Epilogue

Even Stillness Breathes Softly Against A Brick Wall ****

2013-06-13T16:51:00.002+01:00

Even Stillness Breathes Softly Against A Brick Wall ****

First of all, I think it’s pretty safe to say that Birch’s play has one of the best titles I’ve ever seen. The question is whether it lives up to expectations.

Brad Birch’s one act play shows how the monotony of daily life can kill you. Sure some people in a warzone somewhere are just happy to be alive, but for the modern metropolitan professional the reality we live in, a routine revolving around going to work to pay the bills and having no time left for ourselves, can be crushing.

Birch’s script is slow to start but, once we begin to see the cracks in actors Joe Dempsie and Lara Rossi’s façade, the tension builds. The repetitive strain of silence Even Stillness sits upon is a brave directorial move from Nadia Latif; a device that could make the play drag is charged with a painful sense of nothingness by this subtle cast. Dempsie’s descent into baseness is excruciating to watch, and Rossi balances the volatile and vulnerable aspects of a character that is evidently being pulled in two directions at once. As Dempsie and Rossi realise that all they want in the world is one another, the chemistry between them fizzles and the play really begins to move forward.

So Dempsie and Rossi stop going into work, they stop paying the bills, and in a sexually charged moment of madness they destroy all their pointless belongings and begin to live in a pit. Forced to eat paper. This very normal play takes a very surreal turn, and you believe in it. There is something terrible which rings true about Birch’s play, it’s almost like a modern day Waiting for Godot – although the similarities lie more in the silence, than in the average dialogue which makes the occasionally inappropriate advance into the world of poetics. In a similar vein, Simon Slater’s sound is constantly playing beneath the action, and adding very little it simply becomes an irritating drone in the background.

The characters of Even Stillness float in a little world of their own which we’re all familiar with, but which is very much their territory. Birch’s script and Latif’s direction occupy something of a sacred space together in the Soho Theatre upstairs, and it’s worth peering in from the fringes before they disappear.

Even Stillness Breathes Softly Against A Brick Wall runs at the Soho Theatre until 14 June. For tickets and more information: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/even-stillness/

I'm Spilling My Heart Out Here ****

2013-03-08T00:31:00.002+00:00

I'm Spilling My Heart Out Here is a production from the Lincoln Young Company, a part of the National Theatre Connections Festival which commissions new writing for 13-19 year olds. LYC however come across more like professionals than a young company, handling Stacey Gregg's mature text with balanced shades of humour and angst - and not the skull printed, black clad emo school of angst; the believable sort that audiences young and old alike can relate back to.

Being like professionals, and having their performance at the Sheffield Crucible to come, I’ll be more nitpicky than I might usually be in a professional review. Gregg has written an ensemble piece here, most of the roles have an equal amount of stage time, and mostly the cast work together and are extremely self aware, spatially aware, and the relationships between characters evident, developed and above all, natural - but at times, the opening for example, they're thinking as characters, not as a unit. That being said, the blocking for so many in such a small space, and in the round at that, is thoughtfully achieved.

I want to say, Sweep (Sophie Grayson), Linford Butler (Osh) and Oliver Parkes (Ciaran), get it just right; their characters have brilliant comedic timing, but equally isolate their more vulnerable moments, coming across as familiar, well-rounded figures. Vicky Spencer's character is impulsive, obviously a hormone cocktail, but I’d like to see more of the thought process behind some of her actions. Similarly, Wilson’s (Chrissie Ellinas) blunt and upfront delivery is enjoyable but not always entirely natural. Their relationship is particularly interesting to watch, and even more time could be spent on moments when hormones are acting particularly rampant. Lauren Walker delivers her moving monologue well, but she could afford to go even further with it physically and vocally. There are too many hiccoughs in her teariness which interrupt her brilliant speech. And equally, although teenage boys who wouldn't dare show emotion, a little more could be had from the boys.

I personally think it's great to see young people working with such gruesome material, I mean when you're a teenager it really is "awkward when you're internal organs just fall out". The play dough hearts look good, hitting the floor with a splat they have the element of surprise over the audience. Admittedly there could be more blood, and the handling of hearts could be smoother. But the concept of a white stage gradually becoming smothered in colour as hearts spill out, colourful elements of clothing discarded in moments of character vulnerability, is a brilliant one, adding layers of emotion to the performance. If anything, more could be made of the idea, those moments marked more. When you're a teenager your heart's all over the place, and I just want to see more of a mess.

Like I said, I’m being nitpicky. Usually I'd have just said the cast is impressive and competent although they could all afford to project more, director Martyn Horner-Glister's ideas behind the piece are sophisticated, and ISMHOH could benefit from more of the Tarantino treatment. But altogether LYC's production is funny, moving, accessible, professional - they're bloody good. But I guess the devil's in the detail if you want to get to the National.

I'm Spilling My Heart Out Here is playing at the Sheffield Crucible on the 25 March alongside other participating companies. For further information see: http://www.lincolnyoungcompany.co.uk

Connections Festival performances are taking place all over the UK this Spring. For further information see: http://microsite.nationaltheatre.org.uk/connections

The Coming Storm **

2012-06-23T03:18:00.002+01:00

Forced Entertainment is an experimental theatre company that has been going for 28 years. Their devised show The Coming Storm at Battersea Arts Centre celebrates the energy which has kept this company strong, but isn’t matched by invigorating ideas.

In their attempt to reinvent the traditional forms of storytelling, they fail to replace it with something substantial. The actors take turns telling stories which barely get past the opening before another actor intervenes, then another, and so on in this repetitive manner. The Coming Storm is constantly moving and yet remains static, never developing into something more. The performance not just runs away with itself, dissolving into pure, but supposedly intended chaos. Deliberate or not, this lack of any structure or control can only be described as: messy.

The Coming Storm opens with Terry (Terry O’Connor) relating, in her thrilling monotone, the essential elements which should make up a story. This speech is far too long, and exemplifies The Coming Storm’s ironic tone as her ‘story’ doesn’t possess any of the qualities she describes, and extends into the ‘play’ as whole (these cannot be called stories nor this production, a play, it’s altogether something so entirely different that I can only approximate with the nearest concepts framed by inverted commas).

Photo Credit: Hugo Glendinning

After a while, I realise that the company has been playing with us. I’ve been grappling for links between these tales which aren’t there, and therefore it’s difficult to consider any of the production values seriously (and which were bare minimum besides). Mirroring their incomplete anecdotes, they slip in an out of random costumes which don’t fit, and aren’t done up, from the two costume rails on stage. Beside these are some instruments, chairs, a machine which creates a sound like the wind blowing…everything is there to be used at some point to little effect, and highlights the invention which goes into fiction by focusing on the fact that we’re in a theatre. Forced Entertainment’s ideas are inventive, and challenge the conventions of storytelling that have become the norm; but this doesn’t make the show insightful. I do remember a dragon in a hospital ward, a dying mother, a motorcyclist named Killer, but little else. Unfortunately, everything Terry says in the opening is right; without any real storytelling – it’s difficult to follow wholeheartedly. Richard Lowdon’s story about his mother – whether it’s true or false – verges upon a tender moment, before being cut off by Cathy Naden. The Coming Storm is a series of disappointments. Even the absurd decorations which make this production funny – most notably, Lowdon and Claire Marhsall’s awful dancing – is repeated until it’s dull.

Their use of music should revitalise this show, but barely adds entertainment value, let alone significance. Since none of the players were instrumentalists till taught by Phil Hayes, their simple tunes and inconstant rhythms are lost in the pandemonium of this production. It’s all well and good that they’ve learnt some instruments and are developing the layers of their production – but no one pays to see a Grade One pianist, do they?

The cast are referred to by their real names; the acting itself is incorporated in their acting out the stories they tell. It’s difficult to call this acting, when it’s more like playtime. When the focus is not upon the person holding the microphone, the others bang things and instruments, vying for attention like absolute children. These distractions are far better constructed than the actual speeches, and I’d happily watch a crocodile chew a man’s leg off, over a pretentious interpretive dance. Forced Entertainment is an appropriate name for all the wrong reasons in this production. For a long time, Lowdon wanders about with a sack on his head, and hangman’s rope on his hand, trying futilely to kill himself. This was undoubtedly the funniest moment in the production because I finally I felt an affinity with a character.

