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Post by Steve on May 21, 2017 22:03:07 GMT
Man-hating? Forgive me if I'm missing something as I only saw this show once on Broadway 11 months ago, but what is man-hating about it? The abusive male character even gets redeemed at the end. Spoilers follow. . . Snutte, All I mean is that, for me, the book goes too far down the men-are-awful route. No men are decent, all women are decent. Dad rapes and beats his own step-daughter, man systematically beats his wife, other man cheats on women without a care, redemption merely amounts to "oh I feel a little regret, now that you've left me, please take me back." Frankly, I'd expect him to start beating her again if she did, as actions speak louder than words (especially the words of someone who wants something). For me, Dreamgirls is far better and more sophisticated in it's depiction of myriad kinds of men, and the way they mistreat women. I compare it, as it's got the same feminist trajectory of an underdog woman defining herself, in a world of abusive men. Then again, the show really worked for me tonight. So what I'm saying is, I'm rethinking these thoughts now. I'm open to hearing anything about this. It was interesting being at the front as wel, the people all around me were on their own, and no joke, when we were chsting pre-show, pretty much everyone said as soon as they saw Marisha, Rachel and Tyrone listed in the cast list ahead of time, they booked instantly because they had either seen them or had heard about them. And there was alot of tears down the front, I was pretty much an emotional wreck at several points in the proceedings. DanielJohnson14, I was next to you, I realise, re-reading the thread. I was in CC8. Your bouts of crying were as infectious as sneezes, as I found myself crying too shortly after lol. Nice to meet you. I definitely booked because I wanted to see Marisha Wallace, based on some youtube clips of her, having missed her in Dreamgirls. She's as good an actor as a singer, so I hope to see her in Dreamgirls sometime, which I've only seen with Amber Riley, previously.
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Post by Steve on May 21, 2017 21:07:33 GMT
Breathtakingly brilliant one-off show, with a stand-out star-turn by Marisha Wallace, and sterling supporting performances by Rachel John, Wendy Mae Brown, Seyi Omooba, Tyrone Huntley and Bernadette Bangura. The key to Wallace's performance as Celie was to be found in her final solo song, in which her stealthily modulated build to her ultimate declaration of personhood, "I'm Here," had the audience on their feet in an instant standing ovation. Wallace had until this point reserved the full impact of her devastatingly full and emotional voice, as her tender, tentative Celie had until this point been cowed by the batterings, both figurative and literal, of her horrible story. From the start, Wallace played the hollow-eyed dazed soft vacancy of a battered woman to perfection, which hollowness she filled in slow gradations throughout the course of the show. By halftime, her character was still only half human, causing some in the audience to doubt the fullness of the actress' potential. But this methodical character building was a testament to the seriousness with which Wallace approached tonight's show as a fully acted performance, rather than a mere one-off opportunity for show-boating, and judging by the fullsome tears of multiple audience members all around me, she succeeded in taking the audience with her on the journey of a nobody to become a somebody! The most emotionally fulfilling performance in a musical I've seen all year! All around her were supporting performances to die for: there was the effortless easy comedy sass of Wendy Mae Brown's Sofia, making hilarious hay of her anthem "Hell No;" there was the dominating diva antics of Rachel John's Shug, whose Push Da Button" brought the house down in the first half, but who also evinced heartbreaking tenderness in her song "Too Beautiful for Words;" there was the preternatural sweetness of Seyi Omooba's beaming Nettie, with a dulcet voice that belied her toughness in the recent "Junkyard;" and there was Tyrone Huntley's magical charisma, making up for the man-hating book, by lending Harpo a softness and likeability he doesn't have on the page, thereby balancing the misandry of the show as a whole. Of the wonderful 3 strong church lady chorus, all with exceptional voices, on the right of the stage, Bernadette Bangura, in the centre, stood out for her total passionate emotional commitment to every song! The sound mix was a little hollow and tinny, which tended to make the bass voices of the men a little harder to hear, but nonetheless, Cavin Cornwall as Mister, was a force of nature, never more so than in his body-rolling, wide-grinning cackling excitement about "Shug Avery Comin ' to Town." LOL. Anyway, I enjoyed this much more than when I first saw the show at the Menier, partly on account of being more familiar with the work, partly for being less bothered by all the manhating, but mostly because this was an amazing once-in-a-lifetime star ensemble cast that really understood the work and all their parts in it, and made the whole night so much more than the sum of it's parts! Truly, my favourite night of the year so far! 5 stars
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Post by Steve on May 14, 2017 10:26:52 GMT
Saw this last night, and really enjoyed it. This is a monologue by "an anonymous woman," detailing her sexual fantasies and masturbation practices, read by "an unprepared man." You don't know who you are getting until the reader announces himself, though the Royal Court has announced the following list of readers: "Will Adamsdale, Rob Beckett, Danny Brown, Adam Buxton, Nick Frost, Phill Jupitus, Miles Jupp, Funmbi Otomayo, John-Luke Roberts, Sunil Patel, Romesh Ranganathan, Arthur Smith, Mark Thomas, Thom Tuck, Phil Wang and Liam Williams." If I had been given a choice, I would have booked for Will Adamsdale, who I adored in "Detroit" at the Cottesloe, or Mark Thomas, whose outraged takedowns of political chicanery I have found relentlessly amusing. Some spoilers follow. . . Last night, we got retired stand-up and budding playwright, Liam Williams, who did such a superb job of reading the monologue, investing it with ease, emotion, authority and good timing, that suspicious minds might have suspected him of sneaking in and buying the playtext, which is on sale at the Court, in advance. Then again, William's debut play, "Travesty," featured a woman playing a man and a man playing a woman, so perhaps it was to be expected that he'd be uniquely at ease as a vessel for a woman's words. The words were wonderfully frank and engaging. How does a person negotiate the discord between who one fantasises about and who one is actually with? Why do more men masturbate than women? Which fantasies are most likely to get you off in 5 minutes? The most degrading are the hottest, obviously, which is evidently why Murdoch crony and post-facts bullsh*t artist, Michael Gove cropped up as a fantasy figure in Anonymous' quick-release fantasy palette. The play, and it's presentation, is fascinating on many levels, and it had my mind racing through all sorts of things. Is this story true? Is this written by a woman? Does that matter? Are there any pertinent differences between men's and women's fantasies anyway? Where do bisexuality and homosexuality fit into this somewhat binary picture of men's and women's fantasies? What difference does it make that a man is reading this? Do I privilege male voices? Why are the men on the list of readers mostly stand-ups? Who could read this so I related to it most? Who could read it so I laughed the loudest? Why does the writer want to be anonymous? Is she a coward? Is she protecting her husband and/or previous partners from ridicule? Is she protecting her professional reputation? Is the writer Phoebe Waller Bridge? In answer to the last question, probably not. Phoebe Waller Bridge is braver than any man, or woman for that matter, when it comes to confronting these sorts of issues, and has said much more potentially embarrassing things publicly than the mildly masochistic fantasies we get here, besides which, she is a Soho Theatre artist, rather than the Royal Court artist the author is supposed to be. Anya Reiss? Too young? Penelope Skinner? Well, in "The Village Bike," also at the Royal Court Upstairs, Romola Garai's character was a lot like this author, exploring masturbation and porn and fantasies and danger, so can't be ruled out lol. The fun is not knowing, of course. And also the fun is the frankness of the fantasies. There is a huge ring of universal truth to the mundane tawdriness of the repetitive sexual fantasies that we hear about here. There are laughs of recognition from both men and women about how such fantasies interplay with real life relationships. The man-woman thing may be essentially a red herring, as NOBODY really likes fessing up to their sexual fantasies in public. The phwoar page-3 superficial vision of men's supposed fantasies is, I suspect, mostly a front for a masculinity that masks, rather than expresses, it's true sexual fantasies. It may even be, that contrary to the suggestion of this show, that women, more than men, have generally been more honest and open about their actual fantasies in the public realm. Then again, all the walkouts last night were WOMEN, so anecdotally, that is evidence that women, more than men, find public discussion of intimate issues objectionable. That bolsters this play's thesis that more women than men need masturbatory encouragement to enjoy themselves. In any event, a show that works on so many levels, and promotes so much chit chat about so many topics, is great stuff. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on May 3, 2017 22:52:31 GMT
