Paradise Found - Menier Chocolate Factory, Sunday 23rd May 2010

Synopsis:

The Shah of Persia is feeling low. So to lift his spirits he’s off to Vienna with his Eunuch in tow for some new adventures. He promptly falls in love with the Empress of the Empire, much to the dismay of her husband, so a resident of the local brothel – who is a double for the Empress – is substituted for a night of passion. But she’s in love with a Baron, who’s having an affair with the Soap Manufactuer’s Wife….

THIS IS A DEAD DUCK

Cast:

Colonel/Trummer – Herndon Lackey

Shah – John McMartin

Eunuch – Mandy Patinkin

Vizier/Soap Manufacturer – George Lee Andrews

Baron – Shuler Hensley

Mizzi – Kate Baldwin

Frau Matzner – Judy Kaye

Soap Manufacturer’s Wife – Nancy Opel

Mayor – Daniel Marcus

Creative Team:

Director – Harold Prince

Co –director/Choreographer – Susan Stroman

Music – Strauss (arrangements by Jonathan Tunick)

Scenic Design – Beowulf Borrit

Lighting – Howell Binkley

Costume – Judith Dolan

And so ends a long run of Menier Theatre hits with the sound of a dead duck falling very heavily on the stage. I did wonder beforehand about the advisability of going to the theatre on a boiling hot Sunday (when one really should have been In the Park With George), but with seemingly the entire theatre-reviewing community of London also en route (even those of us who had paid for our tickets) I was obviously going to be in august company, especially since the Broadway transfer of this show has already been announced, following hot on the heels of 15 or so Tony nominations for other Menier productions which have already crossed the pond. But its important to note that this isn’t a Menier production in the same sense as A Little Night Music or La Cage aux Folles (both currently wowing the yanks) as it hasn’t been produced in-house – although it will probably have “direct from the Menier Chocolate Factory, London” plastered all over it in New York to give it some added cachet – and by god it will need every ounce of cachet it can get. Despite an awesome array of talent both in front of the curtain and backstage, this is a real stinker of the kind I haven’t seen since Too Close to the Sun last year.

The insurmountable problem here is the sheer awfulness of the book, which is essentially operetta of a kind that went out of fashion about 30 years ago. It starts by trying to be something vaguely 1001 Nights, tries desperately to reference The King and I in that its framing device is the clash of culture between east and west (or in this case the Middle East and Mittel-Europa) and then mixes in Strauss’ Vienna and Die Fledermaus (there’s a louche club called – with extreme heavy-handedness - “The Bat”, the baron makes a pass at someone’s wife’s maid, there's a "comedy" deception when a whore masquerades as an Empress) with dollops of Ivor Novello (soubrettes called Mizzi, chorines in dirndls and so on). It then gets all realistic and grim for a while in Act 2 and then goes back to 1001 Nights with an implausibly “happy ever after in the harem” ending. The set-up is dire, the story daft beyond words, the characters unsympathetic and badly drawn and the execution perilously close to farce. If it were parodying operetta, it would be just about allowable, but its not – its played straight and its bloody awful. The songs are uninspired, set to not-very-well-known Strauss, although the Blue Danube is referenced and the Kaiser Waltz features a couple of times. The dialogue is risible and, although it tries hard to be funny, just isn’t. The audienece is practically silent for the entire performance, although there is the occasional titter from someone low on oxygen in the dark heat of the auditorium. I laugh once, when one of the characters asks for a slice of a Viennese pastry called gugelhupf – and the only reason I laughed at that is because it’s a private joke (look at me in a particular way and say profiteroles or sachertorte and I’ll collapse in hysteria). The costumes are occasionally unbelievably tatty, despite being from Angels, and the wigs, which could be beautiful if dressed properly, don’t look as if they’ve seen a perruquier’s loving hand or a quick blast of Elle-Net for ages. And then there’s Mandy Patinkin, warbling and sweating and attempting to sing falsetto (he is playing a eunuch after all) and looking and sounding like he’s channelling Yoda from the star wars films.

Truly, this is really, really bad, to the point of my feeling embarrassed for some of the people sweating their tits off on stage. I predict they will be giving tickets away for nothing by the end of the run. Which should at least please some people.

What the critics thought:
No professional reviews yet; opening night isnt until Tuesday 25th.  However, the Blog Reviewers have more or less unilaterally poured their justifiable scorn:

http://dickieandbutch.com/2010/05/24/dickie-review-paradise-found/

http://webcowgirl.wordpress.com/2010/05/23/review-paradise-found-menier-chocolate-factory/

http://johnnyfoxlondon.blogspot.com/2010/05/goodnight-vienna.html

And with the arrival of the pro reviews: Paradise Lost sinks away never to be heard of again.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7770876/Paradise-Found-at-the-Menier-Chocolate-Factory-review.html

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/paradise-found-menier-chocolate-factory-london-1984984.html

http://www.theartsdesk.com/index.php?option=com_k2&view=item&id=1580:paradise-menier-theatre-review&Itemid=27

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/theatre/article7138241.ece

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/may/27/paradise-found-review

Carmen - The 02, Friday 22nd May 2010

Synopsis:

In a square in Seville, soldiers and townspeople are gathered when a young peasant girl name Micaela questions the soldiers about her love, Don Jose. The soldiers try to persuade the young girl to stay with them until Don Jose returns, but she declines and leaves. Don Jose arrives moments before the cigarette factory bell rings and a group of women, including the beautiful gypsy, Carmen, exit the building. The soldiers flirt with the girls and asks Carmen when she will love them. Don Jose becomes enchanted by the beautiful Carmen. Micaela returns with a letter sent to Don Jose by his mother. In the letter, Don Jose's mother has asked him to marry Micaela. Don Jose promises his fidelity and love. A fight breaks out at the cigarette factory between Carmen and another woman. Carmen injures the woman before she is captured by Officer Zuniga. Zuniga commands Don Jose to escort Carmen to prison. However, Carmen charms Don Jose into letting her escape. When Don Jose is discovered for letting Carmen escape, he is thrown into jail.

