(This is the site’s 200th post.)
In 1973, The Who released an album that would change the world forever, influencing rock contemporaries and spreading through the ages, ultimately resurfacing in the grunge movement (Eddie Vedder cited it as a primary influence), jam bands (Phish covered it in full at a Halloween gig), and even pop-punk (American Idiot).
That album, was, of course, Quadrophenia (duh, it’s in the post title) and it is, without a doubt, one of the greatest works in the history of rock music. A densely layered concept piece, Quad bridges The Who’s definitive loud sound - everybody plays lead on every song - with the synths, strings, and musical complexity of the burgeoning progressive movement. Quad’s beauty lies in its ability to harness these sounds without giving in to the pretentiousness of prog: this is an album about the explosion of a movement, of violently encountering the transition from youth to adulthood, and of desperately trying to find oneself in the world. It’s bleak, harsh, and yet spiritual, ending with the potential for hope.
Like Tommy and the abandoned Lifehouse project, Quadrophenia tells something of a bizarre story as only The Who could get away with. It’s 1964, and a lad of 16 named Jimmy is leaving school, getting a well paying but distinctly working class job, and spending his money on the speed and fashions required to stay in with the mod scene that he follows but never quite connects to. As his life begins to deteriorate, Jimmy finds himself split into four personas modeled on the members of The Who: a tough guy (Roger Daltrey), a romantic (John Entwistle), a nutter (Keith Moon), and what’s labeled a hypocrite but really more of an ineffectual and observer (Pete Townshend, who wrote and scored the entire album.)
When things hit bottom at home at the end of the first disc, Jimmy takes off for mod central in Brighton, only to find his solace shattered in the off-season with the city nearly deserted and after a disappointing encounter with one of his heroes.
It sounds simple, but deciphering the story in full requires reading the album’s liner notes or seeing a video of the 1996-1997 tour with its linking narration. The songs themselves give little away, reflecting emotion and a personal journey but not providing a wider frame of context. It’s of little surprise, therefore, that when Quadrophenia was turned into a film in 1979 that much of the original story (and music) was discarded. It also guarantees that fans familiar with the film but not the album are going to be completely lost at Quadrophenia, the musical.
Returning to roots, the stage Quadrophenia dispenses with any sort of dialogue and sticks to the music and attempts to tell its story through lyric and dance. As suggested above, this is quite an undertaking, especially as the original double album is just over 85 minutes and the production truncates one song (“I’ve Had Enough”) and cuts the second leitmotiv instrumental (“The Rock”), which brings the story to a head on vinyl. Making up the runtime are seven early Who songs, some of which were brought out of cold storage for the film, and reset into context. For those familiar with the album, the additions in the second act will feel like padding. For everyone else, they’re going to fit right in. Either way, the added tracks add a sense of authenticity to the period - Quad is very much later Who, and doesn’t sound like anything from 1964.
But does the adaptation actually work? For the most part, yes. Pete Townshend himself has contributed to and supervised director Tom Critchley’s adaptation, teaching the cast about the period and ensuring that his vision is accurately represented, much as he did with the original Broadway production of Tommy. This isn’t to say there aren’t problems (more below), but overall the show is stunningly true to the spirit of the album and it bursts across the stage in a whirlwind of sound and fury.
First and foremost, John O’Hara’s orchestrations are stunning. Adapting the score for nine pieces (2 keys / 2 guitars / 2 strings / bass / drums / brass), the music gains a level of undercurrent for the motiv structure to shine through and guaranteeing that the music is appropriately loud. It’s also a tribute to Jason Barnes’s sound design that the cast are still able to be heard over the blaring band without ever getting painful to hear and without the muffled and echo-y tones of most tours (and touring venues).
Credit also goes to Frances Newman for her excited, visceral choreography and Carl Perry for the costumes so stylish as to remind us in one shot why the mods looked so damn cool: I left the theatre wanting one of Jimmy’s marked up parkas, even if the revivalist/torch carrying mods of here and now find the garment passé and stereotypical.
So where’s the big problem? Well, as I mentioned before, the story can be obtuse, and while the staging brings it to life as much as possible, it doesn’t always manage to make sense of itself on stage. One reason for this is the presence of a Young Jimmy representing the whole id, who struck me as somewhat superfluous. There’s also some time jumping in an attempt to clarify some lyrics in the face of onstage happenings which would be a spoiler to reveal here. Sophie Khan’s set doesn’t help much either: there’s a sofa for the first few scenes, a revolve, and a giant ring in the second act. The band are visible on a two tiered cage at the back for a couple of cast members to climb on, but otherwise the location prompts are determined by how much the viewer is paying attention to the lyrics. Clubs are easy, a solo moment on a pier not so much.
Another, more pressing issue, is in the portrayal of Jimmy’s personalities: all four are played by different actors in identical clothes. The technique is engaging and works as the situation shifts from Ryan O’Donnel’s romantic reaching out to others to George Maguire’s tough guy fighting with his father (John Schumacher), but it can be difficult to tell the four apart, especially when Maguire is physically very similar to ineffectual Jimmy Rob Kendrick and maintains similar body language. Jack Roth’s lunatic tends to slouch and keep a worrying grin, and Ryan O’Donnell keeps a saddened look most of the time though he too blends into the others at times. A second viewing made it easier to work out who was who at times, but the majority of visitors won’t make the effort.
Confusion aside, all four of the lads - three of whom have been with the production since workshop - are fierce to watch as are the rest of the cast including Kevin Wathen who stands out as The Godfather, singing most of the early Who numbers and Sydney Rae White as the abstract Girl.
At the end of the day, the weaknesses of the piece are, in their own way, amplifying its strengths. The abstract nature of the story and focus on internalised conflict make it a universal tale of putting behind childish things, not unlike Spring Awakening, but better. It’s like the class braniac gut punching the captain of the rugby team at graduation. And it’s absolutely bloody brilliant.
Where: Touring until 3 October. Check the show website for details.
When: Tu-Sa, Fr/Sa are two show days.
How Much: Varies by stop. Tickets were £7.50-£28 when I saw the show.
Concessions: Varies by stop. ATG theatres are doing twofers for members on some nights.
--------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £30. It’s worth every penny to hear the music performed live though some may find the story difficult to follow.