This is indeed the Waltons in the shadow of the Troubles, and I loved it. Some spoilers follow. . . Like in the movie Jaws, we open with a scene that sets up a threat which must become relevant later. Like in Jaws, the suspense created by the impending threat allows us to wallow in family scenes, while maintaining tension concerning what's to come. But while this set-up is effective story-telling, at it's core this is a wonderful portrait of a family that has been living with the Troubles forever. The Carney family are introduced like a chart of a human evolution, with the youngest and smallest introduced first, a baby, utterly unspoiled by the shadow of the Troubles, through multiple children of ascending age, through their parents, and onto the generation of grandparents. How sectarianism has infected (or not infected) the thinking of each child, middle-aged, and older person is delineated with loving precision by Butterworth. Mercifully, the pattern of infection is not overly simplified, so that Brid Brennan's elderly dementia sufferer, Aunt Maggie Far Away, who drifts affectingly in and out of coherency, remains as unspoiled by prejudice as the baby, whereas Dearbhla Molloy's Aunt Pat is utterly poisoned by hatred of the other, the English. Her hatred translates even into her view of the sole Englishman in the play, John Hodgkinson's mentally impaired, but physically able, Tom Kettle, who has been in and about the family for 30 years. What happens in the play I won't reveal (I'll leave that to the critics), but I found that I fell in love with this family and all it's members, so it all mattered. I particularly loved the energetic, instinctive Shane Corcoran, charged with an elemental electricity by the wonderful actor, Tom Glynn-Carney, and the vibrant Caitlin Carney, played with moment to moment vivaciousness and humour by Laura Donnelly. But this is a cast filled with well-drawn characterisations, beautifully realised, by the whole ensemble, from Brid Brennan's Aunt Maggie to Paddy Considine's lynchpin lead character, Quinn Carney, to Genevieve O'Reilly's ever-so-delicate Mary Carney (how she manages to look so weak and frail in every scene is a miracle of acting). For humour, Butterworth puts Daniel-Kitson-style-original-curse-words into the mouths of babes, a strategy that always wins laughs, and does so again here. I got a vicarious kick at seeing how much the smallest kids enjoyed getting the biggest laughs from their very adult audience, with each minor minorly corpsing at the roar of laughter following their use of expletives. Anyhow, it is perhaps true that this show weights too much to family shenanigans, and too far from the Troubles for much of the running time, but there are so many well-observed and amusing heartfelt moments, that I was always entertained. And within each portrait of each person, and in each action also, Butterworth hides a treasure trove of insightful commentary on how we become who we are, so that, while, for me, this is not as perfect a thing as last year's "Hangmen," it is certainly one of the best shows of the year. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on May 2, 2017 11:58:47 GMT
I can't wait to see if Cate Blanchett will do all those awful van Hove dramatic pauses. Feeling mixed about this, I'm really going off Ivo van Hove Cate Blanchett has a thing for pauses and the avant-garde. That Boho Strauss "Big and Small" show that she brought to the Barbican, from the Sydney Theatre company that she runs, was very experimental. Who did she hire to translate it, after all? Martin Crimp of the Republic of Experimental Theatre. And who did she hire to direct, Benedict Andrews, who turned Three Sisters into a game of musical chairs, with tables and chairs being removed from underneath the actors every time the music stopped, which worked for me, but not others. And what was the action? An alienating landscape of selfishness where one decent woman experiences one rejection after another, pause to suffer, and on to the next. The whole thing had me weeping, but audience members all around were moaning and groaning after that one, as it wasn't the engaging piece of entertainment they'd hoped for. So if I see the names Ivo Van Hove and Cate Blanchett, I'm thinking experimental theatre. Then again, if I see the name Sonia Friedman, I'm thinking happy audiences, so maybe this will be "A View from the Bridge" rather than "Obsession." But you never know. I can't wait, either way.
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Post by Steve on Apr 29, 2017 11:14:11 GMT
I thought this was loads of fun, the audience participation and the Donald trump references being the raison d'etre of the production. Some spoilers follow. . . Yes, this is not as good as the 5 star Henry Goodman production, which was superlative in every way, but mostly for the growth in Goodman's Ui/Hitler over the course of the play from a kind of cuddly Mickey Mouse mumbling caricature to an utterly frightening monster. Here Lenny Henry's Ui is a thug from start to finish, so the whole thing is a lot less surprising and scary, nor does it have an equivalent coup de theatre at the end, which capped the Goodman show by suddenly producing Nazi-redolent symbols everywhere. What this show does have is oodles of goodwill, where the super-friendly actors use excellent judgement about which audience members they dare invite into the performance. I generally hate audience participation, but Lucy Ellinson was utterly open and lovely, at the beginning, about asking me to raise my hand, and cheer for her words during the show, and she didn't molest anyone who looked closed off to it. Generally I was shielded from the fear of sitting in the front row of the stalls, my band B side stalls seat having been moved round to the back of the stage, with a row of chairs in front of me, to create an in-the-round show, in which everybody feels involved. The wooden chairs at the back are a lot less comfortable than the usual pews though. There were tables there with appropriately Brechtian Dogsborough cafe "menus," which helpfully contained an explanation of which scenes correlated to which historical events, and which play characters were which historical characters. Ellinson was Giri who was Goring. Anyway, Lenny Henry's sheer height and bulk lend him great gangster gravitas, and he, and all the actors had great fun with their roles, skilfully juggling between playing cod gangsters and being themselves talking to us. My favourite performers were Ellinson as Giri, Giles Terrera as Rohm, Justine Mitchell as many characters, who all excelled effortlessly at this duality, and I loved Michael Pennington as Dogsborough, the soul of the show, the one person who seemed truly frail and vulnerable, lending the show a poignancy that it otherwise lacked. The Trump references came thick and fast, from his "I have great words," to his border wall plan, and Henry pulled it all off wonderfully. While it may be obvious, I think it's all worth saying again and again, as the lies Trump tells will never stop either. What this production loses in being frightening, it gains in being friendly. 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 29, 2017 10:52:13 GMT
Even seeking out the isosceles triangles couldn't lift our spirits. I apologise for using the word "isosceles." Using it was the most fun I had with that word since I foolishly caved in to coaching my nephew Sundays on his GCSE maths, for which he was predicted a D and needs to be lifted to a B. Next stop, I'm throwing out references to "Pythagoras," "half the base times the height" and "sohcahtoa." You have been warned. Also, as soon as there's a tube strike, I'm jumping in there with bo--ocks like "if Foxa arrives at Farringdon station at 1.50pm and walks at 3 miles an hour towards the Barbican, will she make it to the theatre by 2pm to see her favorite play, Obsession, again?"
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Post by Steve on Apr 28, 2017 11:25:16 GMT
I went in fearful of having a dismal time, but I loved this! A post-modern avant-garde study of the representation of "obsession," disguised as a play. Some spoilers follow. . . From the first appearance of Jude Law's Gino, playing his harmonica like Charles Bronson's revenge-obsessed character in "Once Upon a Time in the West," I found myself being drawn away from the production I was watching, to think instead about the depiction of "obsession" in other art works. When Law enters, the three lead characters freeze, forming points of a huge isosceles triangle, a physical manifestation of a love-triangle, but also reminiscent of a Sergio Leone shootout, a tableau that might occur at the end of an obsessive quest. As in Sergio Leone films, a native English speaker, Law, fills the role of protagonist, while the other key characters are played by mainland Europeans, who, while not dubbed, speak English as a second language. These other characters also reveal themselves not as individuals, but in relation to other works, with Halina Reijn's Hanna singing from Bizet's Carmen, an opera in which a freedom-loving woman is both object and subject of obsession, sandwiched between two men, while Gijs Scholten van Aschat, her older husband, sings from "La Traviata," in which an obsessed older man tries to wedge himself between two young lovers. Van Hove explores the representation of obsession not only by reference to other films, but also by pre-recording huge filmic close-ups of the principals, their legs and arms and bodies intertwined, lips locking, bodies touching, close-ups being the filmic language of intimacy and obsession. Yet the stage remains vast and empty, a plate on which to put the characters under Van Hove's intricately operated microscope. Van Hove explores portraiture, having Law, critically a film star, stand for long periods with his muscular torso exposed, making shapes with Halina Reijn's Hanna, then freezing, as if posing for dramatic filmic portraits, perhaps for a perfume called "obsession." Van Hove explores obsession in song, having Law mime to Iggy Pop's primally obsessive "I wanna be your dog," and plays Woody Guthrie's sociopolitical tract "This land is your land," as he explores the romantic imagery and backdrops against which obsessive stories are typically told, huge waves a symbol of the perennial nature and primal forces we seed into our concept of obsession. Critically, Van Hove abstracts his characters from their particular story, which is presumably why he hired Simon Stephens, a master of alienation and detachment, to translate his Dutch original script into English. The play leaves out specificities of character, so as to keep them filmic iconic symbols, rather than mere characters in a drama. So while I listened to moaning from others about "lack of character development," my own feeling was that that lack of character development was the whole point, to distill depictions of obsession to their universal essence. Law is not a lazy actor, for me, particularly good at portraying brute passion, as he did with his murderous Henry V, and most perfectly in Anna Christie at the Donmar. Van Hove interrogates his actor's skill at becoming a brute thing, and bottles it in countless poses and portraits, alone and with other actors. Law really is wonderful in this, his whole being translated into freeze-frames of torid passion, and Halina Reijn, in particular, is wonderful support. I got the feeling that Van Hove had already emulated Visconti's early experiments with realism in other projects, and here, bored with that, preferred to reflect late Visconti's fetishism for depicting decadent rituals, in this case, the rituals we invoke to depict obsession, which Van Hove himself does obsessively from start to finish. This is essentially an avant-garde art piece about obsession, that interrogates the representation of obsession from the outside-in, even while depicting obsession from the inside-out. For that reason, it's memorable and meaningful, even though it eschews the immediate visceral kicks that a detailed and specificly dramatic show would deliver. 4 stars.
