The Tyro Theatre Critic

Artaxerxes (Royal Opera)

2009-11-07T11:00:00.012Z

As with Pinot Noir I'm still waiting for my Baroque opera epiphany. Hours of endless, to my ear hugely repetitive, music attached to narratives of epic scope but limited sense. It seems unlikely on paper but the Royal Opera's new production of "Artaxerxes" today almost provided my life changing moment. It hasn't quite but thanks to one of the most sublimely beautiful productions I've gained a new found respect for the form.

If Arne's work isn't all that, and it really isn't, I'm still glad they've revived it as it's given the world (albeit sadly a very small slice of it) a chance to witness this staging. Entering the Linbury Studio is like stepping into another, altogether enchanting, world. The air is hazy and hung with hundreds of glowing blue lights. The set is simple, all in blue except for the sunken orchestra pit which glows white. The money has been lavished on the costumes and boy have they spent it effectively. Gorgeous creations with a Kabuki like flavour. The Asian influence extends to the movement which is heavily stylised, a group of dancers (dressed oddly like bee-keepers) often manoeuvering performers like Bunraku puppets. A distinctive look and despite holding almost nothing back at the start the staging managed to sustain the long running time.

Singing of this nature in such an intimate space always carries an impact and the young cast give it their all. Pick of the bunch was Elizabeth Watts, even though she apologised for a throat infection (or some such malady so beloved of Italianate singers) her coloratura blossomed delightfully with only a hint of harshness (perhaps the cold?). Caitlin Hulcup had a magnificent weighty tone and a stately manner that worked excellently in the trouser part of Arbaces. Andrew Staples projected every word (the diction was a serious strength of the evening) with a well-judged sneer, his mellifluous voice charming with a nice villainous edge. Christopher Ainslie (also complaining of an infection) is the first counter-tenor I've come across who actually managed to convey a true masculine hero, particularly impressive considering Artaxerxes is pretty spineless and doesn't get much stage time. Rebecca Bottone rounded out the cast with some contrasting edgier singing that sat nicely against Watts' more fruity sound.

Some fantastic noises emerged from the well-dressed pit, I haven't the foggiest about this sort of music really, the various modern interpolations seemed a natural fit, and I was never bored which is a triumph in itself. A genius production with superlative designs. My only complaint is that so few will be able to see it. Great singing and acting, paired with some great tunes and gorgeous settings. When the first revival comes round, I'd advise bagging a ticket. I know I will.

Wozzeck (Welsh National Opera)

2009-11-05T22:08:00.011Z

Can-lids really can kill. On paper Richard Jones's "Wozzeck" sounds pretty silly. On stage it reaches emotional depths that most stagings can only dream of. A baked bean factory becomes hell on earth. A relentlessly tedious place with people reduced to bar codes and life to a slowly passing conveyor belt of identical cans.

Jones reduces the depth of the stage to conjure each scene as a stark tableau. Harsh white lighting leaves nowhere to hide as the narrative moves inexorably towards its horrible, inevitable conclusion. Whilst elements of the text jarr with the setting, it makes for a surprisingly coherent staging. The ever growing skip filled with a sea of cans becomes both a hideous image of Wozzeck's relentless diet (and by extension life) and the body in which he finally drowns. Jones provides a neatly chilling conclusion suggesting a cyclical narrative that only enhances the anonymity of Wozzeck himself. I have minor gripes about the lowering of the curtain between every scene but the excellent orchestral playing covered what became a rather irritating quirk of the production.

My heart sank a mile when I arrived to find Christopher Purves indisposed but fair play to Alexander Ashworth who was remarkably assured covering the title role. Hanging his characterisation heavily towards the simpleton, a drug addled wreck, it wasn't the deepest of interpretations but worked well enough. Vocally he really packed a punch and only in the final scene did he show any sign of tiring. Under the circumstances a complete success. Wioletta Chodowicz offered some sumptuous singing whether belting out top notes or anguished pianissimo phrases, there was little to criticise. Totally gripping in characterisation, her desperation to escape her dreadful life was all too evident. Graham Clarke was in his element as the utterly creepy Captain, Clive Bayley more subtle but every bit as nasty as the crazed Doctor. A brief lighter note came from Michael Clifton-Thompson and there were far too many strong performances in the smaller roles to mention them all.

Cranking the tension to magnificent effect, Jones has produced a production strong enough to survive even a last minute singer switch in the title role. High marks to Ashworth for his efforts and the tremendous Chodowicz who I hope I'll be hearing again sooner rather than later. Lothar Koenigs conjured incredible fiery performances from all the singers and excellent, vivid playing from all in the pit. A thrilling evening at the theatre that should appeal to any with an interest in a riveting tale well told.

Madam Butterfly (Welsh National Opera)

2009-11-04T22:31:00.013Z

For a production to last thirty plus years you'd think it would be a real corker. Joachim Herz's production for the Welsh National Opera is anything but. There's nothing wrong with it as such but that's mostly by virtue of doing very little at all. Detailed character direction and a stunning central performance make this more than worth a look, but you won't find any revelatory insights into the text here.

Key in making this evening everything that it proves to be is the performance of Judith Howarth. A Butterfly of some stature and intelligence, no wilting flower but a naive girl damned by her misguided belief in love. Vocally mature with a warmth that radiates through the building, Howarth gives a total performance that I won't soon forget. No one else is quite in the same league. Russell Thomas offers a perfectly pleasant, well acted Pinkerton but there's little about his performance to really excite. A fullish up register that occasionally soared but it was all a little bland, sometimes charming but ultimately generic. Sharpless is well served by the production and Neil Davies captured his silent suffering with aplomb. Kind hearted but ineffectual, the same could somewhat be said of his singing which offered some lovely rich tones but not infrequently got swamped by the orchestra (it happened to most of the cast though, a few too many over-exuberant fortes emerged from the pit). Claire Bradshaw made no real impact at all for most of the evening but grew massively in stature towards the conclusion. Vocally solid but without much distinction, I wasn't unimpressed but there was little to admire.

In many ways the production does what it sets out to do, and does so effectively enough. The set is dominated by a shoe box like house, the sliding screens of which make for some attractive stage pictures. The surrounding blossom flats might once have been pretty but looked desperately in need of some refurbishment. The most interesting element is the tiny model village at the front of the stage, the looming house emphasises colonial self-importance; is this just one of many Butterfly's in Nagasaki? The tableau for the Humming chorus is simply perfect but it's a lonely moment of brilliance. Efficient people direction with some lovely fine detail make this a likeable but rather forgettable staging.

A moving evening in no small part due to the triumph of Judith Howarth. She had plenty of support around although no real vocal competition, the fabulous orchestra could have done with a more effective volume leash than Simon Phillippo (the conductor was billed as being Carlo Rizzi but most definitely wasn't) although they created enough passion to make the heart soar. Herz's production is past its sell by date but hasn't gone mouldy yet, effective but perhaps robbed of any originality it once had.

La Traviata (Welsh National Opera)

2009-11-03T22:35:00.016Z

The Welsh National Opera's latest production of "La Traviata" sums to far less than its parts. Let down in no small part by terrible acting, some solid singing and a thoughtful staging fail to prevent this being competent but far from exceptional.

David McVicar has a set out a clear vision of how he see this work; the tombstone floor, black drapes and murky lighting foreshadows Violetta's death from the start. It's an idea that pays dividends later on but Act I's party is about as fun as a funeral and the morbid air lingers through most of Act II. The drapes are effective (although cutting the stage down so drastically is at times an error) but fussily used. All the raising and lowering just distracted from the music. The chorus were excellent theatrically. Every member gave totally committed performances that lifted the large scale scenes, especially the intense Act II scene II confrontation. McVicar has a consistently elegant intelligence that carries through the evening, it's just a pity he hasn't worked harder on the principals.