At Lilas Pastia's inn, Carmen and her friends Mercedes and Frasquitam are socializing with the soldiers when the victorious bullfighter, Escamillo, arrives with a celebrating entourage and attempts to capture Carmen's heart. However, his attempts are unsuccessful, as are Officer Zuniga's, who tells Carmen that he will return to the inn later to meet with her - Carmen's heart waits for Don Jose's release from prison. The smugglers Dancairo and Remendado ask for help from Carmen and her two friends. Mercedes and Frasquita agree to help, but Carmen refuses as she knows that Don Jose will be released from prison that day. When he finally arrives, Carmen dances for him. Her dance is cut short when a bugle sounds in the distance, signaling Don Jose to return home. Carmen mocks his obedience and tries to persuade him to remain with her and live the gypsy life. Don Jose does not give in until Zuniga arrives at the inn searching for Carmen. Zuniga orders Don Jose to leave, but in a fit of jealousy, he defies his commander’s orders. Dancairo and Remendado tackle Zuniga and take him away from the inn. Don Jose stays at the inn with Carmen.

Don Jose, now at the smuggler's hideout in the mountains, begins to reminisce about his former home and his mother and starts missing them dearly. Carmen, who has decided she no longer loves him, takes notice and starts taunting him to leave, but he does not. Mercedes and Frasquita tell their fortunes with a deck of cards. For the two girls, the cards The smugglers and the girls leave, while Don Jose watches over the hideout. Micaela, comes to the mountain hideout and hides behind a mound of rocks when she hears a gunshot fired by Escamillo. Escamillo enters the hideout and begins telling Don Jose about his love for Carmen. He also tells Don Jose about her relationship with a soldier, not knowing the story is about Don Jose, who starts fighting Escamillo. The smugglers return before the fight gets worse. Escamillo invites Carmen and the others to his upcoming bullfight as he leaves the hideout. Micaela finally emerges from her hiding spot, and tries to convince Don Jose to return home. After several unsuccessful attempts, she finally persuades him to leave by telling him his beloved mother is dying. He promises his return to Carmen and leaves with Micaela.

During the procession of the toreadors, Carmen and Escamillo are seen arriving together. Mercedes and Frasquita warn Carmen that Don Jose is lurking around the crowd plotting to kill her. While Escamillo enters the bullfighting ring, a desperate Don Jose meets Carmen outside the arena. She explains that she no longer loves him and throws the ring he gave her on the ground. Now completely mad, Don Jose stabs Carmen in the heart with a dagger.

Cast:

Carmen: Cristina Nassil

Don Jose: John Hudson

Micaela: Elizabeth Atherton

Escamillo: Kevin Greenlaw

Frasquita: Kate Ladner

Mercedes: Susan Atherton

Dancairo: Quentin Hayes

Remendado: Aled Hall

Creative Team:

Director: David Freeman

Musical Director: Gareth Hancock

Designer: David Roger

Choreographer: Robert North

Lighting: Andrew Bridge

First things first: the publicity for this says “A cast of over 200”. Well, having counted all the names in the programme, I can tell you that there are actually 124 – unless one counts the orchestra, of course. It isn’t usual to include the orchestra in the cast count – in fact, I’ve never known it done. I contacted the promoters for their explanation and will report back.

Him Indoors often criticises my reviews for not mentioning the direction enough. Well, I’m about to change all that.

The whole point of theatre “in the round” is to make sure that everyone in the auditorium can see what’s going on. So you direct accordingly. Its not easy, granted, but with a performance space the size of the 02, when a crowd scene is necessary, you use your directorial skill and spread your cast (all 124 of them) out to fill the space, making sure that the sightlines are clear and that the principals can be seen by the audience. You get them to exaggerate their movements so that their performance can be “read” by people sitting in the cheap seats at the back (this is opera, remember, so you’ve got carte blanche to go completely over the top). You get your costume designer to put principals in bright costumes so that they can be identified, and you get your lighting designer to pick out important people and bits of action in bright spotlights. You pay a great deal of attention to spacing and you avoid having your chorus stand in straight lines wherever possible so that no section of the audience is presented with a row of backs. You use all the available space, making sure that important bits of the plot aren’t obscured by the cast or tucked away in corners where the sightlines might be dodgy, and you certainly shouldn’t fall into the trap of setting the really important bits exclusively in front of the most expensive seats in the house to the detriment of those people sitting in the cheaper seats. This is what you should do. This is not what happens in this production.

