Piaf:
In Jamie Lloyd’s revival of this thirty-year-old play, scenes from Piaf’s humble beginnings, decadent career and subsequent decay fly by. The formidable supporting cast (notably Kingsley (Dietrich / assistant)) mostly play several characters and for a while it all seems somewhat of a blur. But perhaps this is how it was for Piaf herself as her career descended into drug use and tantrums. The clarity comes in the exquisite musical numbers by Roger, who seems to channel Piaf and adds her own emotional performance that is heartbreaking even if the French lyrics are not all understood. The Donmar design is sparce with trademark brick wall, but Austen’s lighting creates an absorbing illusion from street to cabaret and to boxing-ring. The play is imperfect and at times the direction and double-casting make it hard to follow what’s going on, but the performance and overall effect are enthralling and devastating.
Saturday 20 September 2008
Monday 1 September 2008
The Time Warp
In times of uncertainty nostalgia can be especially comforting. As summer approached, theatre producers in the West End must have felt they were facing particularly uncertain times. One after another new shows including “Dickens Unplugged” and “Gone With The Wind” (unsurprisingly) were posting closing notices; “Marguerite” was met with luke-warm critical response and looks unlikely to fulfil its initial six month run, let alone the hoped for six month extension. Longer running shows were faring no better with “Spamalot” and “Lord of the Rings” announcing their curtain-down dates with rumours abound that the reality-show-cast “Sound of Music”, “Joseph” and “Grease” are soon to follow. Only “Wicked” is said to be consistently turning in a profit.
So what better way to revive audiences than to dust off a revival or two… or three. All over London bemused audiences were faced with a musical memory lane. It began with the English National Opera’s new interpretation of Bernstein’s Broadway operetta “Candide”.
Based on Voltaire’s story of Candide and his eventful travels from “West Failure” (as it is renamed in this stylish production led by the Canadian director Robert Carsen) to the New World, this production is a collaboration between the ENO and La Scala, Milan and Le Chatelet, Paris and places Candide’s road trip firmly in 1950s America.
Toby Spence is well cast as the naïf optimist, and Alex Jennings makes a superb and confident narrator Voltaire and syphilitic tutor Pangloss. It was a disappointment that charismatic Tony Award winner Kristin Chenoweth had pulled out of playing Cunegonde; she was replaced with a safe choice in Anna Christy whose “Glitter and be Gay” was satisfactory, if not sparkling. Beverly Klein was an irritatingly exaggerated and at times incomprehensible Old Woman.
The concept and design were the real stars. There were a couple of less successful moments: some disappointingly two dimensional carry-on vessels; a purloigned, albeit successful, “Auto-da-fe” scene with dancing Ku Klux Klan members (“Jerry Springer The Opera” anyone?); narrative confusion caused by the decision both to start and finish the journey in what I would describe as the ‘New World’; and an amusing, if slightly out of place, nod to contemporary politics with world leaders including Blair and Bush cast as the exiled kings, floating on an oil slick. Overall however, the simplicity of multiple grand photographic back-cloths and video projections helped to maintain the pace of an otherwise rambling and lengthy story. Last year the ENO attempted to revive “Kismet” with disastrous results, and they had a previous hit with Bernstein’s “On The Town”. What’s next from the musical theatre repertoire?
Across the road, Covent Garden used a similar, if less slick, 1950s States pastiche setting for their production of Stravinsky’s opera “The Rake’s Progress” which was written only a few years before Bernstein’s first version of “Candide”. Here Robert LePage was the creative force responsible for Tom Rakewell being drawn to glitzy Hollywood rather than the seedy world of 18th century London in the Hogarth images which inspired the piece. LePage’s eye for spectacle rewards in some beautiful images, particularly a car journey with scarf flapping, a swimming pool on the stage and the extraordinary inflation of a caravan and an effective asylum scene. Unfortuantely for those (hundreds) of us in the cheap seats, many of these effects were less impressive when viewed from above than they appear on the publicity photos taken from stalls level. The piece was conducted drearily by Thomas Ades and none of the singers struck a chord.
Even the Young Vic fancied a trip down musical theatre memory lane. Their offering was a production of Kurt Weil’s “Street Scene” for which he won the first Tony Award for Original Score. This was a theatrical disaster. A flabby and insubstantial domestic drama set in a New York neighbourhood, played in what seem like real time over the course of a few hours, in this tale I could see the roots of recent successes such as “Avenue Q” and “In the Heights”, however here any humour or warmth of character was lacking due to appalling direction and casting.
It is surely unforgivable, especially in a studio space such as the Old Vic, to cast singers completely incompetent at conveying any emotion in their acting. The performances and direction had a really amateur feel – at times laughable – and it was impossible to appreciate the score with the distraction of cast members, for no clear reason, rolling and drawing with chalk on the floor, and children skipping by. It has to be a bad sign that the most entertaining thing on stage was a cameo appearance by a pug dog. A concert performance would have been more successful. Thumbs down to The Opera Group.
Ian Marshall Fisher’s Lost Musicals series at the Lillian Baylis Studio sets out to revive forgotten pieces from the archive, so perhaps it is wrong of me to include it in this list of this summer’s skeletons. However a concert staging of Noel Coward’s dated 1961 cruise comedy “Sail Away” proved an amusing distraction. It starred sixty seven year old Broadway veteran Penny Fuller as the perky and charismatic ship’s entertainment mistress with Henry Luxemburg (most recently to Hollyoaks viewers) gurning his way nasally through the role of her unlikely younger suitor. Coward’s amusing patter songs include “the passenger’s always right”, performed with cheery pomposity by the ship’s purser in the first act, and reprised as “the customer’s always right” in a politically incorrect and sinisterly amusing manner by a Arabic street salesmen in act 2.
Sadler’s Wells also received the fiftieth anniversary production of Bernstein masterpiece “West Side Story” in July with the original Jerome Robbins choreography recreated. The virtuosic music and frantic choreography were as vibrant now as when captured on film in 1961.
However this stage production was not without it’s faults. The creaking scaffolding set which intermittently swung into the centre stage from the wings, was a little clumsy and the Maria on the night I saw it didn’t have a singing voice to match her Tony, or the verbal clarity to convey the humour of Sondheim’s words. “Officer Krupke” was as amusing as ever, but “Keep it Cool”, contemporary and trendy at the time, now dates the piece firmly in the late fifties.
And to finish off a summer of theatre which might have been confused for a weekend on the Great White Way in the early sixties, the Royal Festival Hall decided to attempt to redeem itself for recent Musical Theatre efforts with a long run of the “Wizard of Oz” directed by the South Bank Centre (and London 2012) Artistic Director Jude Kelly. The last time I visited the RFH for a musical it was for a semi staged, semi rehearsed and hardly enjoyed performance of Sweeney Todd. I didn’t make it to “Carmen Jones” in 2007. But at least this “Oz” promised to be fully staged and had a fairly respectable cast. And isn’t this is a show that’s impossible not to love? After all, it’s spin off musical “Wicked” continues to be a worldwide smash hit.
