Some people say reviews are important because they form a useful record, an evocation of the theatrical experience for those who were not able to attend.  Well, not in this case – My Perfect Mind defies description, evocation or any other meaningful adjectives.  The tone is set when Paul Hunter bounds onto the stage to address the audience, announcing that due to a knee injury to one of the cast (it’s a two-hander), the performance may be ‘more improvisational than usual’.  Our minds were immediately set racing at the idea of the various acrobatics which Edward Petherbridge might otherwise have pulled off had his knee been fully functional.  We also liked the ‘mobile phone’ announcement, an art at which the Young Vic is becoming rather good.  Please keep your mobile switched on at all times, we are urged – then you can make calls, text and browse the internet whenever you like.

My Perfect Mind is a play about a performance that never happened.  Edward Petherbridge, having received the offer of a lifetime, to play King Lear in New Zealand, succumbed to a stroke which put paid to his ambition.  Toying with the idea of a ‘one man Lear’, he was lucky enough to meet Paul Hunter, founding member of the theatre company Told By An Idiot, who along with Kathryn Hunter, helped him devise this show instead.  Hunter and Petherbridge met in another ill-fated production, the short-lived West End run of the ‘Fantasticks’ which also featured David Burt, and we wish we’d gone to see it now.  Instead, we are very pleased to see the result of this chance meeting, a double act to be savoured.  Hunter is a manic bundle of energy, anarchic and always edgy – even when smiling.  He plays everything from a German Psychiatrist (is this borderline racist? he asks at one point – well several points), to Laurence Olivier playing Richard the III and Othello as a composite character.  Petherbridge meanwhile has taken the famous advice ‘Don’t just do something – stand there’ to the ultimate level.  Not only does he seem to command the stage with almost no effort, he makes the tiniest of trivia engrossing, constantly undercutting any hint of grandiosity.  Interrupting a speech to wonder why Shakespearean actors always hold an arm out when declaiming, complaining about a misplaced chair, or letting us know that he is aware that there is a big hole in the stage.

If you are looking for any deep interpretation of ‘King Lear’, good luck.  The real delight of this play is the forensic deconstruction of the acting life that we find amongst the debris of Petherbridge’s shattered ambition.  An actor’s life can only be understood by grasping the sheer absurdity and inherent contradictions.  The glory is always besieged by insecurity; extreme sensitivity must be coupled with a thick skin; actors must maintain the illusion of control whilst having none.  We are constantly reminded of the mechanics of theatre – there are some tips about how to do a good mime and some neat subversion of it, and thanks to Michael Vale’s design the stage appears to be half built and on a precarious slope, inviting the comment from Petherbridge that it looks like either ‘pretension or carelessness’, neither of which are ideal.  The story is constantly being reframed so that we are never quite sure what to believe, with Lear’s key ‘madness’ played as a therapy session involving interpretative art and a lot of paint throwing.

As we said, indescribable.  What we can’t convey is the delightfully self-deprecating humour which infuses these ninety minutes of tragi-comedy – as Petherbridge himself described it in an interview, this is the booby prize.  But it’s a highly enjoyable and heart-warming booby prize which is genuinely theatrical.  It might be a tale ‘Told by an idiot’ but these people are no fools.

Update 6th May 2013: and for a view from the horses mouths, check out this interview from Theatrevoice

Like its protagonist, Quasimodo is a quasi Lionel Bart musical, not quite finished, dark and violent in places, but with a kind heart.  Bizarrely, director Robert Chevera went to the Bart estate to ask about another piece, and was instead offered Quasimodo, with a partial score, a showcase CD with a few songs and the chance of putting on a posthumous world premiere.

Based on Victor Hugo’s novel, ‘Notre-Dame de Paris’, the plot is full of complexity, encompassing many characters (not least the cathedral of Notre Dame itself) and themes.  It could be said that it is the alluring gypsy-girl Esmeralda who really drives the plot forward through the prejudice she suffers, and the adoration she inspires.  The Archdeacon of Notre Dame, Claude Frollo, is captivated by her charms, but realising he cannot succeed in seducing her his lust turns to jealousy and hatred.  Meanwhile, she is in love with army captain Phoebus, who is already engaged but deceives her nonetheless.  Only Quasimodo seems to show her real kindness when he rescues her from a false charge of attempted murder and keeps her in the church, believing she will be safe under the laws of sanctuary.  Sadly his love is not fully reciprocated and he is ultimately not able to save her.

Bearing in mind that other Hugo-based musical ‘Les Miserables’ and its epic scale, anyone who has been inside the King’s Head will know we are not exaggerating when we say this is a bold enterprise.  In some ways, the staging is almost too bold.  With a network of ladders upstage and a mezzanine platform which represents the bell-tower, the set allows for plenty of dynamism (with an unexpected broken table adding a dangerous edge for those of us in the front row), but in other ways the setting is a little to literal for such a small space.  Less paraphernalia would have allowed us to use our imagination more, especially when the action was set outside or on the steps of the cathedral. 

We also can’t help having a little whine about the costumes.  There’s nothing wrong with modern dress if that is a conscious choice, but the mash-up of medieval grunge with modern touches such as motorcycle boots, leathers, string vests and hoodies is distracting and irritating.  James Wolstenholme has done well to snaffle the best costume as Archdeacon Frollo, but it looks as though the budget ran out half way through and the rest of the cast had to make do with a random mix of modern and historical.  Perhaps we are underestimating the difficulty of the task, but we would have thought that it would be quite easy to make peasants look authentic.

Of course we shouldn’t lose sight of the main reason for putting on this production – a chance to see a ‘lost’ musical by the legendary Lionel Bart.  And this cast, assisted by a trio of musicians led by musical director Peter Mitchell, certainly do the music justice.  Steven Webb has a warm and melodious voice which brings out the contrast between the outward appearance of the hunchback (more on this later) and his good heart.  Zoe George does an excellent job of playing both innocence and streetwise bravado as Esmeralda, and James Hume as the poet Pierre Gringoire whom she marries to save his life (don’t ask), and James Wolstenholme as Frollo have their moments as the epitome of goodness and evil respectively.  There are many numbers to enjoy, ranging from the upbeat song in which Quasimodo introduces his bells to Esmeralda, to the touching ‘turn to stone’, in which he wishes he could be like the gargoyles which adorn the cathedral.  Esmeralda’s duet with her ‘husband’, ‘Abracadabra’ is particularly effective as a topsy-turvy love song, while the black comedy is given free reign in ‘Deaf as a doornail’.  A cast recording would certainly be a worthwhile enterprise.