Beyond this grand vision fragmented narratives, the company themselves have little charisma. I’m not compelled to care about what I’m watching, so despite the ideas behind this show, the last word I can use to describe it is stimulating, when my brain had drifted off to an altogether saner reality. I’m all for innovative performance, but in this case, found it was more worthwhile to wonder what to have for dinner. (I had a stew if you’re interested – that, at least, went down a storm.)

The Coming Storm plays at BAC until 23 June. It will return on tour in the Autumn.

Tender Napalm

2012-06-14T13:52:00.000+01:00

There’s a moment in Tender Napalm – one of many – when your stomach clenches, and the friend I came along with drops all male pretensions and has to clutch my hand for support. This is the typical effect of Ridley’s writing, but this play especially is an exquisite example of poetry in motion.

Photo credit: Evening Standard

Tender Napalm returns to the Southwark Playhouse after its premiere last year, a triumphant example of this wordsmith’s uniquely compelling style. Ridley’s oxymoronic title embodies his play perfectly. Visceral descriptions conjure a colourful world at war that his characters have created, in order to escape reality and its pain. This bittersweet contrast takes you upon a rollercoaster ride (the only way to travel in Ridley’s world) until the cast can take no more and must face the truth. The audience teeter upon the glittering knife’s edge which is the weapon of truth. The characters throw these knives – and themselves – back and forth in an elliptical battle. Ridley reveals the layers of this man and woman’s relationship as if delicately peeling back their raw skin, but never mentioning the unspoken trauma which haunts their every word.

Lara Rossi and Tom Byam Shaw play this couple to every extreme: like the most intimate of lovers, and hateful of enemies. They attack Tender Napalm like Olympic athletes, until sweat drips like tears on the floor. William Reynold’s set is a bare, traverse stage; exposing that the kaleidoscopic setting the actors lead us through only exists in their minds. But boy, do they believe in it, exploring it with every inch of their being. Through Tom Godwin’s movement direction, imagination becomes a tactile space. Hurtling around the stage, I can see Shaw is soaked in blood, battling his way out of the belly of a serpent, or riding a unicorn through the wilderness. Tender Napalm is dependent on the actors investing everything into their characters, and Rossi and Shaw do this and more. The stories they tell with just their exaggerated bodies and subtle reactions showcases them to be energised, sensational actors.

Their chemistry is electric in the warzone. Man opens: ‘Your mouth…It’s such a…wet thing. I could squeeze a bullet between those lips,’ and Woman gives as good as she gets all the way to the climax. Ridley’s vocabulary is the fuel for this fiery relationship, and director, David Mercatali, takes this momentum and kicks it up a gear. But every vehicle has to stop to refuel, and it is the tender moments which complete this piece. Forty fathoms beneath the sea is a safe place where Man and Woman don’t fight. They ‘float and fade’ as they forget, punctuated by a particularly haunting song from Nick Bicât. And haunting is the best way to describe Tender Napalm.

Mercatali’s direction strips the production, and Ridley strips the characters, creating an intensely revealing and consequently poignant play. The explosive and sexual physicality of Tender Napalm ingeniously focuses upon the tacit, as much as what’s going on onstage, charging the relationship between Man and Woman with an unknown force that makes you tremble.

Tender Napalm plays at the Southwark Playhouse until 23 June.

A More General Review

2012-06-12T02:06:00.000+01:00

I considered today, that despite the privelage of seeing a numerous amount of shows a month to review, I still spend considerable time and money trying to make it to those special shows. I'm not ashamed to admit, Jekyll and Hyde is in my top 5 musicals (along with Phantom, Beauty and the Beast and...well anyway) and would have done anything to see it again at the Southwark Playhouse before it closes. I went to buy tickets only to discover that of course, it's sold out. And so it should be. But althought I've already seen it, it absolutely crushed me that I couldn't see it again. And this has prompted this blog post: what are those few shows that have stayed with me? And why?

MAY 2012: Jekyll and Hyde
This was just such a brave production, Morphic Graffiti absolutely pulled off an update and you know what? The little things which may have gone wrong here and there just didn't matter because this cast and crew finally did this stupendous musical justice!

MAY 2012: Misterman
There are few words I could use that could really evoke the brilliance of this production. After Ivanov, I'd say it's the best thing I've seen in the theatre to date. Rarely have I seen such astounding acting or compelling direction. I honestly cared for the protagonist in this production.

JAN 2012: 13
I didn't give this 5 stars. But this was such an important production for me. I have never ever ever been so politically moved by a play as this, I NEEDED to stand up and shout yes, agree with the character of John and hopefully lead a revolution, take the audience out into the streets preaching Bartlett's play. Now that's something.

There is a gap here between when I started reviewing, then found school required a little more of my attention than theatre, and then found theatre was my life and couldn't be more important than uni. And... my days were mostly filled by the Lord Of The Rings Musical which I never reviewed. There would be too much to say, I thought this was spectacular, I know a lot of people don't, especially purists, but it touched every heartstring, was beautiful, sounded beautiful. It was something otherworldly I doubt I'll find again.

FEB 2009: Three Days of Rain
This was another example of ACTING. When I write a play, I have to imagine the acting because the acting is half of the play. My words are nothing without the likes of actors like these.

JAN 2009: The Frontline
It's around this time I was beginning to see plays and realised dammit I loved them. The Frontline spoke to me as a Londoner, even as a newcomer to theatreland I could tell Walker was innovative with his speech, I was drawn into every character, every story, listened to every word like a willing puppet. That's storytelling. That was relative.

JAN 2009: Ivanov
It all began here. I'm adamant my review of this got me through GCSE and into drama school by making me look intellectual. The thing with Chekhov is it isn't about being intellectual, some of the conditions remain topical, some don't, but with this, my first heady clash with naturalism I learnt to believe. To this day, I've yet to cry so much in a theatre as during this, and this is because Branagh WAS Ivanov. THE most stupendous acting I've seen to date.

An interesting fact (a fact for companies to fear about this reviewer): I very, very, rarely give a standing ovation. It has to be out. of. this. world. for me to do this. It's not a case of being frigid about showing companies praise for their productions, I can see why shows that I'd consider four star deserve a standing ovation a lot of the time. It's simply my method of separating the men from the boys as it were.If I look back and think of the shows which I stood for I think of the shows which truly touched me. It's important I do this so that I can remember those stellar examples of why I do what I do, and what makes theatre magical for me.

Misterman *****

2012-06-04T01:15:00.002+01:00

Photo Credit: Catherine Ashmore

Cillian Murphy is best known for his performances in films like Batman Begins and Breakfast on Pluto, his popularity demonstrated by the gushing fan girls sat next to me. I’m not ashamed to admit that following his performance in Misterman, I can’t help but feel a bit of a fan girl too. This 90 minute monologue showcases his virtuoso talent as self-styled preacher, Thomas Magill, is dragged through his version of living hell, whilst simultaneously multi-roling for his life.

Thomas has no doubts about his mission on earth: he surreptitiously records the sinful activities of the townsfolk of Innisfree, determined to make his hometown righteous again. The townsfolk are heard both on tape and played by Murphy. From jittery old Mrs O’Leary to macho man Charlie McAnerny, Murphy attacks every role with incredible versatility, playing against himself with perfect comic timing. But as the play progresses, the recorded voices fill a more dominant space in his psyche and can’t be controlled by him; the schizophrenic frenzy of his character is heart-wrenching to watch.

This monologue (which owes a nod to Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape) is a brave and insightful form of characterisation from writer Enda Walsh. Walsh champions writing about Ireland and couldn’t have found a more appropriate Thomas than Irish actor, Cillian Murphy (whom Walsh worked with before on his play Disco Pigs, winning Murphy his first taste of stage acclaim). Murphy’s famously blue eyes shine angelically from the stage, inspiring immense sympathy for this pathetic disciple – a dilemma for the audience since his own sins actually make him the anti-hero of Innisfree.

