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Post by Steve on Jul 15, 2017 10:17:39 GMT
Finally saw this Thursday night. I laughed, I cried, I loved it. It's a compassionate joy, a sitcom whose situations and characters feel utterly real. Some spoilers follow. . . The premise felt like a sitcom: a lesbian, who doesn't fancy men, has a partner transitioning to a man. God alone knows what exactly Ray Cooney would have done with that, but this play does the opposite, committing fully to the situation, truth and feelings of the characters before anything else. The comedy that flows is a product of these unique and beautiful situations and characters. Once upon a time, this sitcom would have starred Tamsin Greig, as the nervy, diffident, neurotic, hesitant lead character, Alice. One of the joys of this production is watching Alice McCarthy slither perfectly into Greig's mantle, fully inhabiting the trademarked, boggle-eyed, confused, frozen existential angst that Greig so perfectly brought to every sitcom she ever did. As the woman Alice fell for, and the man that Alice feels a whole lot less for, Anna Martine Freeman's transgender character, Fiona/Adrian is beautifully realised, her excitement at becoming a man blinding her to the lack of excitement in her partner. In support, Ed Eales-White is the soul of supportive cis decency, and Ellie Morris is outstanding as Lelani, the impulsive exuberant young Dutch girl who takes a fancy to Alice. To digress, I give particular credit to Morris, as her shy stuttering Lucy, in "Peter Pan Goes Wrong" underwhelmed me. What I now realise is that her Lucy was the victim of Mischief Theatre's relentless writing and re-writing of their plays, identified so usefully for us on this board by Dawnstar. When I saw Daisy Waterstone originate the role at the Pleasance Theatre, Lucy's shyness was SO exaggerated, her stuttering SO pervasive, her meekness SUCH a plot point, that she was one of the greatest drivers of laughs in the whole show. By the time "Peter Pan Goes Wrong" played the Apollo, the part was less shy, less stuttering, with vastly less stage time, while the Mischief principals had vastly increased the stage time of their own roles, by comparison. So I was disappointed with the decrease in laughs I got from the character of Lucy. But in this show, Morris is a force of nature, offering an effervescent performance of a wild and crazy dutch girl, embodying a role that functions the way Italy used to, in period dramas, a catalyst for repressed English people to emerge from their shells. Everything about Morris' ecstatic Lelani delightfully sparks the fires beneath McCarthy's Tamsin-Grieg-esque frozenness. Morris' eyes widen and widen and widen still further, as if on cocaine-fuelled stalks, her body bounces, and a febrile energy fills the room whenever she is onstage, meaning that every scene she is in is playful and exciting to watch. A splendid buoyant supporting performance, that lifts the whole production. The sensitivity with which the plot is worked out is spot on. Only the faintly scented lingering whiff of sitcom and setup prevents me from giving this the full five stars. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 15, 2017 9:11:19 GMT
An issues play that tries hard to balance it's agenda with compassion for the characters, and fails, because the fix is so obviously in. I do love Vivienne Franzmann, but of the four plays I've seen by her, I liked this the least. "Mogadishu," I loved. Perhaps because she herself was a teacher, and lived and breathed the milieu, Franzmann constructed a "Children's Hour" type narrative, about a false accusation by a pupil against a teacher, that was not only dramatically enthralling, but also compassionately discovered the complex and confusing humanity behind the motivations of every character. "Pests" I liked almost as much, but for a different reason. Franzmann constructed a unique language for her characters that perfectly reflected their isolated and marginalised world, an experimental choice that worked so well, the Royal Court production left an indelible imprint on me. Some spoilers follow. . . Franzmann's willingness to be experimental results in the most rewarding plot point in "Bodies," that one of the characters is not real, but the fantasy projection of another character. This fantasy character, established as such in the first ten minutes, becomes a conduit and a focus, a prism reflecting all the hope, love, need, despair of all the other characters. A brilliant idea that works brilliantly. Also intriguing are the different ways Franzmann looks at "bodies," how they fail, and how those-whose-bodies-work can aid those-whose-bodies-fail. Justine Mitchell and Philip Goldacre are both terrific as characters whose bodies fail them, Mitchell's Clem unable to conceive, and Goldacre's David (Clem's father) unable even to feed himself. The mirroring of the father's and daughter's plights offers much useful food for thought. Unfortunately, like a hungry shark, Franzmann then allows the issues of her issues-play to devour the complexity of her characters, till there's nothing left but the bloody entrails of liberal guilt. . . Everything about third-world surrogate, Salma Hoque's Lakshmi, is botched in Franzmann's desire to get to the moment she spits at the Royal Court audience. The concept of her spitting on us is great, in and of itself, but to get there, Franzmann must contort the plot. She invents circumstances where terrible things must happen to the surrogate's own children in order for her to be a surrogate at all. This is ridiculous, and a sign that the fix is in. Further, as Samuelwhiskers points out, by not characterising Lakshmi herself at all, Franzmann neglects her character even more than Clem does. And then, to compound the problem, Franzmann is faithless to Clem herself, having her make statements entirely out of character to make her seem more feckless and more deserving of being a human spittoon. Justine Mitchell is typically great as the Yerma-desperate Clem, Jonathan McGuinness endearing as her supportive husband (he seems to have the role fulltime now, on the Royal Court site). So too does Hannah Rae make a wonderful stage debut as Clem's daughter, empathetic and mercurial, and Lorna Brown offer gravitas and humour as Clem's father's carer. But it is Philip Goldacre, as Clem's father, David, whose performance I will most treasure, his juddering movements and slurred speech suggesting bodily degeneration, while his playful humour and eagle eyes suggest a diamond sharp mind. All in all, this is an issues play that eats itself, and it's a shame, as Franzmann's ability to think round issues, as well as her experimental and innovative ways of presenting them, are generally terrific. 3 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 11, 2017 13:03:24 GMT
I saw this last week, but had nothing much to add to Oxford Simon's excellent account, with which I completely agreed. Looking back, here are some things that strike me: (1) Thank goodness the endless tiresome references to other shows have been largely excised. Those were so unfunny that the low strike rate of the humour became overly annoying in the show's original iteration; (2) The 4 monks choir is terrific, and if one of them is the theatreboard member I believe him to be, congratulations! (3) Neil Moors does indeed have such a full deep rousing throaty voice that he's every inch the jaunty King Richard; and (4) James Thackeray as Prince John is EVERYTHING. Oxford Simon saw Alan Cumming in him, and I agree, he has all the charismatic, prancing jollity of Mateo Oxley in "Shock Treatment," or to quote a reference more people will be familiar with, all the snide, camp fun of a young Alan Rickman. I fully enjoyed the show, despite it's low grade humour, but there's not enough King John, not enough at all. If he could have been in every scene, and also lent a bit of his spunk to the Assassin, things would have been more fun. As there is simply not enough King John, 3 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 11, 2017 12:38:13 GMT
