(EDIT: This review has been quoted by the Daily Mail!)
(ANOTHER EDIT: This review has also been quoted by the Independent!)
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Trainwreck Express is now calling at the Comedy Theatre.
I’m not sure where to go from there, really. It’s rare that such a disaster opens in the West End, and Too Close To The Sun is certainly an amusing disaster to watch as it descends further and further from shocking to abysmal to “oh no they didn’t” and beyond.
I guess we should begin at the beginning, with James Graeme coming down the stairs as Earnest Hemingway and revealing how badly his costume was measured as he lifts his arms and we see the waistband holding his mic pack. Some bad dialogue and he goes offstage, a toilet flushes, and he comes back onstage with a glass of urine which he analyses and leaves on the mantle until the end of the rather long opening scene where a stagehand removes it by the time the set swings around again.
The actual plot (in as much as there is one, and it’s all in the second act) involves a gold-digging secretary (Tammy Joelle) hoping to become wife number five, old friend and slimeball producer Rex De Havilland (Jay Benedict) trying to convince the Hollywood hating Hemingway to sell his biography rights, and wife #4 (Helen Dallimore) strutting around as mistress of the domain controlling Hemingway’s diet and setting rules for everybody while working as fast as she can to get rid of the competition for Earnest’s affections. Oh, and conveniently enough, none of Hemingway's books are actually mentioned by name. Perhaps the estate caught the foul wind of what was going on.
I should point out that the music, lyrics, and production are by the same team responsible for the infamous 2005 flop Behind the Iron Mask, if that gives any of you an idea of the quality you’re in for. The brilliant dialogue includes lines like “What are you doing now?” “Looking for a decent script.”, “What part of Popeye never rusts?” “The part he sticks on Olive Oyl.”, and there are such witty lyrics as “I was the big barricuda” and “A hoochy-cootchy Alabama way down south” a scene on where to best stick the gun muzzle when killing yourself, and the night’s big laugh moment involves Hemingway sings a ballad about being stuck in solitary silence while Rex is off being manic about the film possibilities in a half-lit part of the stage and upstaging the song.
And speaking of being half-lit, someone must be pissed at Helen Dallimore because she wasn’t lit at all in her last couple songs.
But there’s lots of reasons to be annoyed about the cast, particularly Mr. Benedict who, despite being in numerous musicals, is entirely incapable of singing this score on key. Then again, neither can anybody else - perhaps the a-lyrical lyrics (Rhymes? Metre? We don’t need those here!) and a-melodic melodies (and I don’t mean in the avant garde outsider musician sense) are to blame, given just how many blown notes and painful flats there were. Although, perhaps a comparison to outsider musicians isn’t entirely off base: the opportunities for unintended laughter easily matched those of a Florence Foster Jenkins concert, though Madam Flo had the charisma to avoid losing over half her audience at the interval. She also, wisely, stuck to a single piano and didn’t inflict Connor Mitchell’s half-decent half-wtf arrangements on an unsuspecting audience including some unfortunate children.
Many of us weren’t smart enough to leave, however (including - to quite a few surprises - the West End Whingers), and pressed on through the second act with a Blitz spirit, not willing to surrender to the pain and wanting to see just how they could top themselves next. Would the raw timbre set catch fire? Would the stuffed deer head begin talking as Earnest planned to kill himself? We still hadn’t had a geriatric sex scene, so it was an obvious thing to hope for. Ultimately we got none of those three, but we were treated to some of the worst drunken acting in ages and some pointless songs after the suicide.
In other words, the creative team from Behind the Iron Mask have provided something for everybody who missed their previous outing to tell stories about and a guaranteed entry in a West End version of Not Since Carrie. It’s tacky, ugly, and the must-see disaster of the year. Flop collectors will cherish this, though I doubt anybody else will. Those trying to go certainly shouldn’t PAY for a ticket, but freebies are out there if you look and chances are you can collect a stub from someone walking out after the first 10 minutes without missing much.
Hell, you could probably just walk right in and the ushers wouldn’t care - it’s not like the theatre’s going to be anywhere near full anyway.
Where: Comedy Theatre
When: Until 5 September. Tu-Sa @ 19:30, W/Sa @ 14:30
How Much: £10-£55
Concessions: Almost certainly and Ambassador Friends can get top tickets for £20 at all performances. It’s also on lastminute for £10 and has appeared on their sales for as little as £3.