Photo Credit: Catherin Ashmore

Walsh’s play explores the potential repercussions of dogged faith. Like an omen of these ramifications, the O’ Donnell’s agitating dog – which Thomas doesn’t have a healthy relationship with to say the least – continues to haunt him after its death. The re-enactment of a day in the life of Thomas Magill is played out within a vast, industrial space, like an abandoned factory. Shut up in here, his make-believe is jolted by the dog’s barking and the trembling walls as it tries to get in – or perhaps, as the animal inside Thomas struggles to get out, repressed by his stoical piety. Indeed, Murphy throws himself about the stage recklessly; a smaller space couldn’t contain his boundless energy. Jamie Vartan’s set is a conceptual masterpiece: a playground for Thomas’ singular mind (and a nightmare for whoever has to clean it after Murphy has thrown all his props left, right and centre like a baby in a pram). The animal presence turns this liberating set on its head as Gregory Clarke’s tumultuous soundscape swells into the space, and the lights flicker and fall. Adam Silverman makes no obvious allusions between the lighting and heaven, instead using the soft, surrounding darkness to isolate episodes in Magill’s life. It’s the most disturbing lighting effect that I’ve endured as an audience member, as the auditorium seems to swallow you up.

Under Enda Walsh’s direction, all the production values blend seamlessly together, as if they were a living, breathing monster. Most impressive is the layering of Murphy’s speech with the tape recordings – a risky structure, but impeccably timed. Walsh’s intelligently balanced script carries the audience through Magill’s life without the need for naturalistic devices. The poetry of Magill’s monologue paints Innisfree as a town both beautiful and ugly, so that the audience can visualise it for themselves. This poetic vision exemplifies Magill’s idealistic character; Walsh builds him a heavenly pedestal, so like a tragic hero, the greater is his fall.

Misterman is undoubtedly the best thing I’ve seen all year. An absolute triumph for Enda Walsh, whose vast vision only Thomas Magill could believe in, and only Cillian Murphy could channel. It is Magill’s belief and the audience’s shared belief in the production, which makes this production all the more raw to watch.

Stories Before Bedtime ****

2012-06-04T01:09:00.003+01:00

Sitting back in the comfy, cosy Criterion Theatre as the lights go down, I can’t help but already feel a sense of contentment wash over me. Through these late night staged readings, Stories Before Bedtime aims to revive the tradition of reading aloud, and it definitely recalls those childhood memories of a bedtime story so many of us used to enjoy.

This evening’s set of stories/extracts were all chosen as they evoke the events of a hot summer’s day, and formed a complimentary, well-balanced programme that was both funny and moving. I hadn’t read any of the selected stories but am determined to read them all now. Dodie Smith’s, ‘I Capture The Castle’, was read by Sonya Cassidy (wonderfully childlike expression, but her projection also quite small), and although a slow starter, was a perfect example of the quality stories have to transport you. Smith’s poetic descriptions demonstrate the power of words to lure you into another world where you’re so much more aware of the beauty in it. Director Samuel Hodges took note of this with his simple staging, respecting that novels possess their own sense of ‘theatre’.

It would be an ambitious parent that reads a Virginia Woolf’s ‘The New Dress’ to their child at bedtime. But Miranda Richardson’s warm tone and subtle inflections manage to make Woolf accessible and compelling. It’s possible some of Woolf’s biting social commentary was lost on a weary audience at midnight, but Richardson’s delivery captured her witty literary voice. These two weightier stories were balanced by Matthew Horne’s reading of ‘The Diary of a Nobody’ by George Grossmith. More than the other two actors, Horne acts his reading with comical animation, that the novel couldn’t portray without Horne giving Nobody legs.

Horne’s performance pinpoints the difference between reading in your head, and reading aloud, and how some people may engage more enthusiastically with the oral form of storytelling. Recently I was shocked to discover that my partner has never actually read the Harry Potter series, but listened to it on audio as a child. Stories at Bedtime is an especially active form of storytelling which arguably responds to a technology fuelled generation that’s bored of books, and is the perfect way to rekindle our love affair with them. I’d go so far to suggest Hodges’ use of visual stimuli like smoke machines, and lighting disrupts the audience’s state of enchantment more than increases it, as the audience are reminded they’re sat in a theatre. I found the production values occasionally distracting as they weren’t smoothly integrated into the readings (with the exception of the comically timed bell in The Diary of a Nobody).

Stories at Bedtime is spectacular as it shares an experience which was so personal between parent and child all those years ago, communally, with the whole audience. Onstage, the readings could be compared to a series of monologues, if it weren’t for the authors’ use of immersive detail and freedom to imagine another world where theatrical productions impose one. It’s similar to how a child conjures a limitless dreamland after their bedtime story. This show revitalises reading, reminding us of their magic by bringing them to life.

The Irish Giant **

2012-05-28T15:02:00.003+01:00

The Irish Giant tackles the age-old rivalry between science and religion, focusing upon the question of whether or not man has a soul: a mighty problem for this little cast. This is explored through the devised story of an eight foot tall man, stalked by a body-snatcher (a capable Alex Murdoch) waiting for the giant’s looming death on the behalf of Doctor Hunter (played with personality by Brian Logan), who’s determined to dissect his anomalous form. In contrast, the Irish Giant of course is determined his body remains in one piece so that his soul can ascend to heaven. Sitting in the cold, darkened vault of the Southwark Playhouse as students, not an audience, this beginning promises enlightenment – but we’re left grappling in the dark throughout.

I wanted so much to like The Irish Giant. The company members of Cartoon De Salvo are undeniably charismatic, and there is something so honest about this production. But stripping back the show is a dangerous move, exposing holes in the delivery. Early entrances and the setting of props in your peripheral vision, the occasionally forced acting: all the little constraints upon staging and the limited cast add up to make this 15-year-old company seem more amateurish than they are.

The staging reflects that this devised piece is stylistically Brechtian, which is most obvious in Cartoon De Salvo’s use of music. Daniel Marcus Clark’s folky compositions are catchy and performed well by the company (a miniature piano beside a giant is a visual stroke of genius), but as a theatrical device has little purpose other than filling the gaps in the story. The music is a mere accompaniment to Rebecca Hurst’s witty animations which illustrate the said gaps, and occasionally have more to say than the actors themselves. The animation captures the tone of The Irish Giant, which looks lightly at the issues it addresses. Herein lies the problem with Brecht’s influence; Brecht reminded the audience they were watching a play so that they could look beneath the surface. I struggled to find anything lingering there but the reiteration of a point made by countless books and plays, dating back to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and beyond.

Cartoon De Salvo’s mission to “mess with the live theatre experience” is outdated in this respect, but carried by Jean Chan’s design which highlights the uniquely surrealist direction of the company. In particular, the eclectic assortment of bits and bobs stored in jars, which include the drunken giant’s (a melodramatic performance from Neil Haigh) drinking friends (played by a jar of pickled eggs with smiley faces drawn on them). The simplistically rustic set works with Paul Murray’s illusions so that the giant’s height is achieved through the humble magic of silhouettes against a backdrop. Smaller illusions come sporadically – a floating note, the puppetry hand of death appearing on Hunter’s shoulder – as if they’re party tricks. The comedic elements of this play contradict the tone of its controversial subject matter. Therefore the several scenes structured towards a sense of bathos, make the eventual push for pathos hard work for an audience.

At the end of The Irish Giant, the actors ironically ask “Any questions?” Of course there are, because the play answers none. Cartoon De Salvo prefers the flexibility and humour of abstract images played to an atmospheric soundtrack. This lack of a general direction from Alex Murdoch, leads The Irish Giant to sadly suffer. Laughing at mortality and the futility of spiritual enquiries isn’t enough to achieve an effect like that of produced by the theatre of the absurd. The Irish Giant can only scrabble beneath the skin-deep production for the organs needed to breathe life into its more shapely form.

The Messiah ****

2012-05-28T15:00:00.000+01:00

Deep down in a World War II bunker in Dalston, I sit down at the last supper and become a part of the greatest story ever told. Steven Berkoff’s The Messiah is an interpretation of the last days of Jesus (Graham Dickson) that focuses not upon his divinity, but his humanity.

This debut production from Zebedee Productions transports you past the legends, miracles and controversy of religion. Instead, it keenly feels the story which has inspired faith in millions through the exquisitely human portrayal of its famous figures. David Fairs’s Judas is no longer the villain, but a victim of circumstance, played with the steely isolation of an outsider amongst Jesus’s followers. But – pun intended – a star is born with Graham Dickson who finds so many shades to the son of God, and continues to glow with divine charisma in his every wonky, knowing smile. Suitably, Jesus has competition from Zoe Wellman’s Satan, whose husky voice and playful phrasing are very typical of Satanic characters, and undoubtedly oozes temptation.