RZ Other Notes: This is not a traditional show for musical queens. One such person posted on a message board that she hated the show - it was too loud for her taste, and when asked what she was expecting confessed that she’d never listened to The Who before and didn’t care for serious rock in general. Her loss. While I doubt that Quadrophenia will convert fans of traditional MT fare to The Who, much as We Will Rock You is unlikely to convert haters to Queen, I can only hope that people do give it a try because it really is that brilliant.
I’m also sad that the tour has apparently been cut short - early press implied that the show would go until November, including stops in Milton Keynes and Wimbledon, which would have been incredibly convenient. Now I have to debate going down to Brighton (relevant but mostly sold out) or somewhere a good distance from London if I want to see it again before it ends - sales have varied location to location but are nowhere good enough to suggest that a West End transfer would be profitable.
Oh, and why the hell didn’t someone get the cast on T4 to promote this show? It’s still incredibly relevant 35 years after the album came out.
Showing posts with label Jukebox Musical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jukebox Musical. Show all posts
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Friday, 24 July 2009
RE-VISIT: “We Will Rock You”
I’ve always been something of a defender for We Will Rock You. Yes, it’s a shameless jukebox show, and yes, Ben Elton’s script isn’t nearly as good or as smart as it could (or should) be, but you can tell that they made a serious effort to create something interesting and it’s paid off. It’s also one of the first shows I reviewed on this site.
So when offered a deal I couldn’t refuse on tickets, I gladly snapped them up. And in retrospect, I was a bit harsh on my prior worth paying - only £15? What was I thinking?
Anyways, most of my prior comments stand as written, but as always, a few changes have been made and a new cast are in, so here goes again with the magic bullet points.
-Some of the background animations have been changed. They still look good, and somehow WWRY manages to be the only show to go nuts with the light boards and NOT make my eyes hurt, perhaps because the lighting in general is so damn impressive.
-Michael Jackson has been added to the list of those who died early. But where the hell is Keith Moon?
-I went on what turned out to be the night of a thousand understudies. John Boydon was again on as Galileo in the first act, playing the role as a bit more stupid and his ticks were more pronounced than I remember. His voice was also going, and he was replaced in the second act by Matthew McKenna who was excellent as Galileo’s more confident side.
-Continuing the understudy trend, TV casting reject Rachel Tucker was on as Scaramouche. To be honest, I think this is the perfect role for her. She wails on the numbers, and brings a completely new take to the role: rather than the fiesty cockney she has a heavy Scottish accent and speaks with a slow burning and intentional sarcasm. She may not be as fierce as other Scaramouches, but it works brilliantly.
-In a rare occurrence, Mazz Murray was out and Rebecca McKinnis was on as the Killer Queen. It was nice to see a new take on the role, but Ms. McKinniss didn’t do very much to make the role her own. Her voice was also on the thin side and she lacked the command presence during her songs that Ms. Murray or the original Killer Queen, Sharon D. Clarke, possessed.
-Rounding out the swings, Amanda Coutts was on in Ms. Tucker’s regular track as Meat and Rakesh Boury as Britney Spears. The duo were fine, nothing to really comment on here.
-Gary Lake is a rather crass Pop, and it’s amazing that Alex Bourne can still be excited about doing the show every night after how many years in?
-The ensemble need a dance call. Some of the choreography was out of sync and you can see where bits and pieces have been revised over the years because some people do the old moves and some the new ones...
-I was off to the side in the rear stalls and the sound was an issue - the lyrics were totally drowned at times (Seven Seas of Rhye). Then again, most people are expected to know the words going in. I don’t recall having these problems when sitting in the centre, but I also didn’t note anything in the prior review so it’s hard to remember.
In short? We Will Rock You is still a fun night out for Queen fans and tourists and well worth a visit to say you’ve gone. The design aspects are still impressive, and the cast work their butts off. And dude. It’s Queen.
Where: Dominion Theatre
When: Open Run. Check listings for times.
Cost: £27.50-£60
Concessions: £20 student tickets, best left when the BO opens; £13.50 SRO when otherwise sold out
----
RZ unofficial “worth paying”: £35. Half price plus fees. It’s a very good show but a standing O pay full price no matter what show? I’m still not convinced, especially with how much better the book could be.
RZ other notes: There are a lot of tourists and “not often at the theatre” types here. They liked to go to the loo during the show. Very annoying.
So when offered a deal I couldn’t refuse on tickets, I gladly snapped them up. And in retrospect, I was a bit harsh on my prior worth paying - only £15? What was I thinking?
Anyways, most of my prior comments stand as written, but as always, a few changes have been made and a new cast are in, so here goes again with the magic bullet points.
-Some of the background animations have been changed. They still look good, and somehow WWRY manages to be the only show to go nuts with the light boards and NOT make my eyes hurt, perhaps because the lighting in general is so damn impressive.
-Michael Jackson has been added to the list of those who died early. But where the hell is Keith Moon?
-I went on what turned out to be the night of a thousand understudies. John Boydon was again on as Galileo in the first act, playing the role as a bit more stupid and his ticks were more pronounced than I remember. His voice was also going, and he was replaced in the second act by Matthew McKenna who was excellent as Galileo’s more confident side.
-Continuing the understudy trend, TV casting reject Rachel Tucker was on as Scaramouche. To be honest, I think this is the perfect role for her. She wails on the numbers, and brings a completely new take to the role: rather than the fiesty cockney she has a heavy Scottish accent and speaks with a slow burning and intentional sarcasm. She may not be as fierce as other Scaramouches, but it works brilliantly.
-In a rare occurrence, Mazz Murray was out and Rebecca McKinnis was on as the Killer Queen. It was nice to see a new take on the role, but Ms. McKinniss didn’t do very much to make the role her own. Her voice was also on the thin side and she lacked the command presence during her songs that Ms. Murray or the original Killer Queen, Sharon D. Clarke, possessed.
-Rounding out the swings, Amanda Coutts was on in Ms. Tucker’s regular track as Meat and Rakesh Boury as Britney Spears. The duo were fine, nothing to really comment on here.
-Gary Lake is a rather crass Pop, and it’s amazing that Alex Bourne can still be excited about doing the show every night after how many years in?
-The ensemble need a dance call. Some of the choreography was out of sync and you can see where bits and pieces have been revised over the years because some people do the old moves and some the new ones...
-I was off to the side in the rear stalls and the sound was an issue - the lyrics were totally drowned at times (Seven Seas of Rhye). Then again, most people are expected to know the words going in. I don’t recall having these problems when sitting in the centre, but I also didn’t note anything in the prior review so it’s hard to remember.