-------------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £5 for trainwreck entertainment value.
RZ Other Notes: Like with Shakespeare, tragedy can be a source of many laughs. Also consider checking with the discount booths by Leicester Square around closing time - some may have extras or promo tickets to give away.
Showing posts with label Trainwreck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trainwreck. Show all posts
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
REVIEW: “Rue Magique”
(Because some anonymous will undoubtedly bitch and moan that this is coming off of a first preview, let’s get a key fact out of the way: tickets are being sold at FULL PRICE during the preview period. That’s £20-25 for the fringe for a technically unfrozen show. Complain to those responsible for THOSE ethics before complaining about a member of the public rambling on the internet. With that taken care of...)
Ladies and gentlemen, the trainwreck express is now pulling in at the King's Head.
Because Riflemind wasn’t enough of a disaster - because Imagine This actually has good word of mouth coming in from out of town - because someone has extra money to throw around (and to those people, I will be happy to work for you vetting funding requests) there’s Rue Magique, currently previewing and soon to open at the Kings Head. And despite nine years in development, Rue Magique is a show that musical disaster fans will be talking about for years.
As the show is still in previews, I’m going to give the standard free passes: the hard working cast give it their absolute all here, especially Melanie LaBarrie as conflicted madame Desdemona and newcomer Nadia Di Mambro as the sweet voiced Sugar and despite the flaws in her book, Lisa Forrell’s direction gets the right stuff out of her cast. Any flaws with the acting or staging will undoubtedly be fixed by the end of previews.
Now for the carnage.
Rue Magique claims to be based on true stories, and while I have no doubt that such tragedy exists in real life, it’s a questionable area to be taking a musical. The plot here revolves around creole Desdemona, a demanding, game boy addict of an agoraphobic madame who runs a brothel in south London. She has three full timers: a British crack whore, a Jamaican dreaming of opening a nail salon, and a Latvian with iffy English who spends more of her time fulfilling Desdemona’s OCD cleaning demands than landing clients - aka vipers.
The show opens with a song about the run down area, the homeless, and the fierceness required to survive. The customers fight over the women (an early song talks about the air being rife with the smell of lubrication - rhymed with sexual frustration), and Desdemona lays down the rules, lording over her tiny domain. When daughter Sugar - it’s her thirteenth birthday today (despite looking 20) - gives her mother’s snacks to a homeless man, she’s sent out for more and talks to shop boy Rem (who’s 17 but looks 25) who offers to teach her kickboxing (to the tune of a drum machine backed song called “Flex”) as a way of chatting her up. Sugar then goes home and Desdemona informs her that she’s now old enough to start servicing the customers. Sugar sings a tender ballad proclaiming her dreams of a magic birthday party surrounded by a loving family (her father is AWOL), and she performs the last chorus while her head hangs off a table as she’s raped by a rather large man.
I’m going to repeat that bit because it’s a true Springtime for Hitler moment come to life. 13 year old Sugar sings the end of her “I Want” song as she’s being raped by a fattie. It’s not even shocking and edgy because di Mambro looks so much older, but it’s tasteless in the same way that The Blonde in the Thunderbird was tasteless when Suzanne Sommers sang “If I Only Had A Brain” as the voice representing her father boomed abuse.
The show goes all downhill from there. Rem sings to Sugar that not all men are evil, she turns against Desdemona and tries living on the street under the sometimes-watchful eye of the homeless man from the opening, it’s revealed that Rem is one of Desdemona’s old clients, and he eventually persuades the domineering mother to confront her past and reveal her daughter’s origins. I would think the right thing for Rem to do would be putting in a call to social services, but that doesn’t make for a good ending and the reveal comes too late in the second act for such an integration to play out in a way that resolves the mother-daughter tension. Of course, the actual ending isn’t so great either: Desdemona frees her daughter from sexual slavery, but only for tonight because it’s her birthday and she’s expected back at work tomorrow.
I wish I could be more positive about this show coming into town. Despite the squick factor of the characters’ ages (I’d believe it more if they were, say, 15 and 18 or 15 and 20), Forrell’s book does manage to hit most of the right emotional notes, but it’s undermined by Brett Kahr’s songs and their truly dreadful lyrics. Outside of two or three big numbers (the act one face-off between Desdemona and Sugar, the title song sung in Creole, and a comic relief number in the second act by three vipers), the lyrics are jaw-droppingly bad which is a shame because the melodies are nice though a bit bland.