There is however an elephant in the room.  Very rarely is it appropriate to comment on the physical beauty or otherwise of cast members, but in this case it is impossible to ignore the fact that Steven Webb is a very nice looking young man, with no signs of disfigurement or deformity.  In a story which has such a strong theme of prejudice, including appearance, where characters literally reel back in horror at the ugliness of Quasimodo, you really can’t duck the issue.  Webb suggests deformity by his posture, but not consistently, and with no hunchback as such, and only a painted birthmark covering half his face and a contact lens to suggest his missing eye, it is impossible to believe in the fear and horror that his appearance is meant to provoke, or the physical strength which adds to the fear he inspires, and without this frisson, it is hard to really appreciate the human emotions which emerge from the ‘monster’ and the message which Hugo wanted to give.  Quasimodo looks like a self-conscious lovestruck teenager, but ultimately this misses the point – in the fifteenth century there was no such thing as adolescence, and it is this which makes his love for Esmeralda so touching.  This is not a story which is improved by giving it a modern sensibility.

Yet this production, though frustrating at times, is well worth seeing for the quality of the cast and the strength of Bart’s music which shines through and gives us an intriguing glimpse of what might have been if he had lived to polish up this gem.  There is one note of caution we should sound, along with a spoiler.  This version is true to Hugo’s original work, in that Esmeralda meets a tragic end.  As a mother sitting behind us with her two young children was moved to point out as our heroine swung from the gallows ‘It’s not like the Disney version is it?’  Disney it certainly ain’t, and all the better for it.

Approaching the Noel Coward Theatre for the matinée performance of ‘Peter and Alice’, the latest outing for the Michael Grandage Company, we were quite surprised to see the ‘House Full’ sign out and a long queue for returns.  With a cast including Judi Dench, we would expect a great deal of interest, but we can’t help feeling that the ‘Q and M’ factor may also be at work, with Dench, who now plays ‘M’ in the Bond films reuniting with her ‘Q’, Ben Wishaw, who also has some impressive stage credentials.  The main question in our minds was whether the new material would be worthy of such a cast.

Peter and Alice is a result of one of those ‘interesting facts’ chanced upon by writer John Logan (who as the writer for Skyfall completes the Bond triumvirate), about a meeting between Alice Liddell Hargreaves, who was the inspiration for ‘Alice in Wonderland’, and Peter Llewelyn Davies, who gave his name, if not his personality, to Peter Pan.  Most of us might have our curiosity similarly piqued at the idea of these two figures meeting up, but we’re not sure how many people might think it would make a good play.  Not exactly a drama, the play gradually tells the story of their lives through the characters they were associated with, and it transpires that the connections were more tenuous than we thought.  Apparently it was Peter’s brother Michael who provided the true inspiration for the character of the boy who never grew up, but presumably Peter Pan sounded better than Michael Man, so his name was borrowed.

The lack of dramatic tension is a key problem with the play itself.  The meeting, though potentially intriguing, is ultimately a non-story.  The stakes are low, and the format is too fragile to carry the large weight of emotional baggage which is piled onto it.  Interestingly, some of the points of fact which might have given the story more of a punch, are left out, particularly some of the circumstances of Peter’s death.  The staging itself doesn’t really add much to the story – this could easily be a radio play, and one can even imagine getting more out of it without the visuals.  Essentially, we are told about the action rather than shown it, and although there are some moving accounts and reminiscences, it is very difficult to stay engaged and involved without a plot to hold them together or a sense of where they are going, either intellectually or emotionally.  Similarly the visual style is not particularly imaginative, which is rather ironic given that the story involves two of the most imaginative literary talents we have.  Having both Lewis Carroll and J M Barrie on stage only reminds us of a more interesting topic, the creative process and the ways in which the interactions between the adult writers and their child-muses led to these classic works being written.  Whist there are allusions to this there is no real exploration.  Comparisons are odious, but we can’t help thinking of the work of Shared Experience in Bronte and Mary Shelley which offered so many insights into the literary minds of the writers depicted.  The other major theme of the play, the First World War, has also been given so many more sophisticated and moving treatments, not least in the recently revived Journey’s End, that the accounts in this play pale by comparison.

We can’t complain about the cast, all of whom did their best with the material.  A special mention needs to go to Nicholas Farrell as Lewis Carroll, whose talents were shockingly wasted.  We also found it rather jarring to cast the two fictional characters, Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan, with adults, who really didn’t have a hope of capturing the childlike innocence about which the play is so rhapsodic.  Without that element of authenticity (albeit a fictional one), the play seems even more contrived.  Judi Dench wrings as much humour as she can from the verbal sparring, and is of course imposing as the eighty year old woman who has finally come to find some solace in her status as the ‘real Alice’, but once again we would have liked to see her rise to a greater challenge.  This was our first sight of Ben Wishaw on stage, and we had high expectations following his transformational TV version of Richard II.  A master of passive aggression and vulnerability, he certainly brought plenty to the table, although we did have one small beef from our positions in the balcony seats.  Whether it was down to floppy hair, or rusty stage technique we rarely saw his face.  So we hope to see more of him next time he takes the stage, literally and metaphorically.

It is not often that we leave a ninety minute play wanting less rather than more, and one does wonder how such a flimsy piece has managed to get so easily into the West End.

Families have always been a rich seam for dramatists and audiences alike, perhaps because we all seek to answer the question ‘why are we the way we are?’ or more scarily ‘are we becoming like our parents?’  These are the sort of  questions David Auburn works through meticulously in his 2005 play ‘Proof’, in a new production at the Menier Chocolate Factory.  The title plays on both the mathematical goal of certainty in the world of numbers, coupled with the innate and ultimately unfulfillable human desire for certainty in the world of identity, emotions and relationships.

Set against the backdrop of an academic community where only certainty has any credence, the story centres around Catherine, the young daughter of Robert, a world famous mathematician who has succumbed to mental illness and has been cared for by her for five years until his death.   We find her sparring with Hal, a former protégé who has been examining the notes Robert wrote during his illness hoping to find some ‘great work’ among the random scribblings , the result of graphomania in his later years.  Into this mix comes Claire, Catherine’s  older sister, determined to solve the mess with a pragmatic and single-minded common sense which comes from being at a distance for so long.  At the core of the action is Catherine’s fear ‘I think I’m like my Dad’, and through these four well-rounded characters we explore what it means to be a father, daughter, sister and lover, and the true value of the gifts our parents give us.

As Catherine, Mariah Gale delivers a subtle and nuanced performance, avoiding the usual clichés associated with youthful rebellion.   Her Catherine is vulnerable and socially awkward, yet warm and intelligent, and with her biting laconic style she makes every line into a flash of insight. 

Matthew Marsh, a hugely under-rated actor in our opinion, played the young physicist Werner Heisenberg in an outstanding production of  ‘Copenhagen’ many years ago, so it was particularly satisfying to see him here returning to play a mathematician fifteen years later – he clearly has something of the boffin about him.  His performance is richly understated and he delicately portrays the genius trying to come to terms with his own mental deterioration with disarming humanity.  He is just as distressed by the effect on his daughter as he is about his own lost years of work, and the scene where he has to face the truth about his mental impairment is heartbreaking.