In short? We Will Rock You is still a fun night out for Queen fans and tourists and well worth a visit to say you’ve gone. The design aspects are still impressive, and the cast work their butts off. And dude. It’s Queen.
Where: Dominion Theatre
When: Open Run. Check listings for times.
Cost: £27.50-£60
Concessions: £20 student tickets, best left when the BO opens; £13.50 SRO when otherwise sold out
----
RZ unofficial “worth paying”: £35. Half price plus fees. It’s a very good show but a standing O pay full price no matter what show? I’m still not convinced, especially with how much better the book could be.
RZ other notes: There are a lot of tourists and “not often at the theatre” types here. They liked to go to the loo during the show. Very annoying.
Saturday, 2 May 2009
REVIEW: “Shout!”
I felt a bit of trepidation as I headed to the Arts Theatre (of death!) before seeing Shout! last night. Here we had another jukebox musical, and one with less than impressive word of mouth as well. Things weren’t improved when I snuck a glance at a neighbour’s programme and saw it opening with the same Petula Clark song as that damn bus (the song being “Downtown” for those keeping track.)
Fortunately it was all uphill from there. Not far uphill, but up enough that I was happy enough to sit back and enjoy the ride. I suspect this is because of adjusting expectations: the descriptions of Shout revolve largely around the flimsiness of its unattributed book. No, the book’s not as clever as, say, Return to the Forbidden Planet, but it does the minimum of creating excuses or introducing songs and doing so without ever saying “Let’s have a song!” And, to be honest, given the amount of time the book requires out of the runtime, I’m content to write it off and reconsider Shout as a revue a la Tomfoolery rather than as a proper book musical.
But nobody knows what a revue *is* these days, let alone sees them, so it’s easy to understand why everything gets promoted as an event or a musical when the truth is that revue may be a more appropriate term (even if this satirises the 60’s instead of today, but that in itself reflects our current changes in attitude.)
Meanwhile, it would be useful to talk about the show itself.
*ahem*
The year is 1960. Georgina (Tiffany Graves) is a modern young woman who heads down to London in search of love and the high life. On the train she meets Ruby (Marissa Dunlop), an actress in training, and shy wallflower Betty (normally played by ex-Wickeder Shona White but understudied by Francesca Newitt when I went). The trio end up renting a flat in Peckham above Best Cuts, a hair salon owned by Georgina’s aunt Yvonne (Su Pollard). The four women become fast friends and we spend the next decade as they marry, divorce, and belt through the tunes of the time as bridged by Tony T (John Jack), editor of Shout Magazine.
As I stated before, the book is largely irrelevant, though it has some laughs in the Carry On vein, and Jack’s editor speaks Public School English with the condescending tone of early television adverts which lends both a tongue in cheek to the proceedings as well as a reminder of how far we’ve come. The main thrust of the show is a decade of classic pop from Petula to Dusty, bubblegum to psychedelia, and the four main ladies (in addition to Jessica Kirton as a dialogue-free shop assistant/trophy girl) do an excellent job of belting to the rafters and reminding us all that the 60’s really were a golden age of music. Yes, that includes Su Pollard.
Also praise-worthy are Morgan Large’s designs, both simple and evocative of pop art, bright clean colours, and the rise in trippy patterns while functional and (short of some overdone strobing by colour-smart lighting designer Ben Cracknell) tasteful. Come to think of it, “tasteful” is probably the best way to describe the whole affair though “obvious cash-in” comes second.
I digress.
Another groovy point was Large’s costume designs for the girls, but I was rather confused by the costumes for Tony T: much of Shout’s promotion on tour (and the CD cover) refer to it as a mod musical, but the lack of a sharp suit and skinny tie, anorak, or other iconic mod images stood out though they could be a logistical necessity for some extremely rapid costume changes.
Anyways, to sum it up: your enjoyment of Shout will be directly proportional to how much you like 60’s pop music and whether or not you can get past the fluffy book in lieu of something more intellectual.
Where: Arts Theatre
When: Until 28 June, Tu-Sa @ 19:30, W/Sa @ 15:00, Su @ 16:00
How Much: £20-£42.50
Concessions: £25 excluding Fri/Sat nights, book one hour before the show
-------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £20. Maybe a few more if you’re a big Su Pollard fan.
RZ Other Notes: I guess it just shows that whoever composed most of Petula Clark’s music is all too happy to let the tracks out as long as they get their royalty cheque. Too bad they wanted an impractical amount for an official release of the brilliant short film “Animato” by creator Mike Jittlov. Jittlov created the film in 1969 and it’s a breathtaking work of stop motion and hand worked animation but the music was never cleared so you’ll have to do some digging to find a copy of the piece. A reworked version with new music was included in Jittlov’s feature film The Wizard of Speed and Time.
Fortunately it was all uphill from there. Not far uphill, but up enough that I was happy enough to sit back and enjoy the ride. I suspect this is because of adjusting expectations: the descriptions of Shout revolve largely around the flimsiness of its unattributed book. No, the book’s not as clever as, say, Return to the Forbidden Planet, but it does the minimum of creating excuses or introducing songs and doing so without ever saying “Let’s have a song!” And, to be honest, given the amount of time the book requires out of the runtime, I’m content to write it off and reconsider Shout as a revue a la Tomfoolery rather than as a proper book musical.
But nobody knows what a revue *is* these days, let alone sees them, so it’s easy to understand why everything gets promoted as an event or a musical when the truth is that revue may be a more appropriate term (even if this satirises the 60’s instead of today, but that in itself reflects our current changes in attitude.)
Meanwhile, it would be useful to talk about the show itself.
*ahem*
The year is 1960. Georgina (Tiffany Graves) is a modern young woman who heads down to London in search of love and the high life. On the train she meets Ruby (Marissa Dunlop), an actress in training, and shy wallflower Betty (normally played by ex-Wickeder Shona White but understudied by Francesca Newitt when I went). The trio end up renting a flat in Peckham above Best Cuts, a hair salon owned by Georgina’s aunt Yvonne (Su Pollard). The four women become fast friends and we spend the next decade as they marry, divorce, and belt through the tunes of the time as bridged by Tony T (John Jack), editor of Shout Magazine.