The most impressive skill however, is the vocal prowess of the whole cast, particularly Fairs and Dickson. Either as individuals or moving and breathing as a unit, every actor finds and develops a rhythm in Berkoff’s script, tackling The Messiah with relentless energy. This carries the audience from scene to scene so the momentum crescendos towards Jesus’ crucifixion, an agonising performance to watch from Dickson. The impetus the casts put into every word reflects their power to carry through two thousand years and into this play.

Of course, Berkoff being Berkoff, the poetry of these grand scenes is offset by the vulgarity of contemporary language. Berkoff manages to bring the Bible into the twenty-first century by investing it with a sense of reality; betrayal and self-doubt are inherently human characteristics, not romantic ones, with which the audience can identifiy. Jesus, in a very mortal manner, holds a seed of doubt that he’s the son of God. More significantly, our ability to laugh with the dramatic irony of retrospect, ignites a story so well known that it’s arguably become lacklustre and therefore less inspirational.

Zebedee bravely produces The Messiah in the form of a promenade performance, yet never wholly embraces the spirit of this style of theatre. The movement of a large audience through small spaces is organised admirably, but this is exactly what detracts from the audience’s freedom to discover the environment and story by themselves, the primary attraction of promenade performance. Rather, the shifting of scenes to different spaces within the bunker appears to be practical solution to make swift scene changes.

Yet the bunker is a gift of a space, similar to, but more intimate than, the Old Vic Tunnels and should house more theatrical productions like this. The echo of every speech bounces off the walls and strikes as if it were personally directed at you. Dahlia Gellert’s set design uses simple elements: wood, stone, and candles, which is enough to make this cavernous space shiver with the warm yet ominous atmosphere of a church.

Andrew London’s direction is impeccable, but the bunker amplifies that twofold. His production cannot be called unsophisticated because there are no flashy lighting effects or lavish costumes; the cast’s skill speaks for itself in this space, and promises good things to come from Zebedee.

Jekyll and Hyde *****

2012-05-21T16:43:00.000+01:00

Photo Credit: Katherine James

Jekyll and Hyde is a favourite musical for a lot of people, including myself, so it’s a brave move to take something so firmly set in the Victorian era and bring it into the twenty-first century. Half of the time, an update hits several walls, so it’s a testament to this production that not only is Wildhorn and Bricusse’s musical popular enough to warrant an update, but that Director Luke Fredericks successfully achieves it.

The musical isn’t wholly true to the novel (if you’re unaware of the storyline, a Doctor experiments upon himself to invent a drug to control the evil side of human nature, but finds himself unleashing it instead). A subplot is invented between Jekyll/Hyde and a prostitute, Lucy (played brilliantly by Madalena Alberto if you ignore the indeterminate accent). The heartfelt stories of Lucy and her love rival, Emma Carew (sung beautifully by Joanna Strand), were responsible for a few tears being shed. Updating these characters has made them seem more three-dimensional, and lends a particular grittiness to the roles.

The intimacy of their stories contrasts with the ferocity with which Tim Rogers plays Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde. Rogers’s dichotomy of character is expertly played; his Hyde in particular is darkly enigmatic and well physicalised. Jekyll and Hyde is a difficult show to direct, belief in the story depends a lot upon how the transformation of Jekyll/Hyde is portrayed, and Fredericks’s simple choices combined with Rogers’s acting were a thousand times more effective than other productions I’ve seen, which have rested on spectacle and costume. Catherine Webb’s use of torchlight and washes, and the fuzzy production of Ben Walden’s video projections, combined to create the menacing atmosphere of the gothic novel.

Updating it is surprisingly easy: Jekyll’s proposal is made to an NHS medical body and his diary is written on a Mac. The slightly stoned portrayal of Lucy also brings a true sadness to the role. The multiplicity of personas in the chorus is more relatable than the very thin divide of simply rich and poor. The staging is fast-paced, and the chorus especially precise. At times however, I think it tries too hard to be busy where there is enough intensity emanating from the excellent soloists, and the scene should focus upon them.

What makes this production of Jekyll and Hyde so hard-hitting is the use of space in the little Union Theatre. Although there were a few foibles with the set which sadly keep it from perfection, it is otherwise innovatively used: the breaking of the fourth wall and being so close you can really see into Rogers’s tormented eyes brings vivacity and reality to this production. This is complemented wonderfully by Dean Austin’s full sounding arrangement of the score, and Stewart Charlesworth’s hardy, grim set.

Charlesworth, Austin and Fredericks’s company Morphic Graffiti turns a traditional musical which has always had the potential to be something more, into just that. It’s slick and sinister: a deliciously wicked piece of theatre.

Jekyll and Hyde is playing at the Union Theatre until 16 June.

Babel **

2012-05-14T04:31:00.003+01:00

Photo Credit: Steve Tanner

Babel is like a seed which despite sunshine and water, just didn’t grow (maybe it was over-watered, there was enough rain to turn Caledonian Park to mud). Babel is a site-specific, promenade play from the mighty collaborative forces of: Wildworks, BAC, and Lyric Hammersmith to name a few. It is a brilliant idea, but sadly poorly executed.

A show which promises ‘an immersive theatrical experience of truly epic proportions has a lot to live up to, so forgive me for expecting fireworks. As you enter a surreally transformed Calendonian Park; where one woman does her ironing in a tree, or another practises her samurai sword skills, you’re hopeful. And then, white sentinels begin to welcome you and chant ‘we’ll wake them soon’ with wide eyes and creepy voices; it feels slightly forced, but you’re still willing to embrace this otherworld. And then, you reach the open field centred around the tower, and as you chew upon your cupcake homage to Gandhi, that delightful taste is made a little sour as you realise; the artistic vignettes in the forest were meaningless. Babel urges you to slow down, and really look at the world; I did, and yes, although there was an obvious display of a diverse London, a lot of imagination and little thought went into it.

The story of Babel is derived from the biblical account of a tower being built following the Great Flood, where man gathered and spoke one language. The show obviously supports the idea of nations gathering together in London for the 2012 Olympics. What’s lacking is a sort of glue to hold the the forest vignettes and tent activities/performances together. At the point a story line finally emerges (a weak and strenuous marriage of Orwell’s ‘1984’ themes and the plight of Judaism being without a nation), and the crowd should gather in defiance, there is no spirit of unity. There was always the risk with a piece like Babel that English manners would prevail and the audience would be unwilling to participate. So Babel massively required the pace and attack of a stronger, inspiring story line (if not a couple of fireworks) to achieve this. On one hand, the personable story of one family carries Babel; and on the other hand, the forced speeches feel solitary and beyond believable. It is simply too cautious.

Concerning the promenade experience of Babel, the biggest problem with a production of this scale was definitely the waiting. I was always waiting for a turn at something, for something spectacular to happen, or just anything at all. With an audience and cast of that size, Babel on a practical level required larger spaces to operate within, as opposed to several small stages and tents.

I have always wanted to see a promenade performance on this scale, and sadly, Babel is an example of why it hasn’t been done before. A saving grace however, is the production’s use of music to signify a universal language between people from every background and the sense of celebration this induces at the ending. It may not have been spectacular, and long-awaited, but did remind us of the spirit which Babel aims to celebrate.

Pass The Spoon ****

2012-05-09T16:48:00.001+01:00

A show like Pass The Spoon could only be born from the mind of artist, David Shrigley, and his unique, infantile style transfers surprisingly well into this ‘sort-of-opera’. It would be more accurate to call this sort-of-everything; there are elements of pantomime, melodrama, and features pastiches of hymns and musical theatre in the score as much as opera. This is Shrigley’s first hand at writing something of this length, but considering that the humour in his work is often verbal, this wasn’t going to be a challenge.

Photo taken from: whatsonstage.com

The beyond bizarre story follows a cookery show hosted by the always cheery June Spoon (Pauline Knowles) and the always camp Phillip Fork (Stewart Cairns). They are cooking dinner for Mr Granules tonight (a nightmarish, gigantic puppet manned by Tobias Wilson) who is rumoured to have eaten babies. Inevitably, when things go wrong, Mr Granules can’t help but feel peckish.