Jamie Parker’s Hal brings light relief and a nerdy charm with some well-judged comedy, and it is easy to see why Catherine becomes attracted to him, although he is just ambiguous enough to keep us guessing about his motives.  Emma Cuniffe as Claire gives a sympathetic portrayal of the sister that got away, trying to do the right thing while fighting a nagging sense of guilt about the past.  She captures the sense of being the most ‘normal’ family member who nevertheless feels like a fish out of water when she gets back home.

In short, where x is an outstanding cast, y an imaginative and witty playwright, and z and well executed production, x + y + z = the best night out in the Menier we’ve had in a long time.  And just to add icing to the cake, we had a perfect view of the action.  Looks like they have finally found the perfect formula for their seating plan.

Seeing the name ‘Iain Glen’ in the same sentence as Chekhov again after seeing him in a thrilling production of Uncle Vanya at the Print Room, we didn’t need much persuading to book for ‘Longing’, William Boyd’s adaptation of two Chekhov short stories, and the nearest thing to an undiscovered play we were likely to get.  The lengthy returns queue when we arrived at the Hampstead Theatre confirmed that we were not alone in being intrigued at the prospect, and with a cast including Glen, Tamsin Grieg and John Sessions, we were eager to see the result.

In many ways this production is almost more Chekhovian than Chekhov himself, with all the recognisable elements immediately present.  The Doctor (this time female); the overworked lawyer who can’t find time to be happy; the pampered wife who must face losing her family’s estate, and of course her sisters.  There is also some politics thrown in with a character who has defied his middle class father to work with his hands.  We would never have known that this was based on two short stories – they have been cleverly intertwined and realised as a drama.  We don’t know much about William Boyd as a dramatist, but from watching the TV adaptation of his novel ‘Any Human Heart’, with its delightfully self-deflating ending, we should have known that this adaptation was unlikely to deliver the subtle emotional wrench that comes from spending four acts with characters whose situation may not change, but who tend to change us.

At two hours, this is a comparatively slight piece, a stroll round the block rather than a long walk through the Cherry Orchard, and ultimately, the characters don’t have time to engage us, and the plot is too simplistic, both in terms of action and emotion.  Without enough subtext or back story, it is too easy to say ‘so what?’ to the wistful ending.

Having said that, the cast exploit the play to the full, teasing out every emotion and opportunity for humour.  This was the first time we had seen Tamsin Grieg on stage and she certainly proves worthy of the praise which seems to have been heaped on her in recent years.  As Varia, the Doctor who briefly hopes for a second chance at romance, she delivers a pin sharp and witty performance, never letting you forget what is bubbling underneath, and allowing us just enough emotion to sense the toll that years of repression have taken.  As the object of her affection, Kolia, Iain Glen rises to the occasion, especially when his animosity with Sergei comes out, but ultimately we felt that he didn’t get the opportunity to sink his teeth into a character who appeared to have no real objective.  Alan Cox as Sergei, the profligate husband, is pleasingly pompous with a dissolute charm and unwarranted optimism in the face of adversity.  The sincerity of his belief that he is just an idealist adds to the exasperation he causes.  It is a breath of fresh air to see John Sessions back on stage as the shamelessly ‘nouveau’ Dolzikhov.  And on that point, only Sessions seemed comfortable with the Scottish accent which some of the cast were inexplicably given.

We are sure this production will attract a lot of interest, but ultimately we’d probably opt for an actual Chekhov next time.

There were no problems deciding whether to go and see ‘Dear World’ at the Charing Cross Theatre.  As their publicity puts it – four legends unite to create theatrical history, and for once it’s not an exaggeration.  A long overdue UK premier of a work with music and lyrics by Jerry Herman starring Betty Buckley and Paul Nicholas, directed by Gillian Lynne, who helped to make ‘Phantom of the Opera’ such a memorable production with her choreography.  And the availability of £15 tickets was a welcome bonus.  Having booked in August, we were pretty disappointed to arrive on the 9th February to find the matinée performance cancelled, due to ‘electrical problems’.  A glance at www.broadwayworld.com told us that the cancellation was due to Paul Nicholas being ill, so we are not sure which explanation to believe, unless he is in fact a robot.  And so, a week later, we were very glad to take up our seats without incident.

‘Dear World’ is based on the play by Jean Giraudoux ‘The Madwoman of Chaillot’, and billed as a musical fable.  It is not particularly easy to synopsise, but we will try.  All in the space of one afternoon, an eccentric old lady who owns a pavement cafe in Paris defeats some ruthless businessmen who want to turn Paris into an oilfield, reminisces about her lost love and does some match-making, all with the help of a rather mystical ‘Sewer man’ and her two friends, both with their own distinct brands of madness.  This is definitely a story in which the journey is more important than the destination.

Jerry Herman was known to have wanted a more ‘intimate’ setting for ‘Dear World’ after the Broadway production closed, and we are sure he would be thrilled with this one.  Gillian Lynne both directs and choreographs, and she has lavished care and attention to bring out the warmth, humour and eccentricity of the piece, without diluting the message for modern audiences, with the individual fighting against the march of greedy capitalism.  The choreography is well judged, combining traditional and romantic sequences with some wonderful comic moments, particularly with the three ‘presidents’ and the sewer man.  The action flows along beautifully, savouring this strange world as it goes.

Lynne has found a very special cast for this production.  We never thought we would get to see Betty Buckley on the London stage, and certainly not under the arches of the Charing Cross Theatre.  It’s easy to see why she is so widely admired – as countess Aurelia, her star quality shines through, with numbers such as ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘And I was beautiful’.  She is ably supported by Rebecca Lock (Gabriella) and Annabel Leventon (Constance), her two friends, who seem to compete in ever more fanciful ideas.  Gabriella has an imaginary dog, whom she only takes out occasionally, making it very difficult to tell the ‘real’ imaginary dog from the ‘imaginary’ imaginary dog, and Constance is a clairvoyant whose ‘voices’ move around her house, taking up residence in her pillow, hot water bottle, etc.  Their attempts to have logical discussions about this are hilarious.  It was a special treat to see Paul Nicholas, another West End legend.  As the sewer man, he exuded exactly the right amount of effortless charm and absolute authority whilst dispensing his own brand of completely absurd wisdom, and his rendition of ‘Have a little pity on the rich’ was a joy to watch.  WIth Peter Land, Robert Meadmore and Craig Nicholls (a late addition) on excellent form as the evil capitalists, and Stuart Matthew Price and Kate Treharne sweetly tuneful as the young lovers, this was a cast to enjoy.

Having said all that, we wouldn’t call this classic Herman.  Jean Giraudoux is said to have coined the phrase ‘only the mediocre are always at their best’, and this seems an apt back-handed compliment in Herman’s case – after all, he is certainly not a mediocre talent.  There are some recognisable elements to enjoy, particularly the warmth, the strong characters, the hummable tunes and the wider feel-good message.  But whilst this is an eminently enjoyable ramble through a surreal world, there is no real sense of jeopardy, and despite her powerful presence in the story, the Countess Aurelia is in part a spectator, and she only gives a brief glimpse of her inner world before shutting it away again.  Nevertheless, this is a rare opportunity to see a lesser-known work given the production it deserves.