Well. When presented with a stage version of the musical, you’re confronted immediately with the sparcity of music. Sure, there’s “Ding Dong…”, “We’re off to see the Wizard”… “If I only had a…” and the “Yellow Brick Road”, but actually there isn’t much else. It was a shame therefore that the “Jitterbug” song (cut from the film) was suggested briefly but then not followed through. The second act narrative, in the stage version, is a bit patchy and scenes fly by at the speed of a whirlwind.
The design for Kansas comprised sepia projections of farm scenes amid a substantial framework of ephemera. The budget for Oz however seemed to have been spent on the same faux naïve artistry as the Olympic 2012 logo. An overhead projection of a biro squiggle passed for a tornado – hugely disappointing – and at times, such as when Dorothy exclaims wonder at the Emerald City (another projected doodle), risible. The cast, clad in costumes deliberately swiped from the MGM movie, were confident and competent. Adam Cooper skips along as the Tin Man, and Gary Wilmot makes a jolly Cowardly Lion. Sian Brooke, I think, isn’t really a musical theatre performer, however she isn’t required to do much here other than recreate Judy Garland in a manner I’ve seen done in Soho by drag queens far less talented a dozen times. The ensemble of children as munchkins and acrobatic extras were enthusiastic and provided much needed bulk to an otherwise insubstantial production.
There was, however, a real star on stage: Toto – a genuine terrier who appeared whenever the other stage activity wasn’t going to be too scary for him and conspicuously carried off, often by Dorothy, and occasionally mid-sentence, when any of the frankly modest special effects were anticipated. The second of this summer’s shows to be cast with live animals and children.
Later this year we’ll have “Carousel” (1946) at the Savoy and the threat of a London transfer for the Chichester “Music Man” (1962). A recent trip to Edinburgh demonstrated that new musicals are being written (Broadway has had a fair share this year alongside a smattering of classics). Lets hope some of them reach the West End.
So what better way to revive audiences than to dust off a revival or two… or three. All over London bemused audiences were faced with a musical memory lane. It began with the English National Opera’s new interpretation of Bernstein’s Broadway operetta “Candide”.
Based on Voltaire’s story of Candide and his eventful travels from “West Failure” (as it is renamed in this stylish production led by the Canadian director Robert Carsen) to the New World, this production is a collaboration between the ENO and La Scala, Milan and Le Chatelet, Paris and places Candide’s road trip firmly in 1950s America.
Toby Spence is well cast as the naïf optimist, and Alex Jennings makes a superb and confident narrator Voltaire and syphilitic tutor Pangloss. It was a disappointment that charismatic Tony Award winner Kristin Chenoweth had pulled out of playing Cunegonde; she was replaced with a safe choice in Anna Christy whose “Glitter and be Gay” was satisfactory, if not sparkling. Beverly Klein was an irritatingly exaggerated and at times incomprehensible Old Woman.
The concept and design were the real stars. There were a couple of less successful moments: some disappointingly two dimensional carry-on vessels; a purloigned, albeit successful, “Auto-da-fe” scene with dancing Ku Klux Klan members (“Jerry Springer The Opera” anyone?); narrative confusion caused by the decision both to start and finish the journey in what I would describe as the ‘New World’; and an amusing, if slightly out of place, nod to contemporary politics with world leaders including Blair and Bush cast as the exiled kings, floating on an oil slick. Overall however, the simplicity of multiple grand photographic back-cloths and video projections helped to maintain the pace of an otherwise rambling and lengthy story. Last year the ENO attempted to revive “Kismet” with disastrous results, and they had a previous hit with Bernstein’s “On The Town”. What’s next from the musical theatre repertoire?
Across the road, Covent Garden used a similar, if less slick, 1950s States pastiche setting for their production of Stravinsky’s opera “The Rake’s Progress” which was written only a few years before Bernstein’s first version of “Candide”. Here Robert LePage was the creative force responsible for Tom Rakewell being drawn to glitzy Hollywood rather than the seedy world of 18th century London in the Hogarth images which inspired the piece. LePage’s eye for spectacle rewards in some beautiful images, particularly a car journey with scarf flapping, a swimming pool on the stage and the extraordinary inflation of a caravan and an effective asylum scene. Unfortuantely for those (hundreds) of us in the cheap seats, many of these effects were less impressive when viewed from above than they appear on the publicity photos taken from stalls level. The piece was conducted drearily by Thomas Ades and none of the singers struck a chord.
Even the Young Vic fancied a trip down musical theatre memory lane. Their offering was a production of Kurt Weil’s “Street Scene” for which he won the first Tony Award for Original Score. This was a theatrical disaster. A flabby and insubstantial domestic drama set in a New York neighbourhood, played in what seem like real time over the course of a few hours, in this tale I could see the roots of recent successes such as “Avenue Q” and “In the Heights”, however here any humour or warmth of character was lacking due to appalling direction and casting.
It is surely unforgivable, especially in a studio space such as the Old Vic, to cast singers completely incompetent at conveying any emotion in their acting. The performances and direction had a really amateur feel – at times laughable – and it was impossible to appreciate the score with the distraction of cast members, for no clear reason, rolling and drawing with chalk on the floor, and children skipping by. It has to be a bad sign that the most entertaining thing on stage was a cameo appearance by a pug dog. A concert performance would have been more successful. Thumbs down to The Opera Group.
Ian Marshall Fisher’s Lost Musicals series at the Lillian Baylis Studio sets out to revive forgotten pieces from the archive, so perhaps it is wrong of me to include it in this list of this summer’s skeletons. However a concert staging of Noel Coward’s dated 1961 cruise comedy “Sail Away” proved an amusing distraction. It starred sixty seven year old Broadway veteran Penny Fuller as the perky and charismatic ship’s entertainment mistress with Henry Luxemburg (most recently to Hollyoaks viewers) gurning his way nasally through the role of her unlikely younger suitor. Coward’s amusing patter songs include “the passenger’s always right”, performed with cheery pomposity by the ship’s purser in the first act, and reprised as “the customer’s always right” in a politically incorrect and sinisterly amusing manner by a Arabic street salesmen in act 2.
Sadler’s Wells also received the fiftieth anniversary production of Bernstein masterpiece “West Side Story” in July with the original Jerome Robbins choreography recreated. The virtuosic music and frantic choreography were as vibrant now as when captured on film in 1961.
However this stage production was not without it’s faults. The creaking scaffolding set which intermittently swung into the centre stage from the wings, was a little clumsy and the Maria on the night I saw it didn’t have a singing voice to match her Tony, or the verbal clarity to convey the humour of Sondheim’s words. “Officer Krupke” was as amusing as ever, but “Keep it Cool”, contemporary and trendy at the time, now dates the piece firmly in the late fifties.
And to finish off a summer of theatre which might have been confused for a weekend on the Great White Way in the early sixties, the Royal Festival Hall decided to attempt to redeem itself for recent Musical Theatre efforts with a long run of the “Wizard of Oz” directed by the South Bank Centre (and London 2012) Artistic Director Jude Kelly. The last time I visited the RFH for a musical it was for a semi staged, semi rehearsed and hardly enjoyed performance of Sweeney Todd. I didn’t make it to “Carmen Jones” in 2007. But at least this “Oz” promised to be fully staged and had a fairly respectable cast. And isn’t this is a show that’s impossible not to love? After all, it’s spin off musical “Wicked” continues to be a worldwide smash hit.
