Folks, let’s be honest for a minute. Does the RZ really need to write a full and proper review for this show? Between it’s Edinburgh, world tour, and now Barbican productions, every critic, blogger, and their dog have written glowing raves (some twice) about Black Watch (whither the Whingers who felt that despite all the pieces being excellent the whole didn’t come together). Adding yet another rave here would seem masturbatory (look at me, I can rave too!) and forced, so he’ll keep this one short:
-Yes, it’s an accurate portrayal of the insanity surrounding active military life.
-Yes, they fucking curse a shitload of times.
-Yes, it’s absolutely brilliant.
-No, it doesn’t matter what the reviews were because the entire run sold out in advance.
-Yes, there is a queue for returns every day.
-No, the Barbican won’t mind if you’re in the first 10 or so people and steal a cafe chair to use.
-Yes, this is actually an entertaining and well made play.
-Yes, it’s really part of BITE, the most pretentious large-scale theatre line-up in London.
And there you have it.
Where: Barbican, Main Stage
When: Until 26 July, M-Sa @ 19:45, Th/Sa @ 14:00
How Much: £25
Concessions: For an altered-stage production at the Barbican? HA!
-------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £25. Believe the hype.
RZ Other Notes: The RZ gives the Barbican a hard time in part because until Black Watch he finds the main stage to be a soulless bunker and has only found about a quarter (now around 40%) of the theatre programme he’d seen to be anything but disappointing or hideous. Much of this is due to his populist leanings in the theatre and the BITE programming staff’s desire to be anything but. The film programming is much more egalitarian, however, and the RZ likes the fact that there’s free wifi and recently discovered that the terrace cafe actually offers decent tea and cake, even if they expect an arm and a leg for it.
Showing posts with label Barbican. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barbican. Show all posts
Saturday, 12 July 2008
Thursday, 29 May 2008
REVIEW: "Troilus and Cressida"
For centuries, Shakespeare’s take on the Trojan war has been written off as unstageable, and with good reason - the play is an absolute disaster, with plot threads strewn about like blobs on a Jackson Pollock. It is in the face of such adversity that Cheek by Jowl have returned to the Barbican, premiering their best attempts at dramaturgy first in France (way to honour their ACE funding...) before landing at the Barbican to deliver 195 minutes of sheer and utter boredom to London audiences.
Unfortunately, despite what the RZ’s tutor described as massive edits and streamlining, Troilus and Cressida is still an indeterminate mess as well as a paragon to false advertising. The titular lovers have little stage time, their romance being a mere subplot which could easily have been discarded (except then the play would need to be retitled), rather the focus is on the challenge between Hector and Achilles and the interference run by Ajax. Being unfamiliar with the original edition of the text (nobody stages it and it’s not on most American syllabi), the RZ can’t comment on the extent of the edits, but a girl was loudly complaining on her way out about how the company hacked up the play. Given that plays in Shakespeare's day would have been edited to run for two hours, the RZ feels that it was under-cut.
Visually, the acclaimed Nick Ormerod (half of the CxJ über-duo) goes for the glory but falls short, placing the show in a traverse that resembles something between a nomadic camp and a cheap circus. Again failing to live up to advertising, there is an utter lack of creepy clown masks (first image) on stage, but we do see gas masked Greeks as well as Ormerod’s clear love of first person shooters, as the warriors don a full set of steel helmets and cricket pads to look like squishy rejects from Halo (second and third images). It’s the same deal for both sides, except the Grecians have their kit painted black while the Trojans wear lots and lots of white, reducing the Iliad to a beginner’s game of chess. As the cast go knocking over stools and wrinkling the long strip rugs we’re treated so some bland lighting (with one good effect at the end) and a lack of purpose from the setup.
Declan Donnellan (the other CxJ wunderkind) has plenty to answer for as well, not least of which the pitiful battle scene which looked like it was inspired by God of War. One of the RZ’s classmates questioned why the production was staged in traverse at the interval, but nobody had an answer by the end. Usually such a staging allows for a feeling of claustrophobia or intimacy, but neither was to be found here. Donnellan’s direction has also provided one of the most annoying characters in recent history to pervade the London stage in the form of Ryan Kiggell’s obnoxiously stilted Ulysses. With a pair of skinheads as Achilles (Paul Brennan) and shouting Scotsman Ajax (Laurence Spellman, whom the RZ suspects escaped from the tour of Black Watch) and a boy band filling out the ranks of the young Trojans. Given the quantity of homoerotic subtext present in the text now magnified by the staging, the RZ wondered if Cheek by Jowl should have thrown out most of the script and produced a Shakespearean porno instead, especially with the presence of Richard Cant as tranny maid Thersites.