The production failed not on the basis of its designs or ideas but because the singers simply couldn't (or wouldn't) act. Alfie Boe is the possessor of a small, but attractively lyrical, tenor which in the Oxford New Theatre (much smaller than the London Coliseum, where he got horribly lost) carried over the orchestra well, his diction superb. At his peak he can knock out some ringing notes and he's got charisma in spades but that he at any point loved the Violetta of Katia Pellegrino was somewhat doubtful. He wasn't helped by the shockingly inept acting of Pellegrino but he was largely going through the motions as well, a tidy line in raging anger but not a drop passion all evening. Pellegrino sounded sublime around her tessitura, a gorgeous purity that she struggled to maintain above or below it. A metallic harshness at the top and a lack of support at the bottom. "Sempre Libera" could have been an exercise in damage limitation but to her credit she threw herself into it and only a few top notes went too awry (sadly the final, piercing top note was downright unpleasant). If she was vocally competent the same cannot be said of her acting which was simply dire. Soprano's often make for unlikely consumptives but most at least attempt to convince. McVicar has ditched the last-gasp run around that Violetta standardly partakes of but her expiration still came as something of a shock, Pellegrino looked like she was suffering a mild cold, I'm not sure she coughed once. If Boe lacked passion, Pellegrino lacked any emotions at all. Dario Solari's Germont didn't dominate as he might have but he gave a solid, understated performance that worked well in the context of the production. His relationship with Boe was the closest the evening got to true emotion. Few others really impressed although nor did any let the side down. Louise Poole gave a likeably haughty Flora and Joanna Thomas a sympathetic Annina.

It's a production I can imagine being hugely effective but the principal cast weren't dramatically up to scratch. I can't say I was blown away by Andrea Licata's lifeless conducting. The Welsh National Opera has an amazing orchestra, at times the strings fizzed delightfully, but the overall impression was a dull one carrying about as much emotion as Pellegrino (plus cohesion between stage and pit was not always strong). A keeper of a production but a cast that will soon be forgotten.

Days of Significance

2009-10-31T16:44:00.014Z

Plays about young people are all too common, plays about war even more so. "Days of Significance" tackles both these topics and manages to explore both better than any recent play I can recall. Subtle this isn't and it doesn't paint a particularly pleasant picture of young Britain (far more insightful than the recent "Punk Rock") but Roy Williams has something to say, and he says it with impressive impact.

Neatly divided into three unbroken Acts, the first is at once the most and least convincing. Taking place over one extremely rough evening in Britain there's more vomiting and fighting than seems believable but it's all staged with such panache as to be totally engaging. It could be seen as a playwright trying to play the cool, young card but Williams justifies the filthy language and downright comic behaviour by gradually stripping back his characters. Is there genuine love in the air? Beneath the alcoholic stupor are these kids just searching for something meaningful in their lives? Maybe not, but as the carpet's ripped out from beneath them and two are shipped off to Iraq the whole complexion of the piece changes. Gone is the easy, but incisive, comedy. Williams takes the audience to a truly dark place and the remaining two acts are terrifically thought provoking.

The production is slickly designed although a touch clinically. Compressing the battle scene into a small window works a treat and the sense of dusty isolation is beautifully evoked. Northern England comes across as sterile in comparison, the set too clean, overly angular, even a little tacky. The large cast all offer strong performances although many have virtually nothing to do (I'm not even sure they all speak and there was absolutely no need for background actors). George Rainsford takes top honours with a performance that manages to slide from cocky lad to destroyed soul over the course of the play. The effects of the war, and his own personal actions, are brilliantly conveyed. Sarah Ridgeway's Trish might initially have all the depth of one of the puddles of vomit but it rapidly becomes clear through the sharp writing and thoughtful acting that she along with all the others is more than just a drunken "slag". There were plenty of other excellent performances, too many to mention, but David Kennedy deserves a mention for delivering an unconventional but moving father figure.

Not infrequently blunt but never without reason, William's has written a play that sheds light on war from a grass-roots level and does so with amazing success. A top draw cast directed with precision make this an evening I won't soon forget. Currently touring and if it turns up anywhere near you'd be a fool to miss it.

Mayerling (Royal Ballet)

2009-10-28T01:51:00.011Z

Whilst Kenneth MacMillan's "Mayerling" is not without its detractors it's one of my personal favourites. At the last run I managed to catch every cast but sadly this time, owing to Uni pressures, I shall have to make do with just one. Debut casts are usually the most interesting so I took a minor risk on the Rudolf of Rupert Pennefather and the Mary of Melissa Hamilton.

I was initially rather underwhelmed by Pennefather. His natural regal bearing failed to capture the intense insanity of Rudolf. Technically very sound, he grew into the role and by the end of Act I his abuse of his new wife had a terrifying edge. His acting was extremely impressive throughout but wasn't always matched by his dancing; for all the ferocity of his face, the lifts (especially some of the ferocious plunging ones) often had an over-controlled feel. Elegant but without the menace he otherwise suggested. It was still a very impressive performance and I suspect he'll grow into the role over time. Melissa Hamilton's youth played amazingly to her advantage. Using her incredibly gorgeous, flexible back and expressive arms, she captured both the naivety and love crazed Mary better than any I've seen (quite some achievement for someone still titled "first artist"). If she was nervous it wasn't obvious, a star for the future.

Elsewhere things were very strong. The corps (so to speak) was on sparkling form, the diverse roles, from whores to aristocrats, all slickly captured. Personally I think Marianela Nuñez better suited to Mitzi than Larisch but she gave her usual accomplished display of skill paired with thoughtful acting (and shot through with her customary sex appeal). Elizabeth Harrod was all wide-eyed terror as Princess Stephanie, capturing her tremendous sadness with some beautiful dancing. Helen Crawford was solid enough as Mitzi but lacked verve, Brian Maloney charmed as Bratfisch but lacked some flair in his hat trickery. Some top draw Officers were on display, led by Sergei Polunin's ridiculously impressive leaps.

The sets and costumes remain elegantly opulent, the music a rag-bag of great tunes. A twentieth century masterpiece that doesn't get revived nearly enough. Pennefather very nearly struck gold and Hamilton has launched herself into the top league as a total diamond. Magical.

The Turn of the Screw (English National Opera)

2009-10-24T23:12:00.010+01:00

Expectation can work for or against a show. When this production of "The Turn of the Screw" premiered a few years ago I thought it was about the best thing since sliced bread. Nostalgia has gifted that performance even more of a ethereal glow of sheer brilliance. Luckily whilst I might have gradually added a legendary quality to it this show really is that good. A rip-roaring story with enough darkness to offer nightmares for weeks. I'll probably say this at least a few times but please go buy a ticket, the house was worryingly empty and this is, in my opinion, quite comfortably one of the best shows going currently.

David McVicar's production doesn't try too hard at anything. The bleakly sparse set, the actors exposed yet further by the stark, simple lighting, is a masterclass in evocative design. The grimy floor and silently sliding trellises touch upon the rural setting and only add to the dirty, sinister atmosphere. A team of mute servants act as stage-hands, reminding the audience that much of the terror exists only in the minds of the protagonists. The production as a whole is ambiguous in portraying the "ghosts". Who can see them is never made obvious, are they in the Governess' head? There's plenty to make the audience uncomfortable and McVicar gives us no easy answers.

The cast offer what could be classed as faultless performances. I had few complaints of Rebecca Evans the first time round and if anything her portrayal has only deepened. It would be easy to slip into melodrama but her nervy portrayal is beautifully balanced, crisp diction (the entire cast triumph on this front) and precise singing round off a superb performance. Ann Murray and Sheryl Barker have also returned to the production and I have no less praise for them. Murray is perhaps a touch old for her role but she lends the evening a bit of grounding, as the ghostly goings on run amok her gravitas entirely convinced. When not emerging from soil (a touch overblown I felt), Barker manages to be utterly terrifying without silly horror tropes. Her piercing voice was tremendously effective especially in Act II when singing with Michael Colvin. Colvin is the major cast change from the first run but I can't imagine anyone fairing much better. Colvin's voice is archetypal Britten and his physicality was (as with almost everything in this production) perfectly pitched. His claw like hands and hunched figure the stuff of nightmares. Nazan Fikret is too old by some years but her singing was a constant joy. A healthy warm sound that filled the auditorium. Hugh Beckwith made a lovely bright noise although not always with enough consistency, solid enough but a weaker link in a very, very strong chain.

Magnificent on just about every level. Charles Mackerras conducts with all the brilliance that make him one of the finest conductors in the world, a chamber sized group swelling to envelope the audience in radiant sound. The audience numbers are shocking when one considers the dross that sells out every night. There are loads of offers flying round and anyone with even the slightest interest in theatre should give this a look. Horrifying and touching by turns, little I've ever seen has managed to quite so alarmingly get into my head -- and stay there.