As I stated before, the book is largely irrelevant, though it has some laughs in the Carry On vein, and Jack’s editor speaks Public School English with the condescending tone of early television adverts which lends both a tongue in cheek to the proceedings as well as a reminder of how far we’ve come. The main thrust of the show is a decade of classic pop from Petula to Dusty, bubblegum to psychedelia, and the four main ladies (in addition to Jessica Kirton as a dialogue-free shop assistant/trophy girl) do an excellent job of belting to the rafters and reminding us all that the 60’s really were a golden age of music. Yes, that includes Su Pollard.
Also praise-worthy are Morgan Large’s designs, both simple and evocative of pop art, bright clean colours, and the rise in trippy patterns while functional and (short of some overdone strobing by colour-smart lighting designer Ben Cracknell) tasteful. Come to think of it, “tasteful” is probably the best way to describe the whole affair though “obvious cash-in” comes second.
I digress.
Another groovy point was Large’s costume designs for the girls, but I was rather confused by the costumes for Tony T: much of Shout’s promotion on tour (and the CD cover) refer to it as a mod musical, but the lack of a sharp suit and skinny tie, anorak, or other iconic mod images stood out though they could be a logistical necessity for some extremely rapid costume changes.
Anyways, to sum it up: your enjoyment of Shout will be directly proportional to how much you like 60’s pop music and whether or not you can get past the fluffy book in lieu of something more intellectual.
Where: Arts Theatre
When: Until 28 June, Tu-Sa @ 19:30, W/Sa @ 15:00, Su @ 16:00
How Much: £20-£42.50
Concessions: £25 excluding Fri/Sat nights, book one hour before the show
-------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £20. Maybe a few more if you’re a big Su Pollard fan.
RZ Other Notes: I guess it just shows that whoever composed most of Petula Clark’s music is all too happy to let the tracks out as long as they get their royalty cheque. Too bad they wanted an impractical amount for an official release of the brilliant short film “Animato” by creator Mike Jittlov. Jittlov created the film in 1969 and it’s a breathtaking work of stop motion and hand worked animation but the music was never cleared so you’ll have to do some digging to find a copy of the piece. A reworked version with new music was included in Jittlov’s feature film The Wizard of Speed and Time.
Monday, 30 March 2009
NOTES: “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert”
So a bit of explanation is in order here, and it’s an explanation in the form of a confession. I reviewed Priscilla for a magazine (not going to say which one) and when I write for money I find myself keeping the publication’s target audience in mind.
The target audience for the magazine will love Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Most people will love Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Even the West End Whingers loved Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
I was remarkably apathetic and in some cases hostile in my personal thoughts before seeing Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I was unimpressed at the press launch, and the level of hype on the internets didn’t do much to change this. Then there was the announcement of £90 premium tickets. WTF London? I keep defending the British as being smarter than us Yanks and you have to do stupid crap like follow this bullshit policy from Broadway? You’re almost as bad as they are in Germany, charging €105 for a show on Saturday nights...
*ahem* But I digress.
I was not blown away by Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I thought it was merely OK, I smiled a fair bit and there were some chuckle worthy lines but landed few big laughs. This isn’t to say there aren’t some good things about it. For example:
-The costumes. OMFG the costumes are amazing and, to be blunt, the entire selling point of the show.
-Jason Donovan. Yeah I’ve got the CD of him in Joseph. And he’s quite likeable here. Tony Sheldon was also great and the ensemble work their arses off in a never-ending series of costume changes.
-Kanako Nakano. Steals the show in what is the trashiest scene in a show of almost John Waters proportions.
-The music. You certainly leave the theatre humming the tunes - provided you know them all in advance. To be fair, the choice of songs wasn’t as bad as I’d been led to believe: I loathe disco but there were a few good 60’s and 80’s tracks as well.
Then there’s everything else:
-The music. Seriously? Too much Kylie. This may be me, as the Aussie Madonna never really took off in the US and even the real thing hasn’t had a truly great single since “Take a Bow.” The overuse of “I Will Survive” also hurts, and then there’s an individual fear, the fact that they use Harold Faltemeyer’s “Hot Stuff.” Why do I fear that when the song’s half decent? Because Faltemeyer himself cribbed it into his own disastrous piece of shit musical Wake Up back in 2002. But more on that later.
-The sound mixing is awful. It’s a good thing people are expected to know the songs going in because everybody is either over-mic’ed to distortion or gets drowned out by the orchestra. Forget about understanding ensemble numbers.
-The book. Tick is the only character who really grows (besides Bob who’s only in the second act and seems more resigned than proactive.) Bernadette has already matured and settles in more than grows. Adam/Felicia is cocky, arrogant, and annoying at the start and manages to do...no growing whatsoever. This leads me to...
-Oliver Thornton. I have no idea what casting directors see in this man, because he is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever witnessed on a West End stage. At first I wrote off his overacting and misuse of vibrato on pop to bad direction in that thing, but all my fears and dislikes were only confirmed here. I’m sure he’s a lovely bloke in person, and he worked on a show with a friend of mine who back up such claims, but I never want to see him in a show again.
-The lighting. To spoil here, Priscilla itself is covered in LED, and spends much of the show glowing hot pink. Hot pink and hot orange are, in fact, the default light setting for quite a bit of the show and I literally felt my eyes burning by the end - and the feeling remained the next morning. I guess it symbolises the desert because nothing else really did? The last show I saw with such a brutal assault on the eyes was also Faltemeyer’s Wake Up. See the connection? It’s a bad one.
-The sight lines are a fucking disgrace. There is no nice way to put this, because it affects so many of the seats. Theatremonkey’s chart is a good starting point, but many of the tickets that are tagged as restricted are still being charged at almost £60. The sides at the Palace have always been bad, but the real problem is the overhangs: a great deal of action takes place on top of the titular bus and if you’re in a vertically challenged position (say, behind Row K in the stalls or the rear half of either circle) you miss a number of the big moments. TV screens are available on both sides of the rear stalls to watch that segment from, but stealing a glance (the glow was distracting me in my just-behind-the-premium seat) the image suffered from lighting washout and was basically a series of glowing blobs. Get an HD camera and set the bloody thing properly.
So to be down with the current speak, the tl;dr is: Priscilla is critic-proof and the sort of show to see after a few rounds at the pub, with a group, and can be enjoyable if you turn your brain off for three hours. It didn't blow me away (I still say We Will Rock You is the best of the big jukebox shows) but it'll do just that to a lot of people. Just make sure to wear sunglasses.
Where: Palace Theatre
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, Th (Post 4 May)/Sa @ 14:30
How Much: £20.25-£93.25 including Premiums, varies by day.