There’s no doubt, however, that Shakespeare fans will discuss this production for years to come, as Troilus and Cressida is so rarely staged. Indeed, the RZ’s class was evenly split between “found it OK” and “didn’t like it,” and he is admittedly not a fan of Shakespeare, so take this review with a large block of salt. In the RZ’s opinion, however, the best seats are in another venue and suggests taking in some Brecht at the Young Vic instead.
Where: Barbican Main Theatre
When: Until 14 June, M-Sa @ 19:15, Sa @ 14:30
How Much: £25
Concessions: Cheek by Jowl reconfigure the venue so seating is more limited than usual, so no concessions.
-------------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £0. While the fight was laughably bad and the drag cabaret provided a moment of amusement in the second half, they don’t make up for the fact that this is a messy, dull play that no amount of Bardolatry can justify.
RZ Other Notes: Yes, I panned Shakespeare. Let the flaming begin.
Unfortunately, despite what the RZ’s tutor described as massive edits and streamlining, Troilus and Cressida is still an indeterminate mess as well as a paragon to false advertising. The titular lovers have little stage time, their romance being a mere subplot which could easily have been discarded (except then the play would need to be retitled), rather the focus is on the challenge between Hector and Achilles and the interference run by Ajax. Being unfamiliar with the original edition of the text (nobody stages it and it’s not on most American syllabi), the RZ can’t comment on the extent of the edits, but a girl was loudly complaining on her way out about how the company hacked up the play. Given that plays in Shakespeare's day would have been edited to run for two hours, the RZ feels that it was under-cut.
Visually, the acclaimed Nick Ormerod (half of the CxJ über-duo) goes for the glory but falls short, placing the show in a traverse that resembles something between a nomadic camp and a cheap circus. Again failing to live up to advertising, there is an utter lack of creepy clown masks (first image) on stage, but we do see gas masked Greeks as well as Ormerod’s clear love of first person shooters, as the warriors don a full set of steel helmets and cricket pads to look like squishy rejects from Halo (second and third images). It’s the same deal for both sides, except the Grecians have their kit painted black while the Trojans wear lots and lots of white, reducing the Iliad to a beginner’s game of chess. As the cast go knocking over stools and wrinkling the long strip rugs we’re treated so some bland lighting (with one good effect at the end) and a lack of purpose from the setup.
Declan Donnellan (the other CxJ wunderkind) has plenty to answer for as well, not least of which the pitiful battle scene which looked like it was inspired by God of War. One of the RZ’s classmates questioned why the production was staged in traverse at the interval, but nobody had an answer by the end. Usually such a staging allows for a feeling of claustrophobia or intimacy, but neither was to be found here. Donnellan’s direction has also provided one of the most annoying characters in recent history to pervade the London stage in the form of Ryan Kiggell’s obnoxiously stilted Ulysses. With a pair of skinheads as Achilles (Paul Brennan) and shouting Scotsman Ajax (Laurence Spellman, whom the RZ suspects escaped from the tour of Black Watch) and a boy band filling out the ranks of the young Trojans. Given the quantity of homoerotic subtext present in the text now magnified by the staging, the RZ wondered if Cheek by Jowl should have thrown out most of the script and produced a Shakespearean porno instead, especially with the presence of Richard Cant as tranny maid Thersites.
There’s no doubt, however, that Shakespeare fans will discuss this production for years to come, as Troilus and Cressida is so rarely staged. Indeed, the RZ’s class was evenly split between “found it OK” and “didn’t like it,” and he is admittedly not a fan of Shakespeare, so take this review with a large block of salt. In the RZ’s opinion, however, the best seats are in another venue and suggests taking in some Brecht at the Young Vic instead.
Where: Barbican Main Theatre
When: Until 14 June, M-Sa @ 19:15, Sa @ 14:30
How Much: £25
Concessions: Cheek by Jowl reconfigure the venue so seating is more limited than usual, so no concessions.
-------------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £0. While the fight was laughably bad and the drag cabaret provided a moment of amusement in the second half, they don’t make up for the fact that this is a messy, dull play that no amount of Bardolatry can justify.
RZ Other Notes: Yes, I panned Shakespeare. Let the flaming begin.
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
REVIEW: "The Harder They Come"
(In honour of the Arts Council, perhaps this one could be referred to as tick-box reviewing...)
Jamaica is a beautiful land of bright colours, reggae music, marijuana, and evangelical Christianity where even the most abject poverty can be accepted with a song and a spliff. At least that’s what Perry Henzell would have audiences believe in (get ready for it) the Barbican’s transfer of Theatre Royal Stratford East’s production of Henzell’s adaptation of his original 1972 film The Harder They Come, which he co-wrote with Trevor Rhone.