Anyone seen this? I have heard no buzz about it at all, and they're papering like mad. Yes, I very much enjoyed it. Passes the Bechdel test one billion times over, as Queen Anne emerges from pre-throne hibernation to struggle for agency against her uber-influential childhood friend, Sarah Churchill, in a play written, directed and designed by women. I only really knew that the acts of union were passed in Queen Anne's reign, so this was super-informative for me, as well as entertaining. I'm glad I saw Romola Garai as Sarah Churchill, because much as I adore the Stratford originator of the role, Natascha McElhone, it always takes me half an hour to stop hissing her when she's onstage, as that wry sly half-smile instinctively preps me that I'm in the presence of a terrible villain. And the last thing a somewhat one-dimensional, Anne-favourable play like this needs is for the principal antagonist to be simplistically caricatured by the audience, as the text itself tilts to Anne over Churchill. As it is, Garai's straightforward stumblingly blunt directness, seen in such roles as Cordelia in Lear, or Becky in The Village Bike, but epitomised by her blundering Emma, in the BBC miniseries, lends the fierce Sarah Churchill a credence that balances the plot beautifully. Garai's Churchill instantly had me conceiving that Emma Cunniffe's lumbering droning whining Queen Anne may indeed be a useless "lump," who needs to be harried and hectored along every step of the way. This makes Cunniffe's achingly moving search for agency tremendously stirring and touching, in reaction to such a conception. Plot machinations are beautifully worked out, and are so effective that I wished the play to keep going after it ended, which is always a good sign. Cunniffe is tremendous in her role as Anne, and deserves award consideration, for her ability to draw such a fine line between heroic and irritating, between vulnerable and impossible, that she somehow makes join the dots historical plot threads edge-of-the-seat intriguing. . . Support for the two leading ladies is strong from a typically witty and cunning James Garnon, as the power hungry speaker of the House, and an especially enigmatic Beth Park, simultaneously sly and straightforward as the ever-threatening Eve to Garai's Margo Channing of a Sarah Churchill. For the history, for the drama, for the intrigue, and for Garai's and Cunniffe's performances, I thoroughly enjoyed this. 4 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jul 9, 2017 11:40:08 GMT
A lovely portrait of a thirty-something woman spinning her romantic wheels in London. Some spoilers follow. . . This is from DryWrite, the company that Vicky Jones and Phoebe Waller Bridge create theatre for, written and directed by Vicky Jones. Except unlike the other ones they've done, this doesn't star Phoebe Waller Bridge being mean to people, something I've always found incredibly funny. Instead, this features Amy Morgan, as Dee, a messy experimental thirty-something from Swansea, relocated to London where she drinks shedloads, and maintains relationships with 5 other people, some of whom know about each other. If there is one thing that will turn people off about this play, it's the lack of narrative thrust. This play is far more interested in character, than plot progression, yet perhaps lack of plot progression is the whole point, since beneath Dee's cheery, open, experimental, funny facade is endless ennui. The lack of a propulsive plot will be a deal-breaker for some, but if you're willing to look past that, the portrait it paints of a woman of a certain generation, out of sorts with the generations above and below her, hits bullseye for humour and truthfulness. Designer Ultz takes the listless Dee's metaphorical spinning of wheels, and makes them literal, placing her messy apartment on a revolve, which keeps her literally spinning, in fits and starts, all evening. To appreciate the design, avoid the first three rows, as Dee is hemmed in by appliances of all sorts that restrict a good view of her apartment unless sufficiently elevated. As Dee, Amy Morgan is believably natural, a feisty and funny fish-out-of-water Welsh-girl-in-London. (In Gavin and Stacey terms, she is a perfect blend of Stacey's innocence and sweetness, with Nessa's toughness and cynicism, making her complex, more real and recognisable than either). Of the 5 people Dee has relationships with, it's Edward Bluemel who makes the most indelible impression, as Dee's nineteen year old hurricane of an intern, south Kensington posh yet youthfully uninhibited, so eager to please he will happily wear Dee's dresses if it turns her on. Also memorable is James Clyde's Brexiter, whose topical anti-immigration politics and stern sexuality Dee finds challenging and stimulating, and who she refreshingly refuses to judge. So too is Matthew Aubrey loads of fun as Dee's ex from Swansea, hopeful to get back with her, trudging up to London to fix her toilet. Overall, this play may have a minimal plot, but it has the feel of lived experience, and it's got loads of laughs, the biggest of which feature Edward Bluemel and Amy Morgan playing off each other beautifully. 4 stars PS: The title of the play is "Touch," and Pride Day is certainly an appropriate day to attend a theatre in Dean Street to see a play called "Touch," as I must have (inadvertently, I swear) touched about 500 people getting in and out of that venue lol.
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Post by Steve on Jul 8, 2017 10:13:27 GMT
And NEAPTIDE Ronke Adekoluejo (Val), Adjoa Andoh (Beatrice), Simon Armstrong (Sid & Cyril), Thomas Arnold (Colin & Roger), Maureen Beattie (Joyce), Morfydd Clark (Poppy & Terri), Karla Crome (Diane), Helena Lymbery (Anette & Marion), Sarah Niles (Linda) and Jessica Raine (Claire). I went to the Neaptide reading on Thursday night, and loved it! Vivid performances rendered vital the humour in the play, but the substance had massively dated, though critically, not in one way! A word about the format of these readings. The playwright and directors are under instructions to get the plays to run ninety minutes without an interval. This is so that, after a five minute break, a 40 minute discussion can take place in the Lyttelton Lounge, where the writer (together with the director of the reading) gets to discuss revisiting the work, after which everyone can go home at about 10:15pm. For "Neaptide", the playwright, Sarah Daniels, gave Sarah Frankcomm, the director, carte blanche to cut her play down to ninety minutes. This involved excising one character, Jean, the roommate of the lead character, entirely out of the play. When I watched the reading, I had no idea that this had been done, and not knowing the play, had no sense it was incomplete in any way. Thus, I conclude the character of Jean was pretty much superfluous. The play, which involves a closeted teacher, Claire (Jessica Raine) instructed by her headmistress to punish a brave girl, Diane (Karla Crome) for being an out Lesbian, is severely dated, thank goodness! In the play, we are told that in the early eighties, the consequence of Claire stepping up, and coming out herself, would be that she would inevitably both lose her job as a teacher AND lose her custody bid for her child, for whom she was the primary carer. Today, these consequences seem not only ludicrous, but illegally discriminatory, so we've clearly come a LONG way, and the play is rendered, to a degree, a relic unlikely ever to see a large scale production again, and more the type of fare that the Orange Tree or the Finborough might nostalgically revive, with major doubling of cast members. In two key ways though, the play still breathed: (1) The humour: Daniels, a writer who went on to create the first gay teacher on "Grange Hill," is an absolute pro at comedy, creating believably comic situations and hilarious naturalistic dialogue. Strength in the ensemble brought this out to perfection: Ronke Adekolueojo's spaced out Val, playing off the manic denial of her mother, Maureen Beattie's Joyce, who, in turn relentlessly bulldozed the ever patient decency of her other daughter, Jessica Raine's Claire (nobody does intelligent world-weary frustration as compassionately and convincingly as Jessica Raine), who, in turn was threatened by the bold, heroic toughness of out student, Karla Crome's Diane, herself resisting the brazen prejudice enforced by overbearing yet brittle headmistress, Adjoa Andoh's Beatrice. The dialogue is so natural, the characters so distinct, that we got all the comic milking of a sitcom, without the typically wretched phoniness of that format. Of all the actors, Adjoa Andoh was the funniest, able to embody the strict fierceness of the headmistress, as well as simultaneously illustrate the slippery comedy and brittle tragedy of a character, herself a gay woman, enforcing heterosexuality as the compulsory norm, desperately trying to stop the "endemic" of homosexuality (the character meant "epidemic," of course, as pointed out by Jessica Raine's sighing Claire) overtaking the school; (2) Teachers today: In the chit chat that followed the play, gay teachers in the audience identified themselves by raising their hands. They were asked to keep their hands raised if they were out about their sexual orientation, and all hands came down. Anecdotally at least, it seemed, changes in the law and in attitudes have not come so far that gay teachers are free of the fear of persecution by uneducated parents, who conflate sexual orientation with a proclivity to abusiveness, a conflation that perniciously persists, particularly in the tabloids. So the play still speaks to the plight of closeted teachers. Sarah Daniels herself was delightful, in the chit chat, as funny as her play. She joked about how dated she feared the play was, grateful to discover it's still topical in Chechnya. But if many of the issues in her issues play are as stiff as Monty Python's parrot, in her hilariously modest and quick witted turns of phrase, both she and her play remain very much alive.