Before this though, they must make the dinner. This involves: interviewing the candidates for the vegetable soup – adorable puppets designed by Shrigley, straight out of a children’s book. They must appeal to an ecclesiastic butcher (sung stunningly by Peter Van Hulle), for him to grant them mercy in the form of homosexual pork chops. And seek assistance from a manic depressive, alcoholic egg (Gavin Mitchell), and a Latino banana (Martin McCormack) in his pre-banana custard (‘yellow bastard’) form. These two actors are outstanding, not just because playing foodstuffs does stand out, but because they’re played physically and vocally as you’d imagine a common-sense banana and depressed egg would act. Strange as that is, the comedy is spot on.

David Fennessy’s music is genuinely innovative and original, going so far as to include bubble wrap and kitchen knives within the composition. When it isn’t mocking conventional genres; take the repetition of opera lyrics (‘SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! WHAT KIND OF BLOODY SOUP?’), Fennessy’s score is disturbingly eerie, playing against Shrigley’s script and reflecting a darker undertones of Pass The Spoon. It makes sharp commentary upon human appetite in its twisted way, and at the same time Shrigley’s satirical but self-conscious tone makes opera accessible. There is no snootiness about opera when the audience must clap and chant with the performers, rather than waiting until the end of the movement. Altogether, director Nicholas Bone has brought together an opera for the 21^st century. But beyond all this is an achievement for Shrigley; like a page of his nonsensical doodlings brought to life, only he could make a not-just-an-opera that features a singing and dancing Shit, successful. Pure silliness, Pass The Spoon is hilarious.

Unfortunately, Pass The Spoon was only revived for two days at the Southbank’s Queen Elizabeth Hall, but to find out when it will (undoubtedly) show again, see Magnetic North’s website: www.magneticnorth.org.uk

Babel: Exclusive Reader Offer

2012-05-05T15:00:00.000+01:00

Courtesy of AKA, I can offer readers of West End Epilogue an exclusive discount rate for Babel on Sunday 13th May: £25 down to £10. Call 020 7223 2223 or visit BABELLONDON.com promo code: Blogger.

Photo credit: Steve Tanner

The roots of BABEL go far back, beyond memory, to one of our first stories – ‘in the beginning the people was one’. These people felt compelled to gather, to create something extraordinary together, and so they built a city and the Tower. Over time both were abandoned, the people fled to the far corners of the earth and the first tribes were formed.

In 2012 the people are gathering again. The lost Tower has been rediscovered and its voice heard for the first time in living memory.

The Tower is calling out to people from all over London, from across the country and around the world. The people feel compelled to come here, to this last lost iconic site and the Tower that stands in its midst. Once again, the people is one. Our languages, our backgrounds, our cultures are different, but together we have been drawn to this place. Today is the day.

BABEL is a fable about the things that matter. The things that bind us together and keep us apart. It’s about the incredible things we can do together, the power of memory and our common humanity.
From 8th May BABEL is reborn as a story for 2012 in one of the last lost iconic sites in London, Caledonian Park in Islington. In a forgotten place, rich in histories, the people are gathering.
Babel is predicted to be the theatrical event of 2012. A spectacular outdoor show created for a major London setting, BABEL is staged through a unique partnership between WildWorks and Battersea Arts Centre and will feature a cast of up to 300.

Brimstone and Treacle ****

2012-05-05T14:45:00.002+01:00

Photo credit: Faye Thomas

Brimstone and Treacle is arguably not so controversial now, as when it was originally written for TV in 1976 (but still wasn’t screened until ten years later as the Director of Programmes thought it was ‘nauseating’). The rape of a vulnerable girl and unabashed racism are shocking; but above all it is the questionable moral compass that disturbs in Brimstone and Treacle.

The characters are simple, flawed human beings, but Potter forces a distance between the audience and play so one can’t help but sit up – not back – and question the origin of the inexplicable chaos existing in our world. The play follows the Bates, whose marriage has been pushed to the edge by their daughter, Pattie, being left mute and incapacitated from a hit-and-run accident. Things take a turn for the strange when man called Martin arrives returning Mr Bates’ lost wallet and proclaims (poetically and dramatically) that he once loved Pattie, and would like to help care for her.

The unbearable silence which opens Brimstone and Treacle makes your skin prickle, but this tension comes and goes temperamentally. Martin (played slyly by soft spoken Rupert Friend) speaks with his eyes, shooting glances at the audience so that we know something’s wrong. This dramatic irony stimulates fear, but also reminds the audience that every word Martin says is a lie. The consequently humourous reaction to his treacle-sweet façade detracts from the impact the play could have – however magical Potter’s language, and intimate the Arcola may be.

Still, Friend’s Martin is a wonderful enigma; a devil with the assumed appearance of an angel. Mr Bates speculates that their stranger could be the ‘devil himself’ which appears to be spot on. He is the symbol at the centre of Dennis Potter’s exploration of good and evil, and the reality that the world is not necessarily as logical as faith or political structures would imply it is. Bad actions bring about good consequences and vice versa, proposing the Machiavellian question: does the end justify the means? Martin asks, if Mr Bates wants all the ‘blacks’ to leave England, but they won’t, then is a concentration camp justified? This controversial notion reaches its height in the scene where by raping Pattie, Martin miraculously heals her; disturbing the audience’s pre-conceived mores and rendering Brimstone and Treacle to be a truly haunting play

Mr and Mrs Bates are also the antithesis of one another; Mrs Bates is religious, open and eager to trust Martin, and Mr Bates, most definitely not. Both Ian Redford and Tessa Peake-Jones inhabit their characters with a necessary sense of truth, complimented by Alex Eales authentic and reserved set. The Bates trust Martin because they equivocate goodness to his outward appearance; a conservative in Thatcher’s Britain, a gentleman – even a ‘saviour’ to Mrs Bates as he relieves her of her burdens. This couple prize ‘the England I used to know’, an ideal which can no longer exist for them, and so has shattered in parallel with their daughter’s quality of life. Matti Houghton is transformed as Pattie Bates; not once in the 90 minutes does her physical intensity waver, or tormented eyes lose their vivacity. Punk rock music punctuates Matti’s wild movements in the explosive segments between scenes, where Pattie relives the car crash, and her internal anguish can only find a physical outlet. It is both a subtle and startling performance.

Director, Amelia Sears takes no prisoners in this challenging play. Brimstone and treacle was a Victorian concoction believed to do you good; and although Sears production might leave a sour taste in your mouth, it will definitely enlighten you.

Brimstone and Treacle is playing at the Arcola until 2 June. For tickets and more information, go to the Arcola website. http://www.arcolatheatre.com/production/arcola/brimstone-and-treacle

Late Night Gimp Fight ****

2012-05-05T14:42:00.000+01:00

It’s no surprise that a group called Late Night Gimp Fight know how to get its audience going. Considering their risqué subject matter it’s pretty essential that they have a willing audience, but what’s impressive is that they maintain this laugh a minute atmosphere from beginning to end. In the first few notes of their rendition of Born This Way, hysterics erupt in the auditorium as if they were Lady Gaga’s support act. We can’t help but embrace them with the same shameless joy with which they celebrate that they were born this way: a group with hilariously deviant humour – also blessed with impressive falsetto range and graceful pas de bourrées.

Late Night Gimp Fight is a sketch group which lives up to its promise of ‘an hour of comedy like no other’. A Quintet with the character and charm of a boy band (Head Gimp, Actor Gimp etc.) – except they can sing, dance and write their own material – LNGF is very much comedy for this generation. As a segway between sketches, Late Night Gimp Fight insert their ensemble’s name or gimp character playfully into a series of familiar music videos/film excerpts ( e.g. 50 Cent’s P.I.M.P becomes G.I.M.P) – the silly sort of clips you’d watch on YouTube. The crude subject matter of their comedy is the kind you laughed about in the playground, and could be easily cringe-worthy were LNGF not so intelligent and sympathetic in their delivery. I was near tears during an ode to a Henry Hoover that had recently lost its dad, and it takes skill to get an audience clapping along to a bestiality rap.

