Marathan Sham: An Audience with Jimmy Savile at the Park Theatre

Saturday 13th June 2015, matinée

Some have asked if the Park Theatre‘s new production of Jonathan Maitland’s play ‘An Audience with Jimmy Savile’ is too soon.  We say it’s not soon enough.  It’s probably about fifty years too late.  An exploration of how Jimmy Savile groomed the nation, and recruited the establishment as an accessory to his crimes, this play attempts to give him the trial he never had, and goes some way to redressing the injustice of a perpetrator dying before he has had to face judge and jury.  The title is well-chosen – ‘audience’ implies power and influence as well as popularity, and the format incorporates plenty of fawning and self-congratulatory egotism.  At the same time, the public figure is gradually dismantled by the narrative of a single victim and her tireless attempts to be heard and believed about what happened to her as a twelve-year-old child, culminating in a fictional confrontation which finally gives her the upper hand.

This format is surprisingly powerful.  However much you might think you know about Savile, it’s no substitute to being confronted with the man himself (or as near as we can get), and watching a series of establishment figures praise, support and make excuses for him, whether it’s the Police, the BBC, the NHS or even the Catholic church.  It is the casting of Alistair McGowan that is the key to this play’s success.  Many actors who play real people make a distinction between ‘doing an impersonation’ of the person and portraying them in a dramatic setting.  In this case though, an impression is exactly what is needed.  McGowan expertly brings Savile into the room with a mesmerising clarity of performance.  He is not here to ‘get inside’ Savile’s mind – it’s clear from the constant obfuscation of the man’s responses that this is a distant dream.  You could almost say Savile is a ‘personality’ constructed entirely around an inner emptiness, and the play shows how he did it.  But the vital purpose is not for us to understand or ’empathise’ with him, but to see him in a new light and feel the extreme discomfort of witnessing the humour and catchphrases spill out of the world of entertainment into the darker territory of police interviews and the sickening use of religion to justify his actions.  Apart from one notable incident, all this is delivered in the same showbiz style, ‘the power of odd’ as Savile calls it.  We’ll never hear the phrase ‘Jim’ll fix it’ in the same way again, now that we know how many other things and people he ‘fixed’ in order to avoid justice for so long.

No-one can upstage Savile of course, but the supporting cast of four do an excellent job of weaving the stories of the ordinary people around him – Graham Seed is suitably oily as the supine TV host, Leah Whitaker has us rooting for her with her spirited portrayal of a young mother wanting to be believed, while Charlotte Page and Robert Perkins effortlessly fill in a full cast of characters from police officers and journalists to co-conspirators.

This is his second play for the theatre, and Jonathan Maitland is clearly not afraid of a challenge.  A subject so full of recent controversy, highly sensitive events, and a real-life hate-figure as the main character is not an easy sell.  But he has succeeded in his aim of writing a play that will not let us forget what happened.  He creates discomfort without sensationalising events, and quietly allows us to face the horrific implications, as Savile steadily condemns himself with his own words and actions.  At ninety minutes, this is not an in-depth exploration, but it is quite long enough to be in the presence of a monster.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Mermaid whips up a storm: Shared Experience at the Watford Palace Theatre

Saturday 16th May 2015, evening

We’ve always said we’d go anywhere to see Shared Experience, but Watford? Only joking, we can definitely recommend the Palace Theatre Watford, although it’s a shame that it’s hemmed in by giant carparks on one side and a soulless ringroad on the other.  So much for traffic management!

It’s good to see Shared Experience back in action with a play written by Polly Teale that gives them full rein – a retelling of Hans Christian Anderson’s ‘Little Mermaid’.  Staying close to the spirit of the original, Teale doesn’t shy away from the darkness in the story, but she also finds new meaning and an uplifting message.  Here we have a modern day narrator, a sixteen year old girl who is dissatisfied with her own life, wanting to be rich and popular.  She brings many modern touches to the story, with the addition of paparazzi and PTSD to the lives of the royal couple, but the essential story is the same.  A young mermaid, eager to see the world above the waves, decides to leave her idyllic life under the sea to strive to become human and gain a soul by being loved by the prince she has only seen from a distance.  She pays a high price, and success seems to slip from her grasp until our young narrator rescues the story in a new and fresh twist.