Well. When presented with a stage version of the musical, you’re confronted immediately with the sparcity of music. Sure, there’s “Ding Dong…”, “We’re off to see the Wizard”… “If I only had a…” and the “Yellow Brick Road”, but actually there isn’t much else. It was a shame therefore that the “Jitterbug” song (cut from the film) was suggested briefly but then not followed through. The second act narrative, in the stage version, is a bit patchy and scenes fly by at the speed of a whirlwind.
The design for Kansas comprised sepia projections of farm scenes amid a substantial framework of ephemera. The budget for Oz however seemed to have been spent on the same faux naïve artistry as the Olympic 2012 logo. An overhead projection of a biro squiggle passed for a tornado – hugely disappointing – and at times, such as when Dorothy exclaims wonder at the Emerald City (another projected doodle), risible. The cast, clad in costumes deliberately swiped from the MGM movie, were confident and competent. Adam Cooper skips along as the Tin Man, and Gary Wilmot makes a jolly Cowardly Lion. Sian Brooke, I think, isn’t really a musical theatre performer, however she isn’t required to do much here other than recreate Judy Garland in a manner I’ve seen done in Soho by drag queens far less talented a dozen times. The ensemble of children as munchkins and acrobatic extras were enthusiastic and provided much needed bulk to an otherwise insubstantial production.
There was, however, a real star on stage: Toto – a genuine terrier who appeared whenever the other stage activity wasn’t going to be too scary for him and conspicuously carried off, often by Dorothy, and occasionally mid-sentence, when any of the frankly modest special effects were anticipated. The second of this summer’s shows to be cast with live animals and children.
Later this year we’ll have “Carousel” (1946) at the Savoy and the threat of a London transfer for the Chichester “Music Man” (1962). A recent trip to Edinburgh demonstrated that new musicals are being written (Broadway has had a fair share this year alongside a smattering of classics). Lets hope some of them reach the West End.
Thursday 5 June 2008
A plague of opinion (T&C III,iii)
There's a DIY bug in the water this week. Not content with stage dressing, designers seem set upon also refashioning entire auditoria.
Earlier in the year we saw the bland mish mash of pseudo southern bricabrac sprawling from the stage past the sleeping spectators in the New London for "Gone With The Wind", just as Christopher Oram's courtroom extended around the Donmar circle for "Parade".
Now, at the Barbican Theatre the entire front of house is abandoned and tiered seating placed on either side of a performance space for Cheek by Jowl's "Troilus and Cressida". In terms of the usual layout this traverse is created upon a newly constructed thrust stage poking out of the proscenium arch, the seats in the circles and balcony can be seen dimly abandoned, and audience members are given the unusual opportunity to peer up through machinery into the fly tower. What set there was consisted only of rolls of cloth sloping at one end as if to suggest the Greeks' tents, rolling under foot and rising vertically at the other end as the walls of Troy.
Meanwhile across town in a famously versatile venue, The Young Vic, audience members who choose to see "The Good Soul of Szechwan" are directed around a warren of corridors before entering the auditorium and then find themselves entering the theatre across the stage, upon which anonymous Chinese workers are labouring. Again here, the usual seating is dispensed with in favour of bare plywood flooring and walls and plastic bucket seating, surrounded by authentic street paraphernalia. Pounding, repetitive sounds and mechanised movements invoke in the audience a heaviness and claustrophobia before any of the adapted Brechtian parable is presented.
It did make me wonder why these companies bothered using the Barbican or the Young Vic. Why not go the whole hog and chose another space - the "Mask of the Red Death" has recently done so at BAC, and Shunt Vaults is often host to site-specific work.
But what of the productions themselves?
"Troilus and Cressida" was a joy. A lengthy Shakespearean stab at a tale peripheral to the Trojan War, I was unfamiliar with the central characters, their foibles and their sorrows. Here they were played by Alex Waldmann, as a youthful, puckish Troilus, irritatingly darting around the stage in adolescent lust, and Lucy Briggs Owen, in a fairly forgettable performance. It was impossible to believe there was any shared ancestry between Troilus and his lythe warrior brother Hector.
Pandarus panders to the children's amours, pimping his neice to the Trojan prince. Here David Collings is dandyish and loveable, which belies the underlying stagnancy of his lecherous nature, and when this darker persona is revealed in his final speech ("bone-ache" and "disease") it comes as rather a surprise.
Meanwhile the modern take in this production is the leather clad queeniness of Achilles, coupled with the brummie-spouting bitterness of his slave in a dragged-up Thersites (David Caves), narrating and entertaining the assembled Greek troops caustically as a cabaret act in a provincial gay club, inspiring through wine and song, mortal enemies to embrace before battle.
The central characters of the War itself, are Helen and Paris, whose relationship launched the Greek ships in the first place. Here Director Declan Donnellan and Designer Nick Omerod remind us of this fact with the repeated appearance of Helen (Marianne Oldham), ravishing the audience and on-stage paparazzi alike in her full length ballgown. Her Paris (Oliver Coleman), alas, can't act, and is given a wig so laughable that it might belong to a mannequin. However, his preening coupled with her beauty give the glamourous air of a footballer and his WAG.
Coincidentally, as Menelaus Coleman was more bearable. Of the other characters Ulysees (Ryan Kiggell) deserves mention for his demonstration of calm and reserve throughout except for his deliberately disturbing depiction of a dog begging for a kiss from Cressida.
Over in the Young Vic, a youthful cast, most of whom I hadn't seen before, provided the backdrop to Jane Horrocks' fascinatingly split Good Soul, struggling with the weight of the Gods' expectations.
She has an understandably difficult choice between loving and rejecting the handsome yet seedy Yang Sun (John Marquez) whilst being pursued by Wang, played by Aian Gillan.
I found Gillan to be appalling, irritating, childlike and at times occasionally parodying a Chinese accent to an almost racist extreme. His histrionic performance stood out among other entertainingly eccentric characters, as one I'd happily never see again.
The rub in this new translation by David Harrower, I read in the programme later, was that Brecht's play as previously performed relies upon his lead character entering the ethically dubious tobacco industry; this is a translation of one of his later, but previously unpublished, versions in which the industry is heroin and Yang Sun's decline is into addiction.
Presented in brief scenes, with caricatured protagonists and musical interludes, set in the surreal surroundings of a Chinese factory, this was a treat and a fascinating examination of a split soul.
When I'm next likely to see either of these plays, I'm not sure, but after two surprising presentations, I wonder if I'll be bored by more straight performances...
Earlier in the year we saw the bland mish mash of pseudo southern bricabrac sprawling from the stage past the sleeping spectators in the New London for "Gone With The Wind", just as Christopher Oram's courtroom extended around the Donmar circle for "Parade".
Now, at the Barbican Theatre the entire front of house is abandoned and tiered seating placed on either side of a performance space for Cheek by Jowl's "Troilus and Cressida". In terms of the usual layout this traverse is created upon a newly constructed thrust stage poking out of the proscenium arch, the seats in the circles and balcony can be seen dimly abandoned, and audience members are given the unusual opportunity to peer up through machinery into the fly tower. What set there was consisted only of rolls of cloth sloping at one end as if to suggest the Greeks' tents, rolling under foot and rising vertically at the other end as the walls of Troy.