Their musical interludes are the highlight; the ensemble reinvents familiar tunes by drawing upon recognisable aspects of them. Strangely loveable toilet seat puppets don’t drop a note as their version of ‘Stand By Me’ plays upon the ‘bum bum bum’ of the bass line. LNGF’s clever choreography is courtesy of Steven Webb, and the interpretive dance performed with surprising balletic skill from Matt Ralph (Jock Gimp). These sketches prove LNGF to be a multi-talented force, showcasing them at their strongest: as a unit.

However I will say the production overall – all in blacks, exaggerated acting – was sometimes reminiscent of a GCSE drama performance. Their one-liners are strong enough to carry the laughs without hamming up the performance. It’s pure genius to watch a man kill his friends, to then discover it was all for a scout badge – so it felt detrimental to the virtuosity of their sketches that there was absolutely no suspension of disbelief to lead the audience into twists like this. LNGF aren’t so funny when they’re trying to be funny. However, the organisation of the show between sketch and video, from costume to costume, was well balanced and impossibly slick.

Dare I say it; LNGF is comedy with a point. Under the eye of the Soho Theatre’s Artistic Director, Steve Marmion, LNGF’s brilliance is reined into a show which still has the atmosphere worthy of an arena tour. They manage to say obscene, difficult things without offending, but to an audience that wants more. LNGF know what they’re doing and do it extremely well: we laugh when they want us to, clap when they want us to – we become putty in their dangerous hands which is just how they like it.

Late Night Gimp Fight is playing at the Soho Theatre until 5 May. For tickets and more information, go to the Soho Theatre website.

Sunday Cabaret at Cafe Koha

2012-05-03T03:40:00.000+01:00

Maya Levy. Photo Credit: Vishi Vishvanath

Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha is a delightful evening out. Hidden between the Wyndam and Noel Coward theatre, it’s a cosy, downstairs space with a friendly crowd – although this leads to visibility issues regarding the cabaret acts. Without a stage, you need to sit where you can and hope for the best. Unfortunately, it’s a much more suitable space for during dinner entertainment than a cabaret show, and these are acts which demand your attention.

This month’s guest was comedy-singer Maya Levy. With an act including a singalong, a rap, and ‘The Unexpected Re-encounter of Pochahontas and John Smith’; Levy is an extremely likeable, crowd friendly act for anybody and everybody. Perhaps, in particular for the social group I will refer to (at my own risk) as singletons; Levy does stray into that familiar zone of female stand ups. The content of her musical puns is in touch with everyday life, which is what makes it funny; however this also makes it feel occasionally repetitive. Her songs never seem to get off their feet and develop; they feel like neglected playdough sculptures a child began to play with but became bored with after a little while. As a result, with their ‘piddly diddly’ accompaniments, Levy’s songs seek the childish silliness we love about singer-comedians like Tim Minchin, but lack the genius of his lyrics. Her act could afford to boast Levy’s advantageous musical training, over its currently simple structure which only lays bare the space for improvement.

Ismena Collective. Photo Credit: Karla Gowlett

Where Levy’s material lent itself to the social atmosphere of Café Koha, their hosts, Ismena Collective, is more the standard of cabaret we expect from a venue in the heart of the West End. Their song choices span the comedic vernacular of Goldrich and Heisler, to soulful renditions of Weill. Perhaps eclectic choices, they are linked by tales of treading the boards, and the programme is well-balanced. These lesser known tunes are instant audience favourites without reverting to done to death musicals. Ismena’s prima donna, Sara Cluderay, didn’t bat an eyelid at what should have been major spatial issues for a predominantly musical theatre trio. With the deft flicking of a feather boa round her shoulder, she made what there was of a stage, her own; finding a lyrical charm in every character.

Equally, Mayda Narvey’s cello, and Katherine Woolley’s piano accompaniments are arranged sophisticatedly, and compliment the intimacy of the venue. Brashy belts and brass would be welcome interpretations of some of these numbers – especially Weill’s perhaps – but Ismena Collective has a style all their own. They showcase the bright clarity of Cluderay’s voice before any bells and whistles. Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha provides a pleasant alternative to sitting in and watching The Voice on the television, when there’s some excellent voices to be heard at your local café.

The next Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha will be July 1. Join the mailing list to find out when tickets for next month go on sale, at www.ismenacollective.com

The Ismena Collective’s next performance will be Love and Lust Cabaret at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, May 23. Tickets available at www.rvt.org.uk

Maya Levy’s next performance will be at the Open Arts Café, May 24. Tickets available at www.openartscafe.com

The Olivier Awards!

2012-04-15T17:41:00.000+01:00

17.36 I will be blogging along with the awards as it happens. Keep refreshing this page for winners and gossip!

17.51 Nigel Harman on the red carpet! Bit of a quiff?
Apparently spending hours on his knees but it did hurt his back. *Aw* Fingers crossed for him :)

17.54 Trailers for the Olivier Audience Award nominees are years old...is it just me who's annoyed at this?

17.58 I questioned why Marcia Warren was nominated; she says it's because she did a lot of walking up and down stairs with heavy trays...fair enough. It makes acting look like work :P

18.04 Brian May - now the rock god of musical theatre?

18.05 I can't get over Michael Ball's facial hair making him look like Ricky Gervais...

18.10 Awkward...first time I've heard Ghost...hm.

18.15 BEST PLAY REVIVAL: ANNA CHRISTIE
I so wanted this to win!

18.16 BEST ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE: SHERIDAN SMITH
Yes so...that wasn't a big surprise really.

18.21 I saw Freddie Fox in one of his final year shows at Guildhall...how he's come on so quickly...is no surprise he's astounding.

18.21 BEST COSTUME DESIGN: CRAZY FOR YOU
Yes I am surprised. Shrek's costume design was much more diverse. Hm. A good period study I guess.

18.23 BEST SET DESIGN: ROB HOWELL FOR MATILDA THE MUSICAL
Well deserved.

18.27 All the Matildas on at once...feels a bit like an unfair competition between them!

18.30 BEST LIGHTING DESIGN: FRANKENSTEIN
Of course! Johnny Lee Miller left a bit legless without a speech for Bruno Poet!

18.32 BEST SOUND DESIGN: MATILDA
First one I've got wrong! Very good though.

18.36 Betty Blue Eyes...I'd rather they'd made a musical adaptation of Babe.

18.39 SHREK MAKES ME SO HAPPY!

18.45 BEST NEW DACE PRODUCTION: DESH
I can't comment, I didn't see any of them!

18.49 BEST DIRECTOR: MATTHEW WARCHUS for MATILDA
duh. I dream of working with this man.

18.52 Matthew Warchus champions creativity over maths and science in schools as key to improving life. A lot of support for that.

18.55 BEST ACTRESS: RUTH WILSON for ANNA CHRISTIE
Anna Christie is doing much better than I thought it would, but I believe it's very deserved.

18.58 BEST ACTOR: BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH and JOHNNY LEE MILLER for FRANKENSTEIN
How could anyone else stand a chance?

19.04 Feel I should go see the Mousetrap. I have no idea what's kept it running so long, most of my friends don't know it exists.
I had no idea that Mousetrap Theatre Projects was affiliated to the Mousetrap. My gosh. It is a wonderful charity. Bravo.

Right so....following this I may have given up on blogging because I got far too into the show. I apologise if you were following! The main winners were covered at least...I think I'm owed some chocolate for my predictions now...next year I think I'll head to the bookies.

Danny DeVito on the Jonathan Ross Show

2012-03-25T00:10:00.002+00:00

Seeing Danny on the show has got me excited for the Sunshine Boys so here's a pic! Strangely it's got my mum excited too, I guess she's more used to Danny than me, I'm considering taking my mum when it finally gets here - what a lovely person I'd be then xD She's never usually interested in coming to the theatre with me, so there you go, The Sunshine Boys has a universal appeal! Ah the pulling power of celebrity! Sometimes it's a good thing :)

In the mean time...really should take the boif to Legally Blonde before it closes...

On The Oliver Awards 2012

2012-03-20T23:59:00.000+00:00

I have an opinion - so, hit me in the head with a spade and call me human.
Alternatively, bet me a box of chocolates that my predictions aren't right? Just for a laugh.

Best New Play
Collaborators at the NT Cottesloe
Jumpy at the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs at the Royal Court
The Ladykillers at the Gielgud
One Man, Two Guvnors at the NT Lyttelton *

I can't imagine a world where One Man, Two Guvnors doesn't win this, nuff said.