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Post by Steve on Jul 3, 2017 11:56:22 GMT
Well. This didn't tickle my nethers at all I'm afraid. I'm afraid I spent most of the show wondering: 1. Were Sandra Marvin's crocs making her walk like that or was she unbalanced by the turban? 2. Where was the interval? I was dying for a G&T at half time. 3. Who has Alexander Hanson narked off to be given such a nothing part? Same goes for dear old Rosie Ashe. 4. Who thought that Donmar entrance needs a bar area for people to hang around in? 5. Why can't I write reviews like Steve? I bet he doesn't get distracted by the stitchwork on Sandra Marvin's frock. and more importantly 6. If I stared at Studly Fraser long enough, would he throw away his notepad and ditch Rosalie Craig to invite me to a little committee hearing of his own? Ryan, intrepidly, I'm on the case to address your concerns: 1. From the Independent, two years ago, I discover Batmanghelidjh customises her crocs and turbans: "The turban is made up of two scarves and I'll put on gloves, some earrings – it doesn't matter if nothing matches. I have to wear clip-on earrings because disturbed children will pull on them. It's hard to find clip-ons that are glamorous, but there's a wonderful retro shop in Notting Hill called Amanda's, and she'll give me a call whenever she finds any. The kids are forever trying to get me into a pair of trainers, but I say they're like ugly boats. Instead, I wear Crocs with badges and bits all over them. The kids love them and will talk to them and touch them." Marvin's outfit not only replicates this look, but Marvin beautifully captures her walk, which is a consequence of obesity caused by a pituitary condition. 2. The interval was in Parsley's pocket when he walked out with it. Either that, or Showgirl's petition, for an early finish time, finally reached Josie Rourke's desk. 3. Hanson and Ashe were hired because they can make nothing parts seem like something parts. 4. Who gains by clogging up the main entrance, Ryan? The shopping centre you have to traffic through to get in the side entrance. S'all I'm saying. 5. Because you're effortlessly funny, and verbosity isn't funny. I only write long reviews to annoy HG anyway. When I saw Camila Batmanghelidjh in 2013, I was mesmerised by her "stitchwork," in fact, and spent hours counting the ears of corn depicted on her outfit, and drooling for Nandos butter-roasted corn on the cob. 6. After reading your review, it might not be a notepad Mr Fraser is brandishing at your hoped for hearing.
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Post by Steve on Jul 3, 2017 10:58:56 GMT
Georges Bizet's Carmen, adapted by Peter Brook, plays Wilton’s Music Hall. Blurb: "The youthful stars of the Royal Opera House's Jette Parker Young Artists Programme perform Peter Brook’s radical reworking of Georges Bizet’s opera in an intimate setting. " The Royal Opera House have half the allocation, which will be hard to get, as their Friends will buy it up. However, the Wilton’s Music Hall allocation, for the other side of the auditorium, just went on sale, and if you're interested, that is available now: www.wiltons.org.uk/whatson/358-la-trag-die-de-carmen
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Post by Steve on Jun 29, 2017 11:34:09 GMT
Saw this last night. The songs are lovely, the costumes are lovely, the set is lovely, the actors are great, but the storytelling is a shambles. Some spoilers follow. . . Having read this thread, I was expecting a disaster, and for me, it isn't, as there is too much to love here. While there isn't a song as catchy and fun as "Pick Out a Simple Tune" in this show, that's because there aren't ANY new songs written for British musicals that are as catchy and fun as that. And as far as Stiles and Drewe go, this is lyrically cutesy, as you'd expect from a children's show, and musically excellent, as I found myself humming along with multiple songs, in particular, the sweet "Messing About in a Boat," the jocular "The Open Road," the dangerous "The Wild Wooders" and the Disney-like, "A Friend is Still a Friend." Once the album is out, I think people will come to the view that the songs are excellent. The set and costumes are cute as a button, adorably quaint for adults, and sweetly enchanting for little ones. The actors are perfect: Simon Lipkin makes ratty a joy, embodying this noble and decent guide to the Riverbank with that indecisive hesitancy that imbues this and so many Lipkin characters with that welcome side of humour. Denise Welch may not be able to sing, but her forthrightness and effusiveness endow Mrs. Otter with a Loose Woman likeability that will be a delight for the older crowd. Neil McDermott is a terrificly charismatic antagonist as the Chief Weasel, a demonic David Bowie with just enough self-conscious smirk to avoid scaring the kids. Gary Wilmot is an endearing father figure as Badger. Rufus Hound gets as wild and crazy with Toad as he possibly can. And the lead character, Craig Mather's Mole is as curious and as sweet as any children's hero setting out on a great adventure. Except there is NO GREAT ADVENTURE. There is only a mishmash of conflicted characters, expressing a mishmash of muddled values, in a mishmashed muddle of events. Don't ask me whether the dating of Kenneth Grahame, or the updating of Julian Fellowes, are responsible, but this is the sort of "adventure" we get (including some spoilers): Our adventuring heroes, Mole and Ratty meet in the boat, set their sights on meeting Toad, who Ratty says isn't very nice. When we meet him, he is in fact detestable. Confusingly for children, we drop our adventurers, Mole and Ratty, to follow the "zany" adventures of this detestable Toad, who, from nowhere, we are now supposed to like. Ratty and Mole, the ones we actually like, moan about how terrible Toad is, which makes our attention to Toad seem misplaced, and also, for children, is doubly confusing, as their heroes are so incredibly square and compliant, fearful and undesirous of having the sort of unbounded fun that children usually want. While Toad commits crimes, a girl is kidnapped, but noone cares, and her storyline is strangely dropped, while everyone sets about rescuing Toad from his self-inflicted wounds instead. The Stoats capture Toad Hall, except that it's confusing what they are capturing, or who it belongs to. Ratty and Mole have a story digression in the woods that has nothing to do with any of this. By this time, noone knows whose story we are telling, who we are supposed to care about, or what the stakes are. At the very very very end, Rufus Hound's Toad suddenly becomes the fun, wild but likeable, character he should have been all along. But it's too late. What should have been the exciting adventures of a loveable variety of characters, playing off each other, has in fact been a confusing mess. A massive opportunity squandered! Regardless, those songs, those actors, those costumes, that set, are such diverting comforting pleasures, in and of themselves, that I got 3 and a half stars of enjoyment.