L'Heure Espagnole/Gianni Schicchi (Royal Opera)

2009-10-24T23:11:00.011+01:00

What a remarkable delight. I managed to miss Richard Jones' productions of these two light-hearted comedies when they premiered a couple of years ago but I'm so glad I've managed to catch them now. He might not have plumbed the darker elements of "Schicchi" but he's bang on the money when it comes to getting laughs and even the less consistent "Espagnole" comes across as a bit of a triumph. Great singing all round doesn't exactly harm the evening either.

"L'Heure Espagnole" has a witty, imaginative score but characters are skin deep at best. The libretto itself has few genuine laughs but Jones has conjured a whole raft more. The design is positively gorgeous a fantastical fifties setting with a slight Italian feel. I'm not completely compelled by a set reducing the stage to such a small letterbox (everything must have looked tiny from the back of the amphitheatre) but it fit the piece rather well and helped drive the more farcical elements of the plot.

The cast were all hugely impressive although little is really called of them vocally. Ruxandra Donose seemed to have fallen straight out of a "Carry On" film, finding laughs no matter what she did. Christopher Maltman made for a hugely endearing simpleton with all the upper-body strength for the character and a weighty baritone to boot. Yann Beuron could have managed slightly more lyricism but he's got terrific comic timing and Andrew Shore is priceless as the pompous politician. Bonaventura Bottone completely fabulous as everyone else's comic foil.

"Gianni Schicchi" is a fuller, more dramatically coherent work and if Jones doesn't overly capture the undercurrent of nastiness he has the audience in fits of hysterics throughout. Slick company work, all the singers completely committed to their characters, and evocative designs make this an absolute treat. The closing moments as the set recedes leaving the lovers and then Schicchi exposed at the front of the stage is a theatrical tour de force.

More is demanded of the singers here and the large company of soloists are without fault. Strong cameos come from Jeremy White, Gwynne Howell and Alan Oke to name but a few. Janis Kelly on debut doesn't disappoint albeit in the small role of Nella. Stephen Costello and Maria Bengtsson offer a charming and attractive pair of young lovers. As he demonstrated earlier in the season, Costello has a gorgeously mellifluous tenor that makes up in rich, creaminess what it lacks in real heft. Bengtsson didn't offer a powerhouse "O Mio Babbino Caro" (the big tune of the piece) but made dramatic sense of it and had a stage presence that belied the fact her character spends most of the opera flitting around the fringes. It fell to Thomas Allen to prove once again what a terrific actor singer he truly is. His Schicchi had sleazy edges but was ultimately a lovable rogue, manipulating these unpleasant relatives with entertaining skill, and if his voice isn't as effortless as it once was he took the entire evening comfortably in his stride.

A terrific double-bill. Opera is seldom this fun. "Espagnole" has some choice orchestral moments and Jones squeezes every last ounce of comedy from it without compromising the intentions of the work. "Schicchi" is a triumph by any standards, Allen and Costello offering world class voices (two of many in this cast), and the whole cast operating like a well oiled laughter machine. I've only just seen it and already I can't wait till the next revival.

Carmen (Royal Opera)

2009-10-22T00:33:00.014+01:00

Francesca Zambello's production of "Carmen" manages to irritate me more than anything else. There's nothing wrong with it per se, it's just blandly competent without a spark of excitement. Most annoyingly, it's serviceable enough to last at least another three or four, broadly acceptable but little more, revivals. At this revival the production has probably found the most brilliant interpretation of the title role it will ever find, Elina Garanča, but in spite of her, and some sterling work from Roberto Alagna, it remains a pretty uninspiring evening.

I'll start with the cast since with one exception I've few negatives. Garanča is the first singer I've come across who captures the supposed sex appeal of the wild and wonderful Carmen. Purely visually she's a stunner, even the potentially iffy wig looked good, and vocally she's just as delectable. The throaty purr that emerges from her lower register is as richly beautiful as it is deeply sensual and she pairs this with a blossoming, fruity top. Alagna doesn't offer quite the same vocal control but he matches her passion with incredible intensity and some soaring notes. He's also an entirely committed actor, throwing himself about the stage with a wild abandon. The leading pair were head and shoulders above the rest of the cast overall although Liping Zhang offered some touching refinement as Micaela. The only failure was Ildebrando D'Arcangelo who was oddly off the pace. No longer making his entrance on the back a horse (sensible really) that argument for early poor singing has been removed leaving no excuse for his rough and ready assault on the music. Physically his heart didn't seem in it either, all the prancing about on the tabled done with little panache.

Zambello's curving, terracotta coloured walls work up to a point, some clever lighting allows for scene differentiation, but they still remain acceptable without any distinguishing traits. Huge crowds are manoeuvered around without ever achieving a sense of a lively town (or smuggler camp). Only in the bar scene do things come together and the production finally finds some flair with a vigorous dance routine elevated by large, visually appealing shadows. A poor donkey gets walked on-stage every few minutes with limited justification. Now Escamillo doesn't actually arrive on the horse its presence behind him is even more peculiar. When things get more intimate, the imposing walls tend to dwarf the singers although Zambello does at least score a hit with the movement in the final scene.

'd love to see this production ditched by I just don't see that happening for a good long while. I can't imagine a better Carmen than Garanča hitting London for some time either though making this revival more than worth a look. It just seems wrong that with such intense performances from Alagna and Garanča, the whole evening barely simmers when it should be boiling over.

In the Spirit of Diaghilev

2009-10-18T00:28:00.024+01:00

You've got to hand it to Sadler's Wells. Getting four new commissions on stage in one evening from such an impressive line-up of choreographers is a feat few houses could match. That they are so diverse is hardly surprising, the Ballet Russes theme leaves much material to explore, but what's impressive is that whilst some are rather more interesting than others none is without merit.

I found the opening number by Wayne McGregor a disappointment although it could scarcely be described as poor, I just couldn't help but feel he's treading water. Beyond his snazzy high-profile collaborations (which can sometimes be rather unhelpful) the steps haven't much changed since "Chroma". The bulk of this new work "Dyad 1909" could have been ripped straight from many of his other pieces, only the context really having changed. The attractive, mirrored projections were moderately cool but added little (I've absolutely no idea what there connection was to the arctic). At least they weren't too distracting. The bejewelled muzzles weren't to my tastes (they looked pretty hideous, a camp version of what Hannibal Lecter wears) but they ticked the Ballet Russes box rather effectively. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with this piece and if it had been the first time I've seen McGregor's work I'd probably have been amazed. Sadly I've now got a rather been there, seen that feeling; the crazily inventive steps now look rather less original and beneath the gloss I'm not sure how much depth really exists.

The second piece "AfterLight" from Russell Maliphant similarly doesn't stray too far from his previous work. That said, it's an evolution if not a revolution. Michael Hulls ever superb lighting has evolved into a whirling projection that only heightens the power of Daniel Proietto's rippling moves. His slow rotation periodically aligning with the light and countering it, it added to the glorious long lines of his arms and curving torso. Truly beautiful and definitely something I look forward to seeing again.

Tackling Debussy's "Faun" was a fairly brave move from Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, there are several astonishing versions already floating around, and interpolating new music from Nitin Sawhney even braver. I can't say I completely loved Sawhney's additions which created some thrilling contrasting sections but didn't sit entirely comfortably with the original score. The almost narrative choreography is something of a triumph however and James O'Hara and Daisy Phillips dance with meticulous skill. O'Hara's unconventional look was totally suited to the lithe animalistic steps, Philips had woodland sprite written all over her. Cherkaoui has impressively captured a beautiful, naive sexual-awakening. A delightful short work.

The final piece from Javier De Frutos comes like a sledgehammer at the end of this otherwise rather charming evening. Bordering on the hysterical (deliberately so), his shock and awe strategy works sublimely. It's almost impossible to shock an audience these days, another legacy of the Ballet Russes perhaps, but De Frutos gives it a go. Having a deformed pope rape a eunuch in the first five minutes certainly sets the tone. The mash-up of classical nude art around the back of the stage was a brilliant creation, the bleak lighting and repetitive chanting deeply unsettling. Ultimately I'm not actually sure what point De Frutos is really trying to make but an engaging half hour this certainly was. The juxtaposition of Ravel's "Mother Goose" waltz with the nastiness was wonderfully effective.