Whew, what a mouthful.
This tale of a country boy’s attempts to make it big in the music business via sex, drugs, and violence has gone through two sold-out productions at its fringe home and is parked at the Barbican for a month before embarking on a UK tour. Brimming with soulful reggae classics and a glowing passion for life in the face of adversity, The Harder They Come is a solid night out, albeit flawed. By handling his own adaptation, Henzell assumes a level of familiarity with the film’s plot and the Jamaican politics of its time which modern (white?) British audiences are likely to miss without going home and checking resources on the original material. In addition to the subtextual issues, a more glaring problem comes as the book takes leaps through protagonist Ivan’s life without any solid idea of a timescale. When Ivan turns from frustrated musician to revolutionary anti-hero, it happens in the blink of an eye and a scene lacking clarity.
That said, most audience members aren’t expecting (or seeking) a work about Caribbean socioeconomic concerns, and the score, recycling the film’s line up with a healthy dose of classics and standards (all uncredited) to boot is where it’s at. The result is a mix of tones and outlooks, frequently finding the humour in bleak events - Little Sally wouldn’t call this a happy musical, but it’s joyous nonetheless.
Rolan Bell leads the endlessly energetic cast as the ruthlessly naïve Ivan with some of the best dance moves to hit the London stage in months. The remaining cast have individual identities during the dialogue scenes, but fall back to form the community surrounding Ivan’s life during most of the songs.
Design-wise, this production betrays its low budget roots. A cheap looking fixed set by Ultz (also responsible for Stratford East’s recent production of The Blacks) is decked out in red/yellow/green, containing the cast as they mill about with the band located in centre stage and stage right. His costumes, likely resembling the film (the RZ hasn’t seen it), bring out the the best and worst of 1970’s excess from disco to blaxploitation films. While the period is evoked, nothing in the design resembles the grit present in the material or the original film’s image.
While The Harder They Come doesn’t fall hard on its arse, it’s an imperfect yet infectious time out, though non-Brits are likely to feel they’re missing something. The Island experience is tied far more closely to the Black British community (and therefore UK culture at large) than the Af-Am subculture in the States, one would be hard pressed to justify missing this in what is shaping up to be a solid spring for musical fans.
Where: Barbican Main Stage
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, Sa @ 14:30 until 5 April
How Much: £10-£30
Concessions: All tickets £5 on 2 April @ 14:30, check with Barbican for others.
-----------------------
RZ Unofficial Worth Paying: £20. Off-Broadway script and production values.
RZ Other Notes: It’s fascinating to see how the newspaper critics handle shows like these. At the Guardian, Lyn Gardner gushed over this show’s fringe run and the fact that it’s apparently the first all-black cast and creative team musical to be in the UK, while the Telegraph’s reviewer took a far more standard approach. Would this have had the lifespan it’s had including its new high profile run if it had white producers or directors? Who knows. What the RZ does know is that the prospects of a West End run happening, let alone turning a profit for The Harder They Come are slim, even if it is following the same adaptation formula as, say, the ultra white-bread Dirty Dancing.
Jamaica is a beautiful land of bright colours, reggae music, marijuana, and evangelical Christianity where even the most abject poverty can be accepted with a song and a spliff. At least that’s what Perry Henzell would have audiences believe in (get ready for it) the Barbican’s transfer of Theatre Royal Stratford East’s production of Henzell’s adaptation of his original 1972 film The Harder They Come, which he co-wrote with Trevor Rhone.
Whew, what a mouthful.
This tale of a country boy’s attempts to make it big in the music business via sex, drugs, and violence has gone through two sold-out productions at its fringe home and is parked at the Barbican for a month before embarking on a UK tour. Brimming with soulful reggae classics and a glowing passion for life in the face of adversity, The Harder They Come is a solid night out, albeit flawed. By handling his own adaptation, Henzell assumes a level of familiarity with the film’s plot and the Jamaican politics of its time which modern (white?) British audiences are likely to miss without going home and checking resources on the original material. In addition to the subtextual issues, a more glaring problem comes as the book takes leaps through protagonist Ivan’s life without any solid idea of a timescale. When Ivan turns from frustrated musician to revolutionary anti-hero, it happens in the blink of an eye and a scene lacking clarity.
That said, most audience members aren’t expecting (or seeking) a work about Caribbean socioeconomic concerns, and the score, recycling the film’s line up with a healthy dose of classics and standards (all uncredited) to boot is where it’s at. The result is a mix of tones and outlooks, frequently finding the humour in bleak events - Little Sally wouldn’t call this a happy musical, but it’s joyous nonetheless.