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Post by Steve on Apr 28, 2017 9:29:17 GMT
Steve, is it just actors talking? Or is it a rich experience with light and sound design? HG, it's not a rich light and sound design. It's lights off for time lapses between scenes, with resetting of the scenes during lights-off to plant clues about the changing relationship between the characters, then lights back on for the next scene.
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Post by Steve on Apr 27, 2017 11:45:07 GMT
Before Barney Norris' Bridge Theatre play, Nightfall, comes this modest two-hander in the equally modest new Bush Theatre Studio. And assuming this post is the Hitchhikers Guide to the new theatre and the play, the answer is 70. Well, the theatre capacity is 70, like a slightly bigger Finborough or a slightly smaller Hampstead Downstairs, and the play runs 70 minutes without an interval, and I would add that the average audience age was 70, except I can't, because they mostly looked much younger lol. Anyway, everything Barney Norris is in this play, from the poetic use of language, the observance of minor details of mundane yet telling behaviour, the heightened sense of reality that puts really huge existential issues on the table while nothing much actually happens, and the cherishing of human beings merely for being alive. This is minor Norris though, as it is shorter, less eventful, a two-hander that consists of a series of conversations between a lonely woman and her ex-boyfriend, now homeless, who she takes under her wing by inviting him into her house. Tessa Peake-Jones is the perfect Norris actor, as was Linda Bassett in the exemplary earlier Norris play, "Visitors," in that they have poetic faces that speak volumes of lived experience, before they utter a word. Peake-Jones is also an excellent actor, supremely sensitive in her observance of her character Carol's learned habits, her repetitive ticks, her wry welcoming smiles and the trapped and caged existence that hides behind them. Andrew French is appropriately more mysterious, as the adventurous ex-boyfriend, whose ambitions are vast yet unconsidered, his hopes to "re-wild" Scotland with wolves humorously incompatible with reality. Yet, the play asks, can this man's adventurous spirit re-light Tessa Peake-Jones' Carol's life and can she ground him? The play is Norris screaming "Carpe Diem," "Seize the Day," where Norris refuses to speak louder than a whisper, so as not to be impolite. Although the overall effect is slighter than Norris intends, I did tear up once, and loved all the aforementioned Norris aspects of the play, except for the slightly contrived set-up, and I'm very much looking forward to what may be a far more substantial effort, Nightfall, given how many many tickets will have to be sold to fill the Bridge Theatre. 3 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 26, 2017 11:08:52 GMT
I sat on one of those Dorfman ones and it was fine....but I quite like the front seats at Olivier and Lyttleton and I know people sometimes find them uncomfortable!I have booked one for last production at Bridge as only cheaper but close option! ☺ Thanks Latecomer, you are right. I just got an email back from the Bridge Theatre confirming this: "A strapitan seat is narrower and folds away. It may be slightly less comfortable than the other seats around it but it is great value."
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Post by Steve on Apr 26, 2017 9:18:30 GMT
Sir Toby and especially Sir Andrew less funny than usual. I had the opposite reaction, in that I found Sir Andrew more funny than usual. There's no accounting for taste, though I'll do my best to account for it (below) lol. This was an especially funny Twelfth Night, in which the still sad music of humanity was largely zoned out to make way for laughs. I loved it! Some spoilers follow. . . Every part in a Shakespeare comedy combines poignant and comic aspects. Simon Godwin seeks to extort and emphasise the comic aspects, and he is more successful at doing this with those actors who have an innate comic gift: Tamsin Greig, Tim McMullan, Daniel Rigby, Imogen Doel and Oliver Chris. Those actors who do not have such an innate comic gift are a bit at sea with Godwin, and fall back on naturalistic acting skills at the expense of the comic exaggeration Godwin is going for. Phoebe Fox is an extreme example of this, her eyes filling with tears of grief and love, when Godwin wants her to be flopping around drooling for sex, soaking wet and silly in a swimsuit. I have seen Fox a few times, and she is a brilliant actress, effortlessly emotional and affecting, a highlight in dramas, but here the dissonance between her channeling of reality and Godwin's broad comedy vision was disorienting for the audience, who did not know whether to laugh or cry at her slipping on Godwin's metaphorical banana skins, and consequently seemed dumbfounded. One could easily conclude, from watching this show, that Olivia is simply not a comic part. Yet, at the Globe, Mark Rylance made comic magic out of Olivia, putting on a strange silly shuffle of a walk that made Olivia seem to hover over than stage rather merely stalk it. Every exaggerated foible of Rylance's oozing overemotional Olivia made me bust a gut laughing, rendering Rylance's Olivia one of the funniest characterisations I've ever seen! There are some superb comic performers in this ensemble, who exploit Godwin's comic caricaturing to the max. Like Rylance's Olivia, comedy caricatures do not move and act like real people, their movements undercutting the audience's expectations of reality, priming them instead for comic surprise. In this show, Godwin divides his comedy caricatures into two basic categories, the slow and stiff (Greig, Rigby, Chris) and the fast and loose (McMullan, Doel). Which brings me back to Daniel Rigby's Sir Andrew Aguecheek, why I think he's hilarious, and why others may not. He is refined to the most basic gormless "me too" comedy caricature, someone who would fit in perfectly as a punchline of a joke on "The Fast Show," where his bit is to dimly respond "me too," to anything anyone smarter says. Rigby gets the comedy perfectly, the mind of his Sir Andrew ticking so slowly we can hear each tick, his body so stiff we can hear it creak. He's so dumb and so stiff he brings to mind the equivalent comedy caricaturing that Rowan Atkinson worked on his own mind and body to create the iconic Mr. Bean. And that's where taste comes in, because if you don't like this sort of childish broad caricaturing, you're going to hate this Andrew Aguecheek. But if you are among the vast swathes of people who laughed at The Fast Show or Mr. Bean or any other purely silly-for-the-sake-of-silliness thing, you will laugh your head off. Everyone around me was laughing like no tomorrow at Daniel Rigby's dim stiff antics, and I felt he was the funniest and broadest Aguecheek I've seen. Hugely successful comedy performance! Tim McMullan finds the fast preening teetering walk of someone whose mind reflects his jacket, dripping with sharpness and lechery, but whose inebriated body can only wobble like a weeble in it's desperation to catch up. McMullan is forever pouncing on people and ideas, like Tom who never catches Jerry, while his body collapses under him, and his sidekick, Rigby's Aguecheek, dimly twitters "me too." What a splendid comedy double act these two are! I was in stitches! Imogen Doel plays a mini-me of McMullan's Sir Toby, a welcome echo of his fast comic fumbling. Oliver Chris gets all Tim-nicely-but-dim in his phwoar-sulk Fast Show type antics, less successful at mining laughs than Rigby and McMullan, but still hitting the comedy nail on the head more often than not. And above all, there is Tamsin Grieg's Malvolio, a role this comic actress has been building to for years. At base, the preternatural slowness of Greig's Malvolio's mind, and the supernatural stiffness of her body, exactly mirror the comedy strategy of Rigby's Aguecheek. But Godwin and Greig add another element to her Malvolio, her interaction with the fourth wall. Greig is effectively not only doing a comedy character skit, she is also playing the stand-up comedian, seeking affirmation, and constant connection with the audience. I was thrilled with how confident that connection with the audience was. Grieg is willing to risk long pauses of staring at the audience as she carries out outrageously slow physical demonstrations and replays of her thoughts and actions, with the full knowledge that she will eventually get that teased out punchline. She does this with total stand-up mastery and daring, even while she stays in her comedy character. Only an actress with immense comic instincts and years of comedy behind her would dare do such a thing! It's absolutely masterful, and I found it even funnier than Derek Jacobi's hilarious Malvolio. In the Globe's recent Twelfth Night, Stephen Fry got no laughs at all, as he played the tragic realism of his pathetic Malvolio to the hilt instead. He may have got no laughs, but at least we understood his pain. Miraculously, in this Twelfth Night, after close to three hours of stand-up and comedy caricaturing, Greig forcefully creates in her Malvolio a realistic pain and a naturalistic fury that was every bit as painful and miserable as Fry's! Overall, though, apart from Greig's final exit, and Doon Mackichan's Feste's vulnerable and broken rendition of the primally poignant song "Come Away," this Twelfth Night lacks depth. However, because it has some great comedians in it's acting ensemble, capped by Greig's superlative performance, this show emerges as a laugh riot! 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 26, 2017 7:16:05 GMT
I have never heard of a "strapitan seat." Is it cheap because it's uncomfortable, in which case I'll buy it, or because it's for some particular constituency (eg the less abled or young people), in which case I won't? Anyone know?