Whilst I'm growing tired of McGregor's obfuscated ballets this was a superb evening, offering four high-quality, new works. It's a pity there aren't more opportunities for such endeavours but clearly finances always get in the way. Sadly the run's now finished but I'm sure all of these works will see the light of day again. They all deserve it.

Cymbeline (National Youth Theatre)

2009-10-18T00:28:00.019+01:00

"Cymbeline" isn't revived terribly often and to my mind for very good reasons. Everyone gets things wrong and this late Shakespeare is a melting pot of just about every archetypal narrative element you can think of. Evil Step-Mother, Crossing dressing, mistaken identity, aborted love, lost children and a whole more I can't think of right now. The National Youth Theatre production at the Arts Theatre attempts to side-step these problems by staging the piece as a fairytale (I can't help but feel the director saw the National's recent "All's Well That Ends Well" and took copious notes). It's a neatly designed production and seldom unattractive but so totally incoherent as to be rendered confusing and so averse to anything other than comedy that it comes across as trite.

The cast were oddly inconsistent. For every solid performance there was a pretty terrible one. Rosie Sansom made a broadly three-dimensional figure from her two-dimensional surroundings and Luke McEwan's king had a elderly dignity that belied the actor's youth. Will Edelston might not have offered as much depth of character but in this very shallow production his Cloton was an absolute hoot. Less strong was the irritatingly smarmy Iachimo of Jaskiranjit Deal and James William's diction was just embarrassing, to lose words in such a tiny theatre is appalling; little more can be said of his shout heavy characterisation.

Clearly the National Youth Theatre operates on a limited budget and the basic set design is spartan but effective. It's just a real pity they then felt compelled to throw every theatrical effect imaginable into the melee. The staging looked great initially, a strongly composed opening image with creepy shadows evoking real menace, but rapidly descended into trick after theatrical trick. What on earth the sudden cartoon projections were for I will never know and why suddenly ditch the enchanting, subtly eerie score for the incongruous rock band of the second half? Quite fun, but not exactly in support of anything. The production is simply riddled with half-baked ideas that build towards absolutely nothing. No one seems to much care that this piece gets really quite bleak towards its conclusion; all potter on in a genial enough fashion to the limp, overcomplicated finale.

Briskly performed such that despite some longueurs I never lost all interest, but beyond a fantastical fairytale narrative with the odd laugh there's little to really hold attention. I've seen "Cymbeline" before and didn't much care for it but there's definitely more to it than this shallow production managed. An almost embarrassingly tiny audience were in attendance and despite just how important this company is I really wouldn't recommend filling it out. Friends and family only methinks.

Hot Mikado

2009-10-13T23:54:00.012+01:00

Has Panto season come early? I must confess the very concept of "Hot Mikado" entirely eludes me (the lack of a "the" also irritates and many of the cast biographies can't seem to decide whether it should be present or not). Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Mikado" is stronger on music and witty lyrics than over-arching plot. Bell and Bowman's "Hot Mikado" effectively bins these positives and replaces them with a serviceable but unremarkable score and a very silly, cheesy book. Why bother filching the stodgy, clichéd narrative of the original if you're not really going to take anything else (a few tunes are recognisable of Sullivan's, most have been totally rewritten)? There's fun to be had in Craig Revel-Horwood's energetic production but mostly as a result of the stunning cast and zippy choreography not the fairly naff text.

Emotionally and intellectually I'm afraid this is a total write off (not necessarily a bad thing). Let's be honest, you probably won't care what happens between each song and only the odd moment approaches anything one could even tentatively describe as an emotion. The contrasting styles of music and scatter-gun text almost give the piece the feel of a jukebox musical. There are plenty of decent jokes, mostly divvied up amongst the older cast, but there are plenty of terrible ones as well. A few songs are wonderfully energising but plenty struggle to make much of an impact, far too many generic numbers litter the songbook.

The cast, who all play musical instruments, are what make this. From the Amazonian Cassie Pearson to the rather less flexible Karen Mann, the cast all sang and danced their hearts out and managed to rather impressively play instruments all at the same time. Acting wasn't really called for but the majority, Jeffrey Harmer in particular, were dab hands at getting laughs from bad punch lines. I can't really throw enough plaudits at the cast, they're such a talented bunch it almost seems unfair on other performers.

I can't say I loved this but it's slick, harmless fun with much to recommend it although little that really sets it apart from many of today's musicals. I've never been much of a fan of "The Mikado" though (beyond a few terrific tunes) and perhaps some of its incisive bite might be found here for those who wish to look for it. I just had an entertaining few hours that I've already largely forgotten, the incredible performers far more memorable than anything in the show itself.

Letters Of A Love Betrayed (Music | Theatre | Wales)

2009-10-11T22:33:00.015+01:00

There's a point about twenty minutes into the second half of this dire new opera "Letters of a Love Betrayed" when things go from tedious to embarrassing. Did no one read the libretto by Donald Sturrock before bothering wasting their precious time (and money) on this project, especially the usually highly reliable team of Music | Theatre | Wales? That's not to say the music's much better; Eleanor Alberga's score is heavy on harp and glockenspiel (plus excessive wind chime like noises) and rather thin on substance. Her vocal writing in particular seems to follow few coherent patterns.

The libretto might well be the most unintentionally hilarious I've ever come across. Some lines had rhyming couplets that would have been cute coming out of a six year old but sounded hysterical bursting violently from an abusive father. Few characters really emerge and the first half has so little drama as to nearly put me to sleep. The only time I felt anything approaching interest came from the collision of father and son towards the start of Act II. What figures do feature on stage are seldom likable, even the leading lady loses all sympathy when she cruelly rejects the father towards the end (despite him being a mildly villainous figure). A misguided adaption with not even flashes of competence. Alberga's score isn't nearly so dire but far from redeems the evening. Lot's of folksy moments mixed in with what she no doubt considers contemporary opera style vocal lines (i.e. she has her singers doing silly vocal gymnastics). The vocal parts could quite happily have been swapped around the characters, there was little to differentiate anyone.

The production doesn't help matters much. The Andean setting isn't evoked in the slightest by the drab bunker the designer has squeezed the piece into. The narrative is truly daft and only a poetic, fairytale edge could bring off the frankly silly conclusion. Grim realism doesn't come close to cutting it. The performers are variously made to dance although they don't have a hope with the plodding choreography, credit to Arlene Rolf as Gloria for making the exposed hip shaking look mildly sexy (especially as she was doubling as a nun). The linchpin role is taken by Mary Plazas who sings solidly throughout but has a vocal tone much more suited to the Act II broken woman than the young naive thing of the first. Christopher Steele has a lovely tone and his fairly small-bore tenor was ideally suited to the small Oxford Playhouse but a terrible crack and some indistinct diction marred an otherwise solid performance. I liked Jonathan May's efforts as the father although he did little to really stand out. Rolph gave a very watchable performance in her two contrasting roles.

A pretty terrible evening with little to redeem it. Even the usually very solid Music Theatre Wales ensemble lacked cohesion at times (a double blow considering the score's most interesting aspects were largely rhythmic). Dodgy libretto paired with uninspired music plus a production that leans towards the bland, I've little to recommend.

Dial M For Murder

2009-10-10T17:20:00.015+01:00

Gosh I do love a good thriller, sadly now something of a dead genre on stage. "Dial M For Murder" doesn't have anything particularly special about it, it's just a solid old-school bit of theatre, but its convoluted plot works. Stagey dialogue abounds in this period piece but it's a decent escapist drama, consistently compelling across two taut hours.

Revived presumably in no small part because of the Hitchcock film (which I've never seen), Lucy Bailey has created a supremely slick, watchable production. The noirish lighting and sound make for a supremely effective atmosphere. The fight that the whole play hinges on could slip into the humorous but Bailey's piercing soundtrack makes it thrillingly pulse-racing. Quite why the set revolves almost continuously I'll never really know, although it's not ineffective I suppose, the line about moving the furniture became unintentionally funny. I loved the large, looming staircase and the gothic dark, red walls; overblown perhaps, but surprisingly effective.