Bird is certainly enjoying a meteoric rise in the world of theatre, but why, we ask?

According to The Stage, he has served on the boards of the Yvonne Arnaud theatre and the De La Warr Pavillion, but he has only been in the business of full time arts management since 2007 when he joined the Tate as chief operating officer.  It wasn’t long before he become chief executive of the Society of London Theatre and the Theatrical Management Association in June 2010.  It’s not clear whether this new appointment of Chair of Drama UK is an additional ‘honour’ or an actual job, but either way, we find it quite worrying.  If he was acting as chief executive, that might be a bit more understandable, but the position of ‘Chair’ usually indicates a figurehead of some kind, and a role which determines the future path of the organisation.  And why would you appoint as chair of an organistaion purporting to champion drama training a person who did a degree in Economics, went into banking and then worked for the FSA for seven years?  A passion for theatre is all very well, but what does he really know about acting and drama training?

And if he retains his role as chief executive of SOLT/TMA, surely there is a conflict of interest.  These organisations exist partly to negotiate with the acting unions of behalf of employers, and Bird has made his credentials pretty clear when it comes to prioritising ‘biz’ over ‘show’.  One of his great achievements has been to secure sponsorship from Mastercard for the Olivier Awards, including a stipulation that only Mastercard holders can book tickets (remember the similar controversy when Visa insisted on a similar monopoly at the Olympics?)  And yet despite obtaining this undisclosed sum from Mastercard, he went on to make the following boast about the awards ceremony in the Stage:

“It has been an impressive profile boost for the event ……  but not one that has been as expensive as you might think.  MasterCard gave financial support for the marketing campaign, while many people in the theatre industry have given their time at low or no cost – especially performers on the night itself.”

So, he might not have done any drama training, but certainly knows a lot about exploiting the good will of performers.

And what is the mission of Drama UK, we wonder.  The website tells us it is “Championing quality drama training in the UK through Advocacy, Assurance and Advice”.  Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?  The Drama UK website aims to become a one-stop-shop resource for information on all kinds of drama training, which shouldn’t surprise us.  However, there is a worrying shift from the remit of the National Council for Drama Training, whose role was to clearly accredit Drama Schools providing a high level of training for students intending to enter the industry.  This accreditation remains, but now it is joined by something else, ‘recognition’, because according to the website

“the drama training landscape has changed significantly in that time and there are now many more providers in this sector running courses that are less vocational than conservatoire training but offer a very real benefit to the industry and routes into a wide range of careers in the Creative and Cultural Industries”

Later we are told that

“It will provide sign-posting of high quality courses which provide a pipeline of talent into the Creative Industries but outside the conservatoire level of vocational training”.

Not quite sure how we feel about that pipeline analogy there.  What we have here is a massive over-supply of drama training, and many of these courses, especially those aimed at children, are big business.  We don’t want to knock those.  After all, there are worse things to spend your money on.  But if these organisations are able to display a kitemark saying that they are ‘recognised by Drama UK’, who is going to know the difference?

Of course, this is exactly what you might expect when making money takes preference – expanding potential membership is a good way of ensuring an income.  But quite how that serves potential drama students and helps to ensure quality in the industry is not clear.  Have a look at the website – it makes interesting reading.

Ever since going to Ye Olde Rose and Crown pub in Walthamstow to see Love and War, a well-crafted and performed revue featuring songs by Howard Goodall, we have hoped to return to see something else.  When we heard about One Touch of Venus, the intriguing idea of Kurt Weill leaving his long-term collaborator Bertholt Brecht to do a musical with humourist poet Ogden Nash seemed as good a reason as any to revisit this venue.

The story is loosely (very loosely) based on the Pygmalion myth, in which a sculptor falls in love with a statue he has carved, only to find it coming to life through a miracle, courtesy of the goddess Venus.  Here we have art collector Whitelaw Savory buying a statue because it reminds him of a mysterious girl from his past, and a love triangle ensues when his barber Rodney Hatch happens to bring the statue to life by putting a ring on her finger.  Mayhem ensues….

It’s no surprise that some of the songs from this little-known musical have become standards in their own right, in particular Speak low and ‘I’m a stranger here myself’.  There are some beautiful musical interludes, with ‘speak low’, the lovers’ duet making a fitting centrepiece.  The title song, ‘One Touch of Venus’, a tribute to feminine charms that doesn’t bear too much post-feminist scrutiny, is amusing and pleasant, whilst we particularly enjoyed the impromptu barber shop quartet that comes together to sing ‘The trouble with women’, and in this case women can sleep easy because it turns out the trouble with women ‘is men’.  Having said that there are some less successful numbers such as ‘Catch Hatch’ and a bizarre song about Dr Crippen.

Whilst we enjoyed the music, SJ Perelman and Nash’s book has some insurmountable problems.  There is one simple concept at the heart of the piece, that a statue comes to life, so it is clearly a fantasy and fairly lightweight, but the golden rule that fantasy should always obey its own rules is often broken, making the action confusing and somewhat random and over-complicated.  The statue is Venus herself, and sometimes she has goddess-like powers, for example freezing the action when she likes and making people disappear, yet, at other times she seems powerless, and a victim of others.  The basic premise, that she wants an ordinary life after all that divinity could have some comic potential, but this is not realised either, leaving the story rather flat instead of magical.  Rodney Hatch starts out as the reluctant object of Venus’ charms, and spends the first half of the story being stalked by her.  What begins as an amusing reversal, ie, a goddess falling in love with an undeserving man, becomes an unsatisfactory ending, as he becomes the only character to benefit, despite making no effort to get what he wants.  It is probably worth noting that the 1948 film made some radical changes to the characters and plot which seem to address some of the issues, making us wonder why the producers decided to put on the original without any changes.

Given the limitations of the material, and its length, we feel that Aaron Clingham and Lydia Milman Schmidt did a fantastic job of bringing the production of life.  Sarah June Mills’ art gallery set was ambitious for such a small place, and well used.  We particularly liked the way one of the Mondrian paintings had little peep holes and hatches through which actors appeared at key moments.  The large cast were strong, with Kendra McMillan bringing just the right combination of eccentricity, haughtiness and innocence to the role of Venus.  David Jay Douglas was perfect as the unlikely object of her affection, and Benjamin Mahns-Mardy stood out as the surly Stanley with an impressive voice.  James Wolstenholme, whom we saw in the excellent Royal Academy of Music student production of ‘Follies’ as Buddy, didn’t disappoint as a rather vivacious incarnation of the world-weary Whitelaw Savory. 

We certainly admire All Star Productions for doing such a quality job – and although we would question how wise they were in their choice of material this time, we look forward to our next visit.  You’ve got to admire their ambition – in May they will be putting on the UK premier of the musical ‘Phantom’.  Not to be confused with the Andrew Lloyd Webber version, this is the Maury Yeston and Arthur Kopit work which predated it.