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Post by Steve on Apr 22, 2017 10:33:51 GMT
Loved this at the Rose Theatre. Affecting and sweary version of Dead Poets Society, set in a Bristol Playground, in which the power of the imagination stands to liberate some kids from their underprivileged and abusive backgrounds. Some spoilers follow. . . There is so much empathy and love in this show that I teared up. Be warned though, the love is hidden in the soft centre of a hard shell, in which the Bristol teenagers (played by young adults) posture and curse more than Renton in Trainspotting. You'd be hard-pressed to hear more c-words and f-words in any other show in town. Couple the swearing with the suspicious anti-authoritarian another-brick-in-the-wall attitude adopted by the kids in the show, and you have a production that is likely to win over such kids in the audience, just as it puts off their prudish parents. The first half of the show, the music and songs are Madness-inflected, with a marchy communal extrovert bolshiness; the second half, more Doors-inflected, with reverberant guitar strings and plaintive introspective lyrics. A couple of the songs are ear-worms, with the one about "the spider" still ringing in my head this morning. The show did not fit my inbuilt dramatic pattern expectation, which anticipated the nadir-moment of a generally cheerful show to occur at the three-quarter mark, but which instead occurred half-way. This expectation transgressed, the second half felt overlong, though I'd be hard-pressed to say what to cut. Erin Doherty is ferocious as Fizz, the furious, mischievous, irrepressible lead-character, and narrator, who opens up the milieu of the play. She completely fulfilled the high expectations I had of her from "Wish List." Calum Callaghan is more muted, endlessly relatable and reasonable, as Rick, the inspirational teacher at the centre of the adventure playground building project, yet equally as good, the yang to Doherty's yin. The whole ensemble is also excellent, with Scarlett Brookes' sad-eyed pregnant Debbie, Josef Davies's disturbed violent Ginger and Enyi Okoronkwo's vulnerable poetic Talc especially affecting. Despite the ending feeling long, this was a wonderful vibrant urgent heart-warming show, that could also work magic on the souls of the sorts of kids depicted, if only teachers and adults ignore the swearing and take them to see it! 4 stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 18, 2017 23:51:50 GMT
Saw this tonight from bang in the centre of the front row (Row C for this production) In summary - a good show, but with a lot of untapped potential. I'd give it 3 stars. JGBlunners, given where you say you were sitting, I think I was sitting next to you, moaning to you about how much I was missing the musical "I Can't Sing", which also featured the superb Simons Lipkin and Bailey, except unhindered by this monotone moroseness. I was grumbling about the song list in the programme, which showed that the two ghosts (Simon Bailey and Naimh Perry) got almost all the songs, and you were egging me on by pointing out that the one song with the most grimly teenage title, "Better to be Dead," got four reprises. Upon which, I started singing the praises of the marvellous "American Psycho" musical, which led me to buy the ticket to this in the first place via the Duncan Sheik connection, upon which the American lady on my left and I got into a discussion about how much I felt that it was wrong to cut the song "Oh Sri Lanka" from the show for Broadway. I think that must have been you, as my seat was front row, centre adjacent, and I'd agree the view was excellent, and the multi-tiered round lighthouse deck design is quite awesome to behold. Some spoilers follow. . . This show is one for adventurers and completists, who have already seen all the 4 star shows in town, and are looking for something that bit different, even if the things that are different have a tendency to sink the drama. The ghosts are sirens, peripheral to the main action, who seek to convince everyone involved in the show to end themselves. The songs they sing are samey, designed to depress the listener, with one being the exact same song sung five times (mentioned above). The songs sound to me like the bridge to grungy Nirvana numbers, with the proviso that just as you are about to rock out, the song stops, lest you accidentally get excited. Ironically, the one superb rock out song, "Take A Bow" is omitted from the programme and the show, and is performed AFTER the bows, in order to energise the audience to get up and leave, following the downbeat torpor of the main show. Simon Bailey and Niamh Perry perform it superbly, though I'm not surprised, as Bailey was the lynchpin of an awesome final London Jersey Boys line up, and Niamh Perry owned that Ben Elton show "The Beautiful Game" at the Union Theatre! In the main body of the show, Simon Lipkin is an invaluable boon, as his irrepressible vivacity brings humour to the character of the Sheriff, who moves the main plot, by pursuing the US wartime policy of the day, persecuting Japanese residents. Lipkin performs the heck out of his one number, "The Tale of Solomon Snell," a rare song not performed by the Greek chorus of the 2 Ghosts. Poor Nicholas Goh, as said persecuted Japanese resident, gets no songs at all! Beneath the siren songs of misery, two good dramas struggle to surface, one pertaining to Nicholas Goh's Yasuhiro's struggle against institutionalised xenophobia (very topical) and the other concerning the naivety of a judgemental child (which drama recalls the much more engaging "The Go Between" at the Apollo). That the cast make us feel a little something for these underwritten characters, involved in these two dramatic situations, over the wailing of the ghosts, is to the company's credit. Strangely, I don't regret seeing this show, as seeing a show that dares to be different, even when it fails to work dramatically, is always interesting, and with performers like Lipkin, Bailey and Perry to watch, you at least get some blood out of a stingy stone of a musical. 3 stars.
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Post by Steve on Apr 18, 2017 22:58:57 GMT
I took Jan Brock's suggestion and saw the Easter Monday matinee, and adored it! "Pride and Prejudice" remixed for maximum laughs, with an unforgettable star turn by Rebecca Collingwood! Some spoilers follow. . . There's alot of "Pride and Prejudice" in this story of caste (aka class) separating lovers. The central duo George d’Alroy (Duncan Moore) and Esther Eccles (Isabella Marshall) are exactly like Charles Bingley and Jane Bennet, but the set-up of this play differs in that the Darcy character, Captain Hawtree (Ben Starr) fails to convince his friend out of marrying below his class. Instead, hijinks ensue, as the unexpected newlyweds' family members react to a culture clash. Most extreme is the reaction of Susan Penhaligon's Marquise de St.Maur (a Lady Catherine de Bourgh clone, if ever I saw one)! Penhaligon's Marquise speaks like she swallowed 16 frogs, and at least two of those frogs sound like they might leap from her mouth every time she opens it. It's a hilarious performance, evidencing massive range by Penhaligon, as the last time I saw her in this venue, in Martine in 2014, she was the soul of lyricism in a sad poetic play. That this isn't the funniest turn in the show is a tribute to how terrific this production is (Jan Brock measures his praise cautiously)! The funniest turn is indeed by the delightful Rebecca Collingwood, who plays Esther Eccles' little sister, Polly, a frothing fizzball of a Lydia Bennet clone, with one massive difference: she is sharp as a tack! Disregarding class barriers, she swans around, taunting and tormenting the men around her, not with silliness, but with genuine quickness and wit! Collingwood was last seen (by me) in the "Love's Labours Lost/Much Ado" double at the Haymarket, where she was the small pretty one you expected to have lines, but didn't. This time she spurts lines at triplepace, resembling that little girl at school who had all the friends, and bossed them all around, then grew up, and behaved exactly the same. Collingwood's Polly is a human Tardis, in that her small frame contains more bottled energy and effervesence than ten larger ones. She is so amiable, charming, quick and funny that even the grumpiest looking audience members were audibly laughing. Plot developments were well realised, and apart from a melodramatic slump at the beginning of the second half, this was the most amusing, most delightful play I've seen all year. It's a joke in itself how much funnier this production is than "The Miser," which by comparison, is packing them in! Gods of theatreland, please give this production a run at Trafalgar 2 so other people can see it. While it's politics are in the rearview of history, like "Pride and Prejudice" itself, this show is pure pleasure. 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 18, 2017 22:07:56 GMT
Perhaps tipped with minks' teeth for that authentic tappity tap sound and maximum animal cruelty? Do you object when folks (frequently) wear leather in shows or are some animals worth more than others? Sorry, it's a gripe of mine. As an omnivore, with a craving for cheeseburgers, I avoid judging or criticising anyone's choices regarding what they wear, what they eat or what they hunt, so I take your gripe on board. On the other hand, although it's irrational, I fed ducks so often as a child, I developed an unshiftable sentimental fondness for them, so choose not to eat them. I have not ever looked into a duck's eyes and made an Albee style connection with them, I stress, lol. On topic though, with respect to the idea that a genuine mink coat is being used in this show, however, two points do strike me: (1) Unlike leather, mink skin is not a byproduct of the general food production process, so a legitimate distinction can be drawn by those who care to do so; (2) No show should be so dumb as to publicise the use of a real mink coat, as those who do care about this issue, care very much.