Concessions: None at the moment?
-----------------
RZ Unofficial "Worth Paying": £30
RZ Other Notes: Rumour on the interwebs is that the balcony is closed off early in the week. Consider booking there and hope for getting bumped.
The target audience for the magazine will love Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Most people will love Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Even the West End Whingers loved Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
I was remarkably apathetic and in some cases hostile in my personal thoughts before seeing Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I was unimpressed at the press launch, and the level of hype on the internets didn’t do much to change this. Then there was the announcement of £90 premium tickets. WTF London? I keep defending the British as being smarter than us Yanks and you have to do stupid crap like follow this bullshit policy from Broadway? You’re almost as bad as they are in Germany, charging €105 for a show on Saturday nights...
*ahem* But I digress.
I was not blown away by Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I thought it was merely OK, I smiled a fair bit and there were some chuckle worthy lines but landed few big laughs. This isn’t to say there aren’t some good things about it. For example:
-The costumes. OMFG the costumes are amazing and, to be blunt, the entire selling point of the show.
-Jason Donovan. Yeah I’ve got the CD of him in Joseph. And he’s quite likeable here. Tony Sheldon was also great and the ensemble work their arses off in a never-ending series of costume changes.
-Kanako Nakano. Steals the show in what is the trashiest scene in a show of almost John Waters proportions.
-The music. You certainly leave the theatre humming the tunes - provided you know them all in advance. To be fair, the choice of songs wasn’t as bad as I’d been led to believe: I loathe disco but there were a few good 60’s and 80’s tracks as well.
Then there’s everything else:
-The music. Seriously? Too much Kylie. This may be me, as the Aussie Madonna never really took off in the US and even the real thing hasn’t had a truly great single since “Take a Bow.” The overuse of “I Will Survive” also hurts, and then there’s an individual fear, the fact that they use Harold Faltemeyer’s “Hot Stuff.” Why do I fear that when the song’s half decent? Because Faltemeyer himself cribbed it into his own disastrous piece of shit musical Wake Up back in 2002. But more on that later.
-The sound mixing is awful. It’s a good thing people are expected to know the songs going in because everybody is either over-mic’ed to distortion or gets drowned out by the orchestra. Forget about understanding ensemble numbers.
-The book. Tick is the only character who really grows (besides Bob who’s only in the second act and seems more resigned than proactive.) Bernadette has already matured and settles in more than grows. Adam/Felicia is cocky, arrogant, and annoying at the start and manages to do...no growing whatsoever. This leads me to...
-Oliver Thornton. I have no idea what casting directors see in this man, because he is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever witnessed on a West End stage. At first I wrote off his overacting and misuse of vibrato on pop to bad direction in that thing, but all my fears and dislikes were only confirmed here. I’m sure he’s a lovely bloke in person, and he worked on a show with a friend of mine who back up such claims, but I never want to see him in a show again.
-The lighting. To spoil here, Priscilla itself is covered in LED, and spends much of the show glowing hot pink. Hot pink and hot orange are, in fact, the default light setting for quite a bit of the show and I literally felt my eyes burning by the end - and the feeling remained the next morning. I guess it symbolises the desert because nothing else really did? The last show I saw with such a brutal assault on the eyes was also Faltemeyer’s Wake Up. See the connection? It’s a bad one.
-The sight lines are a fucking disgrace. There is no nice way to put this, because it affects so many of the seats. Theatremonkey’s chart is a good starting point, but many of the tickets that are tagged as restricted are still being charged at almost £60. The sides at the Palace have always been bad, but the real problem is the overhangs: a great deal of action takes place on top of the titular bus and if you’re in a vertically challenged position (say, behind Row K in the stalls or the rear half of either circle) you miss a number of the big moments. TV screens are available on both sides of the rear stalls to watch that segment from, but stealing a glance (the glow was distracting me in my just-behind-the-premium seat) the image suffered from lighting washout and was basically a series of glowing blobs. Get an HD camera and set the bloody thing properly.
So to be down with the current speak, the tl;dr is: Priscilla is critic-proof and the sort of show to see after a few rounds at the pub, with a group, and can be enjoyable if you turn your brain off for three hours. It didn't blow me away (I still say We Will Rock You is the best of the big jukebox shows) but it'll do just that to a lot of people. Just make sure to wear sunglasses.
Where: Palace Theatre
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, Th (Post 4 May)/Sa @ 14:30
How Much: £20.25-£93.25 including Premiums, varies by day.
Concessions: None at the moment?
-----------------
RZ Unofficial "Worth Paying": £30
RZ Other Notes: Rumour on the interwebs is that the balcony is closed off early in the week. Consider booking there and hope for getting bumped.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
REVIEW: “Hit Me”
I’ve lamented in the past about the dissociation which comes from being foreign and trying to engage in British culture. A healthy diet of UK sitcoms and Dr. Who have gone a long way, as has following various trends in music (thank you KLF link to the Teardrop Explodes.) At the same time, I saw Never Forget not knowing what a “Take That” was and completely failed to understand Madness’ appeal when I saw Our House.
So imagine what happened when I saw a musical about Ian Dury. I honestly have no idea how to classify the man - his lyrics and performance style place him would place him in the field of outsider musicians if he were an American, but at the same time he topped the UK charts. And at the same time, the theatre was at least half empty last night so the following can’t be THAT big. It’s all rather confusing.
If nothing else, it meant I went into Hit Me with no preconceptions other than hearing something about punk and smart lyrics. And the play did indeed show off Dury’s lyrics, boasting eight of the man’s hits. The music actually turned out to be closer to the Teardrop Explodes or Madness than what I associate with punk (punk does not have keyboards or saxophones,) but it worked.
I wish I could say the same about the rest of the play. Writer/Director Jeff Merrifield has given us a two hander on Dury’s career, but it’s a messy play - much like Dury himself and his music. What we actually get are a series of anecdotes - some funny, some incomplete - told by Dury (played by last minute stand-in Adrian Schiller) and roadie Fred ‘Spider’ Rowe (Josh Darcy.) The two fight, talk over each other, and cut stories off to tell others, and while it would make an interesting backstage DVD or talk show episode, compelling and dramatic theatre it is not. While we see the two reminisce, argue, and reconcile, they speak everything else to the audience. In other words, Hit Me is two hours of narration broken up by a few songs.