Rolan Bell leads the endlessly energetic cast as the ruthlessly naïve Ivan with some of the best dance moves to hit the London stage in months. The remaining cast have individual identities during the dialogue scenes, but fall back to form the community surrounding Ivan’s life during most of the songs.
Design-wise, this production betrays its low budget roots. A cheap looking fixed set by Ultz (also responsible for Stratford East’s recent production of The Blacks) is decked out in red/yellow/green, containing the cast as they mill about with the band located in centre stage and stage right. His costumes, likely resembling the film (the RZ hasn’t seen it), bring out the the best and worst of 1970’s excess from disco to blaxploitation films. While the period is evoked, nothing in the design resembles the grit present in the material or the original film’s image.
While The Harder They Come doesn’t fall hard on its arse, it’s an imperfect yet infectious time out, though non-Brits are likely to feel they’re missing something. The Island experience is tied far more closely to the Black British community (and therefore UK culture at large) than the Af-Am subculture in the States, one would be hard pressed to justify missing this in what is shaping up to be a solid spring for musical fans.
Where: Barbican Main Stage
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, Sa @ 14:30 until 5 April
How Much: £10-£30
Concessions: All tickets £5 on 2 April @ 14:30, check with Barbican for others.
-----------------------
RZ Unofficial Worth Paying: £20. Off-Broadway script and production values.
RZ Other Notes: It’s fascinating to see how the newspaper critics handle shows like these. At the Guardian, Lyn Gardner gushed over this show’s fringe run and the fact that it’s apparently the first all-black cast and creative team musical to be in the UK, while the Telegraph’s reviewer took a far more standard approach. Would this have had the lifespan it’s had including its new high profile run if it had white producers or directors? Who knows. What the RZ does know is that the prospects of a West End run happening, let alone turning a profit for The Harder They Come are slim, even if it is following the same adaptation formula as, say, the ultra white-bread Dirty Dancing.
Monday, 25 February 2008
NEWS: Site Update...
Could it be? Another week without a review?
Yes, it's unfortunately true. The RZ caught a cold/flu/something that caused lots of coughing and an inability to breathe easily last week, which meant skipping out on The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui at the Lyric Hammersmith (although the Telegraph implies that it's for the best).
That said, as a pre-paid class assignment, he did catch Tough time, nice time at the Barbican on Wednesday. As the RZ watched it through a haze of cold medication, cough drops, and sleep deprivation, it would be unfair to you, the reader, as well as Ridiculusmus (who undoubtedly earned every penny of their £70,477 Arts Council grant for 2008/9) to even attempt to write a proper review on the piece. What the RZ will say is that his classmates and course tutor liked it, as did most of the mainstream critics. While he agrees with the Whingers that the piece wasn't explicit enough to deserve its strict 18+ (The Pillowman was far more shocking and unsettling in his mind), there's enough to make the middle-aged blush and to upset the non-cynical in the crowd.
While he was too inert to approach the piece intellectually, the RZ did feel that the piece shared its tone (and some of the issues discussed by critics and classmates alike) with the 2006 American work Dark Yellow, which he rather enjoyed.
Meanwhile, onto some good news. The plague has (mostly) passed, and the RZ has two shows on his agenda for this week: Speed-the-Plow at the Old Vic and first preview for the London cast of Jersey Boys. Huzzah.
Yes, it's unfortunately true. The RZ caught a cold/flu/something that caused lots of coughing and an inability to breathe easily last week, which meant skipping out on The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui at the Lyric Hammersmith (although the Telegraph implies that it's for the best).
That said, as a pre-paid class assignment, he did catch Tough time, nice time at the Barbican on Wednesday. As the RZ watched it through a haze of cold medication, cough drops, and sleep deprivation, it would be unfair to you, the reader, as well as Ridiculusmus (who undoubtedly earned every penny of their £70,477 Arts Council grant for 2008/9) to even attempt to write a proper review on the piece. What the RZ will say is that his classmates and course tutor liked it, as did most of the mainstream critics. While he agrees with the Whingers that the piece wasn't explicit enough to deserve its strict 18+ (The Pillowman was far more shocking and unsettling in his mind), there's enough to make the middle-aged blush and to upset the non-cynical in the crowd.
While he was too inert to approach the piece intellectually, the RZ did feel that the piece shared its tone (and some of the issues discussed by critics and classmates alike) with the 2006 American work Dark Yellow, which he rather enjoyed.
Meanwhile, onto some good news. The plague has (mostly) passed, and the RZ has two shows on his agenda for this week: Speed-the-Plow at the Old Vic and first preview for the London cast of Jersey Boys. Huzzah.
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