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Post by Steve on Apr 12, 2017 13:51:28 GMT
4 stars from The Telegraph and The Guardian: The Telegraph sent their opera critic, Rupet Christiansen, so I'm not surprised he privileged voice over performance, as opera critics tend to be forgiving of performance, but exceptionally picky about voice. But the Guardian sent Michael Billington, who wrote that Alfie Boe "admirably conveys the character’s complexity, combining a bear-like roughness with hints of an underlying gentleness." Complexity? Gentleness? Is he referring to the shampoo they clean the wig with, or are we just being trolled?
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Post by Steve on Apr 10, 2017 18:01:13 GMT
There are some moments in which I feel like I can hear all the hopes, dreams, and mistakes of mankind in a single musical phrase. Just curious: why on earth is this considered/marketed as a "semi-staged" production? To me, there was nothing "semi" about this staging in the slightest. Sondheimhats, I agree about all the hopes, dreams and mistakes of mankind. Lovely description. I think they only describe it as "semi-staged" because there are no helicopters (like in Miss Saigon) or spaceships (like in "I Can't Sing") or other massive set constructions, so I agree. After all, AAIP also uses projections as a backdrop, and like that, this features lots of choreography and dance. I expect the description lingers from the producers' initial cost-saving philosophy adopted in their previous two productions that did at the Coliseum, Sweeney Todd and Sunset Boulevard, but that they have grown increasingly ambitious since then. if it's an either/or situation I would always opt for the strong actor. I saw the Hytner production in New York with Michael Hayden as Billy and I well remember the criticism that was heaped upon him for, basically, not being John Raitt. He lacked that rich baritone sound that everyone seemed to feel was the essence of the role. In fact he sang the role just fine - listen to him on the cast recording - but, much more importantly, he created a lost and vulnerable character, desperate to earn Julie's love and be worthy of her yet lacking the essential confidence in himself - resorting instead to violence. The vocal stars were in other roles in that production - Audra McDonald was Carrie! - but the show worked so brilliantly because of Hayden's performance. If we, the audience, don't see in Billy what Julie sees, then Carousel makes no sense. I agree completely, Mallardo. Acting is everything to make this really work. Otherwise it feels like a concert performance. I also regularly listen to the recording of the Broadway cast you saw, and I love it!
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Post by Steve on Apr 9, 2017 10:03:11 GMT
Saw the matinee yesterday, and agree with sondheimhats. Great semi-staging, great chorus, great Gavin Spokes, great Daniel Hagen, better than expected Katherine Jenkins, all brought down by a sullen charisma-free misfire of a Billy Bigelow. Spoilers follow. . . Carousel is one of my favourite musicals. Sure, it's got problematic elements, not least of which is the concept of a "kiss with a fist," the dubious concept of the pain of violence evaporating through love and mysticism. Yet Carousel has a primal power that resonates more profoundly than any other musical, if you tap into it. In essence, it mines the same vein of deep desires that religion does, in particular, Christianity. Like Jesus, Julie Jordan is not a mere person, which is why feminist analysis can't contain her. Like Jesus, Julie Jordan is a font of love; like Jesus, when abused, she "turns the other cheek," her love unconditional; like Jesus, she offers the ultimate: redemption. The idea that whoever we are, no matter how we were born, no matter what we've done, no matter what nature, no matter what nurture, we can have hope, that's what Jesus and Julie Jordan offer, that's the beautiful desperate fantasy that Rodgers and Hammerstein have coded into this musical, with Hammerstein's coupling of the broken conditional "if" of now, with the "golden chances" of hope in a fantasy future (where you can always free yourself from the Carousel of traps that life brutally delivers), while Rodgers butters Hammerstein's religious bread with the most seductive soaring emotional melodies ever written. As a secular person, this musical is the closest I get to religion, with the first two 5 star productions I saw (in the late nineties at the Ahmanson, and in 2014 at the Arcola) leaving me helplessly and deliriously emotional. This new version did NOT hit the spot. . . On the plus side, it's got a half-Hytner approach to the staging that really works. Where Hytner staged his Carousel Waltz in a pincer movement, with the horses riding on wheels below, as a gorgeous giant umbrella enfolded it from above, here the semi-staging necessitates the dropping of the umbrella, so Lonny Price instead expands his wheeled horses to such a large size that the Carousel is nonetheless stunning. Like "An American in Paris," the backdrop is primarily projections of impressionist paintings, albeit they are not quite as colourful and luscious as those in AAIP. Also on the plus side, Gavin Spokes sparkles with comic whoops, giggles, genuine depth of feeling, bringing his effortless charm to transform the typically dull Mr. Snow into such a compelling and amusing stage presence, that I delighted every time he showed up. His "When the Children are asleep" and "Geraniums in the Winder" were highlights. But an even bigger highlight, the biggest of the afternoon in fact, was Derek Hagen, as the amoral Jigger, leading the ensemble of "Blow High, Blow Low" with such vitality and passion that the audience cheered louder for him than for the principals. So thuggish and unrestrained was Hagen's bearing that it struck me he'd make a perfect Billy Bigelow! The Billy Bigelow we actually got was stillborn. It's not that Alfie Boe can't sing, he absolutely can, and at times, he does, wonderfuly. But he can't project the qualities that make Billy Bigelow Billy Bigelow! I remember Patrick Wilson playing Billy Bigelow years ago in Hytner's touring production, so animalistic, as quick to anger or to grin, terminally unpredictable, with such depth of feeling beneath, charm and charisma constantly swamped by bouts of "toxic masculinity," the hope of who he could be as evident as the hopelessness of who he was! The Perfect Billy Bigelow. There is no hope in Alfie Boe's Billy. No animalism. No spark. No grins. No volatility. No charm. No charisma. No sign of a wonderful person within, crushed by circumstance. Instead, there is sullenness and hair. So much hair. It's like Price wanted to take a shortcut to characterisation, and grew hair from all sides of Boe's face. I suppose, like Samson, this should make Boe's Bigelow toxically masculine. It doesn't. It makes him hairy. And worse, director and actor mistake unsmiling sullenness for masculinity. Wrong again, that's just lack of animation, which promotes a lack of audience involvement. In fact, the most personality that Boe evinced all afternoon was when he flubbed a line, asking if his "daughter was a boy or a girl?" then correcting himself by quipping "baby, even?" He got a big laugh. I do think the director has to take responsibility for some of the choices around Boe's Billy Bigelow, as I've seen Boe do great work, as Nanki Poo in The Mikado, in particular. Another wrong-headed choice the director makes is to allow too much of Boe's and Jenkin's singing to be directed at the audience. Billy and Julie are falling in love during "If I Love You," with EACH OTHER not with US! And the director also has to take responsibility for some of Katherine Jenkin's choices. For example, she raises her finger on the "if" of "If I love you" as if she were a tease who may withhold her love. No! The emphasis in Julie's phrase, "somehow I can see just exactly how I'd be if I loved you," is not on the "if," it is on the "loved." The "if" is there to emphasise that Julie doubts she even deserves love, the tragedy that the love she so desires to give and receive may remain an unachieved fantasy, it is not there for her to wag her finger like a scolding matron. My opinion, lol. Generally, however, Jenkins is good. I've seen the youtube clips that suggested she may struggle with the songs, and she doesn't. She thrives. In fact, with the caveat that sometimes she focuses so much on singing that she neglects performance, I thought her singing beautiful. And her performance is natural and convincing, by and large, though her range is limited. At one point she needs to cry, which requires more emotion than she can manage, so she turns away from the audience to cry with her back to us, but when she subsequently greets Boe's Billy, she fumbles her emotional transition as there is no sign in her beaming countenance that she has ever been crying at all. Still, for a first time actress, she does astonishingly well. As to the bows, Boe and Jenkins came down TOGETHER, stood together, and then Boe and Jenkins each took a separate bow, but with the other standing right next to them. This means the the bows have been modified after the scandal in a teacup about bowing order in the first show. For me, the real scandal is that Rodgers and Hammerstein didn't come rushing down from heaven for the final bow. They are the true stars! Overall, Rodgers' and Hammerstein's musical is so good, that coupled with good staging and lovely ensemble choruses, sparky players like Gavin Spokes and Derek Hagen, it overcomes it's cardboard Grizzly Adams of a Billy Bigelow. However, as an antidote to this productions' deficiencies, I have united Patrick Wilson's Billy Bigelow (from the Hytner touring production) and Gemma Sutton's saintly luminous Julie Jordan (from the recent Arcola show) to perform together in my dreams. 3 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 4, 2017 15:00:59 GMT