This isn’t to say there aren’t some worthwhile aspects of the piece. The light-stuffed pipework maze which provides a backing wall is clever and accents the musical moments well. Schiller is also impressive, capturing both the physical limitations of the crippled Dury but also the swagger and radiation which comes from a rocker on the edge of an immolating supernova. He growls and screams Dury’s songs against an over-amplified click track, bringing a raw fury to the music. Given that Schiller rehearsed the show in a week while working two show days on a Christmas production, this is a phenomenal turnaround and he can be forgiven for requiring the occasional prompt during the mostly solo second act.
While Hit Me is far from stellar theatre, it provides an interesting introduction to a particularly British musical phenomenon and I found myself spending today looking up clips of Dury on YouTube so it manages to succeed on some levels. If nothing else, audiences who go will be treated to an excellent performance and a hilarious, if not entirely crude, interchange of vicious insults.
Where: Leicester Square Theatre
When: Until 1 Feb. Sa-Su, Tu-Th @ 19:30, Sa @ 16:30, Fr @ 19:00 & 21:50
How Much: £20-25
Concessions: £20 (regular £20 seats are in the slips.)
-------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £10
RZ Other Notes: Where to begin....first and foremost, the lack of rake at the Leicester Square is incredibly annoying if there are people in the row in front of you, even with the stage so high. Also, the venue runs a powerpoint slide show advertising future performances INSIDE THE AUDITORIUM before the show and during the interval. Talk about the hard sell!
So imagine what happened when I saw a musical about Ian Dury. I honestly have no idea how to classify the man - his lyrics and performance style place him would place him in the field of outsider musicians if he were an American, but at the same time he topped the UK charts. And at the same time, the theatre was at least half empty last night so the following can’t be THAT big. It’s all rather confusing.
If nothing else, it meant I went into Hit Me with no preconceptions other than hearing something about punk and smart lyrics. And the play did indeed show off Dury’s lyrics, boasting eight of the man’s hits. The music actually turned out to be closer to the Teardrop Explodes or Madness than what I associate with punk (punk does not have keyboards or saxophones,) but it worked.
I wish I could say the same about the rest of the play. Writer/Director Jeff Merrifield has given us a two hander on Dury’s career, but it’s a messy play - much like Dury himself and his music. What we actually get are a series of anecdotes - some funny, some incomplete - told by Dury (played by last minute stand-in Adrian Schiller) and roadie Fred ‘Spider’ Rowe (Josh Darcy.) The two fight, talk over each other, and cut stories off to tell others, and while it would make an interesting backstage DVD or talk show episode, compelling and dramatic theatre it is not. While we see the two reminisce, argue, and reconcile, they speak everything else to the audience. In other words, Hit Me is two hours of narration broken up by a few songs.
This isn’t to say there aren’t some worthwhile aspects of the piece. The light-stuffed pipework maze which provides a backing wall is clever and accents the musical moments well. Schiller is also impressive, capturing both the physical limitations of the crippled Dury but also the swagger and radiation which comes from a rocker on the edge of an immolating supernova. He growls and screams Dury’s songs against an over-amplified click track, bringing a raw fury to the music. Given that Schiller rehearsed the show in a week while working two show days on a Christmas production, this is a phenomenal turnaround and he can be forgiven for requiring the occasional prompt during the mostly solo second act.
While Hit Me is far from stellar theatre, it provides an interesting introduction to a particularly British musical phenomenon and I found myself spending today looking up clips of Dury on YouTube so it manages to succeed on some levels. If nothing else, audiences who go will be treated to an excellent performance and a hilarious, if not entirely crude, interchange of vicious insults.
Where: Leicester Square Theatre
When: Until 1 Feb. Sa-Su, Tu-Th @ 19:30, Sa @ 16:30, Fr @ 19:00 & 21:50
How Much: £20-25
Concessions: £20 (regular £20 seats are in the slips.)
-------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £10
RZ Other Notes: Where to begin....first and foremost, the lack of rake at the Leicester Square is incredibly annoying if there are people in the row in front of you, even with the stage so high. Also, the venue runs a powerpoint slide show advertising future performances INSIDE THE AUDITORIUM before the show and during the interval. Talk about the hard sell!
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
REVIEW: "Buddy"
Before Mamma Mia! there was Return to the Forbidden Planet. And before Jersey Boys there was Buddy. A jukebox bio-musical ahead of the trend, much like its title character, Buddy has been on the UK theatre scene in some form or another for an impressive 19 years, and shows no sign of stopping as the current West End run continues (having been planned as a six month tour stop and extending twice) while a new tour is set to embark.
Buddy, as the name implies, tells the story of prototype rocker Buddy Holly and his rocket-speed rise to fame and untimely death. In many ways, the show is quite a success: it covers the key time-span in Holly’s career (1956-1959) and makes the man quite likable despite portraying him as a stubborn, selfish workaholic who doesn’t eat and prevents his band from sleeping because something’s just not right with an arrangement. The show moves swiftly from hit to hit and event to event while keeping the audience inline with the turbulence of the times, ending the first act not when the Crickets hit the pop charts, but rather when the band managed to win over an all-black crowd at Harlem’s Apollo Theater despite being four of the whitest people to ever live in Texas in a funny, energetic concert sequence worthy of bringing down the curtain.
Unfortunately, Buddy also suffers from prototype syndrome: the second act is wildly uneven, as we follow Holly’s whirlwind marriage, departure from the Crickets, and fateful tour with the Winter Dance Party. It’s this last event which (tasteless pun unintended) brings everything crashing down. The final evening is dramatised in its full glory, including an extended MC-audience sequence, and the plot grinds to a halt for a 20-30 minute concert yet Holly’s death is passed over in a minute, showing a chair with his guitar, before summoning the undying spirit of rock via Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B Goode” and the mandatory encore.
The RZ doesn’t want to imply at any point that he’s ignorant of the fact that Buddy’s selling point is the music - it’s smack you over the head obvious, and people aren’t going because the plot is so intricate and advanced. That said, if the RZ wanted to see a tribute band he’d go to a flat out concert. And boy oh boy could the cast of Buddy put on a great concert. The entire cast double as musicians and make it work. There’s a lot of energy on the stage, and while the RZ would like to single out performers, the cast aren’t listed on the website and as always he didn’t buy a programme. In general, however, he didn’t find any weak points from the performance side.