As soon as we walked in, we felt as if we were being transported to a seaside town, and we could almost smell the salt in the air.  Tom Piper’s design beautifully combines the real and surreal with a raised stage which serves both as dock and as the narrator’s bedroom, until it is gradually dismantled, first by the mermaids, and then by a shipwreck, in which the cast strip the stage of all civilisation, with just a wardrobe left hanging from the ceiling. The staging is full of invention, for example, when the mermaids swim upstream to the city, a river strewn with rubbish is a source of delight as they toss paper and plastic bags into the air as if they are floating.  It is hard to describe the effect in words – Teale and her company use visuals as a form of emotional language that taps directly into an intuitive world.

It takes a company like Shared Experience to put on a production like this, convincing us that we are in a mythical underwater world by sheer force of will. The mermaids emerge from under the raised stage, no fake mermaid tails here, but they suggest creatures that live in water by being in constant motion, generating an energy that is hypnotic, whether it’s mischief, joy or discontent. It’s not all innocent fun though – when they first encounter a shipwreck and drowning men, they are more curious than distressed, and in a brilliant piece of mime, they move the drowned man’s limbs and then let them float down again in the water, lifeless.  Their singing, which is said to cause storms is also beautiful but disturbing, supplemented by a choir of local women from the sides of the stage.

Sarah Twomey as the youngest mermaid gives a completely unaffected performance, with a bountiful supply of innocent wonder.  Her speechless joy at discovering her new legs as her Prince carries her back to the palace is infectious.  She’s no ‘little mermaid’ – she is full of big-hearted emotion and ambition, wanting to have a human soul and understand herself and others fully.  Twomey’s journey from innocence to emptiness is deeply touching. As the narrator Natalie Gavin weaves a very skilful web, whether watching her own creation from the sidelines, getting on with her own life, or entering the story herself. As a portrait of troubled adolescence with all its unmet potential, this is a subtle and engaging performance.  As the young prince, Finn Hanlon creates a sympathetic character – he doesn’t reject the mermaid, but is simply incapable of loving her, traumatised by his experiences in Afghanistan.  He can’t see what is in front of him, and yet never stops searching for an illusive peace of mind, and whilst he brings out the aristocratic and privileged hauteur of the young royal, his slightly pompous philosophical musings are heartfelt. It is impossible to talk about individual members of the cast without acknowledging the work of every single actor (Ritu Arya, Polly Frame, Miranda Letten, Steve North and Amaka Okafor) – all of them work together to reset the stage, create a huge number of characters, and keep the focus of the story moving on, and when only eight people came out to take a bow, it was hard to believe.

Shared Experience have proved yet again how powerful their approach is – they bring out the complexities and psychological nuances in a way that only theatre can (though sadly not all theatre does).  Our challenge is to try to do justice to an intensely emotional and visceral experience on paper.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Carrie on at the Southwark Playhouse

Saturday 9th May 2015, matinée

It was with ghoulish anticipation that we approached the Southwark Playhouse on Saturday afternoon to see ‘Carrie the Musical’, making a mental note not to sit anywhere near the front row (quite difficult in that space of course).  Based on Stephen King’s first novel, the publicity describes this as an ‘unlikely Cinderella story’, thus immediately earning it the understatement of the year award.  For those who have been living in a cave for the past forty years, Carrie tells the story of a vulnerable seventeen year old, bullied at school, and under the influence of her fanatically religious, hell-fire preaching mother who hasn’t told her the facts of life, and whose answer to most problems is to lock her in a tiny ‘prayer closet’, not realising that her daughter’s interests in the supernatural are taking an unexpected turn.  As Carrie begins to discover her own powers of telekinesis, a well-meaning invitation to the high-school prom turns very nasty indeed.