Best Revival
Anna Christie at the Donmar Warehouse
Flare Path at the Theatre Royal Haymarket
Much Ado About Nothing at the Wyndham’s
Noises Off at the Old Vic *

Personally, I'd like to see Anna Christie win, but I'm guilty of not seeing Noises Off yet, I've been waiting for the West End transfer. From what I hear, it deserves to win.

Best Entertainment & Family
Derren Brown – Svengali at the Shaftesbury *
Midnight Tango at the Aldwych
Potted Potter at the Garrick
The Tiger Who Came To Tea at the Vaudeville

I can't comment on this one, I haven't seen any of these. I have seen all of Brown's shows but this one, so I'm sure this is as deserving as the rest. On the other hand, I have a lot of friends who have enjoyed Potted Potter, so I wouldn't be surprised by that either.

Best Actress
Celia Imrie for Noises Off at the Old Vic*
Lesley Manville for Grief at the Cottesloe
Kristin Scott Thomas for Betrayal at the Harold Pinter
Marcia Warren for The Ladykillers at the Gielgud
Ruth Wilson for Anna Christie at the Donmar Warehouse

These are all so deserving...although Marcia Warren doesn't do so much in The Ladykillers...anyway, I've made this prediction based upon the reputation of Noises Off; Kristin Scott Thomas' return to the stage was much anticipated but not much raved about, and however much I adore Ruth Wilson, I don't think she can compete with those two names.

Best Actor
James Corden for One Man, Two Guvnors at the NT Lyttelton
Benedict Cumberbatch & Jonny Lee Miller for Frankenstein at the NT Olivier *
David Haig for The Madness of George III at the Apollo
Douglas Hodge for Inadmissable Evidence at the Donmar Warehouse
Jude Law for Anna Christie at the Donmar Warehouse

This has got to be the Frankenstein duo! I only saw Cumberbatch/Frankenstein and Miller/Monster but it was absolutely astounding, and they've already won all the other awards. The others don't have much of a chance after a show like Frankenstein.

Best Actress in a Musical
Kate Fleetwood for London Road at the NT Cottesloe
Sarah Lancashire for Betty Blue Eyes at the Novello
The Matildas for Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge *
Scarlett Strallen for Singin’ In The Rain at the Palace

I've not seen Scarlett in Singin' In The Rain yet, but I've not heard good things. Betty Blue Eyes was just horrific. Everyone whose seen it would agree, Matilda has the most talented children...in the world?

Best Actor in a Musical
Bertie Carvel for Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge*
Nigel Lindsay for Shrek the Musical at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane
Reece Shearsmith for Betty Blue Eyes at the Novello
Paulo Szot for South Pacific at the Barbican

Bertie's performance is astounding. If the children and score and show in general weren't so perfect, I might say that he steals the show. Nigel Lindsay was just disappointing.

Best Performance in a Supporting Role
Sharon D Clarke for Ghost the Musical at the Piccadilly
Sophie-Louise Dann for Lend Me A Tenor the Musical at the Gielgud
Nigel Harman for Shrek the Musical at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane *
Paul Kaye for Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge
Katherine Kingsley for Singin’ In The Rain at the Palace

I have a funny niggling feeling that Sharon D Clarke is going to win this. But I truly believe Nigel Harman deserves this one, perfect every time, and what's more: spent months on his knees.

Best New Musical
Betty Blue Eyes at the Novello
Ghost the Musical at the Piccadilly
London Road at the NT Cottesloe
Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge *
Shrek the Musical at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane

Shoe in.

Best Musical Revival
Crazy for You at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre *
Singin' In The Rain at the Palace
South Pacific at the Barbican
The Wizard of Oz at the London Palladium

Or possibly South Pacific. But as long as The Wizard of Oz doesn't win, I'll be happy.

Best Director
Sean Foley for The Ladykillers at the Gielgud
Nicholas Hytner for One Man, Two Guvnors at the NT Lyttelton
Rufus Norris for London Road at the NT Cottesloe
Matthew Warchus for Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge *

Matilda is up for all these awards for a reason after all, and at the heart of that is the director.

Best Lighting Design
Anna Christie designed by Howard Harrison at the Donmar Warehouse
Frankenstein designed by Bruno Poet at the NT Olivier *
Ghost the Musical designed by Hugh Vanstone at the Piccadilly
Matilda the Musical designed by Hugh Vanstone at the Cambridge

Ooooh these are all such good nominations, all deserving, but Frankenstein was such a journey, Poet tips it over the edge for me.

Best Sound Designer
Ghost the Musical designed by Bobby Aitken at the Piccadilly
Frankenstein designed by Underworld and Ed Clarke at the NT Olivier
The Ladykillers designed by Ben Ringham and Max Ringham at the Gielgud *
Matilda the Musical designed by Simon Baker at the Cambridge

I'm surprised at myself for choosing The Ladykillers here, but it was so cleverly done, in a way unlike the others; very of the genre, an instrument indicating each character, it became almost a character in itself. Again though, very deserved nominations, all.

Now...who wants to buy me a ticket to the Oliviers?

How theatre for young people could save the world

2012-03-20T22:58:00.003+00:00

I'm reposting this article by Lauren Gunderson because it's so important. I've been writing about how theatre can aide personal growth for my Studying the Arts coursework, and this is so on point. Bravo! And Happy World Theater for Children and Young People Day!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lauren-gunderson/world-theater-for-children-and-young-people-day_b_1343408.html?ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false

Sweeney Todd *****

2012-03-20T22:38:00.002+00:00

Photo: Tristram Kenton

Let’s not beat about the bush: Sweeney Todd is the best thing in the West End right now. I had unknowingly formed a lot of preconceptions about this musical from Tim Burton’s film adaptation which I’ve now lost after seeing how it should be done. Not that I don't love Burton's film, but a lot of laughter is lost from the glorious stage version. Anthony Ward’s design is definitely Burton-esque, this is because director Jonathan Kent has updated Sweeney to the 30’s, against an industrial backdrop. Kent’s production is sophisticated, with a visual language accompanying the libretto, that’s almost Brechtian.

It even toes upon Brecht’s Marxist themes; a whistle blows – rather, the whistle is blown – most times that Sweeney takes a victim, or alternatively, delivers produce to Mrs Lovett. Sweeney Todd seeks revenge upon Judge Turpin, who transported him to Australia years ago under false charges, and then raped his wife and adopted his daughter in his absence. But his barber's bloodlust soon turns upon the rest of humanity to the benefaction of Mrs Lovett's pie shop. Sweeney turns upon the audience, razor in hand and sings ‘we all deserve to die’ - and looking at the production values, and the manner in which we empathise with a serial killer, over a corrupt judge, I can’t help but wonder if Kent means it.

The ensemble lingers at the top of the stage, peering through fractured windows into the tale of Sweeney Todd -but not learning from it. They scale to banshee like top notes that shake your insides. Their refrain has a scaremongering quality about it, which working with Sondheim’s humour; holds the audience on edge. Sondheim's wit cuts through the intense scenes like a blunt knife. Imelda Staunton steals the show, revitalising the role of Mrs Lovett. She has the audience in the palm of her hand. Michael Ball – better known for his charm than his menace – also astounds, his sonorous voice both occupying the vulnerability and insanity in the character of Sweeney. They are supported immensely by an immense cast, including Peter Polycarpou and John Bowe, the Beadle and Judge Turpin; as immoral pillars of the law. Polycarpou plays the harmonium with gusto to say the least, playing off Staunton in an impossibly tense and hilarious penultimate scene.

In parallel, Lucy May Barker and Luke Brady drift upon the sweet tones of young lovers, naïve to the world around them. Without this couple, Sweeney wouldn’t be quite so bitterly moving. Indeed, I didn’t expect a show like Sweeney to move me on quite so many levels. Their duet has a touch of Bernstein’s ‘Tonight’, moving their star crossed love adamantly through the story; contrasting with the fluctuating morals and ceaselessly paced primary plotline.The laughter and tears rest upon the knife’s edge of dramatic irony, to the extent that the interplay between characters and chorus echoes the form of a Greek Tragedy.