When we heard that there was going to be a new production by Robert Lepage coming to the Roundhouse, we rushed to book our tickets.  We hadn’t seen any of his work before, but with ‘Playing Cards 1: Spades’, the publicity promised something spectacular, intriguing and original.  Always on the lookout for something different, our expectations were high.  It’s been a while since we’ve been to the Roundhouse and it’s certainly enjoyed a facelift.  Unfortunately, comfortable seating is not part of the package, and we were less than pleased, given that the show would run for two and a half hours without an interval.

The first in a quartet of plays, one for each suit of cards, this show is based on the theme of war (though we would never have guessed), set in Las Vegas and featuring coalition troops from a nearby military base waiting to be deployed in the 2003 US invasion of Iraq.  Las Vegas is used as a metaphor for the values of the West, and a nameless (and soulless) hotel serves as a meeting place for a disparate group of people whose relationships we explore.  The concept seems sound enough, but the problem with using Las Vegas as a metaphor is that it is a real place, and the real stories which emerge from it tend to be stranger and more interesting than any fiction.

There is no doubt that a great deal of technical ingenuity has gone into this production – the stage is essentially a sunken square into which the actors emerge from beneath the stage, and they are often seen only from the waist up, which creates an interesting intensity.  The usual problems associated with sightlines in the round are solved by having doors and other pieces of the set pop up only when needed, receding into the stage once they have served their purpose.  Screens are occasionally used to show the action too, but they seemed almost superfluous.  There are some striking visual moments, as we would have expected, for example, a character talks at a gamblers anonymous meeting sitting on a chair amongst a ring of empty chairs, rotating endlessly around the edge of the set.  A desert storm is ingeniously evoked at the end with light, dry ice and fans, and the action is on the whole is seamless, with sets literally appearing to melt into the darkness before our eyes.

We were amazed when only six actors emerged to take their bows – the doubling up was skilfully done, and the cast worked hard to bring a whole range of characters to life, in a variety of languages.  Tony Guilfoyle, whom we were surprised to learn we already knew as the unfortunate father Larry Duff in ‘Father Ted’, was one of the strongest, switching from the sadistic sergeant to stressed out TV executive (via a brief turn as Elvis) with ease.  Nuria Garcia similarly relishes her switches between maid and prostitute – we only realised she was playing both characters after a neat costume change in which she steps out of a hospital gown into bondage gear, and as ‘Dick’, the mysterious cowboy who is not all he seems, Roberto Mori is charmingly believable.

But for us, there was one key problem with this production.  The moments of theatricality and visual splendour are few and far between, and cannot compensate for the material itself, which is thin.  Cliche-ridden doesn’t even convey the sense that we’d seen every character and every exchange and dramatic moment somewhere before.   At one point we experienced a moment of brief annoyance when the surtitles broke down, but when they came back on and the first line was something along the lines of ‘I haven’t even got to know myself yet’, we started to wonder if the play would have been better if we couldn’t understand the words.  The closest we can come to describing it was like  flipping TV channels on a weekday afternoon. 

It is pretty depressing to see that the only female characters are prostitutes, dancing girls, downtrodden maids or passive wives and mistresses with low esteem, and while there is a bit more variety for the male actors, there is not much substance for them either, and there is nowhere for the narrative to go.   More importantly, there is nothing intrinsically interesting in seeing a lot of disparate characters interact unless their stories somehow become greater than the sum of their parts.  Despite all the cleverness of the production style, we felt there was no originality where it mattered, on a dramatic and emotional level.

The pre-publicity has been anxious to point out that this is going to be a re-imagining of the stage version, and with the impressive opening sequence, Hooper sets out his stall.  A panoramic sweep reveals a ship listing on the ocean, as it is hauled into the docks by hundreds of men, prisoners in the ‘galleys’, of whom Jean Valjean is one, bringing home the reality of Valjean’s imprisonment in a way the stage version couldn’t possibly convey.  The scene where he meets the Bishop of Digne highlights the remote location and the rugged grandeur of the countryside, and underlines the significance of the encounter and the decision he makes to disappear and live an honest life (albeit under a false identity).

The problem is that these moments are few and far between, and there are just too many scenes where the opening out of the action is an irritating distraction.  Javert, for example, sings both of his key monologues (the songs ‘Stars’ and ‘Soliloquy’) from high buildings looking out onto the landscape below.  A nice idea, except that Hooper insists on having us believe that Javert is literally walking on the edge of the parapet with a close-up of his boots and the sheer drop below.  Both these scenes look fake, and detract from the singing.  Given Russell Crowe’s vocal performance as Javert, perhaps that was the intention.  The sets never really convince, and the fantasy ’super barricade’ which is erected on location at the Greenwich Maritime college as the entire cast sing the closing reprise of ‘Do you hear the people sing’, just looks ridiculous.  Hooper really seems to be running out of ideas when, in the final shoot-out with the student rebels, Enjolras’s iconic death tableau from the stage show is recreated through an incredibly contrived slow-motion sequence which involves him being blasted backwards out of a window.

It seems only natural that a film version of ‘Les Miserables’ would want to try to ‘fix’ some of the plot holes which appear in the stage version.  One of the key elements which doesn’t bear too much scrutiny is the way that Inspector Javert seems to be at liberty to chase Jean Valjean all round the country for years, and the convenient way that Valjean always seems to get away.  That great hallmark of Trevor Nunn’s original, the revolving stage designed by John Napier, solves these problems by literally keeping the action moving as each vignette literally flies into the shadows at the back of the stage.  In the film, Hooper has tried to introduce a ‘thriller’ element to the action, most notably when Valjean first escapes with the young Cosette, dodging through the backstreets and using a rope to winch both of the up and down from the rooftops, until we see him lying flat on top of a wall as we see Javert in the streets below.  It’s a nice bit of action, but it does create an expectation that cannot possibly be fulfilled.  Similarly the hyper-realistic escape in the sewers (we’ll say no more) seems rather absurd given how unrealistic much of the rest of the action is.

Not only has the plot been ‘fixed’, the emotion is literally rammed down our throats at every turn, especially the misery.  A key decision which seems to have been hailed by most as a ‘triumph’ (the oscar voters certainly seem to think so) is to have Fantine sing her momentous song ‘I Dreamed A Dream’ later in the downward spiral of her story, when she is truly in the depths of despair.  The only problem with this is that it rams home the despair part, ignoring the ‘dream’ part.  Now, the impetus of the song is her becoming a prostitute.  In the stage version she has just lost her job, and she is singing about being unable to see her child, losing her lover, and being unable to escape poverty or have a ‘normal’ family life.  One could say that it is the despair expressed in the song which leads to her contemplating prostitution, and the fact that her life is about to become so much worse is part of the poignancy.