It’s hard to believe that the musical was first performed in 1988 (and even harder to believe it was first staged by the RSC), and even allowing for some updating in a new version, the story has worn very well, dealing with those timeless themes of teenage angst, coupled with the pressure-cooker environment of high school as senior prom approaches.

Director Gary Lloyd has used the space effectively to create a vaguely threatening atmosphere of run-down municipality, with some clever visual trickery by Jeremy Chernick accompanying Carrie’s growing supernatural powers, and excellent use of light and sound to punctuate the horror.  Ultimately though, it’s a fairly straightforward re-telling of a popcorn movie that has somehow attained an iconic status.

There are certainly shocks and plenty of blood in store, but it lacks the subtle creepiness of more modern horror genres. Michael Gore’s music (yes, really), is very good at portraying the high emotions required, with some particularly intense duets and solos for Carrie and her mother, high energy numbers for the schoolkids, and a poem set to music which symbolises Carrie’s hope that she might re-invent herself before it’s too late.  Powerful though it is, the tunes are not particularly memorable.  They lack complexity, and coupled with lyrics which don’t seem to bring much psychological depth, ultimately the music doesn’t take the story to the next level.  It seems to be skin deep.   And with a plot as insubstantial as this, some musical momentum would have helped.

The performances raised the material to undeserved heights, with spot-on casting, intense focus and energy, and stand-out leads.  Gabriella Williams as the bullying ringleader is deliciously bitchy with the untouchable arrogance of youth.  As Tommy and Sue, the unfortunate lovers whose attempts to put things right precipitate disaster, Greg Miller-Burns and Sarah McNicholas are melodious and sincere, and Jodie Jacobs as Miss Gardner the gym teacher not only perfectly captures the essence of the archetypal PE teacher, tough on the outside, but with tenderness deep down, but adds some powerful vocals to the performance.  Evelyn Hoskins is extraordinary as Carrie – she packs a huge punch with a voice that belies her size, and brings a likeable weirdness to the character. Kim Crisswell is a Diva in all the best senses of the word, leaving an impressive catalogue of musical theatre roles in her wake.  As Carrie’s mother, her presence alone is enough to convey the psychological power she has over her daughter, and her heartrending struggles as she tortures herself for past sins brings the house down at several points during the show.

This is certainly an enjoyable and entertaining show and a high quality if a little unimaginative production, but we’re not sure it is an undiscovered and enduring classic. And for anyone looking for insights into high school massacres, you might be better off with Michael Moore.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Many ways of going forward, but only one way of standing still*: Things we want to say about disability and theatre

Last month we went to see a play at the Park Theatre, ‘Kill Me Now’. We enjoyed the play and the production, but we did question whether an able-bodied actor was the only option to play one of the key disabled characters.  We didn’t realise at the time that we had unwittingly become part of a full-scale attack on the play’s author, Brad Fraser, who addressed the criticism in an article in ‘The Stage’ earlier this month.  We read his article, we read the article it was responding to, by Dea Birkett in the Guardian, and by the time we’d looked at the floods of comments, we realised that a single sentence in a review about one play wasn’t going to suffice.

We have already commented on some of the equality issues around theatre, whether gender, race, good looks, or personal wealth.  Could we just have re-written one of those posts and inserted the word ‘disability’?  And if not, does that imply that equality of opportunity where disability is concerned is a special case, too complicated and difficult to implement?