The vast, soulless and impersonal space of the O2 ("the world's most popular venue") probably isn’t the best place for opera anyway, most of which relies on an emotive connection between the cast and the audience member. The acting area for this production, marooned in the middle of the arena and putting further physical space between performers and viewers, is a single strip of sand-coloured rostra. It has a long windy tail section, a couple of slightly wider sections about 2/3 of the way along and then curves round through about 4/5 of a circle. From where we are sitting, it looks vaguely like an enormous sperm – quite appropriate seeing as how the direction is a load of wank, frankly. Much of the performance takes place at the “head” of the sperm shape (right in front of the expensive seats), leaving those of us marooned at its tail trying desperately to pick out what is going on. I would have seen more of the action by staying home and renting a DVD as most of the cast are so far away for so much of the time that they would appear larger on my TV screen. In this we are not helped by constant “clumping” of chorus and supernumerary cast around the principals – for most of the evening, all I can see is backs, making it impossible to judge what is going on, who is singing what to whom and whether any acting of any kind is taking place (I’m vaguely embarrassed to state that I don’t really know the story of Carmen, so do find it necessary to be able to see what is going on so that I can understand the plot). Carmen, having made her entrance in a red skirt so that she can be picked out from the chorus who are all wearing white, takes her skirt off so that she disappears into the throng of clumped chorus.  When its not the chorus who are clumped, it’s the furniture – the inn scene takes place on one of the small “blobs”, making the performing area so cramped with rustic tables that the cast are, most of the time, in grave danger of tripping over each other while jigging about being a chorus of happy customers. Escamillo, wearing a black costume, simply disappears into the throng of other people wearing black costumes. No use is made of the space around the walkway - everyone is simply herded onto one of its "blobs, so they are all at the same physical level - until the end of Escamillo's second verse, at which point he stands on one of the tables so he can FINALLY be seen.. The principals, quite simply, disappear in the throng.  The throng disappears quite a lot too, into the haze at the other end of the arena.  Nothing is staged at our end of the walkway. Act 3, set in and around the smugglers' den, is staged in such stygian gloom throughout that not even the people in the expensive seats can see what is happening.  Someone is apparently hiding in the rocks outside the den but I can't see who it is.  Whoever it is sings that she hasn't seen Don Jose for ages.  I can understand why. 

The orchestra are at the tail end of the sperm, right at the other end from where the performance is happening. There are, however, 18 relay screens located round the arena so that the performers can see the conductor and the conductor can see the performers. This doesn’t stop a lot of the chorus and a fair few principals drifting badly away from the beat on several occasions.  I find myself wishing that the relay screens were relaying the actual performance so that I can see what is going on.  A lot of people in the audience (those who aren't constantly traipsing up and down the stairs in order to buy wildly overpriced drinks and pungent fast food from the food booths which remain open all the way through the performance- how the stink of chips adds to the Spanish atmosphere!)  walk out and never return.

I can't comment on any of the individual performances as I didn't see any of them - they were either too far away or hidden by the chorus or both.  The only person whose diction is good enough to be heard consistently is Elizabeth Atherton's Michaela, demonstrated by the fact that she got the biggest round of applause at the end, very possibly for being the only cast member who could be bothered to project her acting to the entire arena.  Honestly, if the director had come on at the end I would have stood up and booed extremely loudly.  Despite the vastness of the arena, most of this production is directed for a performance space the size of the stage in a village hall. No effort whatsoever went into using the space effectively, or even properly. The director should be ashamed of himself - he seems to have directed other arena productions on a similarly vast scale and there was no excuse for the schoolboy errors he has made for this show.  Disgusting.  If you go to see this (and I highly recommend you don't) then remember to take very powerful binoculars with you.  You might be able to spot 76 people lurking round the auditorium who should be up on the stage. 

Rating: No stars (bloody awful)

What the critics thought:
http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/28319/carmen

Love the Sinner - National Theatre - Monday 9th May 2010

Synopsis:

An international group of church leaders converge in an African hotel to contend the need for Christian doctrine to change with the times. In a neighbouring room, a brief sexual encounter between Joseph, a local porter, and Michael, a British conference volunteer, leads to a direct and potent challenge to both Michael, as he returns to England to grapple with ethics of his own, and to the liberal claims and professed compassion of the affluent West and its church.

Cast:

Daniel: Scott Handy

Tom/Bill : Sam Graham

James/Dave: Fraser James

Matthew/Harry: Robert Gwilym

John/Revd Farley: Paul Bentall

Simon/Official: Richard Rees

Hannah/Alison: Nancy Crane

Stephen: Ian Redford

Paul: Louis Mahoney

Michael: Jonathan Cullen

Joseph: Fiston Barek

Shelley: Charlotte Randle

Creative Team:

Writer: Drew Pautz

Director: Matthew Dunster

Designer: Anna Fleischle

Lighting: Philip Gladwell

Music: Jules Maxwell

Rearranging the letters that make up the words “Cottesloe Theatre” with the help of my trusty Scrabble set I came up with “To the electorates” (very timely) and “The Settee Locator” (there weren’t enough letters to make the phrase “Cold dark hole of a theatre down the side of the National” or “What a load of rubbish”). I needed a settee locator after having suffered two and a bit hours of probably the worst play I’ve seen so far this year – badly written, wildly uneven and appallingly acted. It’s the theatrical equivalent of a machine gun with the safety catch off being operated by a complete novice, firing off in all directions trying to hit several targets and missing every one of them.

The story itself wanders about like a saint in the wilderness, trying desperately to be “relevant” and “topical” but eventually just getting totally lost and refusing to pull over and ask for directions. At a theological conference debating homosexuality and the Church, being held in a hotel in an unnamed African country, rampantly heterosexual yet strangely beige and ineffective Michael is a humble note-taker among wildly stereotyped vicars of various nations (who cannot agree on whose turn it is to order coffee, let alone decide whether Jesus would have ever condoned poofery). Michael then falls prey to the manly charms of Joseph, a porter in the hotel. Whether Joseph does this kind of thing regularly or has set Michael up for blackmail (he wants to leave Africa and start a new life in England) is never made clear. There are (allegedly humorous) misunderstandings of the “Oh…er… this young man was helping me find my passport” kind when Joseph is discovered in Michael’s bedroom. Back in England, Michael’s wife can hear her biological clock ticking loudly and is arguing her case for IVF treatment, although he seems more concerned about the family of squirrels in their loft (cue for a very heavy-handed and extended metaphor about the resettlement of families and how the displacement of the male usually leads to the breakup and eventual death of the entire colony). He starts to have problems at work (he runs a firm making donation envelopes for churches – surely somewhat of a niche business but he seems to employ at least six people) and is in the middle of a tense meeting when his wife turns up explaining that Joseph has managed to get to England and has (somehow) tracked Michael down (no explanation given as to how Joseph has managed to pay for the flight over) then, when the meeting is over, they decide to make love on the table (cue for nudity and then broad farce when one of the employees tries to come back into the room). At some kind of press conference held in the local church and attended by the Bishop and several of the delegates from the African conference, Michael is discovered hiding Joseph in the basement. Joseph has been badly beaten by thugs in Africa because of his homosexuality (a point which is rammed down the audiences’ throat not via the text but through Joseph displaying his scarred back to the audience for the first 10 minutes of this scene). The bishop takes Joseph under his wing and promises to help him towards a better life. The end. Bewildered and perfunctory applause from the audience.

Reading through the scant programme notes, it turns out that the author, Drew Pautz, was for many years a theatre lighting designer. Obviously, Mr. Pautz watched several productions while programming his Super Troupers to fade up stage left and thought he would have a go at this playwriting lark himself. This is the result and I can only devoutly wish that he had stuck to his lighting desk.

Badly written, it was no better acted. Jonathan Cullen and Charlotte Randall play Michael and his wife with all the subtlety of Elyot and Amanda in Cowards Private Lives, flailing wildly at each other like a pair of demented windmills (some of the most poorly directed stage fighting I’ve ever seen) and verbally. Fiston Barek looks embarrassed most of the time at having to play a hideously stereotyped Joseph. The rest of the cast do their best to bring life to caricatured roles and fail miserably. One can only have sympathy with them. Even the set seemed to be longing to disassociate itself from the play – at one point, in the main characters’ winter-bound flat, Ms. Randall lent on the windowframe and it fell out completely, leaving it wide open to the elements for the rest of the scene. As the two main characters have just been arguing about the extent of the damage caused to their loft by a nest of squirrels, I wondered whether Mr. Nutkin and his family had spent the preceding weeks planning an invasion of the living room and gradually gnawing through the frame in shifts during the hours of darkness in order to gain entry. They certainly would have had the entire family working constant overtime shifts had they found themselves holed up in the Cottesloe Theatre, desperate to get away from this train wreck of a play.   Love the Sinner?  Is this Mr. Pautz's plea for tolerance of this badly written piece of rubbish?

What the critics thought:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7724805/Love-the-Sinner-at-the-National-Theatre-review.html

http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/2010/05/11/review-love-the-sinner-national-theatre/

http://www.thejc.com/arts/theatre-reviews/31733/review-love-the-sinner

http://www.musicomh.com/theatre/lon_love-the-sinner_0510.htm

The Pirates of Penzance - Wiltons Music Hall, Wednesday 28th April 2010

Synopsis:

On the coast of Cornwall, a gang of pirates play and party as Frederic (a pirate apprentice) reminds the pirate king that his obligation to the gang is soon over. He was apprenticed to the pirates only until his twenty-first birthday, which is that day, and he is leaving them. Ruth (Frederic’s nursery maid when he was younger) explains that Frederic should never have been a pirate except for her mistake: She was told to apprentice Frederic to a pilot, but she misunderstood and placed him with a pirate instead.

Frederic tells the pirates that, after he leaves the gang, he intends to destroy them, not because he doesn’t love them, but because he loathes what they do. He is a slave of duty and, when no longer a pirate, it will be his duty to destroy them. The pirates understand, and also complain that they cannot seem to make money. Because Frederic is a slave-of-duty to the pirates until noon, he tells them why: Because they are all orphans, the pirates will not rob another orphan; and since all their potential victims are aware of this, they all claim to be orphans!

Because Frederic has spent his entire life with the pirates, he has never seen another woman; thus he thinks he may want to take Ruth with him as his wife. He asks Ruth if she is beautiful, and she responds that she is. Frederic, a very trusting young man, says that he believes Ruth and he will not let her age come between them.At this point, however, Frederic sees a group of beautiful young women, realizes he was betrayed by Ruth, and rejects her. Frederic informs the girls that he is a pirate, but not for long. He asks if any of the girls will marry him, and the youngest, Mabel, agrees.

The pirates enter the scene, and each grabs a girl. Major-General Stanley enters and identifies himself as the girls’ father, demanding to know what is taking place. When the pirates tell Major-General Stanley that they intend to marry his daughters, he objects, saying he has an aversion to having pirates for sons-in-law; the pirates respond that they are opposed to having major-generals as fathers-in-law, but that they will put aside the objection.

Knowing about the pirates’ weakness, Major-General Stanley tells them he is an orphan and, thus, disarms the pirates and saves his daughters. However, he soon feels guilty about the lie he told the pirates. Frederic, however, has a plan to lead a squad of zany policemen against his old gang. Before he can act, however, the pirate king and Ruth arrive to tell him that he is still obligated to the pirates. Because Frederic was born on Leap Year Day, 29th February, he has served only five birthdays, not the twenty-one required by his contract. A strong sense of duty forces Frederic to relent, and, because he is a member of the pirate band again, to reveal the truth that Major-General Stanley is not an orphan. The pirate king vows that he will have revenge on the major-general.

Mabel enters and begs Frederic not to go back to the pirates, but bound by duty, he leaves. The police ready their attack on the pirates, while the pirates creep in to take revenge on the major-general. The pirates defeat the police. However, when Ruth divulges that the pirates are really noblemen and they swear their allegiance to the queen, the tables are turned--and the police take the pirates prisoner. However, because the pirates have never really hurt anyone, they are soon forgiven. The ex-pirates win the girls, Frederic wins Mabel, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Cast:

Frederick: Russell Whitehead
Mabel: Alan Richardson
Pirate King: Ricky Rojas
Ruth: Samuel Holmes
Major General Stanley: Fred Broom
Sergeant of Police: Joe Maddison
Samuel: Michael Burgen
Edith: Stewart Charlesworth
Connie: Lee Greenway
Isabel: Chris Theo-Cook
Kate: Christopher Wheeler

Creative Team
Director: Sasha Regan
Choreographer: Lizzie Gee
Musical Director: Chris Mundy
Designer: Robyn Wilson
Costumes: Frances Jones
Lighting: Steve Miller

Think Gilbert and Sullivan is outdated and old hat? Think again, my friends, think again. Hie yourself off to the sunny coast of Cornwall (currently in residence at the wonderfully atmospheric Wilton’s Music Hall, deep in the heart of Jack the Ripper territory) and have your preconceptions thrown away. But make it quick – this production isn’t going to be around for much longer and it deserves to be seen. The production’s “gimmick” is that its an all male cast (making for a fairly high PPSI ratio in the audience) but played more or less “straight” – and this just serves to make it even funnier. Henry Lytton, who took over the G&S comic roles in the early 1900s, once made a very good point about how to play the comedy parts in the operettas, saying

Now, if an actor in these operas has to be careful of one thing above everything else, it is that of avoiding forcing a point. Gilbert's wit is so neat and so beautifully phrased that it would be utterly spoilt by buffoonery. The lines must be declaimed in deadly seriousness just as if the actor believes absolutely in the fanciful and extravagant thing he is saying. I can think of no better illustration of this than the scene in Iolanthe where Strephon rejects recourse to the Chancery Court and says his code of conduct is regulated only by "Nature's Acts of Parliament." The Lord Chancellor then talks about the absurdity of "an affidavit from a thunderstorm or a few words on oath from a heavy shower." What a typical Gilbertian fancy! Well, you know how the "comic" man would say that, how he would whip up his coat collar and shiver at the suggestion of rain, and how he would do his poor best to make it sound and look "funny." And the result would be that he would kill the wittiness of the lines by burlesque. The Lord Chancellor says the words as if he believes an affidavit from a thunderstorm was at least a possibility, and the suggestion that he does think it possible makes the very idea, in the audience's mind, more whimsical still.

This tenet has obviously been at the forefront of the creative team’s vision for this production and it works like a dream. It’s not burlesque (no wigs or outrageous make-up, for instance) - it just happens to be an all male cast, who are not “consciously” playing women. Yes, its camp (with a fairly high PPSI quotient in the audience), but then G&S is camp anyway. What makes the production stand out is its energy, its commitment, its creativeness and, and above all, its humour. I really can’t remember the last time I heard an audience laugh so much at a show that’s rapidly approaching its 125th birthday. Not only is the (by now very familiar) dialogue made funny again, but there are visual jokes coming at you thick and fast from the moment the first person steps on the stage. Its simply but extremely effectively staged, leaving your mind free to focus on stage groupings and placings and to enjoy facial expressions and interactions (nobody on stage actually stops acting the entire way through). You actually start to forget that these are all men because you’re enjoying what they are doing so much. I haven’t enjoyed a production of Pirates so much for a good long time. This performance simply made me appreciate just how good it was – it takes all that is good about G&S and acknowledges its history, yet re-invents it for a new audience. It doesn't try to pickle the show in aspic, nor treats it with such reverence that it falls under its own weight. Its light-hearted, fun, inventive and (in the main) well sung.

Of course, the operetta die-hard in me has a few quibbles. A couple of the performances failed to stand out as much as they might have done, mainly that of the Pirate King - this role can go for nothing if not played with enough bravura and swagger. Although Ricky Rojas played the part well enough (with a strong Spanish accent of the “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father; prepare to die” variety), he lacked the proper vocal weight that the role requires; it needs to be sung with a decent bass-baritone register. The Sergeant of Police is always a role that the least-vocally talented member of a Pirates company gets landed with and this production is no exception. Russell Whitehead, although having a pleasant enough voice, lacked true vocal power in the operatic sense and had insufficient range to hit some of Frederic’s top notes. It would seem churlish, however, to criticise Alan Richardson for his relatively small voice and for not being able to tackle “her” cadenza – how often do you hear a man singing with a more than passable soprano voice?

The performance that really blew me away, however, was Samuel Jones’s Ruth. Looking like a dishevelled umbrella, Mr. Jones’ portrayal really made me look at the relationship between Ruth and Frederick in a way that I’d never seen it before. It was a lesson in what can be made of one of Gilbert’s unsympathetic “old bag” parts by a talented actor, completely opened up the part and made what can be a fairly throwaway character (even though it’s quite a big part) into a major player, both in terms of the actual plot and the character’s relationships with other people in the story. Jones’ performance should be viewed and noted by every amateur contralto who thinks that Ruth is a “non-part”. Coming up close behind on the rails was Fred Broom’s Major-General, played like a cross between something from the pages of Punch and a music-hall MC (although he couldn’t manage “I am the very model of a modern Major-General) at anything like the required speed).

I liked the two-tiered stage and the very simple but extremely effective “set”, consisting really of nothing more than a large stack of wooden crates, piled up to represent sand dunes, and which gave good opportunities for groupings and stage pictures. I also loved the fact that Major-General Stanley’s “horse” was nothing more than an old broom and will remember the “feeding the horse a carrot” sight gag for a very long time! In fact, seeing that Him Indoors is known to occasionally direct the odd production of Pirates, I may well insist that this particular gag makes an appearance in the next one. Lighting was extremely effective and costumes, although basic, were clever and appropriate; the fact that they were all basically white and/or cream cleverly brought the production together as a “unit” without detracting from the whole.

I think Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan (once they had finished chuntering into their whiskers, of course, about the impropriety of it all), would have enjoyed the evening thoroughly. Go book your tickets now. You’ll be glad you did.

What the critics said:

http://webcowgirl.wordpress.com/2009/07/17/review-pirates-of-penzance-all-male-cast-union-theatre-southwark/

http://www.musicomh.com/theatre/lon_pirates_0709.htm

http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/25041/the-pirates-of-penzance

http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/2010/04/12/review-the-pirates-of-penzance-wiltons-music-hall/

 

Women Beware Women - National Theatre, Wednesday 18th April 2010

Synopsis:

At the court of the Duke of Florence, a husband must be found for Isabella, daughter to Fabritio and niece to the scheming professional widow, Livia. Guardiano, a Courtier suggests his nephew, the foolish Ward, but Isabella refuses him, and through the machinations of her aunt, the innocent Isabella is seduced by her salacious uncle, Livia’s brother Hippolito.

Leantio, a poor agent, has married Bianca, a wealthy heiress. Shortly after their union, Leantio is called back to his business, leaving his wife alone with his mother.

When the Florentine Duke catches Bianca’s eye, she too is procured by Livia whose quest for sexual power kick-starts a chain of events that will shake the foundations of polite society. She seduces the estranged husband Leantio, but their relationship is cut short when he is wounded and killed in a duel by her brother.

The newly-widowed Bianca quickly marries the Duke, and under the pretence of a play performed for their nuptials, those caught in the web of deceit and betrayal enact brutal and bloody revenge on each other.

Cast:

Leantio -Samuel Barnett

Sordido - Nick Blood
Hippolito - Raymond Coulthard
Fabritio - James Hayes
Messenger - Samuel James
Isabella - Vanessa Kirby
Duke of Florence - Richard Lintern
Ward - Harry Melling
Lord Cardinal - Chu Omambala
Bianca - Lauren O’Neil
Mother - Tilly Tremayne
Livia - Harriet Walter
Guardiano - Andrew Woodall

Well, this WAS a disappointment - not only for me, but for Him Indoors, who had been bouncing up and down in his chair for the last three weeks squawking "We're going to see Women Beware Women"! at every possible opportunity like a demented parrot. We were both expecting (and hoping for) a debauched, seedy, blood-soaked Florentine Court much in the vein of The Revenger's Tragedy but got a pale, controlled and somewhat too squeaky clean version set vaguely in the 50's where everything seemed to have been dipped in Flash and given a good scrub down.  Part of the problem was that the enormous revolving set, although interesting to look at and allowing for playing on lots of physical levels, was just that bit too well-kempt, well-lit and frosty-clean to hint at the corruption and depravity that was meant to be lurking behind it. Cobwebs decay and darkness lit by dribbly candles would have been more appropriate, but for most of the evening we were looking at enough shiny black marble floortiles and perspex panels to give the man from the Cilit Bang adverts a hard-on.  The 1950s are not an era that you would really associate with depravity - if you ARE going to be lazy and put on a modern dress production (rather than setting it in the correct period with all the gorgeousness and lushness and corruption that this engenders - and at least it would have been visually more impressive than the tired old "black, white and red" idea), then the 1980s would have been more appropriately sleazy, and would have provided a better example of a society of incredible disparities in wealth.  The 50s seemed just a bit too.... safe.   

Another problem was that Middleton's text really rather failed to catch fire at any point - it's very, very wordy and yet somehow quite sterile - you'd usually expect 17th century Revenge Drama to be a lot more florid.  I know that this was a very early preview performance, so maybe the cast were still trying to stretch their vocals to give their lines some colour and adapt to the cavernous space, but it did all seem a little....well, rehearsed, really. 

Part of the problem was certainly with the casting. Samuel Barnett looked and sounded like a very young Michael Sheen (who played Tony Blair opposite Helen Mirren in The Queen) and was not terribly convincing - too shrill, too geeky, too self-consciously ingenue.  Vanessa Kirby is  far too old to be playing a 16 or 17 year old girl and it was a bad mistake to give her a role which requires singing a throaty jazz number because she just ain't got the vocal talent to pull it off. I did feel sorry for her, however, having to appear several times in a frock that already seemed to be fraying badly at the front hem.  Harriet Walter, much as I adored her in the film of Sense and Sensibility and her completely scene-stealing role in The Young Victoria, looked somewhat dessicated to be playing a voluptuous, scheming murderess, and creaked about the stage like a Machiavellian pterodactyl.  Her vocal projection seemed to be suffering as well; like the brittle crackling of pages in a badly-stored book.  Lauren O'Neill was by far the most appropriately cast, holding the stage well and gorgeously audible, but it was probably Tilly Tremaine who walked away with all the acting honours as Leantio's elderly mother, giving a simple yet elegant portrayal of poverty-stricken respectability  (a lovely little bit of direction has her carefully popping several bits of unwanted Turkish Delight from the grand dinner table into her handbag in the second act).  However, she probably won't be tying her apron strings up in such a complicated bow ever again as they got caught up in a knot and, after a slighly unprofessional struggle with them during the first five minutes of the play, decided to wiggle out of the offending apron, drop it to the floor and step out of it.  Personally, I would have just turned my back on someone and indicated to them to undo me - very possibly Nick Blood's gorgeously sexy Sordido.  James Hayes as Fabritio fell foul of Spencer Tracy's famous adage about acting "Learn your lines and don't bump into the furniture" by very audibly falling over a step while making his first entrance.  Tsk tsk, and this at the National. 

Obviously the audience found the first act very hard going as there were quite noticeable absentees after the interval (it is a very complicated plot, admittedly), although the two American women next to me might have found it easier to follow had one of them stopped playing with her Blackberry and the other refrained from doodling on a Starbucks napkin all the way through.  There is an extremely badly misjudged attempt at a comedy interlude halfway through the second act which grates badly with the rest of the piece, and the plot takes an unsympathetic and incredible (in the original sense of the word) turn when Livia falls for Leantio and pursues him like a cross between a preying mantis and  Lady Bracknell stalking a butterfly.  It was only in the final five minutes or so that the blood-and-guts really started spilling in a wonderfully baroque piece of staging as the servants metamorphosed into black-winged Angels of Death attendant on a masque where poison, knives and garrottes were deployed with abandon.  If only the rest of the production had been like these last few minutes, then the entire night wouldn't have felt like such a waste of time.  As it is, this was far too clinical, too anodyne and not nearly decadent enough. I predict a flop.  Beware Women Beware Women!

Cinderella - The Royal Ballet @ The Royal Opera House, Saturday 17th April 2010

Cast:

Cinderella: Miyako Yoshida
Prince: Steven McRae
Stepsisters: Wayne Sleep, Luke Heydon
Cinderella’s Father: Christopher Saunders
Fairy Godmother: Laura Morera
Spring Fairy: Iohna Loots
Summer Fairy: Hikaru Kobayashi
Autumn Fairy: Akane Takada
Winter Fairy: Claire Calvert
Jester: Paul Kay

Creative Team:
Music: Prokofiev
Choreography: Frederick Ashton
Set: Toer van Schayk
Costumes: Christine Hayworth
Lighting: Mark Jonathan

Strange to see a production of Cinderella when the sun is blazing outside, and sad to see the great Miyako Yoshida at one of her last performances in the UK for the Royal Ballet as she retires from the stage in June this year. And doubly sad that this performance looked under-rehearsed by some of the minor principals and the stage technicians. And trebly sad that the audience was so badly behaved.

Regular readers of my reviews will know how much I rave about Yoshida’s performance in Birmingham Royal Ballet’s Nutcracker, so it was kind of Him Indoors to stump up for tickets for me to see her in this production. The place was packed to the rafters, with many Japanese people among the audience – Yoshida is hugely popular with her countrymen, who will get to see her dance her last role – Juliet – in Tokyo later this year. The place was also packed with people who didn’t know how to behave at the ballet; a whiny 10 year old girl at the end of the row who didn’t go to the toilet during the interval and consequently fidgeted throughout the whole of Act 2, the woman in the row in front who neglected to turn off her mobile phone which then, of course, rang in her handbag several times during one of the quiet bits, the couple next to her who only had one pair of opera binoculars between them and spent the entire evening taking off their spectacles, putting them on the top of their head, focussing the binoculars on the stage for 30 seconds or so, replacing their spectacles and then passing the binoculars right across my sightline to the other, and the couple in front of them who found it necessary to chatter loudly to each other on several occasions, earning one of the loudest shushes I have ever made in public. Then there was the couple who didn’t know where their seats were and made everyone in the row get up so they could wiggle past, and then made everyone get up again when they realised they had been in the right place the first time and had to wiggle all the way back again. Much more and I’d have been hammering on the ticket office door for a private box.

Sadly, the performance looked a bit wobbly in a lot of places. There were problems with some of the sets which didn’t open out properly. There was some very scrappy dancing by a couple of minor characters, and lots of spacing and lining problems from the corps. One of the Season Fairies (Summer, I think) fell off her pointe at the end of her solo, and the Autumn Fairy should be relegated to sweeping the stage (of dust, if not fallen leaves). The sweet lickle kiddiwinkles who accompany each Season Fairy were obviously thrown on with no rehearsal as very few of them had any real idea of where to stand, ending up in dark spots or completely out of line with everyone else. Still, we were all really there just to see Miyako and she didn’t disappoint. She has the most remarkable hands and wrists, which she uses so gracefully that she stands out from everyone else even when surrounded by other dancers doing the same steps. Of course, she’s so tiny that the role of Cinderella is perfectly suited to her anyway, but she seems to dance everything with such joy. There’s no real dark side to Ashton’s version of the story anyway – no evil stepmother and the stepsisters are straight out of panto with their comical hideousness. Many moons ago I saw a version of Cinderella choreographed by Matthew Bourne (him of the all male Swan Lake), in which Cinders’ life was really made a living hell by her nasty step-siblings and their horrible mother, which gave some much-needed light and shade to the story (and also some context as Cinders' mother appeared briefly at the beginning. In Ashton-land, however, the family seem to be rubbing along quite cheerfully. The production feels skimped by Ashton. The transformation scene (such as it is) is in dire need of some major magic, there’s no grand pas de deux for Cinders and her prince in Act III and nothing approaching any psychological depth. On the other hand, so much time is taken up by the cavortings of the Step-sisters (Ashton wrote one of the roles for himself) that there’s little time to emphasise anything else and the bloody Jester dominates Act 2 so much that frankly he gets on my tits, making the Prince a mere cipher in terms of stage time. The inclusion of 12 ballerinas representing the Hours was a good idea by Ashton, but they feel underused and could be utilised more effectively than merely turning up in the kitchen and hopping round the place. For instance, what would be wrong with them forming a semicircle round Cinders and the Fairy Godmother during the latter’s explanation that she must be home by midnight and each using her arms to portray a different hour on the dial ? There’s bugger all else for them to do, frankly, so they might as well make themselves useful.

Anyway, I shall now stop playing the frustrated choreographer. Wayne Sleep, who must be in his sixties by now, gave a wonderfully energetic and comic Stepsister, but wasn’t matched by Luke Heydon in terms of energy, attack or even apparent commitment to his role. Laura Morera, however, was a grand and gracious Fairy Godmother

It’s a shame that the Royal Ballet didn’t let Yoshida open this revival (her last UK role) and thus get the reviews, all of which go to Alina Cojucarou who danced on the opening night. We’ll be sad to see you go, Mikayo; you were an ornament to our stage.

Concerto/The Judas Tree/Elite Syncopations - Royal Ballet @ Royal Opera House, Wednesday 31st March 2010

To a half-empty Opera House yesterday to see an extremely mixed bill in honour of Kenneth Macmillan, a bitter, angry old queen whose signature style of choreography still defies pinning down. The evening felt cheap and “thrown on” and nobody really seemed to be dancing their best. There was a real “its mid-week, there’s only rubes in so let’s not bother pushing the envelope” feel to the whole evening. The performance wasn’t helped by an extremely idiosyncratic grab-bag of short items, seemingly plucked out of the air at random. A better selection might have done much to improve the overall feel of the evening.

The first out of the bag was Concerto, a “pure dance” piece to music by Shostakovich and with no plot. I must admit straight out that I’m not a great fan of pure dance, but by the second movement, this was really working its magic on me. I think it was the effect of the wonderfully lit stage, with an enormous low-hanging sun (I thought it was setting, but then I’m a “glass half empty” person and it could just as well have been rising; in my own defence, the generally autumnal colours of the costumes gave it an “end of summer” feel). Pretty shapes, nice music, interesting choreography (although my brain kept trying to force some kind of narrative on it) – although there was some incredibly sloppy lining and spacing going on, which my eye always seemed to be focussing on.

Next up was The Judas Tree, the type of ballet which completely turns me against the entire art form (and yet its one that gets the most column inches in all the reviews). Horrible discordant “weasel music” of the kind which a four year old produces at their first violin lessons, ugly choreography and an incoherent storyline overlaid with semi-religious overtones. Much as I fought to overcome my prejudices and open my mind to the piece, the shutters came down after about five minutes and I started tuning out; after ten minutes I was staring into space and not registering anything other than the sight of hunky young men stripped to the waist. Otherwise, not worth the effort. It was Macmillan’s last work and shows just how confused and desperate to please he had become – unfortunately it’s a real case of the Emperor’s New Clothes.

This piece then poisoned my mind to the evening’s last offering, Elite Syncopations, another “nothing” ballet danced on a completely bare stage. Unfortunately this also appeared to be a desperate attempt at crowd-pleasing by Macmillan, in his “straining for a laugh” mode; there’s no subtlety of humour such as in Ashton’s Les Patineurs, merely clowning. And the costumes kept getting in the way visually – when 30 or 40 people (including the on-stage band) are dressed up like rejects from Chipperfields Circus, your vision gets tired by the bright colours and attempts to pick out the details of each individual costume and silly hat, rather than concentrating on the movements. There were two people wearing exactly the same costume which became glaringly obvious when they were close together and annoying when they moved apart. It may have been well-danced but again, there were spacing issues and wobbly lineups all over the place.

Macmillan choreographed several short ballets and I think it would have done his memory better service if we’d seen something like Winter Dreams (which is based on Chekov’s Three Sisters) or maybe explored some of his more obscure stuff – I’ve never seen Valley of Shadows, Gloria, Fin du Jour or Different Drummer and they all seem intriguing titles. This particular triple bill seemed just that bit too safe, and there was a definite lack of sparkle to the evening.

For such short pieces (25 minutes, 35 minutes and 36 minutes) I completely fail to see why the Royal Ballet insist on such incredibly long intervals of 30 minutes each. Two of these intervals add a whole hour to the proceedings and I could have been home in time to watch Kitchen Nightmares without them. Still, I suppose the upper crust have to have time to swill their champagne and wolf down their smoked salmon sandwiches without getting indigestion.

And still no sign of the Destribats in the Benefactors list. They've been missing for a good couple of years. Maybe the recession is hitting them hard.