In his review in the Huffington Post, Scott Mendelson caused some consternation by suggesting that the pitch of the film’s emotional intensity is so high that the songs seem almost redundant.  We think he has hit the nail on the head.  In name of realism we are bombarded with actors singing sad songs through sobs.  Whilst we have to admire Anne Hathaway for her technical achievements when she sings ‘I dreamed a dream’, her acting choices are more questionable.  Fantine is stamped with the label of ‘victim’ as soon as we set eyes on her, and not allowed a shred of dignity or redemption through the music.  Hugh Jackman doesn’t seem to have a volume control either, and his rendition of ‘Bring him home’ is more a declamation than a prayer.  And Eddie Redmayne’s entire rendition of ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables’ is soaked in tears.  They’re miserable.  We get it.

Much play has been made of the live recording of the music for this film, leading to Michael Cerveris tweeting that Broadway is full of singers singing live every night – and they don’t get a second take.  In fact we are told that some songs took 21 takes.  So, not that spontaneous then.  Despite Russell Crowe’s protestations that Hooper wanted a ‘rough and ready’ sound, we are not convinced that this is the reason why the actors in this film appear to be unable to sing properly.  Perhaps with better and more experienced singers it might have worked, but for us, it is the ‘live’ singing which has killed off this film.  Musicals are a collaboration.  The composers create the music to be part of a whole.  But in this process, the actors lead the way, and perhaps this is the reason why so many of the performances which have attracted attention scream ‘look at me!’, trampling over tempo and tonal range to fit in with an acting performance instead of trusting the music to convey the emotion.  Each individual sings their part from their character’s point of view, but nobody seems to be paying attention to the overall shape of the piece, and the effect it should have on an audience.  Few of the cast have the vocal ability to  really convey the light and shade that is inherent in the music, and ultimately this is the problem.  Would anyone try to deny that Boublil and Schonberg’s ’Les Miserables’ is popular because it is a musical?  For us, the music is paramount, and if that is not right, no amount of spectacle will help.  In his relentless pursuit of gritty realism and visual splendour Hooper has created something soulless, because the music, the true star of this piece, is never allowed to shine.

‘Privates on Parade’ is the first in a season of plays to be staged by Michael Grandage at the Noel Coward Theatre.  Written by Peter Nichols against the backdrop of the Malayan emergency of 1948 and first performed in 1977, it does not seem the most obvious choice of play.  We were therefore quite surprised to learn that this is a revival of a production first put on at the Donmar Warehouse over ten years ago.  So, is this play still fresh, and does it still have something to say?

In many ways the play’s strengths are also its weaknesses.  The scenario is now a very familiar one – a concert party headed up by the outrageously camp Captain Terri Dennis, the stupidity of the British abroad, and the insanity of empire.  These themes are instantly recognisable and ripe for satire, but they also require the play to work hard to say something new or amusing about them.  This is not a subtle or sophisticated piece, and we can imagine that in the seventies, this distinctly unsanitised version of events would have been very fresh indeed, like its language and sexual shenanigans.  Thirty-five years on, however, there is a feeling that the shock value doesn’t quite go far enough, or at least misses the mark.  There is something missing, and whether that it is the context of historical events or something intrinsic to the play is hard to tell.  Peter Nichols served in the Combined Services Entertainment with Stanley Baxter and Kenneth Williams just after the war in Singapore, and the play is based on real events and characters, so this is clearly a subject he knows about, but is it just a memoir, or something more?

This is not to say that the play is not entertaining.  It is full of humourous moments, and Simon Russell Beale delivers a stand-out performance as Terri Dennis.  He is going down a very well-trodden path indeed.  Shades of every camp cliché in the book are present, from Quentin Crisp to Larry Grayson to Alan Carr.  But in Simon Russell Beale’s hands these mannerisms and quips are truly delightful.  With a perfectly judged performance, he never holds back from a limp-wristed gesture or a mincing walk, but he does it with a warmth and humanity, and comic timing that makes his character completely genuine and three-dimensional.  Overall, the cast deliver good performances and do justice to the humour, although sometimes we found the characters difficult to tell apart.  One of our favourite moments was the use of the swear-box, brought out as a deterrent to help the soldiers adjust to life on civvy street - one of the characters cannot help himself, and having lost almost all his change in a foul-mouthed tirade, ends up by slowly tossing the rest of his coins silently into the box.  The satire on British Army life, particularly the hierarchy of the army is still sharp, and the transformation of the army drill into the song and dance number ‘Privates on Parade’ is still very funny, with its corny double-entendres and Captain Dennis’s insistence on ‘customising’ his uniform with extra short shorts and diamonte army stripes.  The musical numbers help to heighten the satire of the situation and are wittily handled.

Ultimately though, we cannot help feeling that this play does not quite speak to us.  Too radical to be a ‘museum piece’ of the seventies, and yet not quite radical enough.  If Nichols were writing this piece today, it would rightly raise concerns about the apparently uncritical depiction of sexism, racism and homophobia (although the homosexuals probably get the kindest treatment).  Which brings us on to another problem which has been raised about this play – the two silent indeterminately East Asian characters whose sole contribution to the play appears to be to serve the British characters and change the scenery.  Amanda Rogers, who has also written about the recent controversy surrounding the casting of the RSC’s ‘Orphan of Zhao’, took the bold step of writing to Michael Grandage about these characters when she heard the play was going to be performed.  Clearly, Grandage has made an effort to address this problem by giving us a sense that they are part of a bigger plan – he has them play cards over the coffin of one of the British soldiers before the interval when everyone else has gone, and at the end they are transformed into business-suited Malaysians, shaking hands in front of a backdrop of a modern city (Kuala Lumpur we presume?).  We are not sure this really solves the problem, and if anything it reinforces another stereotype, of the wily and inscrutable oriental.  And there is another cruel irony in this ‘celebration’ of modern Malaysia if you consider their current attitude to homosexuality.

Perhaps it is for another playwright to redress the imbalance in casting in the UK when it comes to ethnicity and gender, and to tell the other side of the story, but at the end of the day, a director also has choices to make about his material and we have to ask ourselves why Grandage chose this particular play – twice.

Sound and Fury are a theatre company with an interesting mission.  Instead of providing spectacle, they tend to immerse their audiences in total darkness.  It’s not often nowadays that you visit the theatre and don’t have to worry about sight lines or whether the set will be any good, and the exhortation to switch off mobile phones as ‘any light ruins the show’ is also a first for us.  As we edge our way to our seats, guided only by dim spotlights under them, we are already in a different world and our senses are on high alert.  The dark setting is significant on many levels.  Practically, this is the story of a planetarium presenter, so the darkness is necessary for the lectures which intersperse the action.  Yet it also works on a sensory and metaphorical level as well.  Early on, we are told that if you want to look at the andromeda galaxy it is best to use your peripheral vision, as it is very dim, and your peripheral vision is better for seeing at night.  Similarly the minimal lighting and the way the show is performed, with one actor creating a whole world of relationships, invites us to take an oblique view of the biggest question of all: why are we here?