Representation, not replication

In our review of ‘Kill Me Now’, our point was that an opportunity to employ a disabled actor had been lost by using Oliver Gomm to play Joey, excellent though his performance was.  However, we were never saying that an actor precisely fitting the character’s disability should be found.  Brad Fraser points out in his article that we need to consider not just what takes place on stage, but all the aspects of playing a role.  In the case of Joey there is also sleight of hand in the performance – we are told that he is almost unintelligible to strangers, but we the audience can understand him – and this fact is also used for comic effect to highlight the needless fear and embarrassment of one of the other characters.  This is a representation of a disabled character, not a replication, and since being unable to control his limbs is a feature of Joey’s disability, even a disabled actor would have to imitate this, in a controlled way.  As actor and director Simon Startin puts it in an interview for the BBC, “I’ve ‘cripped’ up in the past,” he says, referring to a time he portrayed Caliban from Shakespeare’s The Tempest as having cerebral palsy. “I wanted to play him as a disabled character because he’s ostracised and spat at by everybody – and hated. He’s described as a monster.” Startin happily admits that, for this role, his own disability “just wouldn’t cut it”.

The authentic voice?

So, is there more authenticity if Simon Startin imitates a person with a disability different from his own, than if an able-bodied person did it? Does the simple fact of employing a disabled actor add value to the production itself? And if so, how?

One thing is clear, simply knowing about disability is not enough – Dea Birkett’s extraordinarily distorted ‘review’ of Brad Fraser’s plays shows that it is possible to be close to disability (her daughter is a wheelchair user), and still come out with the most mindbending insensitivity and lack of empathy for those with disabilities.  Her complaint about Gomm’s performance is that ‘when non-disabled actors play disabled people, they love to squirm, startle and speak as if they were drunk’.  Not the sort of person we would want representing us if we had cerebral palsy, Parkinson’s, or motor neurone disease then.

There seems to be a lot of jostling for position here, when it is plainly obvious that disability, which covers a massive spectrum of physical, sensory, mental and cognitive states, and cuts across class, race, and gender, cannot possibly be represented by a single voice.

Disabled good, able-bodied bad

Much of the unbridled criticism of Brad Fraser’s play makes the assumption that it was written, produced and performed by people whose lives were untouched by disability. People decided it was bad, and therefore must be the product of the ‘able-bodied’.  But how can we possibly know? Not all disabilities are visible, and not all the contributors to a production like this are known to us.  It is interesting that Fraser, who has often talked about his severely disabled nephew in interviews, steadfastly holds off from mentioning him in his most recent ‘defence’ of his play.  Perhaps he wanted to avoid getting into a game of ‘my disability credentials are more valid than yours’.  All this is deeply ironic given that one of the most negative plays about disability ‘A Day in the death of Joe Egg’, was based heavily on its author, Peter Nichol’s, life, portraying the birth of a disabled daughter as an unmitigated catastrophe.

Getting out of the disability ghetto

Just as the idea of excluding the able-bodied from the process of giving disability in theatre a higher profile seems self-defeating, we don’t see how inclusion can just be about matching a disabled actor to a disabled part.  The parts need to change, and the principle needs to widen.  The rigidity of labelling parts for disabled or able-bodied actors is unlikely to give enough exposure to disabled actors for them to break through, and it allows too many excuses for not employing a disabled actor.  Why not start by asking the question ‘Does this character need to be able-bodied?’ rather than the other way round.  How many other Shakespearean characters can have a disability?  Back in 2010, Cheek by Jowl portrayed King Duncan as blind in their production of Macbeth.  In 1984 Anthony Sher took Richard III’s hunchback and embraced it, using crutches to move with ferocious speed, and made disability powerful.  Should we be criticising these choices for excluding disabled actors or thanking them for showing some imagination about the place of disability in theatre?

A critical mass

What we need is for the number of disabled actors in the profession to grow until it tips the balance towards a more nuanced and multi-layered portrayal of disability, and infuses theatre with more of what it thrives on – difference, drama and inclusion.  Could an able-bodied director have suggested to Simon Startin that he play Caliban as a person with cerebral palsy?  We doubt it, and it is this ability to think the unthinkable and implement it, that makes it essential that more people with disabilities are working in the profession. Then perhaps if Brad Fraser’s play is performed again, the director will find it easier employ a disabled actor.