Meanwhile across town in a famously versatile venue, The Young Vic, audience members who choose to see "The Good Soul of Szechwan" are directed around a warren of corridors before entering the auditorium and then find themselves entering the theatre across the stage, upon which anonymous Chinese workers are labouring. Again here, the usual seating is dispensed with in favour of bare plywood flooring and walls and plastic bucket seating, surrounded by authentic street paraphernalia. Pounding, repetitive sounds and mechanised movements invoke in the audience a heaviness and claustrophobia before any of the adapted Brechtian parable is presented.
It did make me wonder why these companies bothered using the Barbican or the Young Vic. Why not go the whole hog and chose another space - the "Mask of the Red Death" has recently done so at BAC, and Shunt Vaults is often host to site-specific work.
But what of the productions themselves?
"Troilus and Cressida" was a joy. A lengthy Shakespearean stab at a tale peripheral to the Trojan War, I was unfamiliar with the central characters, their foibles and their sorrows. Here they were played by Alex Waldmann, as a youthful, puckish Troilus, irritatingly darting around the stage in adolescent lust, and Lucy Briggs Owen, in a fairly forgettable performance. It was impossible to believe there was any shared ancestry between Troilus and his lythe warrior brother Hector.
Pandarus panders to the children's amours, pimping his neice to the Trojan prince. Here David Collings is dandyish and loveable, which belies the underlying stagnancy of his lecherous nature, and when this darker persona is revealed in his final speech ("bone-ache" and "disease") it comes as rather a surprise.
Meanwhile the modern take in this production is the leather clad queeniness of Achilles, coupled with the brummie-spouting bitterness of his slave in a dragged-up Thersites (David Caves), narrating and entertaining the assembled Greek troops caustically as a cabaret act in a provincial gay club, inspiring through wine and song, mortal enemies to embrace before battle.
The central characters of the War itself, are Helen and Paris, whose relationship launched the Greek ships in the first place. Here Director Declan Donnellan and Designer Nick Omerod remind us of this fact with the repeated appearance of Helen (Marianne Oldham), ravishing the audience and on-stage paparazzi alike in her full length ballgown. Her Paris (Oliver Coleman), alas, can't act, and is given a wig so laughable that it might belong to a mannequin. However, his preening coupled with her beauty give the glamourous air of a footballer and his WAG.
Coincidentally, as Menelaus Coleman was more bearable. Of the other characters Ulysees (Ryan Kiggell) deserves mention for his demonstration of calm and reserve throughout except for his deliberately disturbing depiction of a dog begging for a kiss from Cressida.
Over in the Young Vic, a youthful cast, most of whom I hadn't seen before, provided the backdrop to Jane Horrocks' fascinatingly split Good Soul, struggling with the weight of the Gods' expectations.
She has an understandably difficult choice between loving and rejecting the handsome yet seedy Yang Sun (John Marquez) whilst being pursued by Wang, played by Aian Gillan.
I found Gillan to be appalling, irritating, childlike and at times occasionally parodying a Chinese accent to an almost racist extreme. His histrionic performance stood out among other entertainingly eccentric characters, as one I'd happily never see again.
The rub in this new translation by David Harrower, I read in the programme later, was that Brecht's play as previously performed relies upon his lead character entering the ethically dubious tobacco industry; this is a translation of one of his later, but previously unpublished, versions in which the industry is heroin and Yang Sun's decline is into addiction.
Presented in brief scenes, with caricatured protagonists and musical interludes, set in the surreal surroundings of a Chinese factory, this was a treat and a fascinating examination of a split soul.
When I'm next likely to see either of these plays, I'm not sure, but after two surprising presentations, I wonder if I'll be bored by more straight performances...
Wednesday 28 May 2008
A common pursuit
After Sunday's yawn inducing rendering of amateurs with artistic aspirations ("The Common Pursuit"), I was delighted to discover that the Ashington colliers in Lee Hall's "Pitmen Painters" had a far more interesting story to tell.
These 1930s Geordie miners escape their daytime toils in a weekly nightclass. Having sampled psychology and failed to find an economist, they are lumbered with the RP spouting naif Robert Lyon who offers them classes in Art Appreciation and under his tutorship they begin to create their own paintings for the appraisal of the group.
The delight in this simple production, which was first seen at Newcastle's Live Theatre and has now transferred to the Cottesloe with the original cast, is the engaging ensemble performance combined with unobtrusively projected original images of the paintings created by the eponymous artists.
Any elaborate set is dispensed with in favour of half a dozen wooden chairs and three projection screens on which the images referred to in the plot are displayed. Intermittently we are also given brief phrases describing each enacted scene, in the same way that a title might be displayed alongside a painting in a gallery: "Oliver borrows books", "Rock Hall 1938" and "Newcastle Central Station".
In a lengthy first half we are introduced to the five men who each use their newfound joy of painting to depict their difficult working lives and modest surroundings. Among them Oliver Kilbourn is the most talented of the group and is offered the chance to move out of his working class roots to a life of patronage. His fear that aspiration might take him away from his fellows is heartbreakingly portrayed by Christopher Connel. In contrast Lyon, already believing himself to be of a greater class, although hilariously dismissed as "a middle-brow provincial realist", continues to aspire: he abandons his protégés for a post in Edinburgh, having documented their achievements in a professorial dissertation.
For me the most moving scenes came just before the interval. FIrstly, the men contradict Lyons' assertion that their work proves that "anyone" - the implication being that even the working classes - can appreciate and create art. Secondly the men's genuine appreciation of the Masters they saw in London, I felt, was overwhelmingly sincere.
There were faults. In Act II a scene in which Lyon is seen sketching Kilbourn was beautifully done, but over-long. And a political rant at the end of the play by a die-hard Socialist about his hopes for the future under Labour and nationalisation was excessively preachy, ending the show with a hymn from the Durham Miners' Gala and a footnote about New Labour's abandonment of Clause IV in 1995.
The show, in parts, reminded me of the more moving and political passages in Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park With George". That too was stronger in its first half, telling the true life tale of an artist struggling to express himself. It too has a strong political point in its second act and in the recent London revival (now on Broadway) makes effective (albeit rather more complicated) use of projection.
It is impossible not to draw comparison too with Hall's more previous work "Billy Elliot", either the film or the musical play. As "Pitmen" ends, nationalisation is seen as a post war panacea; "Billy" begins as that aspirational project is dismantled and, tragically for the Northern working class community depicted, in fifty years, the same prejudices are found. In the 1930s the painters might use art to improve their lot, and in the 1980s version it is a young ballerino pirouetting against the grain.
There is talk of a West End transfer. Here's to a film too.
These 1930s Geordie miners escape their daytime toils in a weekly nightclass. Having sampled psychology and failed to find an economist, they are lumbered with the RP spouting naif Robert Lyon who offers them classes in Art Appreciation and under his tutorship they begin to create their own paintings for the appraisal of the group.
The delight in this simple production, which was first seen at Newcastle's Live Theatre and has now transferred to the Cottesloe with the original cast, is the engaging ensemble performance combined with unobtrusively projected original images of the paintings created by the eponymous artists.