If it were up to me to fix things up, I'd keep Lahr's melodies but bring in another lyricist. I’d also cut the interval and the second act opener (an extended comic song about keeping the house clean - like the aforementioned dream song) to keep the tension high. Likewise I'd try to clean up the some of loose ends and tighten up the character arcs: why does Sugar dream of the West End if she can only leave the house to buy groceries? Does Rem actually know about kickboxing and if so why not have him actually teach Sugar so that she can physically take care of herself by the act one conflict and come across as a real threat?
In the end, Rue Magique is sort of like a prostitute’s Annie crossed with BKLYN, except without the wealthy payoff. At this point, it's not even mock-musical East Hastings from the last series of Slings & Arrows. And yes, when going into the theatre I was thinking of this line from [title of show]: “When Bock and Harnick were writing Tenderloin / they were taking a risk to write a show about whores.” While I’m not sure if Rue Magique can be 100 people’s ninth favourite thing or not, but it may manage to become nine people’s favourite regardless of its flaws.
Where: Kings Head
When: Until 7 December, Tu-Sa @ 19:30, Sa/Su @ 15:30
How Much: £20 (Unreserved)/£25 (Reserved)
Concessions: £17.50. If you hold your ground you can try and get a discount on previews but there is no official discount.
-------------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £12.50 because the trainwreck value is that good.
RZ Other Notes: I think I spent about half of the show with my jaw agape from just how ridiculous things played out on stage. Also, I rag on the lyrics quite a bit so I should include some examples:
“Prepare yourself for explosive sex / but no, nothing risky / and she don’t take credit cards or personal cheques.” (this is from a song that's not supposed to be funny - and if it was, the crowd weren't laughing very much)
“When you’re threatened by a junkie / strike a pose and look real funky!”
“When the crop is ripe / put it in your pipe / all the whores become madonnas”
“He’s brave and bold / his bum is very cute / some day he may be mine”
“You must submit / you piece of shit!”
“To reclaim your self-respect / with strong detergent we disinfect”
“If there is soap / then there is hope”
“And so I sit with with my well thumbed pornographic magazine with pages stuck together”
Ladies and gentlemen, the trainwreck express is now pulling in at the King's Head.
Because Riflemind wasn’t enough of a disaster - because Imagine This actually has good word of mouth coming in from out of town - because someone has extra money to throw around (and to those people, I will be happy to work for you vetting funding requests) there’s Rue Magique, currently previewing and soon to open at the Kings Head. And despite nine years in development, Rue Magique is a show that musical disaster fans will be talking about for years.
As the show is still in previews, I’m going to give the standard free passes: the hard working cast give it their absolute all here, especially Melanie LaBarrie as conflicted madame Desdemona and newcomer Nadia Di Mambro as the sweet voiced Sugar and despite the flaws in her book, Lisa Forrell’s direction gets the right stuff out of her cast. Any flaws with the acting or staging will undoubtedly be fixed by the end of previews.
Now for the carnage.
Rue Magique claims to be based on true stories, and while I have no doubt that such tragedy exists in real life, it’s a questionable area to be taking a musical. The plot here revolves around creole Desdemona, a demanding, game boy addict of an agoraphobic madame who runs a brothel in south London. She has three full timers: a British crack whore, a Jamaican dreaming of opening a nail salon, and a Latvian with iffy English who spends more of her time fulfilling Desdemona’s OCD cleaning demands than landing clients - aka vipers.
The show opens with a song about the run down area, the homeless, and the fierceness required to survive. The customers fight over the women (an early song talks about the air being rife with the smell of lubrication - rhymed with sexual frustration), and Desdemona lays down the rules, lording over her tiny domain. When daughter Sugar - it’s her thirteenth birthday today (despite looking 20) - gives her mother’s snacks to a homeless man, she’s sent out for more and talks to shop boy Rem (who’s 17 but looks 25) who offers to teach her kickboxing (to the tune of a drum machine backed song called “Flex”) as a way of chatting her up. Sugar then goes home and Desdemona informs her that she’s now old enough to start servicing the customers. Sugar sings a tender ballad proclaiming her dreams of a magic birthday party surrounded by a loving family (her father is AWOL), and she performs the last chorus while her head hangs off a table as she’s raped by a rather large man.