Perhaps change will only start to happen on a larger scale when there are more disabled people in charge.  In the US, the Rooney Rule requires National Football League teams to interview minority candidates for senior jobs.  Within three years, the number of African Americans in senior positions had jumped from 6% to 22%.  Nobody was being forced to hire them, but the exposure they were given allowed their talents to be recognised.  In December 2013 the RSC and National Theatre joined forces to put on general auditions for disabled actors, and got more than 200 responses.  Every time this happens it gets more difficult to claim that there is nobody to fill a part.  But the project needs to extend to all areas of theatre as well.

Theatre by disabled people for…..everyone

One of the more disturbing aspects of these debates is the polarity they imply.  The perfectly reasonable point that a disabled actor can bring greater authenticity to a part has somehow morphed into the notion that the ‘able-bodied’ will never be capable of understanding what it’s like to be disabled, and must not be allowed to taint the truth of the experience by getting involved.  This kind of solipsism presents quite a problem if you are trying to put on theatre.  Theatre is all about trying to experience life from another person’s point of view.  It’s called empathy, and a world where nobody believes empathy is possible is a very bleak one.  The reality of this journey is that it will cover ground that is uncomfortable for everyone; but let’s not mistake a step on that journey for the end goal, or be afraid to praise progress just because it is not happening fast enough.  We feel that a play like ‘Kill Me Now’ is progress.

* Franklin D Roosevelt

Posted in Political incorrectness, Theatregoers short-changed | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Mark Thomas reclaims the nest: Cuckooed at the Arts Depot

Saturday 7th March 2015

Mark Thomas affectionately describes the Pentland Theatre at the Arts Depot as ‘flat pack’ and that’s a good description. Sandwiched between the bus depot and Aldi’s, it has a surprisingly spacious and calm interior with a no-nonsense feel.  The perfect venue to see Thomas’s latest show ‘Cuckooed’ then.

Thomas might have the job title ‘comedian’ on his passport, but he is deadly serious about the subject of his latest show – don’t go if you are looking for two and a half hours of mindless entertainment (or as Mark puts it “If you watch Dave more than 3 times a week don’t come to the show”); but if you want to be challenged, absorbed, shocked and a little bit scared, then this show is for you.  Make sure you are on time though, because he sets out his stall early on in the evening by inviting the audience to openly mock any latecomers, and with supremely judged sarcasm, he does an individual summary of the show so far for each new arrival.

The first half serves (if Thomas is to be believed) as the ‘warm up’ act, and is a tightly paced, action packed hour of stand up in which he gives us a hilarious account of his everyday antics as a political activist, including concerted attempts to institute Daily Mail free zones on train carriages (stickers available from the website); the best top tip ever for defacing UKIP posters late at night – wear a high viz vest, nobody will question you; and an extremely short and effective campaign to get Love Film to put subtitles on their DVDs – the unveiling of a massive banner at the Amazon headquarters which read ‘Love Film Hates Deaf People’.  As funny as he is sincere, this is a truly joyful account of how rage can be turned to comedy, and how just how powerful (and fun) mockery can be as a political weapon.  Mark Thomas is certainly a masterful practitioner.

The second half, a ‘proper drama’ directed by Emma Callender, is a much darker and fiercely personal affair.  It is the story of Martin, a former friend and fellow activist, an ex-employee of BAE systems who posed as a ‘gamekeeper turned poacher’ to infiltrate the Campaign Against the Arms Trade for years before being exposed as a corporate spy, employed by an agency to leak information back to BAE.  The sheer disbelief of his closest friends and activitists – this was a man who outdid them all in outrageousness – led to discord and distrust within the organisation and to this day Martin’s actions, and his refusal to break his silence about his motives, has clearly been a thorn in Thomas’ side over the years.  This is a straightforward and absorbing account, with a bit of help from audio-visuals to allow the key players to participate.  Thomas skilfully interweaves a story of deep personal betrayal with the wider picture – the systematic surveillance that goes on unchecked by the law, whether via the domestic extremists register kept by the police which logs in detail the activities of selected ‘extremists’ (and yes, Mark Thomas is on it), or the corporate spying fuelled by paranoia that political dissent might dent the profits of huge corporations.