Any elaborate set is dispensed with in favour of half a dozen wooden chairs and three projection screens on which the images referred to in the plot are displayed. Intermittently we are also given brief phrases describing each enacted scene, in the same way that a title might be displayed alongside a painting in a gallery: "Oliver borrows books", "Rock Hall 1938" and "Newcastle Central Station".
In a lengthy first half we are introduced to the five men who each use their newfound joy of painting to depict their difficult working lives and modest surroundings. Among them Oliver Kilbourn is the most talented of the group and is offered the chance to move out of his working class roots to a life of patronage. His fear that aspiration might take him away from his fellows is heartbreakingly portrayed by Christopher Connel. In contrast Lyon, already believing himself to be of a greater class, although hilariously dismissed as "a middle-brow provincial realist", continues to aspire: he abandons his protégés for a post in Edinburgh, having documented their achievements in a professorial dissertation.
For me the most moving scenes came just before the interval. FIrstly, the men contradict Lyons' assertion that their work proves that "anyone" - the implication being that even the working classes - can appreciate and create art. Secondly the men's genuine appreciation of the Masters they saw in London, I felt, was overwhelmingly sincere.
There were faults. In Act II a scene in which Lyon is seen sketching Kilbourn was beautifully done, but over-long. And a political rant at the end of the play by a die-hard Socialist about his hopes for the future under Labour and nationalisation was excessively preachy, ending the show with a hymn from the Durham Miners' Gala and a footnote about New Labour's abandonment of Clause IV in 1995.
The show, in parts, reminded me of the more moving and political passages in Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park With George". That too was stronger in its first half, telling the true life tale of an artist struggling to express himself. It too has a strong political point in its second act and in the recent London revival (now on Broadway) makes effective (albeit rather more complicated) use of projection.
It is impossible not to draw comparison too with Hall's more previous work "Billy Elliot", either the film or the musical play. As "Pitmen" ends, nationalisation is seen as a post war panacea; "Billy" begins as that aspirational project is dismantled and, tragically for the Northern working class community depicted, in fifty years, the same prejudices are found. In the 1930s the painters might use art to improve their lot, and in the 1980s version it is a young ballerino pirouetting against the grain.
There is talk of a West End transfer. Here's to a film too.
Tuesday 27 May 2008
Literally literary tosh
I stumbled out of the semi subterranean darkness of the Menier Chocolate Factory into a dreary Sunday afternoon and found myself passing the giant figure of David Babani, its Artistic Director, in the bar. Under his leadership this tiny fringe venue has produced a host of exciting new and successful revivals of musicals and a succession of bland and dreary plays. I had hoped that "The Common Pursuit", their latest non-musical offering, might break this pattern.
I had just sat through two hours of a twenty five year old play about a bunch of Cambridge graduates who set up a literary publication. The bumf from the Chocolate Factory describes this as a "sharp comedy" which is "as defined a study of friendship now as it was when it was first performed". More of that later.
Babani, as Producer, and Director Fiona Laird have gathered together an extraordinary hotchpotch of mostly unsuitable performers in Nigel Harman (housewives' favourite from Eastenders), James Dreyfus (mincing directly from one gay character to another on the small screen and more recently in "The Producers" and "Cabaret" on the West End) and Reece Shearsmith (as grotesque here as when one of the "League of Gentlemen"). Along side them are Ben Caplin, Robert Portal and Mary Stockley each of whom I'd seen previously on stage but not elsewhere.
The two room box set which transported us from a Trinity College bedroom to a London Office by gliding into the wings was carefully constructed and marvelously realistic to look at, but somewhat spoiled by hollow wooden booming sounds as the actors stomped their way around the MDF floor.
Hollow and wooden, I'm afraid, is all that can be said about most of the performances. Beginning when they're all at University, the opening scene (and subsequent epilogue) was a peculiar picture. I've sat in many an eccentric Oxbridge meeting and observed nothing quite as bizzare as this cliché ridden parody of eccentricity. Nigel Harman's caddish "Lone Ranger" managed throughout to channel Frank Spencer as he nasally flounced around the stage. Reece Shearsmith, whose character was revealed to have emphysema as the painful entertainment concluded, was certainly not cast for his ability to cough realistically. James Dreyfus' performance was tolerably restrained, but his gay character was subjected to a sexual denouement so outmoded that it achieved merely groans from the audience members around me. What plot was left had to be carried by the three lesser known actors, who did so adequately, if not with flair.
The decline of the idealisitic students into intellectually bored adults appeared nothing more than mundane and inevitable in this production and mirrored my progression as the minutes ticked by. As a study of friendship, the tales of Simon Gray's characters seemed to be no more telling than those in an Ayckbourn farce, and far less amusing.
In all this was a fairly dreary afternoon of comedy which seemed to have lost any sharpness under a mound of dust in the two decades since it was written. I wonder, even then, if the sexual improprieties were all _that_ shocking.
Let's hope the Factory's next offering, rumoured to be a Lippa show, will be a return to musical form.
I had just sat through two hours of a twenty five year old play about a bunch of Cambridge graduates who set up a literary publication. The bumf from the Chocolate Factory describes this as a "sharp comedy" which is "as defined a study of friendship now as it was when it was first performed". More of that later.
Babani, as Producer, and Director Fiona Laird have gathered together an extraordinary hotchpotch of mostly unsuitable performers in Nigel Harman (housewives' favourite from Eastenders), James Dreyfus (mincing directly from one gay character to another on the small screen and more recently in "The Producers" and "Cabaret" on the West End) and Reece Shearsmith (as grotesque here as when one of the "League of Gentlemen"). Along side them are Ben Caplin, Robert Portal and Mary Stockley each of whom I'd seen previously on stage but not elsewhere.
The two room box set which transported us from a Trinity College bedroom to a London Office by gliding into the wings was carefully constructed and marvelously realistic to look at, but somewhat spoiled by hollow wooden booming sounds as the actors stomped their way around the MDF floor.
Hollow and wooden, I'm afraid, is all that can be said about most of the performances. Beginning when they're all at University, the opening scene (and subsequent epilogue) was a peculiar picture. I've sat in many an eccentric Oxbridge meeting and observed nothing quite as bizzare as this cliché ridden parody of eccentricity. Nigel Harman's caddish "Lone Ranger" managed throughout to channel Frank Spencer as he nasally flounced around the stage. Reece Shearsmith, whose character was revealed to have emphysema as the painful entertainment concluded, was certainly not cast for his ability to cough realistically. James Dreyfus' performance was tolerably restrained, but his gay character was subjected to a sexual denouement so outmoded that it achieved merely groans from the audience members around me. What plot was left had to be carried by the three lesser known actors, who did so adequately, if not with flair.
The decline of the idealisitic students into intellectually bored adults appeared nothing more than mundane and inevitable in this production and mirrored my progression as the minutes ticked by. As a study of friendship, the tales of Simon Gray's characters seemed to be no more telling than those in an Ayckbourn farce, and far less amusing.
In all this was a fairly dreary afternoon of comedy which seemed to have lost any sharpness under a mound of dust in the two decades since it was written. I wonder, even then, if the sexual improprieties were all _that_ shocking.