The story revolves around the central character, played John Mackay, who discovers that he is going to go blind, and what follows is an exploration of his fears and hopes, and an invitation for us to think about what is really important.  At the same time he narrates stories of the universe which is itself ‘going dark’, ie, stars are rushing away from each other so that their light will no longer be visible.  You scarcely notice that Mackay is the only actor ‘on stage’ because he is brings so many other characters to life – his worried Dad on the phone, his optician, and in an ingenious touch, his child, whose voice is heard through pre-recorded dialogue.  Whilst this might sound unspontaneous, the dialogue between them sounds surprisingly natural.  Half the child’s speech is barely intelligible, but this doesn’t really matter – it helps to reinforce the illusion that we are eavesdropping.

The telling of the story seems to deliberately avoid the usual clichés in ‘human interest’ drama, and although the main character fears many things, there is neither realisation nor resolution of these fears at the end.  The beauty of the piece is the stillness which is creates, allowing us to muse, not just about the vastness of the universe but the degree to which vision and perception are constructs of the brain in which we trust, and through which we somehow strive for meaning.  Scientists make predictions about what is going on in the universe as much by what they cannot see as what they can.  So black holes were first postulated, then proved to exist through the behaviour of other objects around them.  Similarly the father, by trying to shield his son from the truth, telegraphs to him that something is wrong through his inexplicable changes in behaviour.

This form of story-telling is remarkably versatile and ultimately memorable and performed with great technical skill and humour by John Mackay.  Whether he is talking about the vastness of the universe, demonstrating the compression of gases using tissue paper, or trying to make his son’s lunch blindfolded (he nearly manages it with one crucial error), we are with him all the way – and wondering what we would do in the same situation.  Like the main mythical character Dhruva, an Indian boy who meditates so intensely that he is turned into the pole star by the God Vishnu with all this followers around him, we are invited to meditate, if only briefly, on how we see and experience the world.

One might be forgiven for forming the impression that Mackintosh and his Hollywood backers want to exploit all the trappings which made Les Miserables popular – except its music.  If only we could get it to the big screen, they seem to be thinking, without anyone noticing that……it’s a musical.  And why would they want to do that?  Because they must very quickly have realised that there is no way they will find ‘names’ suitable for Hollywood casting who can sing like Colm Wilkinson, Patti Lupone and Michael Ball, or their younger counterparts.  In the past, when film directors couldn’t find such stars, they simply overdubbed them with people who could sing.

With overdubbing falling out of fashion, what seems to have followed is an elaborate attempt to redefine the musical as a medium that requires no real technical ability, just the ability to occasionally hold a tune and ‘act’ whilst singing.  What everyone seems to have lost sight of is that the best musical theatre singers are able to convey a sense of naturalness without distorting the music.  That’s why in our humble opinion it is one of the highest art forms – they make it look easy, and unfortunately, the casting directors seem to have made the mistake of thinking it is easy.

The first step in the process is to make a big fuss about the fact that the cast will be singing live on set.  In a featurette released before the film, Hugh Jackman gives a lecture in the advantages of allowing actors to ‘experiment’ with their ‘interpretation’ of the music.  Here’s an example:

Meanwhile Tom Hooper goes on about how ‘unnatural’ it is to pre-record the soundtrack properly.  Perhaps this would have more credibility if the actors didn’t have hidden earpieces whilst singing along to a piano.  Bring in a symphony orchestra to accompany the actors, and then you can call it ‘live’.  If you don’t like ‘unnatural’, don’t do musicals.

Next we have the extremely low bar, apparently set by the ‘critics’ who were privileged to see the premier.  Perhaps this is best illustrated by Matthew Bond’s comment in his Daily Mail review that whilst Russell Crowe doesn’t have the strongest singing voice, he is in tune, and this is a five star review.  What does that say about the rest of the cast?  On the other side of the pond, Amanda Seyfried is described as hitting some freakishly high notes, although the author adds that ‘this isn’t always a good thing’.  And we’ve already seen for ourselves that Hugh Jackman struggles to stay in tune (unless that was an acting ‘choice’).  Fans of the musical are warned they may not like the way that some of the music is not very ‘tuneful’.  You can see why we have decided by now this film will have us crying, but not for the right reasons.

Then we have the ridiculous fuss made over Anne Hathaway’s ‘sacrifices’ of her figure and her hair, apparently insisting on cutting it against the advice of director Tom Hooper.  Well, hair does grow back.  Now, we thought Anne Hathaway was an actress, a person for whom such things would be utterly trivial.  Of course she can’t help what the papers say about her, but she doesn’t have to encourage them.  To top it all, we are told that her hair was cut ‘live’ on set by her personal hairdresser in a dress.  Well, it’s one way to get a haircut on expenses.  This is a very glossy form of naturalism, with artfully placed ripped clothes and mud, and the sight of Samantha Barks singing ‘On my own’ in the pouring rain in a skimpy low-cut top shows how unimportant realism is.  It looks more like a pop video to us, but perhaps that’s the intention.

Which brings us on to a factor which seems to be at the heart of this film – the oscar buzz.  Before we even get the chance to see it, we are bombarded with predictions about the oscars which are surely already in the bag.  Who could possibly beat Hugh Jackman as best actor.  And with Anne Hathway’s ’heart-rending’ performance as Fantine, how could the academy refuse?  You don’t win Oscars by having a good singing voice.  It’s all about ‘emoting’ and stealing the limelight.  And of course, Tom Hooper won an oscar before (no doubt one of the reasons he was offered the gig in the first place), so he’s bound to win one again.  We’ve got two words for you – Michael Cimino.  It’s as if the producers have decided that they have already won the box office battle.  Oscar is the real prize.

And what does Cameron Mackintosh think about the amazing success of this film, which hasn’t even opened yet.  Well, he is delighted because, as he says in the Daily Mail, ‘I have a lot of musicals up my sleeve that I own the rights to.  It would be wonderful for the British film industry if we became the MGM of the 21st century in this country’.  Oh yes, he says, this could usher in a golden era for the musical.  Golden in the sense that there is a whole lot of money to be made out of musical theatre fans.  If they are willing to hand it over.

There is some pretty fortuitous timing in the Arcola’s British Premiere of Sweet Smell of Success, Marvin Hamlisch’s ten year old Broadway musical version of a film from 1957.  Taking the power of the newspapers to make or break celebrities and those close to them as its theme, we can’t help but see a connection with the Leveson Inquiry, which reported on the culture, practice and ethics of the press two days before we saw this production.  Whilst the mechanics of the press might be very different today, ‘Sweet Smell of Success’ shows that some themes seem to be timeless, particularly the dubious morality that allows the desperate to be exploited by the powerful.