The design, on the other hand, is weak. The cheap looking, obviously well toured and worn set pieces are wheeled in and out in a way that makes the automation in Jersey Boys even more stunning, even if the rougher methodology makes for a more “rock” atmosphere in line with the uncharted early days, gleefully countered by an eye-attacking set full of commercial images and brands from the era. A video screen for animations is smack dab in the middle of this backing and herein lies a problem: the animations are ultra-smooth, clearly created for video vs. film, and look too modern for comfort, particularly when a flash to a radio broadcast in England uses the current BBC logo and most of the typefaces shown are also too new to be accurate. The resulting effect is out of place and breaks period in an unpleasant and intrusive way.
Where: Duchess Theatre
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, W/Sa @ 15:00
How Much: £35-55
Concessions: Seniors can book matinees in advance for £25, student day seats for £17.50
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RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £20.50 and you’d be foolish to pay more - Buddy is on tickets for a tenner every weekday and discounts are everywhere.
RZ Other notes: This production was originally supposed to be leaving the Duchess in March to make way for a transfer of Xanadu that subsequently fell through. Having seen the inside of the venue now, the RZ agrees that it would be the perfect home for the quirky American musical, but wonders if, come March 2009, the opportunity or desire will remain.
Buddy, as the name implies, tells the story of prototype rocker Buddy Holly and his rocket-speed rise to fame and untimely death. In many ways, the show is quite a success: it covers the key time-span in Holly’s career (1956-1959) and makes the man quite likable despite portraying him as a stubborn, selfish workaholic who doesn’t eat and prevents his band from sleeping because something’s just not right with an arrangement. The show moves swiftly from hit to hit and event to event while keeping the audience inline with the turbulence of the times, ending the first act not when the Crickets hit the pop charts, but rather when the band managed to win over an all-black crowd at Harlem’s Apollo Theater despite being four of the whitest people to ever live in Texas in a funny, energetic concert sequence worthy of bringing down the curtain.
Unfortunately, Buddy also suffers from prototype syndrome: the second act is wildly uneven, as we follow Holly’s whirlwind marriage, departure from the Crickets, and fateful tour with the Winter Dance Party. It’s this last event which (tasteless pun unintended) brings everything crashing down. The final evening is dramatised in its full glory, including an extended MC-audience sequence, and the plot grinds to a halt for a 20-30 minute concert yet Holly’s death is passed over in a minute, showing a chair with his guitar, before summoning the undying spirit of rock via Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B Goode” and the mandatory encore.
The RZ doesn’t want to imply at any point that he’s ignorant of the fact that Buddy’s selling point is the music - it’s smack you over the head obvious, and people aren’t going because the plot is so intricate and advanced. That said, if the RZ wanted to see a tribute band he’d go to a flat out concert. And boy oh boy could the cast of Buddy put on a great concert. The entire cast double as musicians and make it work. There’s a lot of energy on the stage, and while the RZ would like to single out performers, the cast aren’t listed on the website and as always he didn’t buy a programme. In general, however, he didn’t find any weak points from the performance side.
The design, on the other hand, is weak. The cheap looking, obviously well toured and worn set pieces are wheeled in and out in a way that makes the automation in Jersey Boys even more stunning, even if the rougher methodology makes for a more “rock” atmosphere in line with the uncharted early days, gleefully countered by an eye-attacking set full of commercial images and brands from the era. A video screen for animations is smack dab in the middle of this backing and herein lies a problem: the animations are ultra-smooth, clearly created for video vs. film, and look too modern for comfort, particularly when a flash to a radio broadcast in England uses the current BBC logo and most of the typefaces shown are also too new to be accurate. The resulting effect is out of place and breaks period in an unpleasant and intrusive way.
Where: Duchess Theatre
When: M-Sa @ 19:30, W/Sa @ 15:00
How Much: £35-55
Concessions: Seniors can book matinees in advance for £25, student day seats for £17.50
------------------------
RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying”: £20.50 and you’d be foolish to pay more - Buddy is on tickets for a tenner every weekday and discounts are everywhere.
RZ Other notes: This production was originally supposed to be leaving the Duchess in March to make way for a transfer of Xanadu that subsequently fell through. Having seen the inside of the venue now, the RZ agrees that it would be the perfect home for the quirky American musical, but wonders if, come March 2009, the opportunity or desire will remain.
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.
Thursday, 22 May 2008
REVIEW: "Never Forget"
This is one of those times that being foreign has its distinct ups and downs. See, in the US, we never had Take That. Oh, we had plenty of boy bands but Manchester’s own never invaded our shores.
Needless to say, dear readers, you can guess the RZ’s level of enthusiasm and confusion at the prospect of spending £20 and an evening at a jukebox musical based on this group’s catalogue. Word from the road and previews was uninspiring, and neither was the fact that tonight’s press evening wasn’t fully booked. However, Never Forget is a new West End musical and therefore gets a visit.
Story-wise, Never Forget manages to hit a new low, even for jukebox musicals. Good guy Ash (Dean Chisnall) opens by proposing to girlfriend Chloe (Sophia Ragavelas, recently in Dick Whittington at the Hackney Empire). They have a party at his mum’s pub (Marilyn Cutts) where bill collectors come and announce that unless they fork over £10,000 in two weeks the bank will foreclose. In order to raise the money, Chloe’s brother (Craige Els) suggests the pair audition for a Take That cover band and win the money in a talent contest. The group is rounded out by three losers (a male stripper, a dominated bank manager, and an annoying fey Spaniard), Ash is seduced by a corrupt record producer, leaves the band and Chloe, realises his mistakes, and returns just in time to save the day just in time to get married in front of a children’s chorus used solely in the final scene.
Musically...it’s a jukebox show. If you like the band, you’ll like the music. If you’re not a Take That fan, this show won’t convert you. The RZ did actually recognise two songs in the score: “It Only Takes A Minute”, which was remixed and put into a DDR game (conveniently one of the songs nobody actually wants to play and also a cover for TT) and “Back For Good”, which was used for a huge piss-take in the last episode of Spaced. It’s all manufactured soulless pop music, enjoyable for three minutes at a time, though some of the extended production numbers (“Once You’ve Tasted Love”) run too long. The one good thing about the music is that it provides opportunities for Karen Bruce’s lively and well drilled choreography.
Bob Bailey’s set was designed for touring the show, and features some pure eye candy with a rain curtain that spells the words “Never Forget” and some fire bursts. James Whiteside’s lighting goes well with it, and there’s a lot of tricks with scrim and LED columns. While the actual set pieces look cheap, they work (and it’s not like Manchester is high end anyway.) More annoying are Chris Wood’s costumes, which range from chavtastic to pandering (the RZ lost count of how many times the guys stripped to their briefs) to flat out ugly and covered in brand names (Ecko and Nike were quite visible).