Let's hope the Factory's next offering, rumoured to be a Lippa show, will be a return to musical form.
Wednesday 21 May 2008
Fram
To comment on this National disgrace would be unfair,
as after only a few minutes I realised I couldn't bear,
to persevere (and prove my friends (who had warned me) not to be right),
and to return after the interval for more self indulgent rhyming shite.
I'm yet to meet anyone who's seen the second half of this terrible play. Occasional humorous moments are outnumbered by lengthy dull scenes, including an interminable ballet (!), itself prefaced by a character reassuring the audience that it wouldn't be long! On the night I went, the most enjoyment was gained from the unprofessional improvisation of the lead character when the set malfunctioned. Urgh. I'd urge the writer to offer his services up for panto - the only place such cheesy couplets would fit these days. However this found its way onto the Olivier stage, I've no idea. The audience on the night I went was thin to say the least, and I'm sure, was thinner after the first opportunity to escape.
Boo.
as after only a few minutes I realised I couldn't bear,
to persevere (and prove my friends (who had warned me) not to be right),
and to return after the interval for more self indulgent rhyming shite.
I'm yet to meet anyone who's seen the second half of this terrible play. Occasional humorous moments are outnumbered by lengthy dull scenes, including an interminable ballet (!), itself prefaced by a character reassuring the audience that it wouldn't be long! On the night I went, the most enjoyment was gained from the unprofessional improvisation of the lead character when the set malfunctioned. Urgh. I'd urge the writer to offer his services up for panto - the only place such cheesy couplets would fit these days. However this found its way onto the Olivier stage, I've no idea. The audience on the night I went was thin to say the least, and I'm sure, was thinner after the first opportunity to escape.
Boo.
Thursday 15 May 2008
Sound - check - mate
Chess in Concert
Royal Albert Hall
I would love to be able to comment on the quality of the performances at Chess the Concert on Tuesday. The cast promised to be fantastic, with Idina Menzel and Kerry Ellis battling for the heart of Josh Groban.
Unfortunately I am unable to do so. I left the Hall infuriated and immensely disappointed at having forked out £25 for a seat with a severely restricted view only to discover during the performance that the sound quality was also restricted to such a level that the lyrics and spoken words were essentially inaudible throughout.
The overall experience was akin to listening to a concert in a stadium from outside in the car park.
Not being familiar with the musical, I was forced to guess the plot based upon the simultaneous PowerPoint presentation projected above the performers. And at times I regretted being too far away from the stage to be able to read the titles which I could see scrolling past on the immensely tacky and distracting autocues which were dotted around the stage.
I can only assume that many other members of the audience found themselves in a similar position: two rows of people around me did not return after the interval and when I tried to purchase a programme (pouring good money after bad in an attempt to salvage my evening by reading the synopsis), I was told that programmes were sold out despite them also being vastly overpriced at £15. Phew.
Advice to all: look out for future productions promoted by Heartaches Ltd / The Night of 1000 Voices / JGPC and give them a very wide berth. And really, DON'T buy the DVD.
I found this Youtube Clip later taken on someone's mobile phone. The sound really was this bad.
Royal Albert Hall
I would love to be able to comment on the quality of the performances at Chess the Concert on Tuesday. The cast promised to be fantastic, with Idina Menzel and Kerry Ellis battling for the heart of Josh Groban.
Unfortunately I am unable to do so. I left the Hall infuriated and immensely disappointed at having forked out £25 for a seat with a severely restricted view only to discover during the performance that the sound quality was also restricted to such a level that the lyrics and spoken words were essentially inaudible throughout.
The overall experience was akin to listening to a concert in a stadium from outside in the car park.
Not being familiar with the musical, I was forced to guess the plot based upon the simultaneous PowerPoint presentation projected above the performers. And at times I regretted being too far away from the stage to be able to read the titles which I could see scrolling past on the immensely tacky and distracting autocues which were dotted around the stage.
I can only assume that many other members of the audience found themselves in a similar position: two rows of people around me did not return after the interval and when I tried to purchase a programme (pouring good money after bad in an attempt to salvage my evening by reading the synopsis), I was told that programmes were sold out despite them also being vastly overpriced at £15. Phew.
Advice to all: look out for future productions promoted by Heartaches Ltd / The Night of 1000 Voices / JGPC and give them a very wide berth. And really, DON'T buy the DVD.
I found this Youtube Clip later taken on someone's mobile phone. The sound really was this bad.
Sunday 11 May 2008
Sugared Armands
A preview performance of Marguerite at the Theatre Royal Haymarket.
The story, as in “La Dame aux Camélias” / “Traviata” / “Moulin Rouge” is fairly familiar but I thought it worked quite well in the WW2 setting.
However, I did feel that the telling of it was undermined at the beginning by failing to conjure the aristocratic hedonism from which Otto had plucked Marguerite. We first meet her as a fairly prim matronly figure at a drinks party, where her behaviour is not particularly raunchy or sexual. It is hard to understand why Otto feels the way she is behaving is in any way inappropriate, nor why her love for Armand is such a bolt. I’d have liked to see her as more of a player early on to contrast with the genuine passion we are encouraged to believe later.
The most significant problem with the book is in the passing of time. Months seem to pass between scenes and this is unmentioned (quite the opposite problem from “Gone With the Wind”, coincidentally, where they pedantically narrate the passing of every moment). Finally, when Otto is killed (almost without any repercussions at all?!), Marguerite asks for a singing job and we are told that she is to be spurned for cavorting with “the enemy” (so the Germans have now left have they? We could have done with some newsreel to inform us of that). A moment later she is seen repeatedly being kicked and spat upon by her former friends. That scene involved her clothes being torn off (slightly more revealingly than intended, I suspect) and her hair, pointlessly, being cut – what was that image meant to convey? And then she’s dead. Why? Did she die from a hair cut? It would help to see her becoming impoverished, returning to prostitution, catching TB (perhaps a cough or two), rather than simply leave the audience with the impression that she dies from the shame of accidentally flashing her boobs at them.
The cast, I thought was superb overall. In my eyes the gorgeous Julian Ovenden can do no wrong. He has a wonderful operatic tone, is beautiful to watch and as a pianist excelled. My only criticism was that he seemed a bit too old to play the youthful character with which he was charged. In some of his impetuous moments (tossing the music into the air, or having a hissy fit about not seeing Marguerite often enough) he seems to be quite a childish character and this contrasts too starkly with his reserved adult demeanour during the rest of the performance. I’d like to have seen him acting more impishly throughout, perhaps more like Matt Cross, who appeared to be channeling energy for all of the rest of the cast. Ruthie Henshall obviously has a superb voice, however she also seemed a bit reserved in her performance last night. I’ve already mentioned wishing to have seen more distinction between her as a sexy player at the beginning and as a dying broken woman at the end. In contrast to Julian Ovenden, she seemed to appear too young for her part. When they were in bed together the generation age difference between them was entirely absent… in another play they could have been playing lovers of the same age.
The musical writing had a variety of styles. I didn’t come out humming any of the tunes alas, and tantalizingly on a number of occasions the good songs aren’t long enough for the moment to be enjoyed (“Jazz Time”). The conducting seemed to be too precise – moving on all of the numbers at a pace rather than allowing the Mills-and-Boonesque romantic pieces to gush out of the pit all over the audience. A few climax notes sustained beyond their nominal length, I think, is all that would be required for this.
