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.
Wednesday 28 May 2008
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!
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