Loved the first half, hated the second. Smug detached lawyers learn life lessons that turn out to be schematic, didactic and problematic. Fab cast redeems this, making it a thoroughly worthwhile night! Some spoilers follow. . . The fact that the cast is peppered with "unsympathetic" characters didn't bother me. They seemed like real people I know, in that criminal lawyers sometimes do consider themselves above the fray of petty human emotions, with their seen-it-before detachment and knowledge how to work the system for their clients. How could lawyers defending accused rapists even function if they didn't emotionally distance themselves from cases, after all? Nina Raine has evidently done tons of research into the way lawyers speak to each other about these sorts of things, the way they use the first person to talk about their clients' cases among themselves, as well as the tricks they use in court to plant ideas into the minds of juries. If only for this, the play is worth seeing, as if you don't know how these tricks work and how lawyers think, you'll know a lot more by the end of the play. For the first half, the general bonhomie among the lawyers and their wives, who are all friends, features zinging dialogue and superb performances. Yes, Adam James does his morally bankrupt wanker routine (again) to perfection, but what I love about him as an actor is his effortless naturalism, in particular the way he continues carrying his emotional ball long after his lines are done, how he continues to exist and react in scenes, alive to every action and reaction of other characters. I believe him, every time, especially when he's not talking. James' defense lawyer, Jake is sidekick to the main character, Ben Chaplin's Edward, another defense lawyer who represents rapists. Chaplin is more wired than James, but no less natural. I loved his dynamic with his onstage wife, Kitty, played by Anna Maxwell Martin, as they bat back and forth all sorts of little glances and ticks that clue us into a backstory that's begging to be told. Pip Carter's prosecutor character, Tim, is the most phlegmatic of all the lawyers featured, happily socialising with the defense lawyers who habitually defeat him in court. He has a honeyed Tim-Mullanesque sing-song tone to his every utterance that suggests he couldn't care less about anything, except maybe winning. It's a great performance. Over the course of Act 1, it's great fun to live with these characters, and listen to their banter. But in the second half, Nina Raine drops the bante,r and launches into dramatic plot machinations that are so transparent that boredom sets in, or if not boredom, then disappointment. There is a lovely coda once Raine's cogs stop their clunky spinning, so the second half is not all bad. Raine's overall plan is not only overly didactic, it is also problematic. Noone who plans to see this play should know what I'm referring to, so I'll put it in spoiler brackets: Raine's purpose is to demonstrate that lawyers, and the justice system, are too detached from the pain of victims. In order to make the whole thing real for the lawyers, she has Ben Chaplin's Ed rape his wife, Anna Maxwell Martin's Kitty, when she decides to leave him. Because no two rapes are the same, and because there are two sides to every coin, the characters devolve into recriminations that bring home to them, and the other characters, how much pain is endured by those who go to court in rape cases.
After experiencing this misery, Ed learns to care about humanity. Yes, that's right, rape turns out to be a character-building positive learning experience for Ed. So if Foxa were to suggest a takehome lesson from this play, one of them is that rape may be the solution to empathy problems. That's disturbing, even if the wider point about the justice system being too detached from victims is successfully made. All in all, this play has great actors, playing topically recognisable characters, that unfortunately get caught up in an overly schematic plot. For the acting, and for the intriguing complexity of the underlying issues (there is much to discuss after leaving this play), this is a worthwhile night out. 3 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Apr 1, 2017 22:13:39 GMT
I haven't seen this production but I saw the original on Broadway. I think the most offensive thing about this show is that it wasn't written as a"cheesefest" or a rollicking musical comedy. It was written by 3 straight white guys of a certain age projecting their fantasies of what fun being a whore in 1970's New York must be. The first draft of this show was, I think in the early 80's if not before, so it's not a fond look back, they were writing it in "the present" but it took so long to get produced that it became "the past". I think the reason so many of us over here enjoy it ( not me but the rest of us) is there is a sense of detachment from the whole slice of life that it portrays. I wonder if there are any Yanks on this board who have seen it and what their response to it is. I'm not a Yank, as such, but I do agree with you that there is a detachment between the events depicted by the show and the exuberant singing and dancing. The events depicted are the worst kind of sex trafficking, but the mood is relentlessly upbeat throughout. I questionably described that as a "cheesefest," particularly as my audience were cheering on the performers after every song. To clarify, no matter how seriously the performers take their characters, the audience cannot. I have never been so happy watching a show about such miserable subject matter. (If, say, Carousel would typically rouse my tear-o-meter to 10/10 full on blubbing, this show is a flat zero on the blub scale, despite hellish subject matter). This show is just fun, and I wouldn't cut a single song. It comes around too rarely to leave Cy Coleman numbers unperformed. 😊
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Post by Steve on Apr 1, 2017 21:58:49 GMT
I am there again tonight And many nights to come It just gets better and better If this doesn't get rave reviews There is no point anymore Parsley, I liked your earlier analysis of the box office prospects of this, and agree with you that the reviews will be important. But I don't think you need to worry about the reviews. Critics are frequent theatregoers, as are members of this board, and the unanimous enjoyment had by board members (including such typically tough-minded holdouts such as yourself and Mr Barnaby) is bound to be reflected by the critics. The show has, after all, one massive USP: it is the most dazzling show in the West End. I predict 5 star reviews from all the critics, with Billington's review the one to watch, as he may dock one star on account of the production failing to solve the problems of the NHS. He really cares about society, dear Mr Billington, but even he might acknowledge that by keeping so many performers fit and healthy through vigorous exercise, the production is in fact serving the needs of the NHS. 😊
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Post by Steve on Apr 1, 2017 12:28:59 GMT
What Mallardo said. A play with an antagonist who doesn't appear, protagonists who bond Breakfast Club style, and a brilliantly hilarious Patsy Ferran. The fact that one character, a teacher, who may or may not be a predator, does not appear, sinks this show in the dramatic stakes. There is so much said by everybody about that character that I needed to see him.. Instead, the show coasts on comedy, as one kid talks too much (Tony Revolori), one kid talks too little (Douglas Booth), and one kid only talks about herself (Patsy Ferran). While it's nice to see Booth's ultra-laconic character disabuse the stereotype that every gay person in a drama be swimming in neuroses, all the fun lies with Patsy Ferran's Diwata. Diwata's touching and exaggerated sense of herself (her life is so apparently important she must sing her vlog as much as talk about it lol) is beautifully realised, but it's Ferran who really makes this show spark! I remember how Ferran stole a scene from Angela Lansbury in "Blithe Spirit," and how she stole the National's "As You Like it" from everyone but the "sheep," but in this she is an absolute star! Her musical tribute to the heretofore unacknowledged praiseworthiness of Mary Warren, the Proctors' treacherous servant in Arthur Miller's "The Crucible" had me in stitches! Ferran has a rare ability to signal comedic exaggeration, while still playing straight, her bright darting knowing attention-seeking eyes, and loose rubbery limbs, allowing her to double down on the quirky comic silliness of her character, without sacrificing any of the tragic underlying loneliness of a girl who spends more time recording her voice than speaking to people. Given how much we like letting our hair down in this country, how much we treasure actors with funny bones, I think Ferran is a dead cert for future Damehood, although by the time that happens, I'll probably actually be dead. For the musical comedy, and for Ferran in particular, I'm very glad I saw this. 3 and a half stars. PS: I just looked at the trailer for the movie version of this, and it's looks awful, with a horribly strained and screeching comedic opening, a disjointed and unintelligible sensitive middle section, concluding in what appears to be a weak-looking version of Pitch Perfect and Glee. There do appear to be more antagonists in the movie, but not the one named by the play! Very odd! Looking at the trailer, the movie desperately needs Patsy Ferran, and besides, the trailer needs recutting!