The cast all manfully strut about with stiff upper lips and clipped vowels. Richard Lintern does a tidy line in cool, calculating murder. Attempting to kill his wife and then telling an endless series of quick fire lies, his coldness couldn't be faulted even at the conclusion. As his wife Aislin McGuckin came across as more than just a damsel in distress, her division over the two men in her life was the most real thing in the play. Sadly the other characters are less well drawn and the actors could do little to help. Des McAleer's Inspector was a classic stereotype of a British detective and Nick Fletcher, as Max, was given little to work with.

They just don't write them like this anymore and in some respects that's a real pity. With a few heart in the mouth moments and a thrilling intensity throughout this is more than worth a look.

Turandot (English National Opera)

2009-10-09T00:55:00.012+01:00

A colossal mess. To make things worse Rupert Goold's new production of "Turandot" is a visually garish, nightmare of a staging. A fundamentally flawed work, with no solid ending, Goold has created a production that emphasises the weaknesses and forgets about the strengths. Goold's brand of meta-theatrics is very clever (just watch his intelligent but slightly smug "Six Characters") but the distancing doesn't serve Opera well. Thank god for the thrilling choruses and tremendous airs sung by a very talented group of singers.

I'm unsure where to start on this horrendously gimmicky production, I can't nearly cover every painful directorial imposition. The biggest addition is that of "the writer". Puccini himself I suppose although no direct likeness is suggested. For the first two acts all this figure manages is to distract from the key moments, the eventual dividend as the Puccini music finishes and Alfano takes over is meagre when one considers just how irritating the actor has been for the last two plus hours. Scott Handy does his best, meandering the stage as a well meaning, foppish figure, assisting the characters towards following the correct narrative (and being brightly spot lit even when key events were happening elsewhere). It's a directorial imposition too far for many reasons though. Totally writing off (deliberately so) the final scenes for a start. Taking the context of an Opera's creation as a starting point is no bad thing, but Goold's thesis seems to me to miss what Puccini put in the music and what the libretto searches for, genuine emotion.

There's much to dislike about the rest of the production as well. The fetishistic Chinese restaurant makes for a striking set but has little to do with the text. Act III in the kitchen made spectacularly little sense (and looked oddly tacky). Goold has struck upon singularly naff costumes, all from different cultures (lots of golfers and Elvises, all stereotypes). I'm sure there's a brilliant theoretical reason for them but on stage they just looked terrible and amongst the melee of gimmicks served little purpose. Don't even get me started on Turandot's Lady Gaga impersonating backing dancers (another excessive distraction and they weren't even particularly well drilled). A small, very creepy girl flits around a bit, another addition I could have done without. His overall chorus work is just abysmal. At times they act like individuals, organically moving the stage; at others mechanically shoved about the stage in lines or groups like an old-school opera staging. Timur is a rather dapper looking chap here yet Liu, his servant, appears a drug-addled, starving figure. He's meant to be a kind figure and I know he's blind but surely he'd notice the smell and the fact she shook the whole time? Calaf manages to fall in love with, the apparently very beautiful, Turandot despite the fact in this production she doesn't appear in Act I (excepting in expensive looking ice sculpture form). The kiss never happens either. I've many other criticisms I simply can't fit in this review. Does Goold care the slightest for the libretto or even the basic narrative? He's far too busy trying to score his own intellectual points to bother with such trifling matters.

Mercy then for the cast who, with the exception of the ailing ministers, do a top notch job. Gwyn Hughes Jones had a few rough edges but broadly made a quite lovely, lyrical sound. Nobly marching through the production in sensible suits, he largely escaped the faffing about in the background to give a performance of real care and dignity, his "Nessun Dorma" (always what the audience will judge Calaf on) was probably his strongest moment. Kirsten Blanck gave a notable debut in the title role. An unforgiving part, made even more difficult to engage with by the alienating details of the staging, Blanck delivered a marvellous line in ice queen with her potent soprano filling the auditorium (whether she thawed out appropriately is hard to gauge as Goold doesn't much care). Amanda Echalaz blows everyone else off the stage. Despite the dodgy characterisation she has the easiest time of Goold's efforts (Liu's the character he seems most interested in). Her death becomes the focal point of the entire opera and thanks to Echalaz's pure, beautiful instrument it derived the only real emotion of the evening. A touch more tenderness in the steely edge wouldn't harm her overall performance but that's just me being picky I feel. Few others get a look in. Stuart Kale delivers a perfectly passable vocal performance as the Emperor but he's mucked about by the production more than most. James Creswell faded into the background as Timur, again I mostly blame the staging. The three ministers were pretty poor but they were operating under pretty unfortunate circumstances so things certainly could have been worse.

Under Edward Gardner the Orchestra of the English National Opera (enlarged such that they were alarmingly squished into the pit) made a mighty sound all evening. Subtlety isn't particularly high on Gardner's list of strengths but boy does he handle the swells and surges of the piece. Some fine handling of the chorus too with only the odd moment lacking cohesion.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to put this in the list of ENO complete disasters. I'm sure some will call me a conservative idiot but interpretation has to have its basis in the music and text and Goold really hasn't given a damn what Puccini wrote. The designs are messy and distracting; his additional figures distract yet further and provide little insight. I'm actually struggling to find any positives at all. Echalaz is fast becoming a massive star and this will only push her star higher, the other leads more than do themselves proud. One for the rubbish bin I'm afraid. A very expensive failure that will hopefully teach Goold to have a little more respect for why opera's last for eons and productions are often replaced (preferably quickly in this case).

The Author

2009-10-03T22:08:00.005+01:00

Tim Crouch has created a remarkable piece in "The Author". That's not to say he's created a great piece, he hasn't, but he's created something far more interesting than I initially feared (the opening spiel from a very camp "audience member" put my expectations very low however). On paper the set-up is self-indulgent in the extreme but in the theatre it takes on a curious feeling of importance. Taking on a subject I'd never even considered of interest he managed to more or less hold my attention for the uneven ninety minutes.

The staging is original and involving in a fairly embarrassing sort of way. Seated in two banks of seating facing each other with nothing by way of a stage; the four actors sit amongst us and perform from within the audience. It's a clever conceit although somewhat scuppered by the lack of real integration. For all the pointed questioning of the audience the dialogue was heavily scripted. The actors asked us questions but their responses to our answers were always pre-prepared. Any variation from the audience just led to discontinuity.

It's a pity as there's something reasonably substantial involved if you're willing to sit through the thin conceit. Are we complicit in what we watch? Should we watch at all? Who or what do we watch? As we hear of a fictional show (which rather overly in-jokily was supposedly staged at the Royal Court), from both those involved and someone who saw it, we gradually come to understand what Crouch is digging for. The play within the play (so to speak) clearly pushed the boundaries of what is acceptable on stage and whether manipulative or not we come to see such pieces in a different light. Who's manipulating who? Being a bloke who all to regularly sits comfortably in the theatre and distantly watches a piece it certainly made me think slightly differently about what it is I'm doing. Ultimately not to much depth, too much slips into the melodramatic towards the conclusion, but it provoked a reaction nevertheless.

I'm glad I saw this and I definitely took something away from it but it's a work of variable quality. Never quite getting over the self-conscious edge and limited by the constraints of the script only the potent performances and unsettling performance space keep things engaging through the running time. Regular theatre-goers are probably going to take the most from this, it's too overtly inward looking to appeal to the average person on the street. Interesting but beneath the façade, not quite as clever as it thinks it is.

Rigoletto (English National Opera)

2009-10-02T23:11:00.008+01:00

Jonathan Miller's production is now several decades old. On the basis of this revival it could quite happily do another few. Majestic doesn't quite cover it. There's barely a dull moment and with a world-class central performance from Anthony Michaels-Moore the aural experience was seldom less than stupendous.

Rigoletto in 1950's New York Little Italy is a surprisingly natural fit. In our current climate of operas crowbarred into just about every setting imaginable, it's remarkable how elegant the staging is. Playing heavily on the vendetta elements, the whole production just clicks. The translation plays a little fast and loose but it hardly matters, everything comes together and just captures the audience both emotionally and intellectually. Shifting between the stylish Art Deco hotel bar and the moodily atmospheric, strikingly angled exteriors the designs couldn't be bettered (which looking back only makes Miller's recent Boheme all the more disappointing, a similar staging to this but with none of the class). He still doesn't quite make the brief resurrection of Gilda even remotely plausible (those five minutes just irritate me however they're staged) but he does manage to make all the other nastiness soar. His Duke is a smarmy piece of work and Rigoletto more sympathetic than one expects, it's a slightly different balance but it truly works. Plus, how delightful to see a production with no mucking around during the overture, a sign of age I suppose but something modern directors should be paying attention to.