Kent’s production speaks to you more than the average musical might do. But of course, Sweeney Todd isn’t average; with this stellar cast and Sondheim’s score, Kent didn’t have to do much to make this show spectacular and yet he’s achieved this and so much more. If you see anything this year, attend the tale of Sweeney Todd.

RE: Me and my quick rant on fringe theatre

2012-03-17T00:51:00.000+00:00

I have a few things I've been meaning to write about this week but I've been so busy with Brunel's production of Cabaret (which opened today to what seemed like a happy audience) that I've just not had the time!

But to begin, I was lucky enough to win tickets through http://www.ayoungertheatre.com to the premier of Philip Ridley's new play Shivered at the Southwark Playhouse on Monday. Now skip past all the obvious excitment *competition! win! me? my favourite writer!* and my brain being as slow as it is, I realised something contrary to my rant's point last week.

To reiterate, I made a point about the exciting work mostly reserved for fringe theatre having a chance to be seen by a wider audience by putting it in West End theatres. It's no secret that I champion in-yer-face theatre; but it had been so long since I'd seen such a show that I'd forgotten the obvious whilst writing my last rant. A show like that works best in an intimate venue, like the Southwark Playhouse; I couldn't imagine seeing a play like Shivered in a much bigger space without it losing its impact. It's impossible to interact with an audience that closely on a West End level. The thing about plays like this is the way the actors look at you and it feels as if they're looking at YOU, and from thereon have an insane abilitiy to play tug of war with your insides (Ridley...you God).

I barely remember being at the Southwark Playhouse once before, but huddled by strangers in small seats in an enclosed, dark space, listening to the tube roll by above you every few minutes, is strangely such a necessary element in pieces like these. And I'd forgotten that, tucked into my comfy red velvet seats at the Haymarket. And here I shall extend my earlier point; in an ideal world, it wouldn't only be possible to open an audience's eyes to the wealth of innovative theatre being created out there; but to theatre spaces without chandeliers and proscenium arches blocking your engagement with a show. Oh if only variety really was the affordably priced, tesco value spice rack of life.

New Content

2012-03-12T00:58:00.000+00:00

Hello there! You may have noticed that there's a couple of non-theatre reviews on the blog now - shock horror! I've been reviewing a wider range of things, just to develop my confidence as general culture vulture reviewer; and to get a place as an editor on Le Nurb (Brunel University's paper). I hope this is all still to everyone's interest! Everything is interesting stuff to see out and about in London, I've either been very generous lately or the culture scene in London is booming; I've given out more four and five star reviews in a month than I usually do in a year!

And just because I'm very excited, I'm posting the Sweeney Todd trailer again because in a week I'll be sitting in the audience! Also to come: an interview with Peter Polycarpou who plays the Beadle in Sweeney Todd, and a review of Cleanskin, the film he stars in with Sean Bean.

Swing your razor high! Sweeney...

Rock of Ages ****

2012-03-12T00:49:00.000+00:00

I not so secretly want to be a rock star. So, however outwardly superficial Rock of Ages might appear to the critic, the celebration of sex, drugs, and rock and roll makes for a definite feel good musical. I complain about jukebox musicals breeding like rampant bunnies, and am not one for, well, a happy musical. They usually feel like nothing musicals; a cliché with tapping arms and legs, and boring songs. But Rock of Ages uses this to poke fun at the musical theatre genre, wherein lie these four stars. In particular, the moment when Lonny takes out a programme and informs Drew (Oliver Tompsett) that he's in a musical, “You used to be in Mamma Mia?! [sings] Look at you now...”

Photo: Tristam Kenton

Drew and Sherry are two young wannabes hoping to make it in New York, who happen to fall in love, but are torn apart by an inevitable misunderstanding. Simple enough, Rock of Ages isn’t about substance but dreaming. And obviously not every theatregoer wants something intellectually stimulating every time they go out, where’s the fun in that? So I can’t bring myself to throw stones at writer Chris D’Arienzo for keeping it simple; at this expense, the show is actually laugh a minute which is a tremendous feat in itself. I haven’t laughed this much at the theatre since...well, I haven’t ever.

There is an unstoppable energy in this flawless ensemble, necessary for the driven sound of this show. Rock of Ages is set against 80’s rock anthems; We Built This City, The Final Countdown, and Don’t Stop Believing, amongst them. Musical theatre is difficult territory for rock music (you could argue it has stolen We Will Rock You’s formula of awful story plus immense music) but Rock of Ages creates the atmosphere of a Sunset Strip gig. Tompsett is an established leading man, and his vocal dexterity is astounding, possessing the metallic edge to elevate him from stage star to rock star. Simon Lipkin as Lonny jostles with Tompsett for star of the show; he is hilarious. He has a t-shirt that says ‘Hooray for Boobies’, prances and gyrates and rubs his nipples, makes a point by eating inanimate objects…I’ve seen Rock of Ages twice and he makes the whole cast (and himself) corpse left, right and centre he’s so funny.

There are a couple of actual ‘stars’ in the cast in the shape of Justin Lee Collins and Shane Ward. Collins has a gay plotline with Lonny as owners of the infamous Bourbon Room – never has a fog machine been so moving. Both hold their own well within their cast, and aren’t at all disappointing as you might expect, after seeing other so-called celebrities that have ventured to tread the boards. A mention must also go to Regina (Jodie Jacobs) – “Oh, I get it! Regina rhymes with pussy!” – and Franz (Sandy Moffat) – “I’m not gay! I’m German!” Beneath the hippy socks worn with sandals and lycra bodysuits, is a heartfelt example of sticking it to the man. A refrain of Kelly Devine’s choreography, which makes you want to leap out of your seat and join in.

It’s just occurred to me, this has transferred to London at a very appropriate time considering our riotous attitude towards the current government. But seriousness aside, if the music and laughs don’t tickle your fancy enough, the cast don’t wear very much.

The Muppets *****

2012-03-12T00:44:00.004+00:00

Since I heard this film was being released, I have literally been counting down the days on my calendar. I remember being even shorter than I am now and going to the cinema to see the last Muppet movie, Muppets From Space; twelve years later it feels just as it did then. I haven’t left the cinema with a smile like that for a long time...twelve years maybe.

The unabashed joy of the Muppets goes much further back than my childhood of course; they’ve been going for thirty five years, and return in this movie acknowledging without shame that, well, they’ve been forgotten about since our childhood. Disbanded for years, the Muppets now pursue separate careers: Miss Piggy is editor of French Vogue, Fozzy is in a tribute band called The Moopets, Gonzo is a plumbing magnate, and Kermit sits and reminisces about the good old days in his Beverly Hills mansion. It takes their biggest fan, Walter (a Muppet who’s struggled in the human world), and his brother Gary (played by Jason Segel, who arguably is the Muppets biggest human fan and wrote this film with Forgetting Sarah Marshall director, Nick Stoller) to bring the Muppets back together. They must raise enough money to buy their studio back from an evil oil baron (Chris Cooper’s maniacal laughs and rap – yes, rap – are a major highlight).

A lot of the laughs come from the film’s ability to laugh at itself. The whole town fall into a dance break at the beginning of the movie, MGM musical style, but then collapse thankfully once the chirpy threesome have left for Hollywood. It screams, ‘I am a cheesey movie; you know it, we know it’ and reminds us how magical the movies can be if we just sit back and let it cast its spell. Amy Adams has always looked something of a Disney princess, and so is delightfully cast in this movie. The strained relationship between her and Segel parallels Kermit and Miss Piggy’s, and is played well against the Muppets’ otherwise comical plot. It’s insane how these unique furry friends are able to make you feel not only warm and fuzzy inside, but insanely good about yourself. The music is composed by Bret McKenzie of Flight of the Concords, and the Oscar winning song, ‘Man or a Muppet’ is genuinely both moving and amusing; by the time you reach this song, your heart is like warm putty in their little hands.

There are a few cameos from the likes of Whoopi Goldberg and Jack Black, but for this comeback, the real stardom is the Muppets’. I had never realised how much Cee Lo Green sounds like a flock of chickens or how much I missed Fozzy’s “Wacka wacka!”, for instance. The finale feels like a family reunion, and I’m about five years old all over again. In the state this country is in, it takes a pretty powerful movie for a whole audience to skip out singing ‘Everything is great, life’s a happy song’. The Muppets are back!