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2017 17:25:36 GMT
I loved this, a thrilling* musical verbatim battle between the Brexit-voting, pennypinching Committee and Camilla Batmanghelidjh, the embodiment of so much unashamed otherness that the cowed Committee would rather just hammer her partner-in-kindness, BBC insider Alan Yentob again and again and again instead! Some spoilers follow. . . *Of course, this show may not be thrilling if the prospect of hearing half the testimony of a Parliamentary Committee about an overspending charity really turns you off. I say half, because this show runs 1 hour 30 minutes without an interval, and the hearing it is extracted from was 3 hours long. In fact, it's less than half the original hearing, as said running time also includes multiple injections of written testimony submitted by interested parties to the hearing, read out by the actors, as well as the musically-rendered, poetic repetition of key phrases that Hadley Fraser (or should it be "phraser"?) and Josie Rourke wish to emphasise (For example, "We want to learn," which got me thinking, "what you really want is a scapegoat!"). Because I confess, I came to this show biased and invested, as I admire Camilla Batmanghelidjh, having attended a Kids Company (Batmanghelidjh's now defunct Charity) Christmas event in 2013, in which she raised a ton of money for the most vulnerable children in London, including the children of drug addicts, violent abusers, sex workers and the poor, and all combinations of the above. That holiday period, she had already overseen the wrapping of 7,000 presents, as well as food parcels for their families. She was Santa Claus to these children, albeit not bedecked in a blood red suit, but all the fabulous colours of the rainbow. Still, even for those who consider Batmanghelidjh to be "the loathsome Batman woman" or simply "that dreadful woman" (descriptions taken from this thread, above), there is still much to stimulate, as this is a dramatic face-off between two sides, and if you really do hate her, you can just root for the other side, The Committee (of Brexit-voters). The inclusion of that critical detail in this show, spelled out at the beginning, that the members of this Committee all voted for Brexit, is topically energising but also problematic. For the Committee's Brexit stance ostensibly has nothing to do with monitoring the spending of a Children's charity, except to exercise a Remainer like me to internally rage at the Committee "So you are willing to tank the economy to slow down immigration, but you begrudge the poorest kids in London getting a fancy pair of trainers to treasure at Christmas!?" (At one point, indeed, the Committee all accusingly hold up examples of the fanciest footwear, as if treating poor children with such trainers were a terrible crime). But this is problematic, as voting Brexit is patently not a signifier of heartlessness, and if Brexit voting audience members get the feeling that the show is implying as much, that will alienate them, and will not serve the needs of the children, which ultimately is all that matters. Sumptuous strings underlie most of the musical phrasing in the show, which infuses dry political statements with swells of emotion. An enigmatic Sandra Marvin is fantastic as Batmanghelidjh, embodying the unnerving unshakeable confidence that Batmanghelidjh had, that she was always doing the right thing, no matter how spendthrift and questionable her accounting practices. As Alan Yentob, Omar Ibrahim is more openly bruised and fazed, infusing Yentob's defeated martyr with a rebellious and incendiary compassion for the Charity's children, who he insisted be prioritised before spending cuts. Marvin and Ibrahim are the stars of the show, as the focus is on them, two lone figures, humiliated by the tabloids, facing off against the vast panel of the Committee and Public Opinion. Their back is to the front facing audience, so while seated, the front facing audience must watch the faces of Marvin's Batmanghelidjh and Ibrahim's Yentob on two big panel screens directly above the arrayed Committee, who directly face that audience. In a side seat, I could see the profiles of both the Committee and the Questioned facing off. But the front facing audience need not fear that they will not directly see the faces of the stars of the show, as, at emotional highpoints in their testimony, Batmanghelidjh and Yentob spring from their seats to pace the floor, facing the audience in all directions, as they sing impassioned defenses of their actions. On the Committee, I was delighted to see David Albury, who impressed as the junkie, Fleetwood, in Southwark's "This Life" and who impressed again as the Committee's Junior Clerk. As Chief Clerk, Joanna Kirkland is a wonderfully empathetic circus master of the proceedings, a uniquely unbiased voice, standing between the condemnation of the Committee and the indignation of the Accused. Alexander Hanson is his usual delicate yet commanding self, as the Conservative Bernard Jenkin MP, confidently and precisely leading the Committee through some lovely sounding harmonic interrogations, and I also loved Anthony O'Donnell as Labour's Paul Flynn MP, hale and hearty yet flinty. As far as verbatim musicals go, I enjoyed this much more than the equally brilliant "London Road," which, with the poor working girls dead, had no rooting interest, as it revealed the shallow callowness at the heart of middle class flower arrangers, enjoying tea and biscuits on top of those girls' graves. Here, Marvin's Batmanghelidjh and Ibrahim's Yentob may be buried, but they furiously and entertainingly resurrect themselves and their cause for an almighty and ambiguous battle, which noone can win, and only London's most vulnerable children must lose. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 27, 2017 15:17:52 GMT
Just read a post in another thread, in which Cardinal Pirelli referred to "the judgmental certainties of [David] Hare," and I remembered I'd recently seen a marvelous short film written by him, responding to Brexit, starring Kristin Scott Thomas, called "A Time to Leave." It has a real stinger of an ending, which probably falls into the category of "judgemental certainty" lol, but it struck me as terrific and insightful, regardless. That film and others, including a superb one starring Penelope Wilton by Abi Morgan, and still others by James Graham, Gary Owen, Maxine Peake, etc are all linked here: www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlfYT-Za_x2IujkmppbC7abJ9GTMp8ood
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Post by Steve on Jun 22, 2017 22:22:35 GMT
I am very tempted to go to this, though I have never 'prommed' before. Would it be worth going on the day? I only wouldn't want to make a trip down from the north only to be disappointed I can't get in haha. In case you didn't know, the matinee show still has tickets, that you can book right now to guarantee your entrance, ranging between £20.36 to £73.40 here on the Albert Hall website: tickets.royalalberthall.com/booking/production/bestavailable/54854If you want the £6 promming ticket, I think it will be of only average difficulty to get for several reasons: (1) There are two shows, so there are double the tickets available; (2) The most fanatical prommers prefer classical music and won't be there (the promming queue is the most snobbish queue I have ever joined, with immense disdain dripping from the lips of everyday prommers, for anything other than classical); (3) The weekend promming pass, which allows holders to fill the promming section with a pre-bought ticket, is not valid for the matinee, so there will be a huge amount of extra promming passes available at that matinee; And remember, if you queue for the matinee, and the cut-off excludes you, you can just queue for the evening and be at the front of the queue, I think. Also, note, as regards evening performances, the BBC announced that this year that "a limited number of promming tickets will be available to book online between 9.00am and 12.00pm on the day of the concert for main-evening and Late Night Proms." This is specifically to help people like you, coming from afar, to secure a ticket in advance and know you won't be coming for nothing.
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Post by Steve on Jun 21, 2017 23:20:53 GMT
Saw this tonight, and it's average. Blurring of the boundaries between moral and legal arguments, coupled with oodles of unnecessary exposition, squander the potential of this fascinating court case, in which the audience are the jury. Some spoilers follow. . . A fighter pilot (Ashley Zhangazha) has defied orders, and shot down a passenger plane to prevent terrorists crashing it into 70,000 people in an arena. Is he guilty of murder? Given that it was the hottest June night in 40 years, he was pouring with sweat, so he looked super guilty. And that was as good a legal reason we were given to convict him as any other we heard all night. For this show never defines the law we are to apply, it never sets out the available legal defenses, and it never defines what leeway (or not) the judge has in sentencing, should there be a guilty verdict. The fact we are in Germany, applying German law, means that British audiences have no shorthand to guess any of the above either. We are told that certain rulings by a European Court define certain human rights, giving an essential value to the human lives on board the plane, but we are explicitly told that this is not binding as far as criminal law goes. Confusing indeed, we are left to our own devices. The first hour of the show is tedious. We are informed that the facts are agreed on by all parties, told what they are, but then forced to listen to witnesses redundantly recount all these agreed facts regardless, which takes us nowhere. After that expositional hour is over, a brilliant half hour follows, in which intricate and intriguing moral arguments are made by the prosecuting and defense lawyers. As the prosecutor, Emma Fielding is especially commanding and convincing, and completely redeemed the show for me. Forbes Masson was great also as the defense attorney, but his arguments are nothing you haven't heard before. Anyway, after the arguments, we adjourned for 15 minutes (the interval), upon which the second "half" of the show was 15 minutes long, in which three hundred audience members pressed buttons and voted on the defendant's guilt. The result was a 2/1 landslide that I anticipate will be repeated at every show. The flaws in the show were compounded when Tanya Moodie's Judge referred, in summation, to legal defenses, and absurdities in German law, that we had not even been apprised of before we voted. The voting buttons are a great gimmick, as they invest you in the show, and keep you interested in endless exposition that would otherwise have you parsleying for the exit. But that half hour of moral arguments that follow the first hour of exposition are terrific, so it's worth staying for that. 3 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 13:35:26 GMT
I was at the Albert Hall show.