Michaels-Moore is simply brilliant. A meaty, commanding voice that fell away into absolute despair with such ease. His disfigurement could do with a little more oompf (a small hump and a mild limp) but is acting is flawless. Searching for Gilda after her kidnap, he managed to be hugely moving, his breakdown at the conclusion absolutely heart rending. Somewhat disappointing (mostly based on the strength of everyone else) was the Gilda of Katherine Whyte. At this point in time her voice is far too small for the London Coliseum, a pity as she delivered some lovely, delicate phrases. Dramatically she could do with some work as well, a decent line in naivety towards the start but she missed the plunge after her raping. Michael Fabiano is incredibly young and sounds it too but he has the makings of a fantastic tenor. Perfectly cast as the young, heartless rake only some slightly iffy top notes in Act III marred what was a fluent and effective performance. Iain Paterson boomed as Monterone, a powerful resonant voice that managed to convey all the sadness that was required whilst still being a tower of strength. I certainly wouldn't want him cursing me. Brindly Sherrat is terrifying as Sparafucile and Madeleine Shaw makes a great deal of Maddalena (although her accent made her seem a little genteel for the part). Early surprise came from Peter Van Hulle who managed to make me notice the role of Borsa, quite an achievement as it's a nothing role.

After a marvellously gripping overture, the steady build perfectly pitched, the Orchestra of the English National Opera under Stephen Lord never quite hit that standard again. Nothing went desperately wrong, although there was a brief moment where the pit did not quite cohere with the chorus, but few moments shone.

Despite many of the parts being somewhat short of five star brilliance, as a whole this show is glorious. A tremendous production with few flaws teamed with Michaels-Moore in the title role, delivering a performance so good it scarcely mattered what was happening around him, the overall effect is borderline life enhancing. There are plenty more performances and loads of tickets available. Unmissable.

Money (Shunt)

2009-10-02T00:15:00.013+01:00

I do love a bit of site-specific theatre. Shunt's latest bizarro piece occurs not as you'd expect in their vaults but in a nearby warehouse (which I managed to walk straight past as it looks so utterly unlikely). What the warehouse contains is a thrillingly theatrical but absurdly obfuscated play. Ripped straight out of my comfort zone with the phenomenal opening the Shunt collective could have done almost anything to me (Punchdrunk kissed me once) but they have chosen merely to confuse.

Led into a big, metal box (a bit like a weirdly dimensioned railway carriage) by people wearing riot gear the initial moments are sheer brilliance. There's nothing I find more off-putting than being led into one room, being plunged into darkness then the lights coming back on to find yourself in a very different space. It's a theatrical tour de force that sadly isn't bettered for the rest of the running time. The loose narrative of a man apparently searching for investors and then managing to get the business running by getting us, the viewers, to invest (I think that's what the narrative is anyway) never seems terribly important because it doesn't make much sense. We meet many characters and whilst a strong flavour of character comes across we never actually learn who any of them are. The creative team consistently find ways to keep the audience engaged, the three floor vertical set-up is filled with surprises and I particularly liked the almost spontaneous ball throwing fight that the audience engaged in. A sense of community came pretty close to occurring (although not sufficiently to bring off the last scene). The trouble is that the show's all atmosphere and not a lot of meaningful content.

Whilst the show was running I was absolutely hooked. Given a sharp shock at the start and tumbling down the rabbit hole throughout, Shunt know how to keep things riveting. Leaving the building I was exhilarated but in retrospect what I experienced has had little lasting value. Almost like a high-brow theme park the absurdly abstract piece offers little substance to really sink your teeth into. I went over to the Shunt Lounge after (which remains one of the most awesome places in London, for those who haven't been a bit like "Tunnel-228" except every week and with a bar) and the main show was rather rapidly forgotten. Recommended on the grounds that little in life is quite so exciting, but don't expect any revelatory drama.

The Power of Yes

2009-09-30T22:17:00.009+01:00

David Hare has created a rather interesting bit of work in "The Power of Yes". It occurs in a theatre but it can scarcely be described as a play in the traditional sense. It's really more of a lecture. A two hour, no interval lecture that somehow manages to remain enthralling. Not dissimilar in many ways to long journalistic news programmes found on television, Hare has essentially interviewed people involved and reproduced their responses on stage. In less astute hands this could be a recipe for disaster but it all works surprisingly well. This was an early preview but beyond a few line slips I can't imagine much needs change. This is what it is and that isn't going to change.

Whilst effectively a lecture, the staging is marvellously slick. Large, projected visuals fill the empty stage plus a huge moving screen that simply exuded excess. The easy-listening marimba led score is reminiscent of "The Apprentice" and other such business related shows. Simple, stark lighting sets things in perspective; the large cast emerge to deliver short, almost sound bite like, comments. Few develop relationships but all appear as fully fledged characters. The National have thrown together an enormously impressive cast all of whom acquit themselves magnificently. Anthony Calf (who even looks a bit like Hare) takes the role of the author and comes across as utterly charming and genuinely fascinated by the whole catastrophe. The only real relationship that develops across the running time is that of Hare and Masa Serdarevic, the journalist employed by the National to teach him about the crisis. It's an odd relationship, Serdarevic taken by a rather oddly sexed up Jemima Rooper (strutting about in tall, colourful heels), an almost flirtatious aspect seems to develop although to what end I'm not quite sure. Rooper keeps things moving impressively, making the jargon she's spouting seem both relevant and exciting but her bizarrely wavering accent could do with some work. Elsewhere talented actors come and go, people of the quality of Richard Cordery, Jeff Rawle and Jonathan Coy slip on an off the stage with nary a hint of self-importance. It's a brilliant example of company acting, even more so because so many are theatrical stars in their own right. Bruce Myers puts in a last minute tour de force as the ever so slightly creepy George Soros.

The true brilliance of the piece is that it educates without preaching. Hare's master-stroke is to flaunt his own bias on stage with "the author" the only narrative thread through the work. He draws few conclusions (no Banker bashing here) but he lays out for all to see (or at least what he wants us to see) his own development through his investigation. An amazing educational work that should be required viewing for all that want to know more about our current world but don't want to read about it in long dry books (of which a reading list is given in the back of the programme). It's still by theatrical standards an extremely dry show, you probably won't be moved to any emotional extremes (even anger is unlikely as Hare finds few true villains), but apart from maybe being twenty minutes too long it's a terrifically well put together piece that I'd recommend to anyone.

Tristan und Isolde (Royal Opera)

2009-09-29T11:23:00.017+01:00

After Christoph Loy's "Lulu" earlier this year it should come as no surprise to anyone that his "Tristan" isn't exactly a traditional one. He's good enough to provide something of a set although largely hides it behind a curtain, the major action being played out in a skewed grey box (the not particularly original existential/reality type staging). Singers navigate the stage in suits and dinner jackets (Michael Volle actually appears to be wearing the same outfit he wore in "Lulu"). It's an intensely intelligent production, in the end to its detriment, the minimalism providing little drive across the five hour running time. The designs are also ugly, hideously so.

Whilst the production may divide audiences (with most in the negative camp I suspect) most of the singing won't. Nina Stemme makes for a ravishing Isolde. There are plenty of strong sopranos about but Stemme captured more than just the notes. In a production thin on emotion she brought a winning desperation, her initial angry cursing shifting expertly into the love at the heart of the work. It wasn't flawless singing, a degree of tiredness just started to creep in towards the end, but she comfortably brought the house down with her Liebestod. Less brilliant was the Tristan of Ben Heppner. He made it to the conclusion with just as much heft as he started, a decent display of stamina but there were vocal insecurities throughout. No really dire cracks but far too many notes sounded unfocused with uncomfortable moments of wavering pitch especially in the difficult second Act. Heppner has a good deal of gravitas but lacked punch occasionally, the notes never sounded forced but not infrequently failed to carry over the orchestra.