Thomas invites us in to his world, and the shocking discoveries he has since made, and asks us to reflect on what that means for British society today.  It is very hard to protest that ‘the innocent have nothing to fear’ when presented with activists who are under 24/7 surveillance for holding so-called ‘extreme’ left wing views, or the woman who was in a relationship with an undercover policeman for five years before he disappeared from her life with no explanation – only later did she find out that his identity was a complete fiction.  Mark Thomas declares himself a highly profficient liar, and we get to see some of those skills at work during the show, with the fantastic pranking of an Indonesian army general under the guise of ‘media training’.  He is highly entertaining throughout, but more importantly he never leaves his sense of humour and humanity behind.  Even in the midst of betrayal he finds out that Martin seems to be living in squalor and stops briefly to wonder if he was paid enough for his ‘work’.  Frightening as this show is, it is also a call to action – after all we still live in a country where it is possible to find out what is happening and to protest.  We are not a great fan of awards, but this one got the Amnesty International freedom of expression award 2014 at the Edinburgh Festival, and it is well-deserved, a shining example how you don’t have to stop being a comedian to tackle the most serious issues.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Euthanasia – let’s have a mass debate: Kill Me Now at the Park Theatre

Sunday 22nd February 2015, matinée

We’ve had some great experiences so far at the Park Theatre, so when we heard that they were going to be hosting a black comedy about disability and euthanasia called ‘Kill Me Now’, we felt strangely drawn to the idea of another visit.

Brad Fraser’s play features Jake Sturdy, a writer who has put his career to one side while he looks after his disabled son Joey (could this be a nod to Peter Nichols’ ‘Day in the Death of Joe Egg’? we wonder).  Joey is about to turn 18, and just as Jake is beginning to wonder about the future, circumstances force both of them to re-evaluate their lives as events lead to a shocking and unexpected conclusion.

Fraser is an assured writer who engages us from the very first moments of the play.  We begin with the most ordinary scene imaginable, with Jake bathing his son (quite relieved at this point to be sitting on the opposite side to the real, water filled bath).  The scene is rich in information with almost no exposition.  We learn about the characters and their situation through the natural and unabashed rituals they have, and the plot is perfectly set up as we see for ourselves that it is getting ever more difficult for the middle-aged Jake to lift the adult Joel out of the bath and into his wheelchair.  This simple start develops slowly into a more involved drama and Fraser seduces us into thinking the unthinkable, dragging age-old taboos kicking and screaming into the light, yet allowing us to see that, as the tagline says ‘normal is relative’.  The shock is balanced in equal measures by the kind of humour that has us burying our head in our hands as we stifle the belly-laughs – a process which is piqued by the visibility of the audience on all sides.

Greg Wise leads the cast as Jake in an unselfconscious and warm-hearted performance, convincingly combining the qualities of an everyman and a superman.  He barely seems to be acting at all, so engrossed are we in his situation and the impossibility of being the carer and father he wants to be.  As Joey, Oliver Gomm is remarkable. His performance, requiring considerable distortion of his body and constant movement, is technically outstanding, but he never allows us to forget the inner life of this character, whose ‘issues’ are the same as any normal teenager.  He exploits the humour of the piece to the full with excellent comic timing.  Our only question would be, with such a rarity, a fully rounded and prominent part for a disabled person, was an able-bodied actor the only option?

As younger sister Twyla, a willing helper who is drawn into an ever more challenging situation, Charlotte Harwood peels back the onion layers of her defences with great subtlety, as we gradually learn how her childhood has affected her life, giving her feisty confidence the lie.  Anna Wilson-Jones starts as a character very determined to keep her life compartmentalised, and her growing discovery that she has something to offer in this bizarre family set-up is warmly and subtly played.  Jack McMullen, a former graduate of both Grange Hill and Waterloo Road, has the perfect CV to play Joey’s sidekick, lovable rogue Rowdy, a self-confessed ‘retard’, brain damaged from birth, whose socially inappropriate behaviour and brutal frankness make him uniquely qualified to help this ever more dysfunctional family.  He is engaging and charming, providing many of the best moments of truly dark humour with perfect judgement.