I’m going to repeat that bit because it’s a true Springtime for Hitler moment come to life. 13 year old Sugar sings the end of her “I Want” song as she’s being raped by a fattie. It’s not even shocking and edgy because di Mambro looks so much older, but it’s tasteless in the same way that The Blonde in the Thunderbird was tasteless when Suzanne Sommers sang “If I Only Had A Brain” as the voice representing her father boomed abuse.
The show goes all downhill from there. Rem sings to Sugar that not all men are evil, she turns against Desdemona and tries living on the street under the sometimes-watchful eye of the homeless man from the opening, it’s revealed that Rem is one of Desdemona’s old clients, and he eventually persuades the domineering mother to confront her past and reveal her daughter’s origins. I would think the right thing for Rem to do would be putting in a call to social services, but that doesn’t make for a good ending and the reveal comes too late in the second act for such an integration to play out in a way that resolves the mother-daughter tension. Of course, the actual ending isn’t so great either: Desdemona frees her daughter from sexual slavery, but only for tonight because it’s her birthday and she’s expected back at work tomorrow.
I wish I could be more positive about this show coming into town. Despite the squick factor of the characters’ ages (I’d believe it more if they were, say, 15 and 18 or 15 and 20), Forrell’s book does manage to hit most of the right emotional notes, but it’s undermined by Brett Kahr’s songs and their truly dreadful lyrics. Outside of two or three big numbers (the act one face-off between Desdemona and Sugar, the title song sung in Creole, and a comic relief number in the second act by three vipers), the lyrics are jaw-droppingly bad which is a shame because the melodies are nice though a bit bland.
If it were up to me to fix things up, I'd keep Lahr's melodies but bring in another lyricist. I’d also cut the interval and the second act opener (an extended comic song about keeping the house clean - like the aforementioned dream song) to keep the tension high. Likewise I'd try to clean up the some of loose ends and tighten up the character arcs: why does Sugar dream of the West End if she can only leave the house to buy groceries? Does Rem actually know about kickboxing and if so why not have him actually teach Sugar so that she can physically take care of herself by the act one conflict and come across as a real threat?
In the end, Rue Magique is sort of like a prostitute’s Annie crossed with BKLYN, except without the wealthy payoff. At this point, it's not even mock-musical East Hastings from the last series of Slings & Arrows. And yes, when going into the theatre I was thinking of this line from [title of show]: “When Bock and Harnick were writing Tenderloin / they were taking a risk to write a show about whores.” While I’m not sure if Rue Magique can be 100 people’s ninth favourite thing or not, but it may manage to become nine people’s favourite regardless of its flaws.
Where: Kings Head
When: Until 7 December, Tu-Sa @ 19:30, Sa/Su @ 15:30
How Much: £20 (Unreserved)/£25 (Reserved)
Concessions: £17.50. If you hold your ground you can try and get a discount on previews but there is no official discount.
-------------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £12.50 because the trainwreck value is that good.
RZ Other Notes: I think I spent about half of the show with my jaw agape from just how ridiculous things played out on stage. Also, I rag on the lyrics quite a bit so I should include some examples:
“Prepare yourself for explosive sex / but no, nothing risky / and she don’t take credit cards or personal cheques.” (this is from a song that's not supposed to be funny - and if it was, the crowd weren't laughing very much)
“When you’re threatened by a junkie / strike a pose and look real funky!”
“When the crop is ripe / put it in your pipe / all the whores become madonnas”
“He’s brave and bold / his bum is very cute / some day he may be mine”
“You must submit / you piece of shit!”
“To reclaim your self-respect / with strong detergent we disinfect”
“If there is soap / then there is hope”
“And so I sit with with my well thumbed pornographic magazine with pages stuck together”
Friday, 6 June 2008
REVIEW: "Love"
Ladies and Gentlemen, the trainwreck express is now calling at the Lyric Hammersmith.
After delivering the critically acclaimed Metamorphasis, Iceland’s Gisli Örn Gandarsson and Vikinguk Kristjánsson return to London with a jukebox musical about finding a sweetheart in your 70’s. Packed with more pop-rock standards than a 90’s school disco, Love is a saccharine, predictable mess of a show redeemed only by its charming cast and “Springtime for Hitler”-esque moments of jaw dropping hilarity. Spoilers follow, as Love’s “brilliance” needs to be described in depth to be appreciated.