I had few complaints of the remaining cast who were pretty terrific. The mighty Michael Volle was truly superb. He produced a triumphal sound that radiated throughout the building whether delivered with serious heft or subtle, piano control. Sophie Koch brought similar potency and an unexpected vulnerability I found rather endearing. Hers isn't an instrument I find particularly appealing but she uses it to tremendous effect, the Act II cries were piercingly moving. John Tomlinson brings his colossal experience to bear upon the King. His voice may not quite have the vibrancy it did only a few years ago but he still musters a beautiful sound. The supporting cast were all solid without anyone really standing out vocally; Richard Berkeley-Steele was a particularly calculating, nasty Melot. With Pappano in the pit I was expecting great things but whilst it was a decent performance something lacked. Whether it was just the deficit of emotion on stage that knocked a body blow into the evening as a whole or a genuine lack of passion in the pit (which strikes me as unlikely), the music didn't pick me up and soar to the heights that this opera is more than capable of.

Unsurprisingly and perhaps unfairly the production team were roundly booed at the curtain call. I didn't personally but I can certainly see why many did. It's not so much that Loy has failed to put a boat and castle on stage (traditionalism isn't the answer) but that he has failed to put characters on it. He's clearly thought deeply about the text and music honing in on every tiny moment but in reducing the work to its essence (no bad thing necessarily) he's tossed the baby out with the bathwater. Lots of profound ideas but where's the heart? It's difficult to engage intellectually when the heart of the work is an emotional void, things just grow dull.

The split stage works well enough albeit in an extremely minimalist fashion. The curtain that divides the two halves is mostly shut leaving the audience staring at little but a chair (or two) and lots of black and white costumes. The central lovers are mercifully allowed to touch each other (unlike Glyndebourne's production which is similar in its minimalism but frankly in another league in almost every other respect), but the emotional connection never really clicked despite the heavy petting. The staging offers little context, we move through various settings without any differentiation; even the lighting scarcely changes. The lighting it must be said is by far and away the most attractive part of the ugly designs, Loy is an absolute genius with shadows. Odd moments work tremendously well. There was a divine moment at the start of Act II when Isolde picked up a candelabra. The other characters' silent reaction said more about the relationships than the production managed during the rest of the act. You could watch this production over and over again and I suspect you'd always spot some new details such is the thought that has gone into every element.

There's much to enjoy, some high calibre singing especially from Stemme and a strong performance in the pit, but the production really is problematic. Loy simply demands too much of his audience; he may understand the depths he has plumbed but the average punter won't come close to his level of comprehension (the programme interview with him is fascinating but I learnt more about his thoughts on the work from it than I did the production itself). It didn't really deserve the boos, it's a worthy experiment that I'm sure some deeply appreciated, but it's sufficiently refined as to lose much of what makes this work so enjoyable. I can't help but feel this experiment is a massive failure then, opera isn't ultimately about intellectuals bantering over philosophy. It's about assaulting the senses, making you think, feel and live the action on stage. Loy's "Tristan" might have much that is brilliant about it, but in the end I just didn't care.

Mother Courage and Her Children

2009-09-27T00:19:00.014+01:00

Tedious doesn't cover it. The National Theatre's new production of "Mother Courage and Her Children" bludgeons the audience with "Brechtian" practices for just over three hours (mercifully shorter than the programme running time) to horrifically limited effect. Verfremdungseffekt can be translated multiple ways, the usual idea is "distancing", this production doesn't distance, it alienates the audience right out the door. So pretentious as to forget to tell a story. The vast idealogical depth of this work doesn't come close to getting a look in.

The easily avoided key mistake is letting Fiona Shaw sing. She just about carries the production on her charismatic shoulders but boy is her singing voice terrible. Downright cringe-worthy. The tunes themselves, by the oddly-titled Duke Special, are pretty terrific as music but pretty dire in their dramatic effect. Presumably designed to have that oh so Brechtian effect of dragging us out of the action to allow us to ponder more objectively the situation, all these toe-tapping numbers made me do was forget all about the play and enjoy myself for a couple of minutes (except when Shaw was singing, then I just felt slightly ill). Duke Special himself has a very easy stage presence with solid vocals and his band, often appearing around the stage, did some very impressive work. My only complaint of the songs is that they padded an already over-long evening (the first act is nearly two hours).

The set and design might as well have had, "look at us we're doing a Brecht play" written all over it. As the National Theatre aren't the Berliner ensemble the set consists of a little more than black drapes. Instead they went for white ones with black writing all over them. Each scene was preceded by a voice-over describing the scene and often a brief written outline projected on a wall (or written on a drape). All these can be used effectively but in this production they weren't. If they were attempting to take the piss out of Brecht they couldn't have done it much better. Somewhere in the mess of theatrical techniques the story gets lost, humour goes out the window and it all just gets very boring. Mother Courage might be the greatest play ever written but that hardly matters when no one's listening, the next big explosion providing a brief wake-up call before everyone returns to their slumbers (or homes in the interval).

The National have decided to throw serious man-power at this with more actors involved than seemed necessary. It was only at the curtain call I actually realised quite how many are in the cast, doubling appears not to be popular in these financially troubled times. I can't even fathom the number of techies who must be involved. Few really stand out apart from Shaw (and that's mostly because she's the only one on stage consistently).

I can't say I derived much pleasure from this and nor was I made to think on any level. It is a good play, it's just abysmally served in this production. If you are prepared to wade through enough theatrical devices to supply a dozen shows (and make them all vapidly pretentious) maybe there's a kernel of interest here. Good luck digging for it though and personally I really wouldn't suggest bothering yourself.

Goldberg - The Brandstrup-Rojo Project

2009-09-25T00:39:00.014+01:00

Let Tamara Rojo and Kim Brandstrup experiment in the Linbury Studio and you'd hope for some suitably impressive results. "Goldberg" certainly has its moments, some truly sublime dancing and a divine Steven McRae (Who knew he could dance anything other than extroverts?) stealing every step he's let loose on. Sadly it also has periods of little substance and an overall naval-gazing theme that strayed dangerously towards the self-indulgent.

Centred around a rehearsal, either one repeating itself or a series, the dancers variously watch a screen apparently learning the steps. Threaded rather neatly through this is a curious love triangle. The jewel of Rojo between the jocky, alpha-male dancer Thomas Whitehead and the diminutive, page turner of McRae (never though the adjective "diminutive" could be attached to him). It's this that drives the work and to be brutally honest I could have done without the four other dancers who whilst all given perfectly serviceable choreography make little impact. They all belong to other dance fields, the break-dancing very entertaining, which held interest value in the juxtaposition with the classical dancers but none were gifted emotional roles. Flitting around in the background they padded the piece and little more. What really flew was the almost creepy manoeuvring of McRae. Initially only emerging as a dancer when the others have left, he eventually dances with Rojo although the finale projections suggested maybe it was all a dream.

When given room the production is really quite amazing. The projections weren't big and flashy but elegantly done. The only trouble is that they felt rather unfinished. Setting the scene, closing the action and providing little in-between. The set has an almost claustrophobic feel that didn't seem like an easy fit, I've never seen a dance studio that looks so like a squash court. Phillip Gammon sat at the side and played like a dream, the music radiating some of the class that the dance largely failed to capture.

Not a bad piece by any stretch of the imagination but aside from the beautifully evoked triangle at the centre it's a very slight work. Little development has been given to the four contemporary dancers and even what works feels like it has more to offer. A lovely chance to see the amazing control of Rojo and a revelatory turn from McRae but as a whole it felt more like a missed opportunity.

Insane in the Brain

2009-09-23T22:30:00.012+01:00

Whilst "Insane in the Brain" lacks any brains whatsoever it is a rollicking good time. On paper an extremely paired back version of "One Flew Over The Cookoo's Nest" but in reality simply an excuse to string a series of extremely watchable dance sequences to recognisable music. If it has one massive failing it's that the narrative amounts to absolutely nothing, the central power struggle doesn't work because the two characters almost never come into contact. Characters are pretty hard to pick out in fact, none have particularly defining features. What works is the pure dance, and on that score it's hard to fault "Bounce".