Poor Idina Menzel was recovering from laryngitis, and worked around this brilliantly by approaching risky notes cautiously, and then raising the volume confidently.
This was a terrific show for Menzel's willingness to really be present, to openly and honestly share her life. She told us of her "ups and downs," of her huge "sensitivity" that makes her hard to handle and "high maintenance." She told us of her heartbreak at the end of her previous relationship and her sorrow for "ruining [her] son's life." She told us how she had thought to exclude her song about her burning love for her child, "Perfect Story," for it's untimely "unfortunate metaphors" regarding "London Bridge" and "flames," but how she would perform it anyway, to share that love she felt with us.
She told us how her "ego" could not stomach an empty seat on the front row, and she invited fans to jump over the barrier that separates the stalls from the arena. One woman hesitated, but a young man named Jason climbed over it and took the seat. Jason was invited on stage for selfies with Menzel, while she cheekily ripped into him as to why a guy as "handsome" as him was coming to a gig alone. When a woman asked for her daughter to get a selfie, Menzel immediately agreed and took the selfie, but then let rip that the girl was not "eight" and needed to get some "independence" and ask for her own selfie: Menzel's brazen honesty in saying so making me crack up laughing.
Menzel also took shots at herself, as she laboriously dragged a chair to sit on for a quiet number, pointing out that Katy Perry or Beyonce would fly down from above as their chairs appeared magically from clouds of smoke.
Muscially, Menzel included the best song from her album, "Small World," she performed Cole Porter lying sultrily across a piano top, she covered Aretha Franklin in a storming "Rock Steady," she did a little "Defying Gravity" with the help of two massive wind machines, which lifted her hair into a Bride of Frankenstein, and she called children to the stage for the one song they wanted to hear "Let it Go," in a setlist that otherwise made adult theatregoers most happy, with renditions from "Rent," like "No Day but Today," in which she talked of her love for Jonathan Larson, and all he taught her. Indeed, she spoke about how difficult it is for her to cater to all her different fan bases, and of how useful the word "sh*te" is to avoid saying the less acceptable in front of kids.
When the kids (few and far between, at first) finally made it to the stage from all corners of the auditorium, she gave them all a chance to sing "Let it go," and when one boy missed a note and recoiled, she coaxed him lovingly back to try again. If this is how encouraging she is with her own child, she most certainly will not ruin his life, as she feared. As she explained to the kids, she is no Disney Princess, but a "Disney Queen."
Musically, this concert was wonderful despite Menzel's laryngitis. But what was most exceptional was how real and present Menzel was in every moment. I have seen many performers (I'm talking about you, Bob Dylan) give nothing of themselves in their concerts, so when a gig like this comes along, where a vast space feels like a cosy evening in a performer's living room, enchantment is unavoidable, especially in the presence of a Disney Queen lol.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 12:54:12 GMT
An excellent play superbly directed, I loved this. Some spoilers follow. . . If there is a flaw to this production, which follows three members of a family in three different timelines, it's the one Ryan mentioned. Two characters (Hattie Morahan's Carol and Kate O'Flynn's Anna) are vividly and exceptionally conceived, whereas one (Adelle Leonce's Bonnie) is vague, receded, barely there. This is by design, as the numbness of Bonnie is suggested to be a consequence of the historical actions of Carol and Anna. However, this created a displeasing lack of symmetry, as an audience member, in that I was completely gripped by the action left and centre stage, and found the action stage right dull, by comparison. With that one caveat, this is one of the best productions of the year. The casting is spot on. Hattie Morahan is SO good at curling up into a metaphorical ball of confusion, her wide eyes taking in everything and processing nothing. Kate O'Flynn is SO good at the exact opposite, plunging into lived experience with verve, processing too much too quickly, with so much fury that she seems to shatter. Morahan's inaccessible Carol is endlessly mysterious, while Kate O'Flynn's open book of an Anna is so immediate and relateable that she makes you laugh before you have a chance to cry. Adelle Leonce's Bonnie is frozen, a human calculator adding up the past. The fascination of the play is that such apparently different character types are all swamped by mental illness. Whether mental illness (particularly, a propensity to depression) is passed through generations via genetics, experiences or the epigenetic transference of trauma to fetuses, is a question the play elegantly opens up and wisely never closes down, so he production is like a fevered dream of questions and life experiences, emanating dreamlike from the stage as a river of information and emotions. If ever a production must be seen and felt, rather than talked about, this is it, as the experience of these three related story threads unfolding simultaneously is indescribable. Katie Mitchell's decision to dress and undress the characters onstage works brilliantly as a metaphor for the power of mental illness to take control of minds. These women are controlled by forces out of their control, and that is what Mitchell makes us feel. Despite the fact that I found Adelle Leonce's Bonnie's numbness frustrating though explicable, this show is so sensory and impactful in it's unique theatrical language, I recommend it to the maximum. 5 stars.
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Post by Steve on Jun 20, 2017 12:08:10 GMT
Saw this Saturday night, and loved it. A unique show, a happening, a history lesson, a musical performance, a chance to see a Broadway great give a powerfully dramatic performance! Some spoilers follow. . . Featuring a fictional recreation of one of Billie Holliday's last performances, the drama of the legendary singer's sad descent into addiction and mediocrity means that in terms of musical performance, this starts as Audra McDonald at 60 percent (taking her show last year at Leicester Square Theatre as a measure of the full incredible Audra) and goes downhill from there. There were walkouts towards the end of this show, and I attribute that to people who booked to see top-of-her-game Audra but got bottom-of-the-hill Billie. The walkouts were certainly nothing to do with the end time, as we were out of there by 9:20pm, something that will make short-show fanatics brim with glee. When I arrived at 7:40pm, I was thrilled at the unexpected casting of Tyrone Huntley in the play, sitting stage right in the chair closest to the performance space, but by 7:45pm, I had wised up that he was actually an audience member. That didn't stop me watching him, of course, and he started the show veiled in the mere glow of admiration, which expanded to a fully awed beam of bedazzlement, proceeded through a darkening gloomy realisation of the horrors of Billie Holliday's life experience, before brightening again for an effusive standing ovation for the astounding dramatic performance by Audra McDonald that resurrected Billie Holliday from the dead. Huntley's experience was my own, though mine was also coloured by a distinct sense of deja vu, relating to an experience I had at Brixton Jamm 5 years ago. Then I went to see a solo Pete Doherty perform his Libertines hits, and he was a mess to start with and an even more massive mess to finish with, after consuming copious substances, at least one of which did not appear to be alcohol. The sheer brilliance of his songwriting and performance brio were present, but behind the murk of befuddled and dazed substance abuse, and periodically receded and reemerged from behind that cloud. There was a predatory atmosphere, it being unclear whether the audience were cheering for Doherty to succeed or to fail, whether we were more excited by his music or his notoriety. But the sense of being at a happening was there, as if this were performance art, a performance of a performance, full of contradiction, whereby the better the show was in one way, the worse it became in another. That is what this show felt like, without the predation, but with still more levels, a performance of a performance of a performance. The audience cheered at the sight and sound of Audra McDonald, but she didn't give them Audra, only Billie, and as Billie came into focus, some audience members were still more thrilled, while others seemed dejected. As I said before, there were a number of walkouts. The history lessons of the show somewhat lessened the realism, in that noone could really have this much to say about their life while performing in concert, but I learned a lot. One of my favourite passages related Holliday's experience pertaining to the inaccessibility of bathrooms for black women in a time of segregation, a topic also highlighted recently in the movie "Hidden Figures." What both that movie and this show get right is in blending beautifully the comic and tragic aspects of history in their storytelling. Overall, I was blown away by the show. While I didn't enjoy the music as much as I enjoyed McDonald's own concert last year, I learned about and felt much for Billie Holliday, and particularly enjoyed the many different ways of thinking about and experiencing the show. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Jun 3, 2017 18:06:44 GMT
