozen, a human calculator adding up the past. The fascination of the play is that such apparently different character types are all swamped by mental illness. Whether mental illness (particularly, a propensity to depression) is passed through generations via genetics, experiences or the epigenetic transference of trauma to fetuses, is a question the play elegantly opens up and wisely never closes down, so he production is like a fevered dream of questions and life experiences, emanating dreamlike from the stage as a river of information and emotions. If ever a production must be seen and felt, rather than talked about, this is it, as the experience of these three related story threads unfolding simultaneously is indescribable. Katie Mitchell's decision to dress and undress the characters onstage works brilliantly as a metaphor for the power of mental illness to take control of minds. These women are controlled by forces out of their control, and that is what Mitchell makes us feel. Despite the fact that I found Adelle Leonce's Bonnie's numbness frustrating though explicable, this show is so sensory and impactful in it's unique theatrical language, I recommend it to the maximum. 5 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 12:08:10 GMT
Saw this Saturday night, and loved it. A unique show, a happening, a history lesson, a musical performance, a chance to see a Broadway great give a powerfully dramatic performance! Some spoilers follow. . . Featuring a fictional recreation of one of Billie Holliday's last performances, the drama of the legendary singer's sad descent into addiction and mediocrity means that in terms of musical performance, this starts as Audra McDonald at 60 percent (taking her show last year at Leicester Square Theatre as a measure of the full incredible Audra) and goes downhill from there. There were walkouts towards the end of this show, and I attribute that to people who booked to see top-of-her-game Audra but got bottom-of-the-hill Billie. The walkouts were certainly nothing to do with the end time, as we were out of there by 9:20pm, something that will make short-show fanatics brim with glee. When I arrived at 7:40pm, I was thrilled at the unexpected casting of Tyrone Huntley in the play, sitting stage right in the chair closest to the performance space, but by 7:45pm, I had wised up that he was actually an audience member. That didn't stop me watching him, of course, and he started the show veiled in the mere glow of admiration, which expanded to a fully awed beam of bedazzlement, proceeded through a darkening gloomy realisation of the horrors of Billie Holliday's life experience, before brightening again for an effusive standing ovation for the astounding dramatic performance by Audra McDonald that resurrected Billie Holliday from the dead. Huntley's experience was my own, though mine was also coloured by a distinct sense of deja vu, relating to an experience I had at Brixton Jamm 5 years ago. Then I went to see a solo Pete Doherty perform his Libertines hits, and he was a mess to start with and an even more massive mess to finish with, after consuming copious substances, at least one of which did not appear to be alcohol. The sheer brilliance of his songwriting and performance brio were present, but behind the murk of befuddled and dazed substance abuse, and periodically receded and reemerged from behind that cloud. There was a predatory atmosphere, it being unclear whether the audience were cheering for Doherty to succeed or to fail, whether we were more excited by his music or his notoriety. But the sense of being at a happening was there, as if this were performance art, a performance of a performance, full of contradiction, whereby the better the show was in one way, the worse it became in another. That is what this show felt like, without the predation, but with still more levels, a performance of a performance of a performance. The audience cheered at the sight and sound of Audra McDonald, but she didn't give them Audra, only Billie, and as Billie came into focus, some audience members were still more thrilled, while others seemed dejected. As I said before, there were a number of walkouts. The history lessons of the show somewhat lessened the realism, in that noone could really have this much to say about their life while performing in concert, but I learned a lot. One of my favourite passages related Holliday's experience pertaining to the inaccessibility of bathrooms for black women in a time of segregation, a topic also highlighted recently in the movie "Hidden Figures." What both that movie and this show get right is in blending beautifully the comic and tragic aspects of history in their storytelling. Overall, I was blown away by the show. While I didn't enjoy the music as much as I enjoyed McDonald's own concert last year, I learned about and felt much for Billie Holliday, and particularly enjoyed the many different ways of thinking about and experiencing the show. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 3, 2017 18:06:44 GMT