The show begins (officially, not including an in-character choir session) as a City banker drops off his widow mother at a care home as she can’t tend to her broken arm in the country. Upset about the lack of a private room and confused by all the singing going around, there’s some bickering with nasty nurse Lutka before everyone agrees to try things for the weekend. As our heroine (whose name the RZ can’t remember - but hey, neither could Michael Billington or Charles Spencer and the show’s website doesn’t say) gets settled, she comes across a seemingly spry fellow named Neville. The two quickly fall for each other, and decide to escape into the city rather than face the home’s poor choice of dinner option. We follow them to the Lyric Hammersmith theatre (how clever!) where they see a parody of Chekhov and disappear into the night.
As the second act begins, the mildly amusing but impact-less show takes a turn for the nearest brick wall. The police are at the home, and our City banker returns, berates his mother for being unfaithful to her husband and making him worry before demanding she pack and be ready to leave in the morning. Instead she winds up sleeping with Neville and we get the mandatory “walking-in” scene including a naked man in his sixties (seventies?). When Mr. Banker’s mother holds her ground, the son is sent off through a musical mess of choir practice similar to the first act closing in The Mikado. The protagonist then asks Neville to move to the country with her, but he hesitates before beginning to pack his bags. Our narrator figure (who lives at the home with his mute wife) warns Neville that it won’t work, but he doesn’t care. He prepares to leave and, as our heroine emerges from her room, suffers a massive breakdown from dementia, backed by an Alzheimer’s patient singing David Bowie’s “Space Oddity.”
Yes, you read that right. A character suffers a breakdown and an ordinarily mute Alzheimer's patient starts singing David Bowie's "Space Oddity."
Anyways, the woman decides that she’ll see her new love back to mental health and remain with him in the home. Neville does recover, but, as in all fictional relationships involving old or diseased participants, it’s just in time to die for no obvious reason.
Oh, there’s also a subplot about a man attempting (and failing) to woo our main character’s roommate as he walked out on her thirty years prior and wants to start again.
The cast, mostly Hammersmith locals, try their best, and do their best to win over the audience despite the dreadful material. Börker Jónsson’s set, however, is problematic to view from the stalls, as it is composed of low walls (think half height cubicles) to make up the various bedrooms, and it’s difficult to see the cast when they’re behind them and sitting down, which is a good part of the show. Natasha Chivers’s lighting fares better, making good use of a star curtain and an impressive at first but overused light up bouquet of flowers.
It’s hard to really say whether or not the RZ liked Love. He found it extremely funny, for the wrong reasons, yes, but it did actually hammer home a point that people tend to forget - senior citizenss are adults and it’s not fair that we frequently treat them like children, be it out of misconceptions or as revenge for the injustices of our own childhoods. However, the message comes across with all the subtlety of a chainsaw, and the frequently uninspired song choices (including a scene clearly inspired by last year’s TV broadcast of octogenarians singing The Who’s “My Generation,” shamelessly copied here) don’t help. The RZ wouldn’t have had such a problem if Love was merely sympathetic, as sympathy, nostalgia, etc. are universals, but the book is so saptastic that it’s difficult to feel any real emotion.
In the end, it’s unlikely that most people will love Love, and the more you approach the cast’s average age or consider yourself a romantic, the more you’re likely to be sympathetic towards its flaws. For the rest of us, Love is a mercifully short (95 min. including interval) diversion good for a few mean-spirited laughs.
Where: Lyric Hammersmith
When: Until 21 June. M-Sa @ 19:30, 14/21 June @ 14:30
How Much: £13-£27
Concessions: Subscribers, locals, and young company members can get tickets for £5. Some nights are all seats for £9, which is also the student/under-25 rate. All other concessions £10.
----------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £9 for curiosity’s sake. See this before Troilus and Cressida.
RZ Other Notes: The RZ had the fun of getting to the theatre the same night that the tube was thrown into chaos due to the unexploded WWII bomb near Bromley.