In its simplest form, this is a modern morality tale.  Based on a novella by Ernest Lehman, the story is reputedly (or should be say allegedly) based on Walter Winchell, a gossip columnist whose motto was ‘nothing recedes like success’.  Prophetic words indeed.  The book, by John Guare, is lean and tightly structured, with its Faustian overtones and a strong sense that this is not going to end well.  There is plenty of wit too – the opening scene where JJ Hunsecker dictates his pearls of wisdom is very funny and immediately makes us complicit.  The story centres on Sidney Falcone, a pushy press agent with naivety and ambition in equal measure.  Unable to believe his luck when JJ Hunsecker takes him under his wing, he hastily sells his soul for a spot in the column and it’s not long before things get very complicated indeed, when Hunsecker asks him to spy on his sister Susan, whom Falcone has recently befriended.

Hamlisch’s music is a perfect accompaniment and enhancement to the story.  Creating an atmosphere of film noir menace with the opening number ‘Column’ (‘Got to get in the column’ is the constant refrain), he weaves together the different strands of emotion with numbers that convey the energy and excitement of the city, Falcone’s desperate ambition, as well as the romance between Susan and musician Dallas (‘I cannot hear the city’).  Teamed with Craig Carnelia’s sharp lyrics, each numbers pushes the story forward and engages us with the characters, even the odious Hunsecker in his tribute to his sister (‘Susan’).

The Arcola is the perfect venue for conveying the dark underbelly of a busy city (no disrespect).  Dark and almost subterranean, the space is well-used by Director Mehmet Ergen and Designer Mark Bailey, with some strategically placed neon signs on the brick wall backdrop which light up in turn according to which seedy dive the action is occurring in, simple props (piles of newspapers to sit on) and bars on wheels.  The pace is snappy and although the setting is realistic there is a hint of the surreal as well, with the chorus making their first appearance rising up from below the stage to appear with just head and shoulders in a letter-box opening at the back of the stage.  Just comical enough to feel like satire, they also feel a little bit like a chorus from a Greek tragedy, dancing carefree in the bar one minute, and turning to sound a note of warning the next.  This culminates with Hunsecker’s vaudeville number, ‘Don’t Look Now’ where his song about fooling the audience provides the cover for some nefarious dealings in the city outside.  As far as the staging goes, we have one tip – head for the gallery if you can’t get into the small number of ground floor front-facing seats.  We calculated that less that half the seats in the auditorium actually faced to the front, where the action was staged, and our gamble was vindicated when we were joined by much of the audience in the second half.

Leading a strong cast, David Bamber didn’t disappoint, and was clearly enjoying his role as Hunsecker, the mean-spirited control freak.  Resisting the temptation to go over the top, this was also a touching portrayal of a man who nearly destroys the sister he claims to love by trying to ‘protect’ her, and he is able to convey both menace and pathos almost simultaneously.  As Sidney Falcone, Adrian Der Gregorian is likeable and conflicted.  As he throws away his integrity bit by bit, we can still believe until the last minute that the ‘good guy’ in him might redeem himself.  We’re not sure Stuart Matthew Price was perfectly cast as the ‘undesirable’ reformed tom cat musician Dallas, but with a beautiful voice he brings a sense of warm romance to the story.  As Susan Caroline Keiff matches him as the young woman trying to break free from her sense of obligation to her brother, and from the chorus, Tosh Wanagho-Maud shone with his singing and dancing.

This is certainly an overdue premiere for an enjoyable Broadway musical, and further proof that small venues are leading the way in bringing us a varied and healthy smörgåsbord of musical delights.  Hamlisch would surely approve had he been alive to see it.

One of the many joys of being a fan of Howard Goodall’s musicals is that it sends you to a whole variety of new venues.  Last time it was Ye Olde Rose and Crown in Walthamstow to see Love and War, and this time the professional premier of Goodall’s ‘A Winter’s Tale’, reworked for the occasion, took us to the Landor Theatre in Clapham for the first time, a pleasant venue, slightly classier than your average pub theatre with nice seats, but most definitely compact and bijou.

We wondered if such a small stage could encompass palaces, rolling hills and the sea.  Well, the answer is no of course, but director Andrew Keates has used the space very effectively, with a simple backdrop by designer Martin Thomas using sliding flats, clever lighting by Howard Hudson and plenty of haze (not sure who is responsible for that).  He has also kept props to a minimum and keeps the actors moving along with the action, choreographing a relatively large cast with great skill in and out of the space.  We did find some aspects of the costumes and apparent time setting a bit confusing.  It looks as though costumes have been kept deliberately non-specific with an eclectic mix of suits, long dresses, and some rather interesting medieval regal wear – at one point the chorus have old-fashioned cameras round their necks.  In the end, once we’d realised that there wasn’t too much rhyme or reason to the setting it wasn’t too intrusive, and we focussed instead on the action and of course the music.

It is probably fair to say that Howard Goodall’s music is the main reason to see this production.  It is hard for us to make a direct comparison between this musical and the source material, Shakespeare’s play ‘The Winter’s Tale’, having not seen a production of the original, but it seems that Goodall has found the perfect vehicle for his music, and a way to explore deeper and more dramatic themes.  His passion for the subject matter is clear from the article on his website and the music gives unity to a plot which at times could become rather disjointed.  We can certainly understand why some refer to this as one of Shakespeare’s ‘problem plays’.  Beginning with a lighthearted scene of international friendship, the tone soon plunges into tragedy when the King of Sicily, Leontes (a strong performance from Pete Gallagher), becomes consumed by jealousy, thinking that his wife, Ekatarina (Helen Power) has been unfaithful to him with his friend, the King of Bohemia, Polixines (Alastair Brookshaw).  Her downfall is swift and apparently final.  In the second act, we are transported to Bohemia amongst the simple sheep-raising country folk, with plenty of banter and playfulness (we loved the antics of ‘Rob’ and the sheep-shearing festivities) to follow the fate of Leontes’ daughter Perdita (the luminous Abigail Matthews), abandoned as a baby, and the inevitable discovery of her true identity and the resolution which follows. 

One advantage of the small space is that the singers can be unmiked.  Accompanied by a small band, the impressively strong ensemble more than did justice to Goodall’s music.  We can’t help wondering if one of the reasons why Goodall has not found the fame he deserves is the lack of information on his website or anywhere else.  Goodall himself mentions ‘The Same Sun Shines’ as the key to the piece, expressing the importance of individual lives, whatever their station in life, and for us this was one of the most powerful moments in the piece.  As for the others, without a list of song titles, we would have to say that we liked the one about the sheep-shearing, and the recurring motif with the phrase ‘Love is what we are’.  We’ll just have to buy the album, once we’ve worked out how to do that!  Although not a sung-through musical, there is a sense of momentum and power in the music, particularly the use of the chorus and the intricate harmonies.  The emotional threads are woven together beautifully at the end, making for a moving and effective final tableau which might have seemed a bit over the top in a non-musical setting.  In short, Goodall has given the musical form a new sense of purpose, as he himself says “It is an unashamedly emotional story with equally emotional and passionate music”.

At the performance we attended there were notices reminding audiences that the show was a preview.  We don’t know why, but all we can say is that if they were expecting teething problems, they never materialised.