I thought the numbers were perfectly atmospheric, however stylistically I thought it was a shame that each of the first numbers we heard was sung in unison, which made for a flat start to the evening. A bit of harmonisation would have made it more interesting on the ear.
The band, unfortunately, is too small. Particularly with only four strings and synth for genuine gushes. I would love to hear it played by a bigger orchestra and would encourage them to hire in more players if a CD is contemplated – it would really make a difference.
Some of the writing sounded a little familiar: “China Doll” owes more than a nod to Jaques Brel’s “Carousel”, and I found myself picturing Norma Desmond on a number of occasions, not least during “The Face I See” – [“With One Look?”]. At other times, “Light in the Piazza”, “Passion”, “Phantom” (= “Intoxication”) and briefly “West Side Story” were evoked – I don’t say this entirely as a criticism, as you know I am a fan of all of the above, but only in preparation for others who might do so.
The most interesting and enjoyable numbers, to my ear, were in the counterpoints between Armand, Marguerite and Otto (“Intoxication”) and “Day by Day”.
The design was stunning and the transformation between scenes was very successfully choreographed, despite a few technical wobbles and clattering which will be ironed out by the end of previews. I enjoyed the interior of Armand’s apartment most of all, though Otto’s pad was clearly deluxe. The projections were mostly good, I liked her blinking doll face, Notre Dame and the Gare de l’Est. On a couple of other occasions, particularly for the briefer scenes, these could have been dispensed with. And I feared for cast injuries when Pierrot wheeled his bicycle along the revolve during, I think, “Time Was When”! The least successful element, I felt, was the New Year’s Eve champagne bottle/firework/clock. Although impressive, this was unfortunately a distraction from the crucial action on stage (shooting Otto) and an irritating anachronism – since when were digital clocks a feature of wartime parties? I’d rather have had a few streamers.
In summary, I’m afraid I don’t think this is going to be another “Les Miserables”, but I’d like to see it have a decent run and will be recommending it widely. I’d love to see it again when further tweaking has been done over the coming weeks and will look out for positive reviews.
The greatest advantage it has going for it is that it is vastly superior to its main competitor (GWTW), however it doesn’t have a famous title (unless you’re familiar with the ballet) so Jonathan Kent and his team ought to be pubicising it more… not least because it would be very nice to see and hear Julien Ovenden singing on the telly!
The story, as in “La Dame aux Camélias” / “Traviata” / “Moulin Rouge” is fairly familiar but I thought it worked quite well in the WW2 setting.
However, I did feel that the telling of it was undermined at the beginning by failing to conjure the aristocratic hedonism from which Otto had plucked Marguerite. We first meet her as a fairly prim matronly figure at a drinks party, where her behaviour is not particularly raunchy or sexual. It is hard to understand why Otto feels the way she is behaving is in any way inappropriate, nor why her love for Armand is such a bolt. I’d have liked to see her as more of a player early on to contrast with the genuine passion we are encouraged to believe later.
The most significant problem with the book is in the passing of time. Months seem to pass between scenes and this is unmentioned (quite the opposite problem from “Gone With the Wind”, coincidentally, where they pedantically narrate the passing of every moment). Finally, when Otto is killed (almost without any repercussions at all?!), Marguerite asks for a singing job and we are told that she is to be spurned for cavorting with “the enemy” (so the Germans have now left have they? We could have done with some newsreel to inform us of that). A moment later she is seen repeatedly being kicked and spat upon by her former friends. That scene involved her clothes being torn off (slightly more revealingly than intended, I suspect) and her hair, pointlessly, being cut – what was that image meant to convey? And then she’s dead. Why? Did she die from a hair cut? It would help to see her becoming impoverished, returning to prostitution, catching TB (perhaps a cough or two), rather than simply leave the audience with the impression that she dies from the shame of accidentally flashing her boobs at them.
The cast, I thought was superb overall. In my eyes the gorgeous Julian Ovenden can do no wrong. He has a wonderful operatic tone, is beautiful to watch and as a pianist excelled. My only criticism was that he seemed a bit too old to play the youthful character with which he was charged. In some of his impetuous moments (tossing the music into the air, or having a hissy fit about not seeing Marguerite often enough) he seems to be quite a childish character and this contrasts too starkly with his reserved adult demeanour during the rest of the performance. I’d like to have seen him acting more impishly throughout, perhaps more like Matt Cross, who appeared to be channeling energy for all of the rest of the cast. Ruthie Henshall obviously has a superb voice, however she also seemed a bit reserved in her performance last night. I’ve already mentioned wishing to have seen more distinction between her as a sexy player at the beginning and as a dying broken woman at the end. In contrast to Julian Ovenden, she seemed to appear too young for her part. When they were in bed together the generation age difference between them was entirely absent… in another play they could have been playing lovers of the same age.
The musical writing had a variety of styles. I didn’t come out humming any of the tunes alas, and tantalizingly on a number of occasions the good songs aren’t long enough for the moment to be enjoyed (“Jazz Time”). The conducting seemed to be too precise – moving on all of the numbers at a pace rather than allowing the Mills-and-Boonesque romantic pieces to gush out of the pit all over the audience. A few climax notes sustained beyond their nominal length, I think, is all that would be required for this.
I thought the numbers were perfectly atmospheric, however stylistically I thought it was a shame that each of the first numbers we heard was sung in unison, which made for a flat start to the evening. A bit of harmonisation would have made it more interesting on the ear.
The band, unfortunately, is too small. Particularly with only four strings and synth for genuine gushes. I would love to hear it played by a bigger orchestra and would encourage them to hire in more players if a CD is contemplated – it would really make a difference.
Some of the writing sounded a little familiar: “China Doll” owes more than a nod to Jaques Brel’s “Carousel”, and I found myself picturing Norma Desmond on a number of occasions, not least during “The Face I See” – [“With One Look?”]. At other times, “Light in the Piazza”, “Passion”, “Phantom” (= “Intoxication”) and briefly “West Side Story” were evoked – I don’t say this entirely as a criticism, as you know I am a fan of all of the above, but only in preparation for others who might do so.
The most interesting and enjoyable numbers, to my ear, were in the counterpoints between Armand, Marguerite and Otto (“Intoxication”) and “Day by Day”.
The design was stunning and the transformation between scenes was very successfully choreographed, despite a few technical wobbles and clattering which will be ironed out by the end of previews. I enjoyed the interior of Armand’s apartment most of all, though Otto’s pad was clearly deluxe. The projections were mostly good, I liked her blinking doll face, Notre Dame and the Gare de l’Est. On a couple of other occasions, particularly for the briefer scenes, these could have been dispensed with. And I feared for cast injuries when Pierrot wheeled his bicycle along the revolve during, I think, “Time Was When”! The least successful element, I felt, was the New Year’s Eve champagne bottle/firework/clock. Although impressive, this was unfortunately a distraction from the crucial action on stage (shooting Otto) and an irritating anachronism – since when were digital clocks a feature of wartime parties? I’d rather have had a few streamers.