That said, the RZ found himself giving in and enjoying Never Forget despite its flaws and the large squealing fangirl presence. It’s not too long, and is something you can take your mum to, provided she prefers scantily clad young men to the cursing and crime in Jersey Boys. It does what the slogan says on the tin (they perform “A Million Love Songs” and there’s a happy ending) but the fails completely, as though one put a sign that said “Dog: A cute and loveable pet” in front of a cat. The cute and loveable part is right, but not the overall claim. It’s unlikely that the RZ will remember all but the most cursory details of Never Forget after 24 hours.
Where: Savoy Theatre
When: M-Th, Sa @ 19:45, Fr @ 17:30 & 20:30, Sa @ 15:00
How Much: Varies by night, overall £19.50-£55
Concessions: Day Seats and concessions available when the BO opens for £19.50 all days but Saturdays (£25.00).
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RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying’: £27.50. It’s candy floss for the mind and a fun way to pass an afternoon.
RZ Other Notes: The RZ sat in the day seats, which is amazing given that he was able to buy them for press night. It’s doubly amazing that he arrived five minutes before the box office opened and there was only one person ahead of him. Easiest rush in the West End?
The seats themselves aren’t horrid, but have their issues. You have to crane your neck a fair bit, get wet during the rain scene (not a lot), the lights get in your face a few times, and you’re sitting at eye (and ear) level with the speakers. The curtain call is damn loud, but in the end you get what you pay for.
Despite being pleasantly surprised by the show, the RZ wondered on more than one occasion why anybody would bother putting this show on. While a reunion gig can occur every five or ten years (as Take That themselves are proving), the genuine nostalgia that drives audiences to this type of production for an extended run requires a minimum of twenty, meaning that Take That’s turn is at least another decade off, given that Wiki claims the original break-up was in 1996. One could argue the same about Queen and We Will Rock You, but WWRY has a more original premise and Freddie Mercury’s death accelerated the growth of the nostalgia factor.
Needless to say, dear readers, you can guess the RZ’s level of enthusiasm and confusion at the prospect of spending £20 and an evening at a jukebox musical based on this group’s catalogue. Word from the road and previews was uninspiring, and neither was the fact that tonight’s press evening wasn’t fully booked. However, Never Forget is a new West End musical and therefore gets a visit.
Story-wise, Never Forget manages to hit a new low, even for jukebox musicals. Good guy Ash (Dean Chisnall) opens by proposing to girlfriend Chloe (Sophia Ragavelas, recently in Dick Whittington at the Hackney Empire). They have a party at his mum’s pub (Marilyn Cutts) where bill collectors come and announce that unless they fork over £10,000 in two weeks the bank will foreclose. In order to raise the money, Chloe’s brother (Craige Els) suggests the pair audition for a Take That cover band and win the money in a talent contest. The group is rounded out by three losers (a male stripper, a dominated bank manager, and an annoying fey Spaniard), Ash is seduced by a corrupt record producer, leaves the band and Chloe, realises his mistakes, and returns just in time to save the day just in time to get married in front of a children’s chorus used solely in the final scene.
Musically...it’s a jukebox show. If you like the band, you’ll like the music. If you’re not a Take That fan, this show won’t convert you. The RZ did actually recognise two songs in the score: “It Only Takes A Minute”, which was remixed and put into a DDR game (conveniently one of the songs nobody actually wants to play and also a cover for TT) and “Back For Good”, which was used for a huge piss-take in the last episode of Spaced. It’s all manufactured soulless pop music, enjoyable for three minutes at a time, though some of the extended production numbers (“Once You’ve Tasted Love”) run too long. The one good thing about the music is that it provides opportunities for Karen Bruce’s lively and well drilled choreography.
Bob Bailey’s set was designed for touring the show, and features some pure eye candy with a rain curtain that spells the words “Never Forget” and some fire bursts. James Whiteside’s lighting goes well with it, and there’s a lot of tricks with scrim and LED columns. While the actual set pieces look cheap, they work (and it’s not like Manchester is high end anyway.) More annoying are Chris Wood’s costumes, which range from chavtastic to pandering (the RZ lost count of how many times the guys stripped to their briefs) to flat out ugly and covered in brand names (Ecko and Nike were quite visible).
That said, the RZ found himself giving in and enjoying Never Forget despite its flaws and the large squealing fangirl presence. It’s not too long, and is something you can take your mum to, provided she prefers scantily clad young men to the cursing and crime in Jersey Boys. It does what the slogan says on the tin (they perform “A Million Love Songs” and there’s a happy ending) but the fails completely, as though one put a sign that said “Dog: A cute and loveable pet” in front of a cat. The cute and loveable part is right, but not the overall claim. It’s unlikely that the RZ will remember all but the most cursory details of Never Forget after 24 hours.
Where: Savoy Theatre
When: M-Th, Sa @ 19:45, Fr @ 17:30 & 20:30, Sa @ 15:00
How Much: Varies by night, overall £19.50-£55
Concessions: Day Seats and concessions available when the BO opens for £19.50 all days but Saturdays (£25.00).
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RZ Unofficial “Worth Paying’: £27.50. It’s candy floss for the mind and a fun way to pass an afternoon.
RZ Other Notes: The RZ sat in the day seats, which is amazing given that he was able to buy them for press night. It’s doubly amazing that he arrived five minutes before the box office opened and there was only one person ahead of him. Easiest rush in the West End?
The seats themselves aren’t horrid, but have their issues. You have to crane your neck a fair bit, get wet during the rain scene (not a lot), the lights get in your face a few times, and you’re sitting at eye (and ear) level with the speakers. The curtain call is damn loud, but in the end you get what you pay for.
Despite being pleasantly surprised by the show, the RZ wondered on more than one occasion why anybody would bother putting this show on. While a reunion gig can occur every five or ten years (as Take That themselves are proving), the genuine nostalgia that drives audiences to this type of production for an extended run requires a minimum of twenty, meaning that Take That’s turn is at least another decade off, given that Wiki claims the original break-up was in 1996. One could argue the same about Queen and We Will Rock You, but WWRY has a more original premise and Freddie Mercury’s death accelerated the growth of the nostalgia factor.
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