Braham Murray directs the production with a complete absence of pretension, allowing the playwright’s beautifully crafted story and the fantastic ensemble cast to work their magic.  How rare it is to see a play which is truly weighty, moving and thought-provoking, yet without polemic or preaching.  Another triumph for the Park Theatre, who really seem to be on a mission to stretch and entertain audiences in equal measure.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Was ever woman in this humour won? The Goodbye Girl Upstairs at the Gatehouse

Saturday 7th February 2015, matinée

Having promised ourselves another visit to Upstairs at the Gatehouse following their impressive Christmas show Singin’ in the rain, we were pleased to find another opportunity so soon – ‘The Goodbye Girl’, a musical based on the classic seventies film which was scripted by Neil Simon and helped Richard Dreyfus win an oscar, with music by Marvin Hamlisch and Lyrics by David Zippel.

The plot is spookily close to the last play we saw, Hello/Goodbye – a couple, thrown together in an apartment which both think they have a claim on, end up falling in love. Except that this version, nearly forty years old, seems to have worn much better.  In New York, Paula McFadden is an ex-dancer who has to revive her career when her live-in lover abandons her and her twelve year old daughter for Spain, simultaneously sub-letting the apartment to his actor friend Elliot Garfield.  When he turns up in the middle of the night, some quick negotiations result in compromise as both agree to live together to keep a roof over their heads.

The story is not exactly original, but it is well executed, with plenty of wit and characters who are both loveable and entertaining with their various foibles.  Paula’s desperate attempts to get back into shape are genuinely painful to watch, while Elliot’s adventures in the world of experimental theatre, playing a new and ground-breaking version of Richard III are still highly entertaining – some things never change in the world of theatre!

As Paula, Rebecca Bainbridge was a curiously familiar face, until we realised that we had seen her many years ago in a production of ‘The Great Pretenders’ at the Gatehouse, where she played an ageing Marilyn Monroe impersonator making a final bid for success in her career and love life.  She has a good-natured spikeyness about her, and brings just enough warmth amid the dizzying rollercoaster of bravado and self-doubt.  Her reaction to Elliot’s request for her to ‘be nice’ to him (misinterpreted as something a little more intimate) is priceless.  We last saw Paul Keating as the scarecrow in the ‘Wizard of Oz’, so his versatility as an actor is certainly not in question. It was nice to see him a bit more close-up, and to enjoy a charming and witty performance that pushes the boundaries of Elliot’s occasional pomposity just enough while showing us his vulnerable side, not least when he turns up after an evening of ‘sorrow drowning’ after the first (and last) night of his disastrous play. The chemistry between the two, whether verbally sparring or giving in to their feelings for each other, was a pleasure to see.

The chorus do a great job of creating the hothouse atmosphere of showbiz, whether playing out a version of Richard III that makes Propeller look tame, or putting on cheesy daytime TV fodder (a nice cameo from Tim Phelps).  James Wolstenholme and Alex Green excel as the kind of male dancers who are exhausting just to watch.

You may be wondering, after five paragraphs, when we are going to get onto the subject of the music in this musical.  The strange thing is that it was hard to see how the music adds much to this story.  We wouldn’t be the first to comment on the propensity for successful films to be raided as material for musicals, but this one was first produced on Broadway just over twenty years ago, and the irony is that the book seems to have aged better than the music.  There are some enjoyable musical moments, particularly Elliot’s song ‘I think I can play this part’, and Paula’s ‘A beat behind’, and the sharp and witty duet ‘My rules’, but for us there were no real stand-out numbers that felt like an essential part of the piece musically.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment