It’s nice to see the Wellcome Collection (and by extension Wellcome Trust) expanding into theatre. The organisation has put on some fascinating work in the past, and their gallery is a great place to spend an hour mulling over the mix of art and science.
But did they really have to make something as flat as Pressure Drop their premiere piece?
Well, perhaps flat’s not quite the right term to use. A rather cramped promenade set out across three mini-stages and accompanied by 80’s rocker Billy Bragg with band, Pressure Drop is part of the Identity Project series. In this case, question is “What is the identity of the modern white working class?”
Now, I’m foreign, so some of the impact may well be lost on me, but I feel like I’ve been in England long enough to have spotted all the tickboxes:
-Xenophobia
-BNP
-Racists
-Boozing up
-Family ties
-Sense of entitlement
-Male pride
-Chavwear
-THEY’RE TAKING URRR JERBS
-Racists
-Desires for the future
-Sense of community
-Sense of lost community
-Racists
In other words, it’s a two hour episode of EastEnders. Family patriarch Ron has died, and while unemployed factory man Jack is being pressured by loudmouthed friend Tony (played as a masterful cunt by David Kennedy) to stand in the council elections for the BNP, prodigal son Jon returns from New York after escaping his working class roots and making it in New York as a stockbroker, and Jack’s intelligent and artistic song George (Shea Davis as a remarkably non-annoying kid) is bullied by Tony’s son, the chavtastic Barney. Rounding off the tropes are kind Nana (June Watson) and Jack’s unhappy and unsure wife Jacqui.
Well, we’ve seen it all before. Jon is aghast at what’s happened to his old friends (or rather how little has), he’s kicked down for ascending and becoming an outsider, Tony spends the entire play being a loudmouthed racist, and the funeral barely happens in peace.
It’s all well handled by the actors, but Mick Gordon (book and direction) seems to have banged the play out in about as much time as it’s taking me to write this review. The night I went (final preview, thanks for the press tickets), the show ran 30 minutes over time, and it fails utterly in one of its key scenes: Jack consistently delays his decision to sign the paperwork and stand for office, and his ultimate decision is made due to an offstage conversation with George which would have had far more impact had it been presented on stage, thereby breaking one of Mamet’s rules of good drama. Jacqui is given too little to do (a sign of genuine working class women?), and while we’re supposed to hate Tony, the character is so utterly unlikeable that it was tempting to take advantage of the promenade staging and deck him multiple times onstage. Likewise, the reveal that Jack’s party is the BNP is given away FAR too early, without enough time to build to hit the audience emotionally. We see the flier in the first scene, we can predict the rest. There is a clever trick which I shan’t spoil here (it’s perhaps the smartest part of the show), but there’s a lot of standard fare surrounding it.
The advert’s selling points, however, are Billy Bragg’s music and performance along with the hybrid promenade/installation staging. Both are nice, both are entirely superfluous. The music provides commentary, but doesn’t engage the cast or the story except for one song which everybody here can guess. And how ironic it is that the racist will dance to a song covered by The Specials and originated as a reggae piece. But that’s part of it, innit? Anyhow, Bragg’s in fine voice but those coming to see him will be disappointed by how little he actually does, and the fact that it’s him is superfluous.
As for the promenade staging, it’s a clever use of the Wellcome’s space, but with only three locations in a relatively small space, the piece doesn’t really have room to portray a neighbourhood and uses the device more to avoid set changes than involvement. Compared to, say, Mincemeat or works of a certain well known company, the promenade is wasted: Pressure Drop would work just as well on a proscenium stage or in a black box as the prom style and lose nothing.
So is Pressure Drop worth seeing? It’s not bad, and if you arrive early enough you can wander through the Wellcome’s free gallery first, but it’s ultimately trying too hard and revealing too little. The Corrie Omnibus on Sunday has about as much to say, and won’t set you back £20, but there is something about seeing it live and up close which helps. But in the end, team, the pressure's gonna drop on you.
Thursday, 22 April 2010
Thursday, 11 March 2010
REVIEW: “Once Upon A Time At The Adelphi”
It’s a busy day at the Adelphi Hotel in Liverpool: the guests are frenzied, receptionist Neil is leaving for Japan, and manager Jo has been invited to go with him. She’s distraught and torn between her safe life and going off with a friend turned potential lover. Amidst the chaos (since the paragraph so far has covered the opening number), a woman has been spotted on the roof and may be about to jump. When Jo goes up to check it out, she finds herself talking to Alice, her predecessor from 70 years prior. The majority of the show from thereon is a flashback about Alice’s time during the golden age of Hollywood, and the ups and downs of her relationship with Thompson, a rogue and childhood friend trying to clean up his act and win her heart.
There’s a lot to appreciate about Once Upon A Time At The Adelphi. It boasts a cast of 19, manages to fit them all onto the Union’s stage, has a huge creative team working for it, and even offered press tickets to bloggers (including insane ones like yours truly). There’s also the benefit of an original book, new music, Andrew Wright’s energetic and sharp choreography, and Rebecca Hutchinson pulling a double shift as modern day Jo and 1930’s Young Alice.
So before I go all rant-y and do the “tear everything I see apart because that’s what the readers expect” bit, I’ll get the pull quote out of the way first:
Fans of traditional musicals will love “Once Upon A Time At The Adelphi.” It’s a charming, pleasantly scored fairy tale, a love letter to the pre-war Liverpudlian spirit, and another hit for the Union. It’s sweet, gentle, and pleasantly old-fashioned. The West End Whingers would love it, and it’s fantastic to see a new, original show with so many people behind it coming into town.
Unfortunately, I’m a raging cynic and it just wasn’t my cup of tea.
It may have just been because I had a long day, but I found the pacing rather excruciating: directed by its writer Phil Willmott, “Adelphi” moves at a snail’s pace, and despite the first act only being 65 minutes, it felt like at least 90. The second act was snappier, but both could have done with cuts. Part of this, however, needs to be attributed to the evolution of the musical form - it’s rare to stop the plot these days just to have a scene set up a song and dance number. Old fashioned charm is what the show is about, though, so I get it. And I’m glad they’re there, because Wright’s choreography is a highlight of the show.
The book also has some issues with the continuation of action: while the parallel of Jo and Neil is set up as a foil and an interest point against Alice and Thompson, the former isn’t actually developed enough to matter: all it does is help telegraph the final plot twist, and more astute viewers will pick up on it from the start.
Mr. Willmott’s score (assisted by Elliot Davis) is also pleasant, but ballad heavy and both forgettable (can’t remember any tunes 12 hours later) and had some familiar sounding chord structures. And unfortunately, Jon-Paul Hevey sounded like he was having a bad night, as his singing became increasingly awkward through the night though he mostly made up for it with his scouse charm and well-meaning roguishness.
And yes, this is a show full of scousers. And visiting Americans. Visiting Americans played in part by American actors who really should have helped their English compatriots out with their overplayed accents and informed Mr. Willmott that Americans don’t call elevators “lifts.” But that’s a nitpick there.
As I said before, there’s a lot to recommend “Adelphi,” and traditionalists and new musical enthusiasts will both get their kicks out of the production. Mancurians and the sarcastic, however, are likely to be less than enthusiastic.
There’s a lot to appreciate about Once Upon A Time At The Adelphi. It boasts a cast of 19, manages to fit them all onto the Union’s stage, has a huge creative team working for it, and even offered press tickets to bloggers (including insane ones like yours truly). There’s also the benefit of an original book, new music, Andrew Wright’s energetic and sharp choreography, and Rebecca Hutchinson pulling a double shift as modern day Jo and 1930’s Young Alice.
So before I go all rant-y and do the “tear everything I see apart because that’s what the readers expect” bit, I’ll get the pull quote out of the way first:
Fans of traditional musicals will love “Once Upon A Time At The Adelphi.” It’s a charming, pleasantly scored fairy tale, a love letter to the pre-war Liverpudlian spirit, and another hit for the Union. It’s sweet, gentle, and pleasantly old-fashioned. The West End Whingers would love it, and it’s fantastic to see a new, original show with so many people behind it coming into town.
Unfortunately, I’m a raging cynic and it just wasn’t my cup of tea.
It may have just been because I had a long day, but I found the pacing rather excruciating: directed by its writer Phil Willmott, “Adelphi” moves at a snail’s pace, and despite the first act only being 65 minutes, it felt like at least 90. The second act was snappier, but both could have done with cuts. Part of this, however, needs to be attributed to the evolution of the musical form - it’s rare to stop the plot these days just to have a scene set up a song and dance number. Old fashioned charm is what the show is about, though, so I get it. And I’m glad they’re there, because Wright’s choreography is a highlight of the show.
The book also has some issues with the continuation of action: while the parallel of Jo and Neil is set up as a foil and an interest point against Alice and Thompson, the former isn’t actually developed enough to matter: all it does is help telegraph the final plot twist, and more astute viewers will pick up on it from the start.
Mr. Willmott’s score (assisted by Elliot Davis) is also pleasant, but ballad heavy and both forgettable (can’t remember any tunes 12 hours later) and had some familiar sounding chord structures. And unfortunately, Jon-Paul Hevey sounded like he was having a bad night, as his singing became increasingly awkward through the night though he mostly made up for it with his scouse charm and well-meaning roguishness.
And yes, this is a show full of scousers. And visiting Americans. Visiting Americans played in part by American actors who really should have helped their English compatriots out with their overplayed accents and informed Mr. Willmott that Americans don’t call elevators “lifts.” But that’s a nitpick there.
As I said before, there’s a lot to recommend “Adelphi,” and traditionalists and new musical enthusiasts will both get their kicks out of the production. Mancurians and the sarcastic, however, are likely to be less than enthusiastic.
Monday, 1 March 2010
NOTES: ‘Modelling Spitfires’ / ‘Lost Soul Music’
Hard though it may be to believe, I’ve actually been to the theatre lately and HAVEN’T gone solely to review a show or because a friend was involved or because I was working on it. And since I’ve got deadlines for other work today, these are going to be mercilessly brief. Cast and creative information for Lost Soul Music is not present on the Pleasance website and I didn’t buy a programme.
First up, Modelling Spitfires at the New End. When Maruice comes back to the family house after a stay in a mental institution, sister Marcia’s life is turned upside down: she was planning to sell the house, move out of the city, and start living life for herself after caring for an abusive elderly father and raising a daughter as a single parent. Maurice has other plans, and the manipulative genius with the emotional maturity of an eight year old has been hard at work to ensure that Marcia stays put.
There’s some interesting work going on in Spitfires about how we handle family responsibilities: the drain they take on those doing the caring, when we put ourselves first, and so on. The problem, though, is that Spitfires fails my basic test of a family drama, which goes like this:
‘Can all of the problems be resolved by either shooting an instigator or having one of the sufferers commit suicide?’
If the answer is yes, the play fails. And, in this case, there would be an instant happy ending for Maurice if Marcia kills herself, and an instant happy ending for everybody (namely the audience) if she shot Maurice ten minutes in. This isn’t for lack of trying by the actors, particularly author Vanessa Rosenthal, who also plays Marcia, and it’s nice to see a proper set in the New End and all, but August Osage County this isn’t, and sitting through three hours of August was nothing compared to the 95 minutes (with interval) of Spitfires.
Speaking of death as a release, there is much soul searching and selling at the Pleasance in Islington these days as they present a series of Lost Soul Music. A set of six one-act musicals about losing your soul, and hemmed by the team behind TONY! The Blair Musical, Lost Soul is presented in sets of two, so a patron needs to visit three times to see all six pieces. Being an anthology of sorts, there’s the benefit that if the first show isn’t to your fancy, the second very well may be.
The day I went, the selections were ‘All the Best Tunes’, about a boy who sells his soul to be able to sing, and ‘Soldier of Fortune’, about a time jumping coward who goes from battle to battle, ultimately becoming a shell shocked god of war. Both pieces have doubled cast members (as do the other four), and the set is a simple, yet effective way of using the Pleasance’s size and revolve, relying upon a well constructed and positioned flat.
Musically, ‘Tunes’ is the more original - a jazzy set of tracks and perfectly in line with the history of jazz and blues being termed the devil’s music and the religious imagery involved. ‘Soldier’ relies heavily upon traditional tunes (e.g. ‘Bring Back My Bonnie To Me’) with repurposed lyrics.
The books....could do with a bit of trimming. Despite each piece being around 50-55 minutes, they both felt like they were running out of steam by the end, and some minor edits for pacing could easily keep the energy from flagging. I don’t really have anything else to say about ‘Tunes’ - there’s nothing groundbreaking in its story or the way it’s told, but it’s solid and works well. ‘Soldier’ is a bit more problematic, as the audience often shares in the protagonist’s confusion about where (and when) he is, particularly for the first third. The anti-war message also feels like less of a gentle leaflet and more like a conceptual cricket bat by the end, but it undoubtedly will appeal to many in the audience.
To sum up: Avoid Spitfires, take a chance on Lost Soul.
First up, Modelling Spitfires at the New End. When Maruice comes back to the family house after a stay in a mental institution, sister Marcia’s life is turned upside down: she was planning to sell the house, move out of the city, and start living life for herself after caring for an abusive elderly father and raising a daughter as a single parent. Maurice has other plans, and the manipulative genius with the emotional maturity of an eight year old has been hard at work to ensure that Marcia stays put.
There’s some interesting work going on in Spitfires about how we handle family responsibilities: the drain they take on those doing the caring, when we put ourselves first, and so on. The problem, though, is that Spitfires fails my basic test of a family drama, which goes like this:
‘Can all of the problems be resolved by either shooting an instigator or having one of the sufferers commit suicide?’
If the answer is yes, the play fails. And, in this case, there would be an instant happy ending for Maurice if Marcia kills herself, and an instant happy ending for everybody (namely the audience) if she shot Maurice ten minutes in. This isn’t for lack of trying by the actors, particularly author Vanessa Rosenthal, who also plays Marcia, and it’s nice to see a proper set in the New End and all, but August Osage County this isn’t, and sitting through three hours of August was nothing compared to the 95 minutes (with interval) of Spitfires.
Speaking of death as a release, there is much soul searching and selling at the Pleasance in Islington these days as they present a series of Lost Soul Music. A set of six one-act musicals about losing your soul, and hemmed by the team behind TONY! The Blair Musical, Lost Soul is presented in sets of two, so a patron needs to visit three times to see all six pieces. Being an anthology of sorts, there’s the benefit that if the first show isn’t to your fancy, the second very well may be.
The day I went, the selections were ‘All the Best Tunes’, about a boy who sells his soul to be able to sing, and ‘Soldier of Fortune’, about a time jumping coward who goes from battle to battle, ultimately becoming a shell shocked god of war. Both pieces have doubled cast members (as do the other four), and the set is a simple, yet effective way of using the Pleasance’s size and revolve, relying upon a well constructed and positioned flat.
Musically, ‘Tunes’ is the more original - a jazzy set of tracks and perfectly in line with the history of jazz and blues being termed the devil’s music and the religious imagery involved. ‘Soldier’ relies heavily upon traditional tunes (e.g. ‘Bring Back My Bonnie To Me’) with repurposed lyrics.
The books....could do with a bit of trimming. Despite each piece being around 50-55 minutes, they both felt like they were running out of steam by the end, and some minor edits for pacing could easily keep the energy from flagging. I don’t really have anything else to say about ‘Tunes’ - there’s nothing groundbreaking in its story or the way it’s told, but it’s solid and works well. ‘Soldier’ is a bit more problematic, as the audience often shares in the protagonist’s confusion about where (and when) he is, particularly for the first third. The anti-war message also feels like less of a gentle leaflet and more like a conceptual cricket bat by the end, but it undoubtedly will appeal to many in the audience.
To sum up: Avoid Spitfires, take a chance on Lost Soul.
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
UPDATE: Why so silent?
Things have been rather quite on the blogger front lately, and in this case it's not because I've taken out a New Year's resolution see less theatre (though Mark Shenton and the West End Whingers have), but rather it's a question of time and energy. I've had back to back shows to work on, and while there will be some down time, it's going into a third. This reduces both the time (and money) I have to spend on going to the theatre - even when I can score free tickets since transit costs get reassigned - and when I'm spending all my time working on a show, I tend to not really want to sit through more of them.
Instead, I've been catching up on my anime viewing, getting some alternative contract work, and so on and so forth. I have been to the theatre recently, mostly for paid critical work, and most recently for Legally Blonde (short: it's good, safe family/first date fare but don't pay full price) and next for The Little Dog Laughed. After that, well, we'll see. After running around London to make sure rehearsals are running and dealing with ongoing HR crises, it's so much easier to just put a DVD on and forget about things for a while. So instead of theatre, I may put in some occasional anime or DVD reviews - things that either have a known appeal to the theatre crowd (e.g. I *finally* got a copy of the RENT Live DVD) or a broader outside appeal for non-fans to dip their toes in the water. We shall see. Again, time and energy.
And on that note, I've got phone calls to make before rehearsal.
Instead, I've been catching up on my anime viewing, getting some alternative contract work, and so on and so forth. I have been to the theatre recently, mostly for paid critical work, and most recently for Legally Blonde (short: it's good, safe family/first date fare but don't pay full price) and next for The Little Dog Laughed. After that, well, we'll see. After running around London to make sure rehearsals are running and dealing with ongoing HR crises, it's so much easier to just put a DVD on and forget about things for a while. So instead of theatre, I may put in some occasional anime or DVD reviews - things that either have a known appeal to the theatre crowd (e.g. I *finally* got a copy of the RENT Live DVD) or a broader outside appeal for non-fans to dip their toes in the water. We shall see. Again, time and energy.
And on that note, I've got phone calls to make before rehearsal.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
REVIEW: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
(This is almost certainly my last review for 2009 and probably my final post for the year as well.)
For many, Elizabeth Taylor is synonymous with Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Despite personal tragedy in production, her sexy, smouldering Maggie draped herself across a film full of long, still shots, and the theatrical nature of the script often led her to play directly to the camera and audience in such a way as to immediately sympathise with the ignored wife and give in to her charms and appeals. Any new production, therefore, must find a way to keep the film as far from the audience’s mind as possible during the play.
In a stunning new production, director Debbie Allen (most infamous for her choreography in Carrie) has done just that by casting an all-Black family in her Cat. While purists may show disdain at Allen’s edits, mostly to reflect racial issues and salt up a bit of Big Daddy’s language, the new Cat is a fascinating view of a family and an era in decline.
Moved to the 1980’s, Brick (Adrian Lester) is a football player-turned-announcer now consumed with apathy and alcoholism after the death of his best friend and possible lover Skipper. He has cut off his wife, Maggie (Sanaa Lathan) in every way possible, but most importantly in the bedroom. As Big Daddy (James Earl Jones) turns 65, word spreads through the family that he is dying of cancer - though the doctors have told him and Big Mama (Phylicia Rashad) that it was just a scare. Armed with the news, Brick’s older brother Gooper (Peter de Jersey) and his wife Mae (Nina Sosanya) are going full on for inclusion in Big Daddy’s yet-unwritten will, throwing their children and traditional family values in the faces of their opposition.
Williams’ play is a curio, not just for the way its repetitive style of dialogue would be co-opted and expanded by later generations (compare Maggie and Brick’s “Are you listening?” “I hear you.” with the “Talking/Telling” aspects of Glengarry Glenn Ross), but also for its portrayal of Southern traditions in decline and the needs of polite society to sweep anything undesirable - be it marital issues or homosexuality - under the rug only to watch as the house of cards collapses when the dirt dissolves the foundation.
Indeed, there have been many complaints among visitors for how the new time period weakens the crux (Brick’s possibly sexual relationship with Skipper), but the cultural shift of casting it in a Black family keeps it up: the role of the Church and traditional family structures are central in the African-American community, and sexual tolerance is still far behind that of society at large.
As far as Allen’s cast and direction go, Lester’s Brick is the picture of apathy: given over entirely to the bottle, Brick is a man of pride with nothing to be proud of. He’s flat, smooth, and devoid of emotion for anything except a drink and his memories - a calm amongst the storm around him. Lathan’s Maggie carries the first act, and demands both the audience’s sympathy and their annoyance: we can side with her while seeing why Brick wants her to go away and let him drink. The stars, however, are Rashad’s Big Mama, a well-meaning but intellectually lacking matron whose traditional power is shadowed entirely by the whirlwind of James Earl Jones’s firebrand of a Big Daddy.
To be honest, Jones was the selling point of the play for me going in, and the man could read the phone book for three hours and I’d still be enraptured, so take it for what it’s worth. However, to see a legend up close in one of the great American dramas is always a joyous experience, especially one which allows us both to see the voice of Darth Vader tearing into the fools he suffers in the name of polite society and for his delivery of the classic lines on mendacity.
So, needless to say, the production could do little wrong in my eyes, and it delivered by keeping me enraptured for the entire three hour runtime (one proper interval, one short one between the second and third acts.) While the new Cat is ambitious on multiple levels, it succeeds at two key aspects at the core: to bring a new, fresh angle to the text and to present the play well. See this while you can, and rejoice in the power of the straight play (especially with the Enron and Jerusalem transfers just around the corner.)
NOTE:
OK, so there’s one thing that did keep me from being fully engrossed in the show for all three hours, namely where I was sitting. It’s possible to get tickets in the slips for £10 on Lastminute, which is the only way I could afford a ticket, and depending on where you are (mine wasn’t TOO bad) you’ll miss a good deal of the action and when the eyes wander, so does the mind. The effect wasn’t as bad as at Arcadia, but the easily distracted should definitely shell out the extra cash for central seating, as both sides will face significantly restricted views (seats 1-12 lose being able to see the bar, seats 13-24 won’t see the dressing table.)
For many, Elizabeth Taylor is synonymous with Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Despite personal tragedy in production, her sexy, smouldering Maggie draped herself across a film full of long, still shots, and the theatrical nature of the script often led her to play directly to the camera and audience in such a way as to immediately sympathise with the ignored wife and give in to her charms and appeals. Any new production, therefore, must find a way to keep the film as far from the audience’s mind as possible during the play.
In a stunning new production, director Debbie Allen (most infamous for her choreography in Carrie) has done just that by casting an all-Black family in her Cat. While purists may show disdain at Allen’s edits, mostly to reflect racial issues and salt up a bit of Big Daddy’s language, the new Cat is a fascinating view of a family and an era in decline.
Moved to the 1980’s, Brick (Adrian Lester) is a football player-turned-announcer now consumed with apathy and alcoholism after the death of his best friend and possible lover Skipper. He has cut off his wife, Maggie (Sanaa Lathan) in every way possible, but most importantly in the bedroom. As Big Daddy (James Earl Jones) turns 65, word spreads through the family that he is dying of cancer - though the doctors have told him and Big Mama (Phylicia Rashad) that it was just a scare. Armed with the news, Brick’s older brother Gooper (Peter de Jersey) and his wife Mae (Nina Sosanya) are going full on for inclusion in Big Daddy’s yet-unwritten will, throwing their children and traditional family values in the faces of their opposition.
Williams’ play is a curio, not just for the way its repetitive style of dialogue would be co-opted and expanded by later generations (compare Maggie and Brick’s “Are you listening?” “I hear you.” with the “Talking/Telling” aspects of Glengarry Glenn Ross), but also for its portrayal of Southern traditions in decline and the needs of polite society to sweep anything undesirable - be it marital issues or homosexuality - under the rug only to watch as the house of cards collapses when the dirt dissolves the foundation.
Indeed, there have been many complaints among visitors for how the new time period weakens the crux (Brick’s possibly sexual relationship with Skipper), but the cultural shift of casting it in a Black family keeps it up: the role of the Church and traditional family structures are central in the African-American community, and sexual tolerance is still far behind that of society at large.
As far as Allen’s cast and direction go, Lester’s Brick is the picture of apathy: given over entirely to the bottle, Brick is a man of pride with nothing to be proud of. He’s flat, smooth, and devoid of emotion for anything except a drink and his memories - a calm amongst the storm around him. Lathan’s Maggie carries the first act, and demands both the audience’s sympathy and their annoyance: we can side with her while seeing why Brick wants her to go away and let him drink. The stars, however, are Rashad’s Big Mama, a well-meaning but intellectually lacking matron whose traditional power is shadowed entirely by the whirlwind of James Earl Jones’s firebrand of a Big Daddy.
To be honest, Jones was the selling point of the play for me going in, and the man could read the phone book for three hours and I’d still be enraptured, so take it for what it’s worth. However, to see a legend up close in one of the great American dramas is always a joyous experience, especially one which allows us both to see the voice of Darth Vader tearing into the fools he suffers in the name of polite society and for his delivery of the classic lines on mendacity.
So, needless to say, the production could do little wrong in my eyes, and it delivered by keeping me enraptured for the entire three hour runtime (one proper interval, one short one between the second and third acts.) While the new Cat is ambitious on multiple levels, it succeeds at two key aspects at the core: to bring a new, fresh angle to the text and to present the play well. See this while you can, and rejoice in the power of the straight play (especially with the Enron and Jerusalem transfers just around the corner.)
NOTE:
OK, so there’s one thing that did keep me from being fully engrossed in the show for all three hours, namely where I was sitting. It’s possible to get tickets in the slips for £10 on Lastminute, which is the only way I could afford a ticket, and depending on where you are (mine wasn’t TOO bad) you’ll miss a good deal of the action and when the eyes wander, so does the mind. The effect wasn’t as bad as at Arcadia, but the easily distracted should definitely shell out the extra cash for central seating, as both sides will face significantly restricted views (seats 1-12 lose being able to see the bar, seats 13-24 won’t see the dressing table.)
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
NOTES: Holiday Show Roundup
Things are extremely busy over here in show meltdown land, but as a bit of distraction I’ve attempted to keep up some of my annual holiday time theatre going. So, for those in need of some cheering up and rediscovery of inner youth, here’s the four big holiday shows I’ve seen in the last month:
Aladdin @ Hackney Empire
This is my third year attending the Hackney panto and every year it’s a gem and a total treat. The script is tight, the jokes brilliant, and the cast on tip top form. And Clive’s even throwing sweets into the audience again. Really, nothing else to say besides SEE THIS.
Rock 'n' Roll Aladdin @ The Shaw
The cast of actor-musicians give it their all and this is a fun show, but the script is middle of the road and very paint by numbers. I enjoyed it, and would recommend it to those who don’t want to travel all the way to Wimbledon though. Especially if you prefer 50’s-70’s rock instead of most of the bits and bobs that get pinched for panto these days.
Morecambe @ The Duchess
I fully admit that I’m too young to really have appreciated this. It’s very nice, but there’s no real dramatic tension (Morecambe and Wise both led rather squeaky clean lives) and the humour feels old and dated now, especially since it’s a double act done by one. See it if you’re nostalgic, otherwise stay home and watch Morecambe and Wise clips on YouTube for an hour - especially the Mastermind segment. I think I laughed more at that than the entire show...
Dick Barton: Quantum of Porridge @ Croydon Warehouse
My second Dick Barton show, and one well worth the rather long journey out to Croydon for. Sharp gags, a plot twist in every scene, and some real creativity in the staging. Sure to join Hackney’s panto as one of my Christmas time traditions. See it if you can.
Aladdin @ Hackney Empire
This is my third year attending the Hackney panto and every year it’s a gem and a total treat. The script is tight, the jokes brilliant, and the cast on tip top form. And Clive’s even throwing sweets into the audience again. Really, nothing else to say besides SEE THIS.
Rock 'n' Roll Aladdin @ The Shaw
The cast of actor-musicians give it their all and this is a fun show, but the script is middle of the road and very paint by numbers. I enjoyed it, and would recommend it to those who don’t want to travel all the way to Wimbledon though. Especially if you prefer 50’s-70’s rock instead of most of the bits and bobs that get pinched for panto these days.
Morecambe @ The Duchess
I fully admit that I’m too young to really have appreciated this. It’s very nice, but there’s no real dramatic tension (Morecambe and Wise both led rather squeaky clean lives) and the humour feels old and dated now, especially since it’s a double act done by one. See it if you’re nostalgic, otherwise stay home and watch Morecambe and Wise clips on YouTube for an hour - especially the Mastermind segment. I think I laughed more at that than the entire show...
Dick Barton: Quantum of Porridge @ Croydon Warehouse
My second Dick Barton show, and one well worth the rather long journey out to Croydon for. Sharp gags, a plot twist in every scene, and some real creativity in the staging. Sure to join Hackney’s panto as one of my Christmas time traditions. See it if you can.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
REVISIT: Jest End
Never let it be said that I don’t believe in second chances.
On the other hand, let it be said that I absolutely believe in calling ‘em as I see ‘em. And despite thinking this version of Jest End is better than its predecessor, and regardless of the cast who worked their tails off to sing it well, the show still doesn’t come together.
For one, timing is everything in comedy. So why are there still jokes about Gone With The Wind, (nothing about Ernie Get Your Gun though) Mary Poppins, and Footloose (all gone for over a year) and bits about Little Mermaid and Legally Blonde (not open yet)? Ditto the farewell to Avenue Q which doesn’t close until March. All of the reality show bits are recycled from the last show as well, despite the fact that we didn’t have a casting show this year. I’ll almost forgive the Lord of the Rings song even if it took me forever to remember what it was from - though LotR wasn’t mentioned in the lyrics - but it was at least about flops in general. And still nothing about some of the biggest shows in the West End.
Second, the jokes are still one note. ALW and the Phantom singing “You’re Nothing Without Me” from City of Angels is a cosplay skit. It’s not something to put in a professional show, especially given that the joke is exposed as soon as people realise what the song is. The Barrowman and Donovan numbers were the same - Barrowman has a big smile and is loud, Jason Donovan hasn’t done stage in a while. Got it. Now do something with the other three minutes in the song.
How bad was it? I sat behind the creatives who were quite pleased with themselves, and I couldn’t hear all of the audience, but I *could* see the people off to the side thanks to the Jermyn Street’s lovely layout. And I saw that most of them weren’t laughing after the first verse of most bits.
Third, too much repetition. This is both in the lyrics (don’t repeat yourself in comedy unless you’re adding new context, and yes, this means writing new lyrics for each chorus) and in staging (I lost count of how many times the SA guy scratched his arse, how many times girls adjusted their tits, and how many skits ended with or involved someone giving two fingers.)
Fourth, too much repetition. This is both in the lyrics (don’t repeat yourself in comedy unless you’re adding new context, and yes, this means writing new lyrics for each chorus) and in staging (I lost count of how many times the SA guy scratched his arse, how many times girls adjusted their tits, and how many skits ended with or involved someone giving two fingers.)
See? Not funny. Neither is the third time Cameron/Fagin says "Maybe it's time to revive Miss Saigon." That's your second chorus. Your first is to comment on the upcoming Hair revival, the third is to change costume pieces and suggest Cats. See, it builds from happening to "Please no" to "Anything but that."
Anyhow, clearly there’s an audience for this sort of thing - after all, they packed the Menier for Forbidden Broadway - but despite the money and attention being thrown at it, Jest End remains on the wrong side of amateurish, feeling more like something being put on for friends (who seemed to make up most of the not sparse but not full house last night) rather than, you know, an actual paying audience.
On the other hand, let it be said that I absolutely believe in calling ‘em as I see ‘em. And despite thinking this version of Jest End is better than its predecessor, and regardless of the cast who worked their tails off to sing it well, the show still doesn’t come together.
For one, timing is everything in comedy. So why are there still jokes about Gone With The Wind, (nothing about Ernie Get Your Gun though) Mary Poppins, and Footloose (all gone for over a year) and bits about Little Mermaid and Legally Blonde (not open yet)? Ditto the farewell to Avenue Q which doesn’t close until March. All of the reality show bits are recycled from the last show as well, despite the fact that we didn’t have a casting show this year. I’ll almost forgive the Lord of the Rings song even if it took me forever to remember what it was from - though LotR wasn’t mentioned in the lyrics - but it was at least about flops in general. And still nothing about some of the biggest shows in the West End.
Second, the jokes are still one note. ALW and the Phantom singing “You’re Nothing Without Me” from City of Angels is a cosplay skit. It’s not something to put in a professional show, especially given that the joke is exposed as soon as people realise what the song is. The Barrowman and Donovan numbers were the same - Barrowman has a big smile and is loud, Jason Donovan hasn’t done stage in a while. Got it. Now do something with the other three minutes in the song.
How bad was it? I sat behind the creatives who were quite pleased with themselves, and I couldn’t hear all of the audience, but I *could* see the people off to the side thanks to the Jermyn Street’s lovely layout. And I saw that most of them weren’t laughing after the first verse of most bits.
Third, too much repetition. This is both in the lyrics (don’t repeat yourself in comedy unless you’re adding new context, and yes, this means writing new lyrics for each chorus) and in staging (I lost count of how many times the SA guy scratched his arse, how many times girls adjusted their tits, and how many skits ended with or involved someone giving two fingers.)
Fourth, too much repetition. This is both in the lyrics (don’t repeat yourself in comedy unless you’re adding new context, and yes, this means writing new lyrics for each chorus) and in staging (I lost count of how many times the SA guy scratched his arse, how many times girls adjusted their tits, and how many skits ended with or involved someone giving two fingers.)
See? Not funny. Neither is the third time Cameron/Fagin says "Maybe it's time to revive Miss Saigon." That's your second chorus. Your first is to comment on the upcoming Hair revival, the third is to change costume pieces and suggest Cats. See, it builds from happening to "Please no" to "Anything but that."
Anyhow, clearly there’s an audience for this sort of thing - after all, they packed the Menier for Forbidden Broadway - but despite the money and attention being thrown at it, Jest End remains on the wrong side of amateurish, feeling more like something being put on for friends (who seemed to make up most of the not sparse but not full house last night) rather than, you know, an actual paying audience.
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Friday, 23 October 2009
NEWS: Hiatus
Sorry for the lack of updates recently, but things are getting quite busy over here in RZ land. I am still getting to the theatre but press work is picking up a bit, plus I have two shows to work on in the pipeline for January and February and all of that is demanding my writing attention over blogging. Do keep in touch if you're a regular, as I am still getting to the theatre and can always use more people to go with. Everyone else....sorry, very tired.
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
NOTES: "My Real War 1914-?"
As we enter poppy season, it's not uncommon for culture to turn its own eye towards the military and the sacrifices made by countless numbers of young men (and more recently women) for their country. The soldier's tale, one of mud and sweat and death, maintains both a fascinating and horrific look at the best and worst of humanity at once, and the utmost respect is due to anybody who signs up for the job.
Constructed around the letters of one Lieutenant Le Mesurier (his first name is conspicuously absent from the publicity materials), My Real War 1914-? is a superbly created one-man show (Le Mesurier, or Lem, is stunningly played by Philip Desmeules). Largely educational, intensely personal, and appropriately brief (80 minutes no interval), it is a pity that the text and performance are undermined by some unnecessary voiceovers and at times unnecessary or misused projections.
That said, I wish the schoolgroup who came to see Othello had seen this instead. The Great War is such a vital part of the English conscious that our pitiful turnout (some 20 people in Studio 2) was a disgrace to performance and memory alike.
Constructed around the letters of one Lieutenant Le Mesurier (his first name is conspicuously absent from the publicity materials), My Real War 1914-? is a superbly created one-man show (Le Mesurier, or Lem, is stunningly played by Philip Desmeules). Largely educational, intensely personal, and appropriately brief (80 minutes no interval), it is a pity that the text and performance are undermined by some unnecessary voiceovers and at times unnecessary or misused projections.
That said, I wish the schoolgroup who came to see Othello had seen this instead. The Great War is such a vital part of the English conscious that our pitiful turnout (some 20 people in Studio 2) was a disgrace to performance and memory alike.
Monday, 5 October 2009
REVIEW: The Author
(Warning, massive spoilers ahead.)
The fourth wall is a barrier which the theatre has long been trying to both preserve and break, often simultaneously. For audiences, it’s a psychological safety curtain, separating us from the proceedings onstage and allowing us to emotionally engage without risk. For performers, the fourth wall can provide boundaries for performance, keeping a focus on the stage and not in the house. But then there’s promenade and interactive pieces, which have no walls, talking directly to the audience and making them as much a part of the show as the cast or the text.
The Author is all about breaking down the fourth wall. And the others. Looking at a play from four perspectives (two actors, author Tim Crouch who plays himself, and an audience member), The Author is about the walls we construct inside and outside of the theatre. About preserving our distance. About keeping it safe. About things not being safe.
For example, there is no actual stage. The four cast members are seated around amongst two sets of facing seats. Audience members are constantly talked to, pointed at, and referenced. And, in the cast of Adrian, are something that author Crouch clearly finds annoying: he talks about seeing everything, worshipping actors, and offers Maltesers to others. The events, told in a broken way resembling a group therapy session, revolve around one of Tim’s plays: a hyper-violent piece about wartime abuse which ends with Adrian being attacked by Vic, an actor who let the role get to him, at the stage door. Meanwhile Tim breaks down after months of researching torture videos by having a wank to a video of a baby sucking on a penis while actress Esther’s own infant is in the same room.
Needless to say, the audiences is taken out of their comfort zone. As someone who loathes audience participation and prefers to sit stoically in the back, I had the mis(?)fortune of ending up seated behind Crouch as he delivered the climactic tale. So much for that.
Personal squickiness aside, The Author is a brainy and challenging work in its themes often let down in execution: the dialogue is primarily “I” statements, there are odd pauses for non-beneficial lighting cues, and the events are far more interesting than the characters who lived them: Esther is a stereotypically shallow actress who thinks she’s deeper than she is, Vic is a big softie who keeps playing the hard man, Tim is suicidal, and if I’d been sitting near Adrian I’d have probably resorted to violence to keep him from talking. But as a fan gone pro, it’s an unavoidable reaction: we were Adrians at one point before we grew the hell up in order to be taken seriously.
So should you see The Author? I guess, if you’re the “I’m more fringe than you” sort or you like ticking extreme content boxes. Me, I’m a traditionalist, happy to let the action stay far, far away.
Addendum: I also have to take away points from the Royal Court (despite the fact that they were kind enough to supply a press ticket) for how much I loathe their bar. Sloane Square is not the easiest place to find an affordable pre-theatre meal (unless you come early enough to justify the walk to the Stockpot down Kings Road), and trying to even get a packet of crisps at the theatre is like fighting through an angry mob with the pre-Enron traffic. There’s nowhere to stand without getting jostled around like socks in the washing machine, and the more substantive bar offers disappear immediately, leaving people who come for the late show with empty stomachs and fuller wallets.
The fourth wall is a barrier which the theatre has long been trying to both preserve and break, often simultaneously. For audiences, it’s a psychological safety curtain, separating us from the proceedings onstage and allowing us to emotionally engage without risk. For performers, the fourth wall can provide boundaries for performance, keeping a focus on the stage and not in the house. But then there’s promenade and interactive pieces, which have no walls, talking directly to the audience and making them as much a part of the show as the cast or the text.
The Author is all about breaking down the fourth wall. And the others. Looking at a play from four perspectives (two actors, author Tim Crouch who plays himself, and an audience member), The Author is about the walls we construct inside and outside of the theatre. About preserving our distance. About keeping it safe. About things not being safe.
For example, there is no actual stage. The four cast members are seated around amongst two sets of facing seats. Audience members are constantly talked to, pointed at, and referenced. And, in the cast of Adrian, are something that author Crouch clearly finds annoying: he talks about seeing everything, worshipping actors, and offers Maltesers to others. The events, told in a broken way resembling a group therapy session, revolve around one of Tim’s plays: a hyper-violent piece about wartime abuse which ends with Adrian being attacked by Vic, an actor who let the role get to him, at the stage door. Meanwhile Tim breaks down after months of researching torture videos by having a wank to a video of a baby sucking on a penis while actress Esther’s own infant is in the same room.
Needless to say, the audiences is taken out of their comfort zone. As someone who loathes audience participation and prefers to sit stoically in the back, I had the mis(?)fortune of ending up seated behind Crouch as he delivered the climactic tale. So much for that.
Personal squickiness aside, The Author is a brainy and challenging work in its themes often let down in execution: the dialogue is primarily “I” statements, there are odd pauses for non-beneficial lighting cues, and the events are far more interesting than the characters who lived them: Esther is a stereotypically shallow actress who thinks she’s deeper than she is, Vic is a big softie who keeps playing the hard man, Tim is suicidal, and if I’d been sitting near Adrian I’d have probably resorted to violence to keep him from talking. But as a fan gone pro, it’s an unavoidable reaction: we were Adrians at one point before we grew the hell up in order to be taken seriously.
So should you see The Author? I guess, if you’re the “I’m more fringe than you” sort or you like ticking extreme content boxes. Me, I’m a traditionalist, happy to let the action stay far, far away.
Addendum: I also have to take away points from the Royal Court (despite the fact that they were kind enough to supply a press ticket) for how much I loathe their bar. Sloane Square is not the easiest place to find an affordable pre-theatre meal (unless you come early enough to justify the walk to the Stockpot down Kings Road), and trying to even get a packet of crisps at the theatre is like fighting through an angry mob with the pre-Enron traffic. There’s nowhere to stand without getting jostled around like socks in the washing machine, and the more substantive bar offers disappear immediately, leaving people who come for the late show with empty stomachs and fuller wallets.
Friday, 25 September 2009
NOTES: A quick catch up....
Saw two more shows this week, don't really need to go into detail on either of them....
Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean - if you like Steel Magnolias, Mystic Pizza, Beaches, and the like, you'll love this early 80's play about small town women in a James Dean fan club who meet up after 20 years to reminisce and reveal secrets. The production is up to the Gatehouse's usual high standards, though the show itself wasn't really my thing - but I'm also not the target audience.
The Rat Pack - Live from Las Vegas - Is it me or is this show constantly on tour around the UK and the continent? I guess it's true that you can't stop a good tribute band, as again we have a well performed piece with impersonators doing Frank, Dean, and Sammy. The music is legendary and nice, the banter is VERY much a product of its era, politically incorrect in every way ("Did you say Jew-Jitsu? How would you like it if I called you a wop-sicle?") but you can't help but laugh. The audience ate it up, I would have been happier if it was a 105 minute one-act instead of a full two and a half hours, but again, not the target audience.
Seeing Newsrevue tonight.
Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean - if you like Steel Magnolias, Mystic Pizza, Beaches, and the like, you'll love this early 80's play about small town women in a James Dean fan club who meet up after 20 years to reminisce and reveal secrets. The production is up to the Gatehouse's usual high standards, though the show itself wasn't really my thing - but I'm also not the target audience.
The Rat Pack - Live from Las Vegas - Is it me or is this show constantly on tour around the UK and the continent? I guess it's true that you can't stop a good tribute band, as again we have a well performed piece with impersonators doing Frank, Dean, and Sammy. The music is legendary and nice, the banter is VERY much a product of its era, politically incorrect in every way ("Did you say Jew-Jitsu? How would you like it if I called you a wop-sicle?") but you can't help but laugh. The audience ate it up, I would have been happier if it was a 105 minute one-act instead of a full two and a half hours, but again, not the target audience.
Seeing Newsrevue tonight.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
THOUGHTS: “Over the Threshold”
The post-Edinburgh transfer season is upon us as all of the shows with decent reviews rush to get bookings before casts disperse, pockets run dry, and hype evaporates following awards and critical acclaim.
Over the Threshold is no exception: Originally participating in and subsequently developed by the Perfect Pitch, Threshold won MTM’s best score award at the Fringe this year and has so far a number of 4 and 5 star reviews. Needless to say, it’s only natural that Threshold would come to the big smoke, settling into the cozy Jermyn Street Theatre.
What I don’t, however, is WHY. As in “Why is there so much hype around this show?” This isn’t to say that Christopher Hamilton’s book and score are bad - because they’re not - but why are people getting so excited about it? Yes, Threshold is thoroughly competent and professional, but it never, well, goes over the threshold into becoming special. Or even interesting.
Over the course of 75 minutes, two couples fight, have accidental partner swaps, and deal with the aftermath. Scottish Tom and Kate are new in London, he’s an out of work actor and she gave it up to be a stable office manager. They fight about commitment, his low libido, and whether or not he should move into a real job.
I can’t even remember the other two characters’ names, other than the prattish Englishman in an overly shiny suit and his American wife who spews words of comfort and wisdom while keeping secrets of her own. None of the characters are particularly special, deep, or exciting, and the misunderstandings lack the gravity of serious drama and the humour of farce.
The score, sadly, is equally plain. All of the songs are pleasant, but if you think you’ve heard it before on your Jason Robert Brown or Scott Allan CDs, not to mention about 80% of the shows that go through Perfect Pitch in general, you wouldn’t be too far off. There’s little variation in the tunes, just a lot of introspective mid-tempo piano ballads that wouldn’t be helped by a fuller orchestra because there’s nowhere for them to go.
That said, I can’t fault the cast: all four members (whose names I don’t have down by role) are clearly talented and deliver the material as best they can, bringing what little life the show has, but they’re also encumbered by John Brant’s direction. Brant wants very much to be smart, but the limited abstract set (a few half-doorways and some clear chairs) instead inspired an internal logic which demands cast members wander through a maze of paths to go on and off stage as though the audience know the floorplans to the theoretical flats the characters occupy. It’s distracting and sloppy, realism be damned.
In short, I guess Over the Threshold won awards and got decent reviews for being bland and inoffensive: it’s hard to find fault with something that sits so squarely in the middle. I’m genuinely thrilled for the creatives - finding the money to get ANYTHING up at Edinburgh and back to London so quickly is a monumental task in and of itself - but this was really the best that was on offer at the Fringe?
Over the Threshold is no exception: Originally participating in and subsequently developed by the Perfect Pitch, Threshold won MTM’s best score award at the Fringe this year and has so far a number of 4 and 5 star reviews. Needless to say, it’s only natural that Threshold would come to the big smoke, settling into the cozy Jermyn Street Theatre.
What I don’t, however, is WHY. As in “Why is there so much hype around this show?” This isn’t to say that Christopher Hamilton’s book and score are bad - because they’re not - but why are people getting so excited about it? Yes, Threshold is thoroughly competent and professional, but it never, well, goes over the threshold into becoming special. Or even interesting.
Over the course of 75 minutes, two couples fight, have accidental partner swaps, and deal with the aftermath. Scottish Tom and Kate are new in London, he’s an out of work actor and she gave it up to be a stable office manager. They fight about commitment, his low libido, and whether or not he should move into a real job.
I can’t even remember the other two characters’ names, other than the prattish Englishman in an overly shiny suit and his American wife who spews words of comfort and wisdom while keeping secrets of her own. None of the characters are particularly special, deep, or exciting, and the misunderstandings lack the gravity of serious drama and the humour of farce.
The score, sadly, is equally plain. All of the songs are pleasant, but if you think you’ve heard it before on your Jason Robert Brown or Scott Allan CDs, not to mention about 80% of the shows that go through Perfect Pitch in general, you wouldn’t be too far off. There’s little variation in the tunes, just a lot of introspective mid-tempo piano ballads that wouldn’t be helped by a fuller orchestra because there’s nowhere for them to go.
That said, I can’t fault the cast: all four members (whose names I don’t have down by role) are clearly talented and deliver the material as best they can, bringing what little life the show has, but they’re also encumbered by John Brant’s direction. Brant wants very much to be smart, but the limited abstract set (a few half-doorways and some clear chairs) instead inspired an internal logic which demands cast members wander through a maze of paths to go on and off stage as though the audience know the floorplans to the theoretical flats the characters occupy. It’s distracting and sloppy, realism be damned.
In short, I guess Over the Threshold won awards and got decent reviews for being bland and inoffensive: it’s hard to find fault with something that sits so squarely in the middle. I’m genuinely thrilled for the creatives - finding the money to get ANYTHING up at Edinburgh and back to London so quickly is a monumental task in and of itself - but this was really the best that was on offer at the Fringe?
Sunday, 20 September 2009
THOUGHTS: “Kurt and Sid”
(Sorry for the lack of updates, everyone. I’ve been rather busy lately working on my own shows lately - one of which is part of Scratch Festival at BAC this coming weekend - and writing those has drained me of my ability to bother writing reviews. That said, here goes a try...)
I remember when Kurt Cobain died. Nirvana had been the hottest band around, and though I didn’t have a copy of Nevermind, my sister had picked up a used CD of In Utero, sneaking it in past our mother’s overzealous eye (electric guitars in general were too much for her.) I remembered the controversy over the cover art and “Rape Me,” the brilliance of the MTV Unplugged performance, and how my 8th grade lit teacher told us that Cobain should never have been a role model because of his drugs and emphasised the pointlessness of the “Life’s not 100% fun anymore” line in the suicide note.
As someone who hated his classmates and most of his teachers, I thought she was full of shit. And I still do.
So now in Trafalgar 2 we have Kurt and Sid, a fantasia set in the hours before Cobain’s suicide. A frustrated Kurt is in the attic of his suburban home when the vision of Sid Vicious appears. To cut 95 minutes (including interval) short, this Sid (who is, as he puts it, “way too smart” to be the real Sid) is Cobain’s subconscious attempting to talk him out of the act. That’s about as close to a spoiler as anybody can really get, because we all know how it’s going to end.
Needless to say, I found myself asking what the point is (and doing my best not to ask the author, who was in attendance). Cobain’s life has been covered in numerous biographies, and his own journals are available at bookstores everywhere, and for less than the price of a ticket. There’s some witty banter in Roy Smiles’s script, but no real insight: Cobain’s relationship with Courtney Love was idealised with no mention of the two’s constant fighting, his medical issues are written off, and he comes across as the media slanted him 15 years ago: a whiny poster-boy ungrateful for his fame and taking an easy way out.
Production-wise, there are few complaints: Shaun Evans has Cobain’s signature drawl though he never quite channels the real thing’s complexity, and Danny Dyer is a calm yet verbally feisty Vicious both in and out of reality. Cordelia Chisholm’s set is a cluttered attic strewn with toys and records, the old cliche about a cluttered mind come appropriately to life.
Complaints aside, I’m glad I saw Kurt and Sid - the rising alternative rock scene was one of the best parts of the 90's, and we're about to hit that on the global nostalgia cycle. That said, I’m also glad that I didn’t pay for it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to soak up "Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam."
I remember when Kurt Cobain died. Nirvana had been the hottest band around, and though I didn’t have a copy of Nevermind, my sister had picked up a used CD of In Utero, sneaking it in past our mother’s overzealous eye (electric guitars in general were too much for her.) I remembered the controversy over the cover art and “Rape Me,” the brilliance of the MTV Unplugged performance, and how my 8th grade lit teacher told us that Cobain should never have been a role model because of his drugs and emphasised the pointlessness of the “Life’s not 100% fun anymore” line in the suicide note.
As someone who hated his classmates and most of his teachers, I thought she was full of shit. And I still do.
So now in Trafalgar 2 we have Kurt and Sid, a fantasia set in the hours before Cobain’s suicide. A frustrated Kurt is in the attic of his suburban home when the vision of Sid Vicious appears. To cut 95 minutes (including interval) short, this Sid (who is, as he puts it, “way too smart” to be the real Sid) is Cobain’s subconscious attempting to talk him out of the act. That’s about as close to a spoiler as anybody can really get, because we all know how it’s going to end.
Needless to say, I found myself asking what the point is (and doing my best not to ask the author, who was in attendance). Cobain’s life has been covered in numerous biographies, and his own journals are available at bookstores everywhere, and for less than the price of a ticket. There’s some witty banter in Roy Smiles’s script, but no real insight: Cobain’s relationship with Courtney Love was idealised with no mention of the two’s constant fighting, his medical issues are written off, and he comes across as the media slanted him 15 years ago: a whiny poster-boy ungrateful for his fame and taking an easy way out.
Production-wise, there are few complaints: Shaun Evans has Cobain’s signature drawl though he never quite channels the real thing’s complexity, and Danny Dyer is a calm yet verbally feisty Vicious both in and out of reality. Cordelia Chisholm’s set is a cluttered attic strewn with toys and records, the old cliche about a cluttered mind come appropriately to life.
Complaints aside, I’m glad I saw Kurt and Sid - the rising alternative rock scene was one of the best parts of the 90's, and we're about to hit that on the global nostalgia cycle. That said, I’m also glad that I didn’t pay for it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to soak up "Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam."
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
NOTE: "I'll Leave It To You"
I've left this way too long to properly review it, but fans of Noel Coward should make it a point to catch his first play, the drawing room comedy "I'll Leave It To You" at Pentameters. Lots of fun, not too long (2 hr 10 INCLUDING two intervals), and brilliantly cast and performed.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
REVIEW: Credit Crunch Queen
The great thing about August is how laid back the theatre is in London: soft openings, short runs, and all sorts of fun things for theatre companies who can’t justify the costs of going to Edinburgh and for audiences who can’t justify the effort of going to Edinburgh either. In this case, it meant catching Jackie Skarvellis’s new play Credit Crunch Queen during its tryout at Pentameters before it transfers to the Stag this week.
Now, I consider an excuse to go to Pentameters to be a great thing: the staff are extremely friendly, they have a loyal audience of locals from inside and outside the industry, and the space has the right blend of run-down charm and hipness to make it an appealing location to watch a show. Sure the bar downstairs is expensive, but that’s why Tesco Express is across the street. Oh, and it’s a half hour walk from my house. Hard to beat that.
Except when you have this dead horse of a play. A rapid-fire response to the economic downturn, CCQ starts with high flying banker Brad Bradshaw being let go from his cushy city job before rapidly losing his live-in gold-digging girlfriend and flat. After quickly finding himself on the wrong side of the DWP, Brad moves in with a struggling (and awful) actress, ultimately being made over by one of her friends (played by John Campbell aka drag queen Ebb-on-Knee) and hitting the drag circuit to make ends meet.
Unfortunately, the idea is much funnier on paper than in practice. The main subplot, involving the actress whose name I can’t remember taking Brad’s dog Rambo (played by a rather attractive fellow in leather gear) through an X-Factor programme for pets brings the story to a crashing halt: it feels quickly written and tacked on as though Ms. Skarvellis realised that her original idea wouldn’t fill two acts. Given that the Pet Factor arc dominates the second act, a one-act would have been a better idea - especially given how long it takes to actually get to the title story of Brad’s entry into drag.
As such, what could have been a rags to new riches story or a fish out of water tale with the straight posh bloke entering the seedy gay club scene is instead a parade of flaccid jokes, saved only when Campbell camps it up and when Shonni Doulton appears as the health and safety obsessed DWP worker whom Brad attempts to dupe in the name of getting unemployment benefits. Much like the sentence above, the play uses a lot of words to say very little. And there is the rub: that of wasted potential. And therein comes the other August tradition: putting in anything to fill your house until post-Edinburgh tours come in.
Where: Above the Stag
When: Until early September. The website isn’t updated yet.
How Much: £12 at Pentameters. May be different at the Stag.
Concessions: £10 at Pentameters. May be different at the Stag.
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RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £2 for some eye candy and three funny scenes.
RZ Other Notes: None.
Now, I consider an excuse to go to Pentameters to be a great thing: the staff are extremely friendly, they have a loyal audience of locals from inside and outside the industry, and the space has the right blend of run-down charm and hipness to make it an appealing location to watch a show. Sure the bar downstairs is expensive, but that’s why Tesco Express is across the street. Oh, and it’s a half hour walk from my house. Hard to beat that.
Except when you have this dead horse of a play. A rapid-fire response to the economic downturn, CCQ starts with high flying banker Brad Bradshaw being let go from his cushy city job before rapidly losing his live-in gold-digging girlfriend and flat. After quickly finding himself on the wrong side of the DWP, Brad moves in with a struggling (and awful) actress, ultimately being made over by one of her friends (played by John Campbell aka drag queen Ebb-on-Knee) and hitting the drag circuit to make ends meet.
Unfortunately, the idea is much funnier on paper than in practice. The main subplot, involving the actress whose name I can’t remember taking Brad’s dog Rambo (played by a rather attractive fellow in leather gear) through an X-Factor programme for pets brings the story to a crashing halt: it feels quickly written and tacked on as though Ms. Skarvellis realised that her original idea wouldn’t fill two acts. Given that the Pet Factor arc dominates the second act, a one-act would have been a better idea - especially given how long it takes to actually get to the title story of Brad’s entry into drag.
As such, what could have been a rags to new riches story or a fish out of water tale with the straight posh bloke entering the seedy gay club scene is instead a parade of flaccid jokes, saved only when Campbell camps it up and when Shonni Doulton appears as the health and safety obsessed DWP worker whom Brad attempts to dupe in the name of getting unemployment benefits. Much like the sentence above, the play uses a lot of words to say very little. And there is the rub: that of wasted potential. And therein comes the other August tradition: putting in anything to fill your house until post-Edinburgh tours come in.
Where: Above the Stag
When: Until early September. The website isn’t updated yet.
How Much: £12 at Pentameters. May be different at the Stag.
Concessions: £10 at Pentameters. May be different at the Stag.
---------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £2 for some eye candy and three funny scenes.
RZ Other Notes: None.
Monday, 17 August 2009
NOTES: Lazy update
A list of shows that I have recently seen but been too busy, lazy, or forgetful to write up properly:
Hello, Dolly! @ Regents Park - Fantastic revival. See it.
Helen @ Shakespeare’s Globe - Great cast, decent translation, but the overall production fails to gel and feels amateurish, like a BA designed and directed class project. See it from the yard.
State Fair @ Finborough - Easily one of the dumbest shows of the golden age, decently staged by Thom Southerland, though his continued lack of eye for detail is annoying. See it but make sure to bring water - it’s unbearably hot in the theatre.
Ernie Get Your Gun (Revisited) - Just as bad the second time around with a different Rex. We went, we mocked, we congratulated the cast on their freedom.
Confusions @ Union Theatre - Five Ayckbourn shorts. Fun night out, see it.
We Go Wandering at Night @ Cock Tavern - Not quite sure how the name fits in. There’s some decent bits and some annoying bits, but it’s amusing. Can’t remember if it’s still running, if it is then see it with a discount.
Jason and the Argonauts @ Scoop, More London - Free family friendly version of this Greek classic. Lots of fun, good atmosphere with the crowd. Bring a cushion and a picnic and enjoy.
Hello, Dolly! @ Regents Park - Fantastic revival. See it.
Helen @ Shakespeare’s Globe - Great cast, decent translation, but the overall production fails to gel and feels amateurish, like a BA designed and directed class project. See it from the yard.
State Fair @ Finborough - Easily one of the dumbest shows of the golden age, decently staged by Thom Southerland, though his continued lack of eye for detail is annoying. See it but make sure to bring water - it’s unbearably hot in the theatre.
Ernie Get Your Gun (Revisited) - Just as bad the second time around with a different Rex. We went, we mocked, we congratulated the cast on their freedom.
Confusions @ Union Theatre - Five Ayckbourn shorts. Fun night out, see it.
We Go Wandering at Night @ Cock Tavern - Not quite sure how the name fits in. There’s some decent bits and some annoying bits, but it’s amusing. Can’t remember if it’s still running, if it is then see it with a discount.
Jason and the Argonauts @ Scoop, More London - Free family friendly version of this Greek classic. Lots of fun, good atmosphere with the crowd. Bring a cushion and a picnic and enjoy.
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
BONUS: 20 Musicals for the 2000’s
With the decade ending in a mere four months and little of inspiration (unless the final book for White Noise is somehow stunningly brilliant) from either the US or the UK, so we can start on these tributes to the naughts.
The list and commentary below reflect 20 new works of musical theatre which opened between 2000 and 2009 in a 1st class (read: Broadway/West End/Major Level) venue and provided either a major contribution or simply serve as the most memorable works of the decade. This isn’t to discount smaller productions, but this is one for the big boys. It’s in no particular order than rough chronology.
Also, I suck for not knowing more about original works coming out of Asia.
2000 - Contact (Broadway)
Starting out with a controversial bang is Susan Stroman’s dance play which, famously, won the Tony award for Best Musical despite not having a score: the music was played from CD and nobody in the cast sung. Still, with sequences like Simply Irresistible, it’s easy to see the piece’s allure and its strengths overcome the technicalities.
2000 - Aida (Broadway)
Elton John’s first musical (The Lion King doesn’t really count, that was all music for the film), and Disney’s first show which wasn’t an adapted from a cartoon.
2001 - The Producers (Broadway)
Winner of more Tony awards than any other show, The Producers can be seen as the touchstone of the film adaptation craze, although its flaws became increasingly visible with time and uninspired casting.
2001 - Urinetown (Broadway)
The first of the modern meta-musicals, we arguably wouldn’t have pieces like The Drowsy Chaperone or [title of show] without this little piddle which managed to go from the New York Fringe Festival all the way to Broadway. It also deserves points for the score’s satirical take on Weil.
2002 - We Will Rock You (West End)
The only show from the decade which can well and truly be called critic-proof (Wicked didn’t exactly get glowing reviews but WWRY was roundly trashed). WWRY shows that jukebox shows can have smart concepts, stunning design, and pack in the houses around the world.
2002 - Hairspray (Broadway)
The show which all fluff musicals are now judged against. O’Donnell, Meehan, Whittman, and Shaiman turned John Waters’ tamest film into a stage show which captures both the joy of the musical along with Waters’ sense of humour and anarchy in presentation. Too bad the film remake is so awful.
2002 - Jerry Springer: The Opera (London Subsidised/West End)
The most controversial musical to ever premiere in Britain, Springer spends its first act turning the freak show that is daytime television into a portrayal of tragic victims of their own making while sending up its inspirational material before pointing out that similar characters are to be found everywhere in society.
2003 - Wicked (Broadway)
We Will Rock You may have more international productions, but Wicked is the first show since RENT that can truly be described as a phenomenon.
2003 - Avenue Q (Broadway)
And then there’s the little show that could - proving that charm, wit, and truth (along with a savvy marketing campaign) can upset even the biggest juggernaut. For the recently graduated and those turned out by the current recession, Avenue Q speaks directly to the audience in a way few shows can.
2004 - Caroline, or Change (Broadway)
Despite being spurned in New York, Caroline has become a favourite in the regions and was vindicated with raves and an Olivier award for Best Musical in London. Tony Kushner’s tale of an impoverished Black maid working for a Jewish family in turmoil is a pressure cooker of a character piece backed by Jeanine Tesori’s masterwork of a score that reveals more of its depth with each new production and take on the title character.
2004 - In My Life (Broadway)
One of only two flops on this list, In My Life is the ultimate in vanity projects: written, directed, scored, and produced by creator Joe Brooks, In My Life was a bizarre look at heaven and Earth, of love and loss, and of gay angels singing about brain tumours. In all seriousness, In My Life is the best disaster I’ve ever seen - there’s plenty of good stuff in there and the hilarious awfulness of the rest guarantees that it’s never boring with a surprisingly coherent internal logic.
2005 - 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (Broadway)
William Finn’s contribution for the decade, Spelling Bee is another intimate show that bucked the odds through savvy producing and a brilliant mix of audience participation and emotional honesty. There are some people out there who will hate me for including this instead of Grey Gardens, but everybody has felt like a Barfee or an Olive at some point, whereas I have never felt like a crazy screaming cat lady.
2005 - Billy Elliot (West End)
The only British mega-musical to conquer London *and* Broadway this decade. The Woman in White tried, but failed to come together, whereas Elton John’s take on striking coal miners and dancing youngsters hit a chord with West End audiences still embittered 15 years after Thatcher and its feel good underdog story resonates with Americans.
2005 - The Light in the Piazza (Broadway)
Adam Guetell’s most successful score to date, and the show many hold up as the great art musical of recent years.
2006 - The Harder They Come (London Subsidised)
This is cheating a bit, mostly so that I could get in a 2006 show in English (the show didn’t go to a proper big venue until 2008), this is the first musical in Britain with an all-Black creative team and cast.
2006 - Rebecca (Vienna)
Michael Kunze reunites with long-term writing partner Sylvester Levay, shifting away from their preference for historicals to adapt Daphne DuMaurier’s legendary novel of broken affairs. A stunning score with beautiful lyrics and the best show to come from the German-speaking regions since...well...Kunze’s last show (Tanz der Vampire)
2007 - Spring Awakening (Broadway)
A hit thanks to sweeping the Tony awards, Spring takes Frank Wedekind’s classic play and hurls it into the present and shows that perhaps we haven’t become as progressive as we might think. Bonus points for an actual pop-rock composer (Duncan Sheik) providing the score. We need more people from the Billboard charts in the theatre.
2008 - Passing Strange (Broadway)
Stew may not be a big name, but his introspective tale of a middle-class Black youth on an international journey of self-discovery was the art-rocker choice from the 2007-2008 season and with the upcoming film will hopefully find a further life in regional and international productions.
2008 - In The Heights (Broadway)
The first Hispanic-focused musical on Broadway and another reminder that Kevin McCollum knows how to pick shows from up-and-coming talent and stands by his choices and faith: nobody thought Heights would last three months on Broadway after mixed reviews off-Broadway, but it wound up winning Best Musical.
2009 - Next to Normal (Broadway)
A fully realised American family drama as a nearly sung-through musical, Normal uses our reactions to mental illness to look at the fallacies of the nuclear family with a catchy, intelligent score. There’s no flinching from pain or singing one’s way to happiness here, and it hits all the harder because of it.
*Whew*
Discuss/argue/debate.
The list and commentary below reflect 20 new works of musical theatre which opened between 2000 and 2009 in a 1st class (read: Broadway/West End/Major Level) venue and provided either a major contribution or simply serve as the most memorable works of the decade. This isn’t to discount smaller productions, but this is one for the big boys. It’s in no particular order than rough chronology.
Also, I suck for not knowing more about original works coming out of Asia.
2000 - Contact (Broadway)
Starting out with a controversial bang is Susan Stroman’s dance play which, famously, won the Tony award for Best Musical despite not having a score: the music was played from CD and nobody in the cast sung. Still, with sequences like Simply Irresistible, it’s easy to see the piece’s allure and its strengths overcome the technicalities.
2000 - Aida (Broadway)
Elton John’s first musical (The Lion King doesn’t really count, that was all music for the film), and Disney’s first show which wasn’t an adapted from a cartoon.
2001 - The Producers (Broadway)
Winner of more Tony awards than any other show, The Producers can be seen as the touchstone of the film adaptation craze, although its flaws became increasingly visible with time and uninspired casting.
2001 - Urinetown (Broadway)
The first of the modern meta-musicals, we arguably wouldn’t have pieces like The Drowsy Chaperone or [title of show] without this little piddle which managed to go from the New York Fringe Festival all the way to Broadway. It also deserves points for the score’s satirical take on Weil.
2002 - We Will Rock You (West End)
The only show from the decade which can well and truly be called critic-proof (Wicked didn’t exactly get glowing reviews but WWRY was roundly trashed). WWRY shows that jukebox shows can have smart concepts, stunning design, and pack in the houses around the world.
2002 - Hairspray (Broadway)
The show which all fluff musicals are now judged against. O’Donnell, Meehan, Whittman, and Shaiman turned John Waters’ tamest film into a stage show which captures both the joy of the musical along with Waters’ sense of humour and anarchy in presentation. Too bad the film remake is so awful.
2002 - Jerry Springer: The Opera (London Subsidised/West End)
The most controversial musical to ever premiere in Britain, Springer spends its first act turning the freak show that is daytime television into a portrayal of tragic victims of their own making while sending up its inspirational material before pointing out that similar characters are to be found everywhere in society.
2003 - Wicked (Broadway)
We Will Rock You may have more international productions, but Wicked is the first show since RENT that can truly be described as a phenomenon.
2003 - Avenue Q (Broadway)
And then there’s the little show that could - proving that charm, wit, and truth (along with a savvy marketing campaign) can upset even the biggest juggernaut. For the recently graduated and those turned out by the current recession, Avenue Q speaks directly to the audience in a way few shows can.
2004 - Caroline, or Change (Broadway)
Despite being spurned in New York, Caroline has become a favourite in the regions and was vindicated with raves and an Olivier award for Best Musical in London. Tony Kushner’s tale of an impoverished Black maid working for a Jewish family in turmoil is a pressure cooker of a character piece backed by Jeanine Tesori’s masterwork of a score that reveals more of its depth with each new production and take on the title character.
2004 - In My Life (Broadway)
One of only two flops on this list, In My Life is the ultimate in vanity projects: written, directed, scored, and produced by creator Joe Brooks, In My Life was a bizarre look at heaven and Earth, of love and loss, and of gay angels singing about brain tumours. In all seriousness, In My Life is the best disaster I’ve ever seen - there’s plenty of good stuff in there and the hilarious awfulness of the rest guarantees that it’s never boring with a surprisingly coherent internal logic.
2005 - 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (Broadway)
William Finn’s contribution for the decade, Spelling Bee is another intimate show that bucked the odds through savvy producing and a brilliant mix of audience participation and emotional honesty. There are some people out there who will hate me for including this instead of Grey Gardens, but everybody has felt like a Barfee or an Olive at some point, whereas I have never felt like a crazy screaming cat lady.
2005 - Billy Elliot (West End)
The only British mega-musical to conquer London *and* Broadway this decade. The Woman in White tried, but failed to come together, whereas Elton John’s take on striking coal miners and dancing youngsters hit a chord with West End audiences still embittered 15 years after Thatcher and its feel good underdog story resonates with Americans.
2005 - The Light in the Piazza (Broadway)
Adam Guetell’s most successful score to date, and the show many hold up as the great art musical of recent years.
2006 - The Harder They Come (London Subsidised)
This is cheating a bit, mostly so that I could get in a 2006 show in English (the show didn’t go to a proper big venue until 2008), this is the first musical in Britain with an all-Black creative team and cast.
2006 - Rebecca (Vienna)
Michael Kunze reunites with long-term writing partner Sylvester Levay, shifting away from their preference for historicals to adapt Daphne DuMaurier’s legendary novel of broken affairs. A stunning score with beautiful lyrics and the best show to come from the German-speaking regions since...well...Kunze’s last show (Tanz der Vampire)
2007 - Spring Awakening (Broadway)
A hit thanks to sweeping the Tony awards, Spring takes Frank Wedekind’s classic play and hurls it into the present and shows that perhaps we haven’t become as progressive as we might think. Bonus points for an actual pop-rock composer (Duncan Sheik) providing the score. We need more people from the Billboard charts in the theatre.
2008 - Passing Strange (Broadway)
Stew may not be a big name, but his introspective tale of a middle-class Black youth on an international journey of self-discovery was the art-rocker choice from the 2007-2008 season and with the upcoming film will hopefully find a further life in regional and international productions.
2008 - In The Heights (Broadway)
The first Hispanic-focused musical on Broadway and another reminder that Kevin McCollum knows how to pick shows from up-and-coming talent and stands by his choices and faith: nobody thought Heights would last three months on Broadway after mixed reviews off-Broadway, but it wound up winning Best Musical.
2009 - Next to Normal (Broadway)
A fully realised American family drama as a nearly sung-through musical, Normal uses our reactions to mental illness to look at the fallacies of the nuclear family with a catchy, intelligent score. There’s no flinching from pain or singing one’s way to happiness here, and it hits all the harder because of it.
*Whew*
Discuss/argue/debate.
Monday, 3 August 2009
REVIEW: “Hot Air”
It’s nice getting asked to see shows before they go to Edinburgh: you get the drop on the Scotsman critic in finding a gem or a disaster.
Sadly, Ten Pence Short’s new play Hot Air is quite firmly in the latter. Written by and starring (a combination that NEVER goes well in a multi-hander unless a top creator is involved) Laura Cairns, Hot Air advertises itself as a “hard-hitting debut” but in truth it’s about as hard-hitting as a birthday balloon filled with its titular commodity. While director and PR rep Nick Bruckman says that changes may be made before the festival opening, they go up this week and there isn’t time for the full rewrite necessary to turn this into an outright comedy or a thriller.
At this point I’m going to apologise. Not to anybody who worked on the play, for you all deserve what’s about to come, but to Matt Boothman, who reviewed the show for London Theatre Blog. Mr. Boothman managed to get a cast and crew list, which I am shamelessly pulling from his review, as nobody gave me anything like that. Take ten pence for bad press relations there. But yeah. Sorry Matt if I unconsciously pull any of your lines while skimming for names.
So anyways, Ms. Cairns has something of a half-decent concept: two women meet outside a house at the crack of dawn after planning a robbery on a website for house raiders. There’s potential in this idea, but it’s wasted in a script full of throwaway sequences and endless babbling from Alice Dooley’s chattering Elizabeth and Ms. Cairns’ uptight superpunctual Scot Margot. We don’t really find out why the site they met on was organised in the first place (other than the leader supposedly gets nothing from it), Margot’s handle, or any real depth about the characters. And why the song at the end? It’s padding and needs to go - the audience will be grateful for a chance to escape three minutes sooner.
Is it funny that Margot has a fetish for old men’s clothes? For about 10 seconds, and it’s certainly creative, but hardly a plot twist. But we never find out why she feels the need to break into dead peoples’ houses for them rather than, say, order cheap remnants on eBay or raid the charity shops. At least Elizabeth’s silver obsession is practical for a thief. After 15 minutes I wanted to smack down Elizabeth or watch them break down a door, but anybody who expects something to, you know, actually happen will be disappointed: nothing does and the big plot twist (since nobody should waste their time on this script) is that the raid is called off as the occupant isn’t dead but miraculously recovering in hospital.
In the end, this is a first draft which desperately needs a dramaturge to refine it into something interesting with a point and a message. It’s not fun enough to be a pub and a pint kind of play and it’s not serious or smart enough to make you think or engage the audience on a deeper level. But with some good rewrites, it may make a decent Afternoon Play on Radio 4.....eventually.
Where/When: Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Not doing prices, etc.
Sadly, Ten Pence Short’s new play Hot Air is quite firmly in the latter. Written by and starring (a combination that NEVER goes well in a multi-hander unless a top creator is involved) Laura Cairns, Hot Air advertises itself as a “hard-hitting debut” but in truth it’s about as hard-hitting as a birthday balloon filled with its titular commodity. While director and PR rep Nick Bruckman says that changes may be made before the festival opening, they go up this week and there isn’t time for the full rewrite necessary to turn this into an outright comedy or a thriller.
At this point I’m going to apologise. Not to anybody who worked on the play, for you all deserve what’s about to come, but to Matt Boothman, who reviewed the show for London Theatre Blog. Mr. Boothman managed to get a cast and crew list, which I am shamelessly pulling from his review, as nobody gave me anything like that. Take ten pence for bad press relations there. But yeah. Sorry Matt if I unconsciously pull any of your lines while skimming for names.
So anyways, Ms. Cairns has something of a half-decent concept: two women meet outside a house at the crack of dawn after planning a robbery on a website for house raiders. There’s potential in this idea, but it’s wasted in a script full of throwaway sequences and endless babbling from Alice Dooley’s chattering Elizabeth and Ms. Cairns’ uptight superpunctual Scot Margot. We don’t really find out why the site they met on was organised in the first place (other than the leader supposedly gets nothing from it), Margot’s handle, or any real depth about the characters. And why the song at the end? It’s padding and needs to go - the audience will be grateful for a chance to escape three minutes sooner.
Is it funny that Margot has a fetish for old men’s clothes? For about 10 seconds, and it’s certainly creative, but hardly a plot twist. But we never find out why she feels the need to break into dead peoples’ houses for them rather than, say, order cheap remnants on eBay or raid the charity shops. At least Elizabeth’s silver obsession is practical for a thief. After 15 minutes I wanted to smack down Elizabeth or watch them break down a door, but anybody who expects something to, you know, actually happen will be disappointed: nothing does and the big plot twist (since nobody should waste their time on this script) is that the raid is called off as the occupant isn’t dead but miraculously recovering in hospital.
In the end, this is a first draft which desperately needs a dramaturge to refine it into something interesting with a point and a message. It’s not fun enough to be a pub and a pint kind of play and it’s not serious or smart enough to make you think or engage the audience on a deeper level. But with some good rewrites, it may make a decent Afternoon Play on Radio 4.....eventually.
Where/When: Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Not doing prices, etc.
REVISIT: Hans Teeuwen
I first came into contact with Hans Teeuwen last year when he played at Battersea Arts Centre following his Edinburgh run and in advance of a Dutch TV taping at the Leicester Square Theatre. At the time I was amused and slightly puzzled, but further research AFTER the show was rather enlightening: once you understand that he’s all about how much he can fuck with the audience, it all becomes significantly funnier, and this year’s triumphant return to BAC in advance of Edinburgh, brings about an almost entirely new show - at least to English speakers.
Opening with a twisted tribute to Michael Jackson, Teeuwen takes us through his usual targets: death, religion (the subject of a brilliant Shaggy Dog story), hand puppets, and lots of crude songs including one number, complete with audience participation, entitled “I Like Your Cunt.” One old bit to return, Dr. Hemmington, is better than ever, and comes complete with contortions.
Overall, Teeuwen’s new show is significantly tighter and more in tune with British tastes, and even his longer shaggy dog bits include more sub-jokes and move at a snappier pace, keeping the audience dancing about at the end of his line eagerly awaiting the punch-line’s knife at the end. This isn’t to say that Teeuwen is to everybody’s taste (we had two walk-outs), those who find him funny will love this new show while haters are unlikely to be converted here.
But consider me shifted from tentative to excited. Here’s hoping he works the UK for a long time to come.
Opening with a twisted tribute to Michael Jackson, Teeuwen takes us through his usual targets: death, religion (the subject of a brilliant Shaggy Dog story), hand puppets, and lots of crude songs including one number, complete with audience participation, entitled “I Like Your Cunt.” One old bit to return, Dr. Hemmington, is better than ever, and comes complete with contortions.
Overall, Teeuwen’s new show is significantly tighter and more in tune with British tastes, and even his longer shaggy dog bits include more sub-jokes and move at a snappier pace, keeping the audience dancing about at the end of his line eagerly awaiting the punch-line’s knife at the end. This isn’t to say that Teeuwen is to everybody’s taste (we had two walk-outs), those who find him funny will love this new show while haters are unlikely to be converted here.
But consider me shifted from tentative to excited. Here’s hoping he works the UK for a long time to come.
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