Saw today's matinee, and LOVED this. Better than the movie! Some spoilers follow. . . This is the first Sally Cookson production that I've unreservedly loved. "Jane Eyre" was too twee for Charlotte Bronte's dark and romantic vision. While the ending scenes with Rochester neatly made overt the covert sadomasochism in the text, and the singing of the Mad woman beautifully evoked that character's vanishing humanity, characters jogging on the spot were a twee turn-off, and the comic yapping human dog upstaged the text; "Peter Pan" skillfully brought out the degree to which male infantilisation is at the core of that story, with it's apron-hugging baby of a Mr. Darling acting as Peter Pan's juvenile mirror, while Wendy mothered the boys, and Mrs. Darling's mature femininity demonised as Captain Hook, but the magic of the piece was lost amid exaggerated caricatures, with Tinkerbell particularly screechy, and the children as adults a shade too creepy. Like Mike Leigh, Cookson plays a dangerous game, working without a script, albeit with an original underlying work that acts as a stabilising crib sheet, and her bravery is commendable. But previously, I have found her style, in which music and her malleable ensemble morph their way into a story's dna, to be at odds with the mood of the story they were telling. Here though, moods meld. The ensemble are a human wave telling a human story as old as the sea, of isolation and companionship. Fellini's "La Strada" is massively improved by Cookson's interventions, in which Cookson finds her inner Emma Rice, and brings music, theatricality, community and wonder to bear on the story threads, banishing sentimentality, and bringing out instead the beauty, magic and universality of the underlying fable. In the movie, Fellini was manipulatively sentimental, presenting us with an overacting super-frowny super-lonely clown-faced underdog, repeatedly beaten, literally, as well as buffeted by fate. The movie is saved by Anthony Quale's brutally realistic performance and astonishing shots of a very real war ravaged Italy. Cookson rejects the exaggerated loneliness, the overacting, and the excessive brutality at the heart of the film's manipulative sentimentality. The loneliness she replaces with a communal ensemble, who sing, and dance, and commune, and relate with the principal characters. This injects a joie de vivre into the story that reflects a humanity at the heart of the principal characters, bonding them and the story to the hopes and dreams of the audience. Giuletta Massina's overacting in the film is replaced by a far more realistic and convincing simplicity and innocence in the performance of Audrey Brisson. It helps that Brisson has a hauntingly direct and tender singing voice. Consequently, there is nothing overly forced about Brisson's natural Gelsomina, which she helped shape in rehearsals, under Cookson's supervision. Brisson, of course, is a graduate of Emma Rice's "The Flying Lovers Of Vitebsk," easily my favourite show that I've seen at the Sam Wanamaker. So Cookson's very Emma Rice approach would have been easy for Brisson to adapt to. I would describe Cookson as Emma Rice (the music, the ensemble, the collaboration, the wonder) with added precision and choreography. Stuart Goodwin is another Emma Rice graduate, having appeared in a number of Kneehigh productions. His Zampano is less brutal than Quayle's in the film, more gentle in his cadences, evincing more micro-expressions that suggest his character's potential, even as he acts out the full toxic masculinity of the generally inexpressive Zampano to perfection. It is through Goodwin's efforts that Cookson moves beyond the animalistic constraints of Fellini's Zampano, and allows us to see the yearning for love that even the character can't fathom. In addition to the two principals, Bart Soroczynski gives one of the best supporting performances I've ever seen, as the Fool. It is through him that the theatre of the circus (one of Fellini's perennial motifs) comes alive for us. He can unicycle like an acrobat. He can make us laugh like a clown. He is so truthful and alive in every moment on stage, and he even crosses the fourth wall with grace, addressing the audience at moments without setting off any internal interactivity fear alarms. He is the embodiment of magic and music in a play about magic and music. If this show has a weakness, it's that Cookson never really found a way to end it elegantly. Around me, audience members who had not seen the film expressed some confusion about the turn of events. But overall, this is the most magic Emma Rice piece not to have been directed by Emma Rice. It is a triumph for Cookson and everyone involved. It is magical. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on May 30, 2017 22:27:51 GMT
I love Una furtiva lagrima. I seem to remember someone crinkling a plastic bag through much of it when I saw the ROH production at the cinema a few years ago. At which point I probably could have rivalled Scarpia for murderous thoughts ;-) I love that aria to bits. And frankly, tonight's Nemorino singing it. Liparit Avetisyan, was furtiva everywhere but in his lagrima, which he delivered with stillness, conviction and immense passion, winning him the bravos and cheers of the night. Elsewhere, he was like a silent movie comedian, his every expression furtive, his eyebrows more mobile than those of the dearly departed Roger Moore, his eyes popping like Richard Pryor's, his toes tapping, his shoulders bunching. He was like John Belushi in Animal House without the archness, with added dopiness and charm. I thought he was a wonderful opera comedian, and I was delighted throughout. Pretty Yende sung beautifully, particularly in the second half, where her Adina actually falls in love with Nemorino, and she dropped the coldness, and silenced the house with her sonorous high note bullseyes. The plot of this comic love story is so elegant, the sets so outdoorsy, the performers so full and fun, that I found tonight thoroughly entertaining. Curtain came down 40 minutes late, due to fire evacuation, but thankfully, the orchestra played on! 4 stars
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