Saw today's matinee, and LOVED this. Better than the movie! Some spoilers follow. . . This is the first Sally Cookson production that I've unreservedly loved. "Jane Eyre" was too twee for Charlotte Bronte's dark and romantic vision. While the ending scenes with Rochester neatly made overt the covert sadomasochism in the text, and the singing of the Mad woman beautifully evoked that character's vanishing humanity, characters jogging on the spot were a twee turn-off, and the comic yapping human dog upstaged the text; "Peter Pan" skillfully brought out the degree to which male infantilisation is at the core of that story, with it's apron-hugging baby of a Mr. Darling acting as Peter Pan's juvenile mirror, while Wendy mothered the boys, and Mrs. Darling's mature femininity demonised as Captain Hook, but the magic of the piece was lost amid exaggerated caricatures, with Tinkerbell particularly screechy, and the children as adults a shade too creepy. Like Mike Leigh, Cookson plays a dangerous game, working without a script, albeit with an original underlying work that acts as a stabilising crib sheet, and her bravery is commendable. But previously, I have found her style, in which music and her malleable ensemble morph their way into a story's dna, to be at odds with the mood of the story they were telling. Here though, moods meld. The ensemble are a human wave telling a human story as old as the sea, of isolation and companionship. Fellini's "La Strada" is massively improved by Cookson's interventions, in which Cookson finds her inner Emma Rice, and brings music, theatricality, community and wonder to bear on the story threads, banishing sentimentality, and bringing out instead the beauty, magic and universality of the underlying fable. In the movie, Fellini was manipulatively sentimental, presenting us with an overacting super-frowny super-lonely clown-faced underdog, repeatedly beaten, literally, as well as buffeted by fate. The movie is saved by Anthony Quale's brutally realistic performance and astonishing shots of a very real war ravaged Italy. Cookson rejects the exaggerated loneliness, the overacting, and the excessive brutality at the heart of the film's manipulative sentimentality. The loneliness she replaces with a communal ensemble, who sing, and dance, and commune, and relate with the principal characters. This injects a joie de vivre into the story that reflects a humanity at the heart of the principal characters, bonding them and the story to the hopes and dreams of the audience. Giuletta Massina's overacting in the film is replaced by a far more realistic and convincing simplicity and innocence in the performance of Audrey Brisson. It helps that Brisson has a hauntingly direct and tender singing voice. Consequently, there is nothing overly forced about Brisson's natural Gelsomina, which she helped shape in rehearsals, under Cookson's supervision. Brisson, of course, is a graduate of Emma Rice's "The Flying Lovers Of Vitebsk," easily my favourite show that I've seen at the Sam Wanamaker. So Cookson's very Emma Rice approach would have been easy for Brisson to adapt to. I would describe Cookson as Emma Rice (the music, the ensemble, the collaboration, the wonder) with added precision and choreography. Stuart Goodwin is another Emma Rice graduate, having appeared in a number of Kneehigh productions. His Zampano is less brutal than Quayle's in the film, more gentle in his cadences, evincing more micro-expressions that suggest his character's potential, even as he acts out the full toxic masculinity of the generally inexpressive Zampano to perfection. It is through Goodwin's efforts that Cookson moves beyond the animalistic constraints of Fellini's Zampano, and allows us to see the yearning for love that even the character can't fathom. In addition to the two principals, Bart Soroczynski gives one of the best supporting performances I've ever seen, as the Fool. It is through him that the theatre of the circus (one of Fellini's perennial motifs) comes alive for us. He can unicycle like an acrobat. He can make us laugh like a clown. He is so truthful and alive in every moment on stage, and he even crosses the fourth wall with grace, addressing the audience at moments without setting off any internal interactivity fear alarms. He is the embodiment of magic and music in a play about magic and music. If this show has a weakness, it's that Cookson never really found a way to end it elegantly. Around me, audience members who had not seen the film expressed some confusion about the turn of events. But overall, this is the most magic Emma Rice piece not to have been directed by Emma Rice. It is a triumph for Cookson and everyone involved. It is magical. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on May 30, 2017 22:27:51 GMT
I love Una furtiva lagrima. I seem to remember someone crinkling a plastic bag through much of it when I saw the ROH production at the cinema a few years ago. At which point I probably could have rivalled Scarpia for murderous thoughts ;-) I love that aria to bits. And frankly, tonight's Nemorino singing it. Liparit Avetisyan, was furtiva everywhere but in his lagrima, which he delivered with stillness, conviction and immense passion, winning him the bravos and cheers of the night. Elsewhere, he was like a silent movie comedian, his every expression furtive, his eyebrows more mobile than those of the dearly departed Roger Moore, his eyes popping like Richard Pryor's, his toes tapping, his shoulders bunching. He was like John Belushi in Animal House without the archness, with added dopiness and charm. I thought he was a wonderful opera comedian, and I was delighted throughout. Pretty Yende sung beautifully, particularly in the second half, where her Adina actually falls in love with Nemorino, and she dropped the coldness, and silenced the house with her sonorous high note bullseyes. The plot of this comic love story is so elegant, the sets so outdoorsy, the performers so full and fun, that I found tonight thoroughly entertaining. Curtain came down 40 minutes late, due to fire evacuation, but thankfully, the orchestra played on! 4 stars
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Post by Steve on May 30, 2017 19:49:10 GMT
Blimey, the ROH is really not having a good few days for getting performances completed! I'm booked to see the other cast in a few weeks so I hope the fire doesn't damage the production.
We are being called back inside now. Lets hope everything goes ok, and it doesn't end too late lol!
Fingers crossed.
Edit: Everyone needs to be bag checked again, which is slowing things down, but it's the smart and responsible thing to do.
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Post by Steve on May 30, 2017 19:47:47 GMT
Saw the last performance of this Saturday night. Utterly brilliant. It had come a long way since previews, and it was great in previews! It was a hot night, and the actors were sweating, which seemed to encourage Conleth Hill into an even looser, drunken style of delivery that was completely alive. Imogen Poots had come on leagues since previews, and was every bit Hill's match, her squeaky mousiness now bolstered by a fierce flowing aggression. Poots and Hill were mirrors, two beta characters, who had effectively taken control of their relationships from their stiffer, blocky alpha partners. It was a symmetry I very much enjoyed. At the end, as Imelda Staunton let her macho guard drop, I burst into tears as the actress released every bit of everything inside her, to become one of the most hollow husks of a human being I had ever seen on stage. Heartbreaking and wonderful! 5 stars
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Post by Steve on May 30, 2017 19:38:06 GMT
We were an hour into the opera, and I was very much enjoying South African diva, Pretty Yende, making a rare London appearance, when we were all hustled onto the street due to a "fire in the building."
2000 people are looking for a place to stand on the pavement.