Whilst there's little that hasn't been seen before here it's delivered in a moderately original fashion. The opening dance has a neat gimmick that enlivens what is other a solid but unremarkable routine. The artful score, classical remixes sitting side by side with well-known RnB/Hip Hop songs, kept the ear interested although the volume was unnecessarily loud (I seem to have left my teen years and rapidly become an old man). The retro-eighties sequence, inserted for no reason I could fathom, with a couple of tracks from Fame and Flashdance was a highlight. All the running on the walls looked pretty cool and was used effectively (unfairly I had a slight "been there/seen that" feeling as a show called "Honour Bound" used the trick to death a few years back). Only the rather cheesy sex sequence even approached real emotion, a deep longing was evident and the two dancers managed at least a semblance of character however briefly.

There isn't much that's clever about "Insane in the Brain" but it's perfectly entertaining and is the closest I've seen to telling a substantial narrative through hip-hop (far better than "Into The Hoods", which seems to be returning soon) though it still falls some way short especially in regards to characterisation. Pity about the forced dialogue towards the start which was amateurish and suggested a lack of faith in the ability of the movement to tell the story (which it didn't so maybe they made the right decision). It's a great group of dancers however, all moved impressively and oozed charisma keeping things exciting throughout. Worth a look.

Our Class

2009-09-22T23:23:00.008+01:00

There's nothing I hate more than a play that trades on being "worthy". Many a dire play gets a far easier handling in the press by masquerading as a "worthy" piece. Just look at the press reviews of the lazy "Katrina". "Our Class" could easily fall into this category, although conversely it could also be criticised as casually manipulative (as "Imagine This" somewhat unfairly was). Taking the horrors of the holocaust and making a shabby, little shocker. It isn't any of these things. It's a well crafted play that has a colossal impact precisely because the horrors are so unsensationally delivered. It isn't perfect, the final hour meanders rather erratically, but boy will this stick in the memory. I can't imagine I'll be getting much sleep this evening.

The theme of the play is an interesting one and Tadeusz Slobodzianek, channelled through Ryan Craig (rather than credited for the translation this is "in version by", whatever that means), offers many questions and no easy answers. The truth of the narrative is irrelevant in my mind but it's bound to stir up a degree of controversy. The text is almost documentary like but the content exists in a shaky historical context (what is truth in History?). What Slobodzianek has done is create a piece that isn't in the slightest didactic; there are some horrendous acts committed by apparently sane people and as the second act shows victim and victimiser can very quickly shift. He never brands a character evil, their actions are unimaginable and their guilt unbearable, they remain entirely human. Only the final section as the final characters come to the end of their lives does Slobodzianek slip into less balanced territory; the "iniquity of the fathers on the children" has no place in this unsentimental play, it gains no power through it. From a straight forward theatrical perspective the characters are beautifully created but odd lines (possibly a result of the translation) come across as false. It's also a heavily fractured piece especially in the latter parts (brilliantly handled in this tremendous production) and the sheer number of characters and incidents makes for a bit of a slog at times (the show runs for more than three harrowing hours). An easy evening at the theatre this isn't on many counts.

Staged in the round on hard floorboards sunk slightly below audience level and surrounded by a cold, harsh metallic edge, there's nowhere for the actors to hide. There's a brutal simplicity to the entire production. No props aside from ten chairs. The endless stream of blisteringly nasty events are each staged with a cool theatricality that carries far more weight that blood capsules ever could. There's no contact between the actors in the beatings (of which there are many), no one loses any clothing in the various rapes (it really is a brutal evening) and even the central massacre is staged in almost total stillness. Of particular brilliance is the ash that covers the floor in the second act. It acts as a constant reminder of the central atrocity; the action played almost literally on the bodies of the dead. A very fine group of actors and it's a testament to the brilliance of the group that no one truly stood out. It would be unfair to mention names, a true company piece in the very best sense of the word.

I can't imagine this will be to everyone's taste. An unremittingly bleak evening with almost zero humour. The children's poems that punctuate the work become almost as sinister as the killings. However if you're prepared to stomach the nastiness it's a show I can whole heartedly recommend. Far from flawless but this unsentimental take on such a significant period of history is shockingly moving and endlessly thought provoking. True or not, this raises philosophical questions of great interest, reaching into the very heart of what it means to be human. Fully deserving of an audience and I dearly hope London provides one.

Teenage Theatre Critic gets a little bit older...

2009-09-20T22:25:00.018+01:00

The desperately sad day has come whereby I am no longer a teenager. My precious youth slipping away at a depressingly fast rate. I'm not planning on stopping this criticising lark anytime soon however, whilst people keep reading I'll keep writing. I've come up with "Tyro" to replace "Teenage". Look it up if you're confused. I'm playing the intellectual card here although may well confuse many people into thinking I'm doing something with fire. It's an easy switch though as I get to keep the acronym (TTC) and almost nothing about the blog or my email address will change (so abuse will still merrily find its way to its destination).

To round off the "Teenage Theatre Critic" with some minor self-indulgence here are some of the finest comments I've received since I started. Some did brilliant things for my ego, others...well not so much. Sadly I've left out a couple of negative emails that were sufficiently rude as to be unprintable.

On the positive front...

Anonymous on Othello:
This is clearly one of the most beautiful reviews I have read about Othello and Chiwetel Ejiofor. I'm in Chicago and don't know how I will get there to see it. I know I will miss something truly special. Thank you for letting me see a little bit in your eyes.

Michael via Email:
If you really are a teenager then your critical faculties are the most developed I've encountered in a teenager since I was at school with the director Keith Warner.

G on Matilde di Shabran:
You write amazing reviews and I enjoy very much reading them as I cannot be in London for all the shows I would like to see (I live abroad).

Dean via Email:
Thank you for having the balls to say it how you see it!!

On the much less positive front...

Anonymous on Merce Cunningham Triple Bill:
While your opinion is duly respected by all, I'm sure, it is always a good idea to research your topic before making a fool of yourself, love... (This one went on for a while so you can read the rest through the link)

Anonymous on Inferno:
idiot

Anonymous on Tosca:
Reading your review highlights to me that you are clearly missing something: an ear for a quality and a prooven ability that you are unfit to write an oppinion that is credible or accurate.

While I'm taking a flick back through the three hundred plus reviews I've turned out in the last couple of years I'm feeling mildly nostalgic (which I'm still way too young to be) so I thought I'd link to a few of the best and worst shows I've had the privilege to see. This is merely a small snapshot and there are far too many worthy of mention but here's a brief list of evenings that stand out in my memory for whatever reason.

Greatest Hits (and this is by no means exhaustive)

Othello at the Donmar Warehouse (A central performance of some brilliance)

Swan Lake with Marianela Nunez (She's a very special dancer)

Punch and Judy by the English National Opera (Blood chillingly intimate)

Sutra (Worked far beyond expectations)

Legally Blonde - The Musical (So sue me, I'm a sucker for fluff, and this was seriously good fluff)

Tutto Dante (Benigni is a true genius)

Peter Grimes by the English National Opera (Possibly the greatest opera production I've seen)

The Pitmen Painters (A truly special play)

Shows I'd rather forget (or wish I'd never even seen)

Paso Doble (So this is art???)

Lost Highway by English National Opera (Ear melting volume paired with embarrassing pretension)

Fram (Sank under the weight of its own rubbishness)

Divas (Worst dance show I've had the misfortune to come across)

Complicit (torture in theatrical form)

The Solos Project (No budget led to no imagination)

Paradiso (and the rest of Castellucci's abomination of theatre) (Hell on earth)

Nerve (She had quite a)

Plus a few that whilst neither brilliant nor terrible, I'll never forget

Masque of the Red Death (Snogged by one of the actresses, what more can I say?)

Lord of the Rings - The Musical (Theatrical madness that just about worked)

The Minotaur (Opera trading purely in shock value)

Lipsynch (Lepage = Genius, several other of his shows have been just as impressive)

Imagine This (Holocaust musical??? At least they tried pretty hard)

Ben Hur Live (A monumental mess... but with a chariot race)

Overall I've had far more good nights than bad and I wouldn't have changed the last few years for anything. Here's hoping I can manage to trudge on and see just as much over the coming years. The university degree will have to continue to fit in somewhere though...

Thanks,

Teenage Theatre Critic signing off, and Tyro Theatre Critic signing on.