In summary, I’m afraid I don’t think this is going to be another “Les Miserables”, but I’d like to see it have a decent run and will be recommending it widely. I’d love to see it again when further tweaking has been done over the coming weeks and will look out for positive reviews.
The greatest advantage it has going for it is that it is vastly superior to its main competitor (GWTW), however it doesn’t have a famous title (unless you’re familiar with the ballet) so Jonathan Kent and his team ought to be pubicising it more… not least because it would be very nice to see and hear Julien Ovenden singing on the telly!
Tuesday 22 April 2008
That's the way to do it!
ENO / Young Vic
Punch and Judy
Well I went to Punch and Judy with enormous trepidation (and a book for the expected expansive pointless and plotless sections) following ROH's Minotaur last week. But this time I was blown away.
It was FANTASTIC from beginning to end and the best thing I've seen with an ENO label in the time I've been going there. The score was fabulously delivered (despite, tonight, us having the B conductor).
The piece combines perfectly judged horror and comedy with (unlike Minotaur) real feeling.
It was designed simply and attractively with some extremely successful elements. The acting was superb, given they were all singers primarily, particularly from Andrew Shore as a variously evil, comic, mischievous and touching lead.
Go.
Punch and Judy
Well I went to Punch and Judy with enormous trepidation (and a book for the expected expansive pointless and plotless sections) following ROH's Minotaur last week. But this time I was blown away.
It was FANTASTIC from beginning to end and the best thing I've seen with an ENO label in the time I've been going there. The score was fabulously delivered (despite, tonight, us having the B conductor).
The piece combines perfectly judged horror and comedy with (unlike Minotaur) real feeling.
It was designed simply and attractively with some extremely successful elements. The acting was superb, given they were all singers primarily, particularly from Andrew Shore as a variously evil, comic, mischievous and touching lead.
Go.
Friday 18 April 2008
A load of bull...
Royal Opera House
Minotaur
For what it's worth I loved the orchestral music, especially the haunting toccati, with their associated video projections. The singing was faultless... but as with The Tempst I found myself loathing the libretto and some of the elements - not least the jeering chorus of choral speakers and the laughable booming conscience from behind the mirror.
I nearly didn't go back for more after the interval, but was glad I did. If only he'd started the story there and continued for a further fifteen minutes at the end - much more interesting!
The set looked as though it was made for the Linbury and I liked the horizon effect, but rather disliked the bull pit.
Three stars.
Minotaur
For what it's worth I loved the orchestral music, especially the haunting toccati, with their associated video projections. The singing was faultless... but as with The Tempst I found myself loathing the libretto and some of the elements - not least the jeering chorus of choral speakers and the laughable booming conscience from behind the mirror.
I nearly didn't go back for more after the interval, but was glad I did. If only he'd started the story there and continued for a further fifteen minutes at the end - much more interesting!
The set looked as though it was made for the Linbury and I liked the horizon effect, but rather disliked the bull pit.
Three stars.
Sunday 6 April 2008
Don't call me Frankie...
Saw the first preview of http://www.gwtwthemusical.com/ on Saturday in advance of world premiere in a few weeks.
Rather ominously it was prefaced by a slightly weary looking Stage Manager coming on stage to announce that "to tell this epic story which spans ten years is currently taking us three and three quarter hours and we hope it to make it shorter.. if you need to leave early please do so with consideration for the cast and other audience members...".
After a heavy sigh the production commenced. With much giggling on my part. Several times such wonderful lines came up in the book including "will we be out of here by midnight?" and "this is a story without an end". Ha ha.
In fact, the initial estimate didn't include the interval... so we didn't hear those famous lines "frankly my dear..." (followed by ovation), "tomorrow is another day" and the profound title number "[all those things are now] gone... gone with the wind" until four and a quarter hours after the lights initially went down. And suffice to say the house lights were up and the audience was off with the briefest and most apologetic of bows I've experienced.
Scarkett O'Hara (Jill Paice) spent too much time running on and off the blandly designed stage and barking through the songs to create any lasting impression. Darius Danesh, it turns out, is more than an irritating reality TV contestant, rather a tall and handsome character with a baritone reminiscent of Bing Crosby. Only the "negros" managed to save anything from the burning ashes of this disaster, with some fantastic ensemble numbers.
At least it had memorable music... oh hang on. In fact what tunes there were were variously swiped from Andrew Lloyd Webber, Oliver, My Fair Lady etc. Can't wait for the reviews. And, not long after I predict, the closing notices.
How can anyone have thought this would be any good? Just a brief glance at the biography in the programme of Margaret Martin, the lady credited with book, music and lyrics should have caused alarm bells to sound. It begins "Margaret Martin earned a doctorate in public health from UCLA..." and continues "She... is the author and illustrator of Pregnancy and Childbirth: The Basic Illustrated Guide". Erm. Oh hang on. Music is mentioned first just after the half way point... "She is the founder of... a non-profit organisation... that provides musical instruments... to 400 children from low-income LA families". Well, brava Margaret. But how the hell did you manage to find yourself as the main creative force behind a West End show?
Tosh. For a more interesting interpretation of the South, stick to Parade or Caroline Or Change instead.
Rather ominously it was prefaced by a slightly weary looking Stage Manager coming on stage to announce that "to tell this epic story which spans ten years is currently taking us three and three quarter hours and we hope it to make it shorter.. if you need to leave early please do so with consideration for the cast and other audience members...".
After a heavy sigh the production commenced. With much giggling on my part. Several times such wonderful lines came up in the book including "will we be out of here by midnight?" and "this is a story without an end". Ha ha.
In fact, the initial estimate didn't include the interval... so we didn't hear those famous lines "frankly my dear..." (followed by ovation), "tomorrow is another day" and the profound title number "[all those things are now] gone... gone with the wind" until four and a quarter hours after the lights initially went down. And suffice to say the house lights were up and the audience was off with the briefest and most apologetic of bows I've experienced.
Scarkett O'Hara (Jill Paice) spent too much time running on and off the blandly designed stage and barking through the songs to create any lasting impression. Darius Danesh, it turns out, is more than an irritating reality TV contestant, rather a tall and handsome character with a baritone reminiscent of Bing Crosby. Only the "negros" managed to save anything from the burning ashes of this disaster, with some fantastic ensemble numbers.
At least it had memorable music... oh hang on. In fact what tunes there were were variously swiped from Andrew Lloyd Webber, Oliver, My Fair Lady etc. Can't wait for the reviews. And, not long after I predict, the closing notices.
How can anyone have thought this would be any good? Just a brief glance at the biography in the programme of Margaret Martin, the lady credited with book, music and lyrics should have caused alarm bells to sound. It begins "Margaret Martin earned a doctorate in public health from UCLA..." and continues "She... is the author and illustrator of Pregnancy and Childbirth: The Basic Illustrated Guide". Erm. Oh hang on. Music is mentioned first just after the half way point... "She is the founder of... a non-profit organisation... that provides musical instruments... to 400 children from low-income LA families". Well, brava Margaret. But how the hell did you manage to find yourself as the main creative force behind a West End show?
Tosh. For a more interesting interpretation of the South, stick to Parade or Caroline Or Change instead.
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