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Post by Steve on Mar 30, 2017 12:41:24 GMT
Saw this last night, and loved it. Thin plot and characters can't detract from the gorgeous tunes and sheer spectacle! Human beings marching in lockstep, mechanical men and women, pretty much every horrible event in history has involved this sort of thing, so I'm suspicious. Why should I be impressed by something the North Korean state could do better? If the producers of this show can put 50 people on stage and have them form perfect clone cogs in an ever-moving, clattering musical machine, couldn't North Korea get 100,000 people to do the same thing? Would that be more impressive or sickening? And isn't this the sort of glittering dog and pony show, involving marching to music, and scantily clad people, that gambling meccas use to make their punters stupid? A primal call to the baby in you to just get in line and dance your money and mind away? Yes, it probably is all these things, so, beyond the primal call to our inner child to leap up onstage and tap away in unison, beyond the instinct to admire perfection in form and beauty, beyond the desire to be lost in an earthquake of legs, what individual humanity makes this show worth watching? There's those glorious life-affirming tunes from Warren and Dubin. For the above-stated reasons, I loved that they included solos and duets as well as the whole shebang. Sheena Easton was surprisingly special singing "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," which even seemed to benefit from the wear and tear of the years on her now husky voice. She also managed to belt "I Only Have Eyes for You," which I found affecting. I loved Stuart Neal as Billy Lawlor. That is a horribly underwritten role, but he infuses it with such charisma and charm, and for my money is the best singer in the whole ensemble. There's a funny joke in the show about Lawlor being a better singer than Julian Marsh, and in my mind, it's even funnier when you realise the amount of songs that are started by other characters, like the above-mentioned "I Only Have Eyes For You," by Sheena Easton's Dorothy, that he comes on and finishes, packing a bigger punch, and infusing even more emotion. Basically, it's not only Marsh Lawlor sings better than, it's everybody! "Dames," which Neal's Lawlor leads on splendidly is an absolute SMASH, with it's structural sandwich around the song "Keep Young and Beautiful" giving it a variety in mood and tone and music that is only matched by the dazzling "42nd street" title song. The only thing that could have improved "Dames" for me, would have been if Theatremonkey and Mallardo (who are always duetting on the same theme on this board in their never-ending quest to see "faces") had donned bowler hats, jumped up onstage either side of Neal's Lawlor, and sung that cheeky refrain "What do you go for, go see a show for, tell the truth you go to see those beautiful dames" lol! Another charming human touch to this show was the lasciviousness of Clare Halse's Peggy Sawyer, succombing to multiple kisses. Indeed, Halse completely graduates from her former role as a Toreadorable in Gypsy with her impish loveable starring role in this. I also loved Bruce Montague's lecherous Abner Dillon. Incidentally, his presence made me think of "Funny Girl," in which he played Ziegfeld, and I was amused at how the plot of this show perfectly mirrors the history of staging that show at the Savoy, with Natasha J. Barnes the real Peggy Sawyer, and Sheridan Smith the real Dorothy Brock. Heck, even the fictional show in this show is called "Pretty Lady," which is just a knock-off of "Funny Girl," anyway! Ultimately, the sound and fury of this show overwhelmed me, despite my overly suspicious nature, and I too wished I was onstage tapping away myself. For the above reasons, though, this show will never be as impressive and romantic and characterful and all-round celebratory of humanity as the current version of "An American in Paris." 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Mar 27, 2017 14:03:03 GMT
Saw the second preview, Saturday night, and loved it! A cheesetastic celebration of seventies dress-up and attitude, with a few disconcerting moments of genuine drama! Some spoilers follow. . . This is far too exuberant to be taken seriously. While dramatic threads are seeded from the moment we meet the characters, with David Albury's money-wasting, cocaine-snorting, loser-pimp Fleetwood seeding most of them, it's impossible to take any of this seriously. Cy Coleman's rousing sing-em-louder melodies, coupled with lurid seventies costume stylings and chorus-line type dancing announce this show as a fun camp exercise in let-your-hair-down-and-dress-up-and-cheer party time! This is the most sheer fun at the Southwark since Xanadu closed, a kind of reverse Porgy and Bess, in that Gershwin even made "Summertime" sound miserable, whereas Coleman makes "The Oldest Profession" sound like party-time, for Sharon D. Clarke's aging lady of the night, Sonja. And nobody is as ready to party as Sharon D. Clarke, who, equipped with full on Pam Grier comebacks and sass, melts into an astonishing full-voiced, meticulously calibrated rendition of "The Oldest Profession" that brings the house down. Even if it's just for this one song, no musical lover should miss her magnificent voice filling this small Southwark Space with this moment of glory. Real drama comes from Cornel S John, who in his own way, is just as impressive as Clarke in his role as primo pimp, Memphis. He has a slow motion way of moving his immensely imposing frame, especially in the way he touches his face with his hands, which, when coupled with his slow deep drawl of a voice screams, watch out! When he sings "Don't Take Much," it's an awesome combination of heartfelt blues and impending threat. He also forms a neat double-act with his number one moll, Charlottle Reavey's imposing April. When the threat drops in Act 2, it is nonetheless jarring, despite having been foreshadowed, in much the way it's jarring when you watch any postmodern cheesefest, like "Bad Girls" or "Prisoner Cell Block H" and suddenly something happens that feels a bit too real. The cast are all singing and dancing wonders. I loved the sensitivity of David Albury's Fleetwood, T'Shan Williams carries the sympathies of the audience effortlessly with her affecting performance, Jalisa Andrew's sparky Chi Chi benefits from her ability to project her voice at just the right moment, and Jo Servi's Lacy is so natural. Joanna Woodward, who recently graduated to play Carole King for a short while in "Beautiful," here returns to her wheelhouse, which is playing the borderline of innocence and experience, someone who can endure hard knocks and come up smiling. With burlesque in her background, it is she who is called on to play one of the most exploitational moments in the show (which moment might cause feminists, without a sense of humour, not to want to book), yet she projects such joie de vivre, and has such a graceful and sensitive way of transitioning from speaking to singing, that I was bowled over by her performance in this. So if you book this, know it's all just seventies dress-up, politically incorrect to a degree that will offend the po-faced, really just camp provocative fun, rated 18, blessed by Cy Coleman's glorious tunes, and you will have one of your best nights of the year! 4 and a half stars.