After delivering the critically acclaimed Metamorphasis, Iceland’s Gisli Örn Gandarsson and Vikinguk Kristjánsson return to London with a jukebox musical about finding a sweetheart in your 70’s. Packed with more pop-rock standards than a 90’s school disco, Love is a saccharine, predictable mess of a show redeemed only by its charming cast and “Springtime for Hitler”-esque moments of jaw dropping hilarity. Spoilers follow, as Love’s “brilliance” needs to be described in depth to be appreciated.
The show begins (officially, not including an in-character choir session) as a City banker drops off his widow mother at a care home as she can’t tend to her broken arm in the country. Upset about the lack of a private room and confused by all the singing going around, there’s some bickering with nasty nurse Lutka before everyone agrees to try things for the weekend. As our heroine (whose name the RZ can’t remember - but hey, neither could Michael Billington or Charles Spencer and the show’s website doesn’t say) gets settled, she comes across a seemingly spry fellow named Neville. The two quickly fall for each other, and decide to escape into the city rather than face the home’s poor choice of dinner option. We follow them to the Lyric Hammersmith theatre (how clever!) where they see a parody of Chekhov and disappear into the night.
As the second act begins, the mildly amusing but impact-less show takes a turn for the nearest brick wall. The police are at the home, and our City banker returns, berates his mother for being unfaithful to her husband and making him worry before demanding she pack and be ready to leave in the morning. Instead she winds up sleeping with Neville and we get the mandatory “walking-in” scene including a naked man in his sixties (seventies?). When Mr. Banker’s mother holds her ground, the son is sent off through a musical mess of choir practice similar to the first act closing in The Mikado. The protagonist then asks Neville to move to the country with her, but he hesitates before beginning to pack his bags. Our narrator figure (who lives at the home with his mute wife) warns Neville that it won’t work, but he doesn’t care. He prepares to leave and, as our heroine emerges from her room, suffers a massive breakdown from dementia, backed by an Alzheimer’s patient singing David Bowie’s “Space Oddity.”
Yes, you read that right. A character suffers a breakdown and an ordinarily mute Alzheimer's patient starts singing David Bowie's "Space Oddity."
Anyways, the woman decides that she’ll see her new love back to mental health and remain with him in the home. Neville does recover, but, as in all fictional relationships involving old or diseased participants, it’s just in time to die for no obvious reason.
Oh, there’s also a subplot about a man attempting (and failing) to woo our main character’s roommate as he walked out on her thirty years prior and wants to start again.
The cast, mostly Hammersmith locals, try their best, and do their best to win over the audience despite the dreadful material. Börker Jónsson’s set, however, is problematic to view from the stalls, as it is composed of low walls (think half height cubicles) to make up the various bedrooms, and it’s difficult to see the cast when they’re behind them and sitting down, which is a good part of the show. Natasha Chivers’s lighting fares better, making good use of a star curtain and an impressive at first but overused light up bouquet of flowers.
It’s hard to really say whether or not the RZ liked Love. He found it extremely funny, for the wrong reasons, yes, but it did actually hammer home a point that people tend to forget - senior citizenss are adults and it’s not fair that we frequently treat them like children, be it out of misconceptions or as revenge for the injustices of our own childhoods. However, the message comes across with all the subtlety of a chainsaw, and the frequently uninspired song choices (including a scene clearly inspired by last year’s TV broadcast of octogenarians singing The Who’s “My Generation,” shamelessly copied here) don’t help. The RZ wouldn’t have had such a problem if Love was merely sympathetic, as sympathy, nostalgia, etc. are universals, but the book is so saptastic that it’s difficult to feel any real emotion.
In the end, it’s unlikely that most people will love Love, and the more you approach the cast’s average age or consider yourself a romantic, the more you’re likely to be sympathetic towards its flaws. For the rest of us, Love is a mercifully short (95 min. including interval) diversion good for a few mean-spirited laughs.
Where: Lyric Hammersmith
When: Until 21 June. M-Sa @ 19:30, 14/21 June @ 14:30
How Much: £13-£27
Concessions: Subscribers, locals, and young company members can get tickets for £5. Some nights are all seats for £9, which is also the student/under-25 rate. All other concessions £10.
----------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £9 for curiosity’s sake. See this before Troilus and Cressida.
RZ Other Notes: The RZ had the fun of getting to the theatre the same night that the tube was thrown into chaos due to the unexploded WWII bomb near Bromley.
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