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Post by Steve on May 28, 2017 12:17:46 GMT
Saw the Saturday matinee and absolutely loved this. A brilliantly challenging, ever playful, hysterically melodramatic take on racism and the South, with a snarling bite. Some spoilers follow. . . This is SO Tim Crouch. Everything that the Royal Court's "Adler and Gibb" did for "fake news" and narcissism , this does for race and the South. For those who didn't see "Adler and Gibb," the characters began as unclothed actors and put on their characters by degrees throughout the play. Denise Gough went from an automaton to a female Donald Trump who would do ANYTHING for acclaim. The play ended with a movie version, of the events we witnessed over the course of the play, that was "FAKE NEWS" in every respect, but which seemed more real than "the reality" we had witnessed. In hindsight, this was one of the most insightful plays I've ever seen. Unfortunately, those insights were contained in a format that turned off far too many punters. Branden Jacobs-Jenkins' play reinvents Crouch's format, but keeps things on an entertaining keel throughout. He retains the concept of unclothed actors dressing up as their characters, which here includes the methodical application of white face, black face and red face on the actors, he includes an ongoing Brechtian critique of the storyline we are witnessing, and he even builds up to an audiovisual revelation towards the end, that serves as capper and commentary, just as Crouch did. But what Jacobs-Jenkins also does is exchange some of Crouch's seriousness for (apparently) childish playfulness, which means this show is far less likely to alienate audiences. Also, by adapting a known work by a seriously successful 19th century playwright, Dion Boucicault (author of the National's "London Assurance" which starred Simon Russell Beale), he guarantees himself a dramatic frame which works to entertain in it's own right, even as he hilariously upends and twists it, like playdough, as we go along. And where Crouch used grim reality to deconstruct fake news, Jacobs-Jenkins effectively does the reverse, using fake news (Boucicault's "the Octaroon") to deconstruct real news. When the real news hit, towards the end of the piece, I felt so punched in the gut, I couldn't concentrate on the actual ending of the play, which became a mere epilogue, in my experience. Anyway, this is a terrific work, and Ken Nwosu was thrilling in multiple roles, playing both the protagonist and antagonist of Boucicault's play, but also playing Branden Jacobs-Jenkins himself, provocatively and teasingly self-identified as a "black playwright." Nwosu flips effortlessly from one character to the other, and as he moves in and out of various realities, certain scenes play both comically and seriously simultaneously, depending on who an audience member is imagining they are watching at any time: Boucicalt's characters, Jacobs-Jenkins or Ken Nwosu!? There are also some wonderful supporting performances, with Emmanuela Cole's actress/slave Dido compelling and warm, Celeste Dodwell's Dora barkingly and deliberately OTT, Kevin Trainor's Boucicalt alternately gentle and fierce, and Alistair Toovey's blackface characters unnerving, provocative and funny. This is a terrific play, superbly performed in an intimate space. There is so much to process and so much to muse on. And also, so much that amuses, even, and perhaps especially, in observing other audience members. At one point, as Nwosu's Branden Jacobs-Jenkins puts on white face, Snoop Dogg's horrible sexist and racist chant "Step Yo Game Up" comes on with it's refrains, about what "bitches" must do to "niggas," to a thundering bass, and one old lady's face assumed a silent scream, while another old lady starting tapping her foot with the pounding beat in evident pleasure. There is just too much to see here to miss this! 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on May 28, 2017 11:27:01 GMT
I think this was a decent show that was marketed terribly. Constantly using Gary Barlow and large choirs rather than showcasing the humour and heart that this has. It completely took away from what made this show great which was that core group of women. What was marketed to me just didn't appeal to me at all and it wasn't until some friends came back with some good feedback that I decided to go. I went in with very low expectations and was pleasantly surprised. I'm not surprised that it's closing but I do think it is a shame. The title was naff and wrong from the start. Why the hell didn't they just call it Calendar Girls - The Musical? Was it a rights issue or did they really think marketing the same story with a different title was going to work? Agree about the marketing. Personally, I really liked the show, and if the tour comes anywhere near me, I might even see it again. But Gary Barlow wasn't in this show. Constant Gary Barlow marketing made the whole thing feel like an extended Gary Barlow concert, which not even the majority of "Take That" fans would bother to attend, since the appeal of Barlow is mostly as part of that band, not as a solo act. And wasting the brand recognition of "Calendar Girls" was utterly misconceived. It made something my mum would want to see sound like a burlesque show.
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Post by Steve on May 25, 2017 22:53:28 GMT
Saw this tonight, and agree with lOIslane, it's average. Miscasting of Miranda Hart, who lacks the animus to play a satisfying antagonist, saps the drama, though Ruby Stokes was a terrific Annie tonight. Some spoilers follow. . . In a contest between the child actors and the adult principals in this show, the children win easily. Their American accents are spot on, whereas neither Alex Bourne's Daddy Warbucks or Miranda Hart's Miss Hannigan come close. The children are feisty, energetic and enthusiastic, whereas Bourne and Hart seem a little lost, stuck somewhere between tentative and disinterested. Little Ruby Stokes, as Annie, displays genuine comic flair, and enormous heart, whereas Miranda Hart strains to nail her comic moments, and is simply too nice to be nasty. I suppose this was predictable, in a way, as the children have been picked from among 2000 other auditionees, whereas Hart was the only choice from the beginning, picked because her name sells tickets, not because she was right for the role. She certainly looks the part, her immensely tall frame towering over the tots. But her frame has always been her entree to comic surprise, as her charm has always been that her true personality belied that frame, as she is a cuddly and clumsy sweetheart. And she does NOT, as evidenced tonight, have the ability to suggest genuine menace or threat. Consequently, every mean-spirited remark, intended to be funny, fell flat, like balloons too floppy to pop, or a car running low on petrol. Recalling the awesome animus of Bertie Carvel's evil Ms Trunchbull, in Matilda, whose every wicked line delivery made you chortle and shiver, simultaneously, here, every equivalent opportunity is missed, or only half attained at best. Someone like Lizzy Connolly, whose every role has been super-charged with animus, would destroy this part. But she is not a star, and lets face it, Hart has shifted a mighty ton of tickets, including mine, so her casting has certainly been a business hit. Anyway, this show is only of average interest. It is defeated in it's appeal to tots, who like to see themselves on stage, by both "Matilda" and "School of Rock." And it is defeated in the song and dance stakes, in it's appeal to adults, by "An American in Paris," "On the Town" and "42nd Street." However, it does have appeal. The songs are wall to wall catchy and memorable. There is serious talent in the ensemble. Some of the supporting players show serious spark, with Jonny Fines' Rooster filling the role of a villain you can actually believe, Holly Dale Spencer emoting terrifically as the uber-caring Grace Farrell, Daddy Warbuck's sidekick, Russell Wilcox a fine-voiced Franklin Roosevelt, and Nic Gibney an endearingly expressive Drake. And then there's the kids, of whom there are three teams. We got Team Rockefeller tonight, and they were across the board excellent, a jolt of energy. The tiniest one, Nicole Subebe's Molly had some marvellously funny moments. And then there was Ruby Stokes' Annie. A real marvel, she reminded me of the Olivier winning Eleanor Worthington Cox, who was the Matilda I saw. Although, as Annie, Stokes didn't have to plumb the full realm of darkness that Worthington Cox did, she did succeed in bringing tears to my eyes at the end, after all the smiles along the way, the result of this actor's infectious sparky moment to moment reactive cheerfulness. The most entertaining moment of my show came in Act 2, when Annie, Daddy Warbucks and the whole ensemble, team up to perform the song "I don't need anything but you." Here Alex Bourne's Warbucks is at his best, his sonorous voice and natural gentleness of his demeanor, blending with Ruby Stokes' Annie's exuberance and joyousness, and a hugely rousing ensemble dance, making for genuine delight. All in all, an average but worthwhile show. Hopefully, on her next outing, Hart will play herself. 3 stars
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Post by Steve on May 24, 2017 23:29:08 GMT