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Post by Steve on Mar 27, 2017 13:00:33 GMT
Saw this Saturday matinee. Incoherent but entertaining. Some spoilers follow. . . This production can't make it's mind up about how much integrity this Don Juan has. I remember Simon Keenlyside playing Don Juan's opera counterpart, Don Giovanni, and he was furious in his integrity, for a debauched but free life, a nietzschean superman. Marber, who is in total control of this production, having written, partially re-written, and directed it, opts for the "integrity" ending. But it isn't earned, as Tennant's Don Juan has no integrity whatsoever, a man who nonchalantly lies even to those he says he doesn't lie to. Marber certainly thinks that Tennant's Don Juan has integrity, and goes to some lengths to distance him from Donald Trump's "p---ygrabbing" antics, but the problem for Marber is that essentially his Don Juan is exactly the same as Donald Trump: a man with no integrity who thinks he does have integrity, ie a dreamer. In one scene, Marber tacitly admits that his Don Juan is a narcissistic dreamer fooling himself, and it is beautiful: as Don Juan sings the Ella Fitzgerald - Louis Armstrong romance duet "Under a Blanket of Blue" with Adrian Scarborough's equally delusional Stan, Don Juan's personal assistant. If Marber had focused on the theme of delusion he would have struck gold, and he could even have gone on to end this play by having Don Juan elected Prime Minister, just as Trump became President. Instead, Marber meanders from scene to scene, without clarifying who Don Juan really is, or what his play is really about. I found the production entertaining anyway. The aforesaid duet was lovely, and Tennant and Scarborough are in Blackadder-Baldric ribald humour mode for much of the play. Marber gets the tone right, in that he pushes the broad comedy as far as he can, without sacrificing the serious undertone he is going for. Central casting is just right, with Tennant and Scarborough both experienced enough to know how to play broad scenes, then retreat into callousness, and then wistfulness For people who like to laugh at rude comedy, there is plenty to laugh at. For anyone wanting a meaningful play, forget it! 3 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Mar 27, 2017 12:26:44 GMT
Believe it or not, but Mr Cooney had another go at this play with a sequel "Two into One". I had the dubious pleasure of playing the hotel manager in it just last year. As much as I cringed at trotting out the lines, the audience loved it. They couldn't get enough Willey. I think "Two into One" was the original, in which Dick Willy MP began his philandering escapades at the Westminster Hotel, with his private secretary, Pigden, desperately trying to cover up for him, and this is the sequel in which Dick Willey MP is in EVEN MORE TROUBLE THAN BEFORE at the Westminster Hotel, with Pigden even more desperate than before. Cooney played Pigden himself in the first productions of both, with Michael Williams playing Pigden in both in the West End, with Sinden as Dick Willey MP in both. I imagine anyone who saw "Two into One" at the Menier last year, with Michael Praed as Dillck Willey MP, and actually liked it (admittedly the latter group might be smaller than the former), may wish to see this to find out what happened next lol.
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Post by Steve on Mar 23, 2017 0:13:31 GMT
Hedda Gabler is an unlikable person, but the whole time I was watching the Salisbury production I was intrigued by why she was the way she was. I was intrigued by what was going on in the Master Builder and Enemy of the People. And the play/production kept dropping hints through the context that surrounded the situation. In Hedda Gabler's case the attitudes and treatment towards women back then This production simplifies things for the sake of modernising it. It says from the start Hedda Gabler is isolated and lonely. Plain and simple. Stuck in this cavernous prison of an apartment. The subtext of the attitudes of women is reduced to fit with this modern setting, and I kept thinking what exactly is keeping Hedda Gabler in this apartment in this day and age. Things are better compared to the 19th century but its still not great for women. If you want to put Hedda Gabler in modern times tell me why you think it can be set in modern times. What David J says strikes me as right. However, weirdly, I saw it yesterday and absolutely loved this show! For me, this was was a sardonic Hedda Gabler (Ruth Wilson) I liked, rather than merely felt empathy for, and it spoke to me today, right now, rather than have me nodding along sagely about how sexist the world used to be, the rather redundant exercise of most Hedda Gablers. Van Hove's vision channels our Gogglebox world of social media users, enraged and engaged by things on the tv and the internet, yet powerless to actually affect the outcome. His set is a vast empty space, upon which people other than Hedda live real lives, while she sits on various seats (piano stool, chair, couch, etc) critiquing them, goading them, sympathising with them. Even when she stands, she stands apart, giving her pithy sarcastic "tweets" of remarks, as much for the audience as for anyone else, about others in the room. Van Hove places myriad rectangular shapes all over all the walls, which psychologically conjure up the image of life as a bank of endless televisions. On the left wall, he actually shows an image of everyone who rings the bell to enter Hedda's house, which means that everyone literally enters Hedda's life as a televisual image. The ever-present maid, played by Eva Magyar, sits and watches the entire show, Hedda's only loyal ally, a fellow sitter and watcher and reviewer, who also perceives life as a stream of events and images that she is disengaged from, but must endlessly watch. I had an uncanny sense of being part of their crew of powerless reviewers, as I viewed the maid, viewing Hedda, viewing, and reviewing, the real lives of action and passion lived by Lovborg (Chukwudi Iwuji) and Mrs. Elvsted (Sinead Matthews). Ruth Wilson was as wonderful as I have ever seen her in this, full of bile and irony, yet also excitement and naivety, and above all a deep silent sadness rooted in a sense of powerlessness, as again and again, she talks about power and powerlessness in relation to everyone and everything. That's how I feel, I thought, when I futilely curse at Trump or Gove or Johnson on the television, or snigger or weep, for that matter. I don't feel my opinion matters one jot, and that's exactly what I saw on stage with Ruth Wilson's Hedda Gabler. It just felt so modern. It felt modern precisely because Van Hove does NOT restrict Hedda's horrible ennui to the nineteenth century repression of women, but allows it to just be: here, screams this production, is what ennui looks like: don't you feel it too? When Hedda finally acts and does something terrible, her action is presented by Van Hove not as the twisted evil act of a twisted person (that we usually see), but as a spiritual becoming, accompanied by the playing of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, tears of relief flooding down Ruth Wilson's Hedda's cheeks, as she finally graduates from reviewer-of-life to be engaged with life, part of life, at last. Her ennui subsides. Brack doesn't feel ennui, in this production. He's society's automaton, with no understanding of despair. That is why Rafe Spall's non-naturalistic portrayal worked so well for me. Spall moves rhythmically with the beat of Van Hove's background music, doing the robot, literally, staccato in his movements, exaggerated in slow motion expression: of course this societal robot would conclude of Hedda's desperate actions: "people don't do this!" I loved Kyle Soller's Tesman. He is so affecting, natural and normal, not a secluded geek at all. His normality denies the contextual excuses for Hedda's ennui that might have allowed us to explain away her despair. Consequently, her misery lingers, unexplained and challenging, long after the performance ends. For me, this Gogglebox Hedda Gabler has enormous resonance in our Gogglebox world, and I won't, and can't forget it! 4 and a half stars
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Post by Steve on Mar 20, 2017 15:18:08 GMT
Thought this was excellent - didn't see Kings of War so can't compare with that. Spent a bit of time up on stage at which point I had a bit of a lightbulb moment that this is actually a very traditional thing to do - it was basically like being in the Pit at the Globe. Becomes quickly apparent that while being on the stage is a fun immersive experience you have a really terrible view of the action. Good opportunity to try out a few different seats! Agree with the above comments that "Friends, Romans, Countrymen ..." was the highlight. Wonder if video footage of Donald Trump in Shakespeare productions will become as ubiquitous as footage of George W Bush was a few years ago? One effect of seeing this is that I appreciate Robert Icke's Oresteia and Hamlet a lot less! Bob Dylan / Power Suits / Soft Furnishings / Countdown clocks for short pauses / Classical text spoken as naturalistic dialogue. Spotted in the audience - Angus Wright and several of the cast of Hedda Gabler including Ruth Wilson. Also saw this yesterday, saw Ruth Wilson, though missed the other famous faces. I did pretty much what Xanderl did (above), in that I sat on the stage for Coriolanus (sat next to Maria Kraakman at one point, who later ended up ruling the universe as Octavius Caesar), but decided to return to the stalls the moment Hans Kesting showed up, and stayed there for the next four hours. Being on the stage is a bit like being on stage in a Jamie Lloyd production, in that the other side get all the face time, which means you end up watching one of the tiny tellys on stage to see the actors' faces, which is silly as there's a cinema size screen on the other side. Hans Kesting made a massive impression on me as Richard III in the Kings of War (the best of Van Hove's amazing troupe, for me), so I just had to return to the stalls to see his performance front on. And in fact, what you get is the exact mirror of Kings of War, in that the latter two plays blend together to form one perfect whole. Whereas in Kings of War, the new whole was "The Rise and Fall of Richard III," here the new whole is "The Rise and Fall of Marc Antony." This latter combo is magnificent, with Kesting's Marc Antony speech a throbbing moment to moment miracle of acting, from the moment he tears up his speech, pretending to speak off the cuff, to his apparently agonised empathy with Brutus, slumping to the floor, apparently powerless, but actually just catching the audience off guard as a King Kong of ferocity seems to take him over, which giant monkey's gait he seemed to take on as he suddenly feigned leaving the auditorium only to return as a quivering quaking beast of an orator. From first to last, Kesting's Antony was a marvel, and it was great that Chris Nietvelt's Cleopatra was his mercurial and changeable match, her flighty hilarious tantrums dissolving into a heartbreaking gravitas (her final speech did flag in the middle, but was tremendous either side of the middle). The experience of joining the actors for the Coriolanus appetiser did serve to make me feel part of the hoi polloi of it all, so that by the time the main Kesting course played out, I was devastated. A crushingly brilliant piece of theatre, even better than Kings of War for me, on account of feeling more part of it. 5 stars!
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