So I really loved this tonight. A vibrant light-hearted song and dance show that really lifted my spirits in these dark times. Some spoilers follow. . In the first half, the songs and comedy were the strength of the piece. In the second half, I loved the dance and Drew McOnie's choreography. Storywise, the whole show is just an excuse for exuberance, a great night out watching people enjoy a great night out "on the town." I was struck about how feminist the piece is, how ahead of it's time it must have been with every woman knowing exactly what they want, and pursuing their desires regardless of what anybody else thinks. And McOnie ensures that this production is additionally progressive, by featuring a beautiful gay dance liaison, as well as by (inadvertently) casting three mixed race couples. It's beautiful. Performances were great across the board. I like broad comedy, so Maggie Steed's lecherous cynical drunken Madame Dilly was a highlight, getting a good laugh out of me every time she made an appearance. So too did I love Lizzy Connolly's uber-bolshy Hildy. Connolly is one of the best stage comediennes we have, and while this show doesn't give her the same opportunities to run riot that she had, in say, "Vanities," nonetheless she's a gem. And her stage partner, the promoted understudy, Jacob Maynard, is simply wonderful, as good at reacting to her predations as he is at expressing an infectious and loving joie de vivre in every scene he's in. Only at the beginning was it evident that he was playing the role of Chip for the first time, as he struggled to synchronise his dance steps with his fellow sailors (and even that made me warm to him in the circumstances), but thereafter, you could have told me he'd been playing the role for months and I'd have believed you. He's charismatic, charming and loveable, a total find! Miriam-Teak Lee, as Claire, the partner of Samuel Edward's Ozzie, hits the high notes with verve, and coupled with her fierce red outfit, has a real spark of electricity about her in her interactions with the always affable Edwards' Ozzie. Indeed, towards the end of the piece, the foursome of Maynard, Edwards, Connolly and Lee, performing and dancing to the song "Some Other Time," was the peak moment of my night's enjoyment. Danny Mac's Gabey, the lead, has an old fashioned romantic Gene Kelly charm about him that perfectly blended with the vivacious, youthful exuberance of Siena Kelly's Ivy. And Mark Heenehan was superbly dry and funny as the cuckolded Judge. Meanwhile, Maynard's replacement, former Billy Elliot, Leon Cooke, performed wonderfully in the ensemble, despite having been cast a mere 24 hours earlier. He will be adding more bits to his performance throughout the week, Sheader told us. All in all, I had a tremendous forget-all-troubles entertaining night out, and that was wonderful. 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on May 24, 2017 22:46:35 GMT
So sorry to hear about Fred Haig. He was my favourite out of the three leads when I saw the show on Saturday. Thought he was excellent and had great comic timing. Hope he recovers soon I see in the programme that he has a part in the National's forthcoming "Follies." Fingers crossed it's a good part, and I look forward to seeing him then.
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Post by Steve on May 24, 2017 20:23:49 GMT
It's also lovely to see Lizzy Connolly's Xanadu castmate, Samuel Edwards, as Ozzie, every bit as much the dopey loveable big lug that he was in Xanadu lol.
Just a lot of fun all round, with constant dance and humour.
It's very warm, though I'm ready in case it gets cold, as it's getting dark now, and white blossom is drifting down onto the stage like snow.
Danny Mac is a lovely thoughtful romantic presence to counterbalance the more comedic personas of his two fellow sailors.
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Post by Steve on May 24, 2017 20:17:37 GMT
Jacob Maynard playing Chip tonight. Ooh, hello out there, PalelyLaura Poor Fred Haig has broken his foot, Timothy Sheader announced. I remember when I broke my foot, the doctor said it would take 6 weeks to get better, so I should imagine Jacob Maynard is in this for a long haul now. As it happens, Jacob Maynard is the highlight of my show so far. He's so likeable and sweet, and watching Lizzy Connolly's Hildy make mincemeat of him is just adorable!
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Post by Steve on May 23, 2017 16:30:18 GMT
It's wrong to confuse ISIS with Islam. The other day, someone told me they were scared living close to the Morden Mosque, and I had to laugh, because the Muslims who worship there, are of the Ahmadi sect, that disavow ALL violence for ANY reason.
If you are looking for horrific justifications for political violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, they are easy to find. The Passover itself is a story of God deliberately killing children to extract political concessions from the Egyptians, a story that all believers of the Abrahamic religions must explain to themselves.
Thankfully, most rabbis, priests and imams have found ways to disavow this sort of violence, in their religious teachings, as practiced today.
From ISIS' perspective, we are at war with them. Our own government confirms this:
"The UK has committed over 1,250 military personnel to the region to provide essential support to local forces. In the air, the Royal Air Force has conducted over 1,200 airstrikes in Iraq and Syria - more than any other Coalition country bar America – and provides highly advanced intelligence and surveillance to Iraqi Security Forces. On the ground, the UK has trained over 39,000 Iraqi soldiers in engineering, medical skills and basic infantry. In Syria, UK armed forces are training vetted members of Syrian opposition groups in infantry, medical and explosive hazard awareness skills as part of our counter-Daesh campaign. As a result, Daesh has lost 62% of the territory it once occupied in Iraq and 30% in Syria." (https://www.gov.uk/government/topical-events/daesh/about)
However, even if we are at war, it's a war crime to target civilians. There is no justification for deliberately killing children attending a concert.
And we should encourage all believers in the Abrahamic religions to interpret their texts the way the Ahmadis do, which is that all violence against civilians is wrong, war or no war.
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Post by Steve on May 21, 2017 22:29:55 GMT
A relentlessly mediocre musical featuring a lot of good one-liners (Marshall Brickman, presumably) and no good songs. Cameron Blakely's Gomez steals it with ease. Samantha Womack's Morticia barely registers. Carrie Hope Fletcher and Oliver Ormson are both good as the young lovers and Charlotte Page makes the most of her few moments as Alice Beineke but the show itself never really happens. I hadn't realized they'd done a rewrite - it didn't work. Saw this Saturday night, the final Wimbledon show, and completely agree with Mallardo's assessment that this is "mediocre." Some spoilers follow. . . The key factor is the lack of drama. Who cares about Wednesday dating some guy? The whole show is fan service, in the sense you can only really care about this if you are already fanatical about "The Addams Family" as a brand, and have some preconceived devastation about her dating a "normal." Nothing I saw made me feel anything about the dramatic set-up. I just didn't care. Drama: 2 stars. Second, there is a lack of comedy, in that nothing that happened made me crack more than a smile, apart from a great moment involving Dickon Gough's Lurch in Act 2. Comedy: 2 stars. Third, the songs too are mediocre for a composer of Lippa's talents, who wrote the varied and terrific "The Wild Party." I did think that the second act's "Just around the Corner" was terrific, and well-delivered by Samantha Womack. Also, "When you're an Addams" and "Full Disclosure" are ear worms, if unexceptional, and "Carzier than you" is punchy and fun, especially when delivered by the show's best singer, Carrie Hope Fletcher. Songs: 3 stars. Fourth, the production values were fullsome, the touring sets looking as dark and gothic as I would hope, and the chorus added immensely to every song, their spooky costumes and choreography proving to be fun. Production value: 4 stars. Fifth, the casting is excellent overall. Carrie Hope Fletcher is a spunky Wednesday, Les Dennis is Les Dennis squared, as his sad clown inside is bolstered in this show by a sad clown outside, and Cameron Blakely is all-round superb, an engine of energy in a plot you can't care less about. Samantha Womack sings well, but she lacks energy, possibly because that's her take on the Morticia character. It's a shame, as a show with so little plot needs more drivers, not less. And Womack was great in that Barbican South Pacific not so long ago, I thought. Cast: 4 stars. It is the lack of drama, the absence of an engaging plot, that is the main problem with this show. The second act (4 stars) I liked much more than the first (2 stars), as it simply gives up on it's flailing plot, and devolves into some very pleasurable episodic Sondheimesque ruminations on the humanity of each of the characters. Overall, the show was so mediocre that I felt I had to jazz up my thoughts by giving the show a million stars for a million disparate things lol. 3 stars overall.
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