Review: Hamlet, New Theatre Royal Portsmouth, Wednesday 16 February 2011

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

The longest and one of the most often-performed of Shakespeare’s plays, Hamlet is brimming with potential but requires sensitivity to its complexities and nuances to bring it fully to life. Icarus Theatre Collective’s production aims to give this well trodden ground a fresh and accessible twist, yet their interpretation skates over many of the depths of the text and never feels like it is doing much more than simply going through the motions.

True to Icarus’s intentions of presenting a new and fresh production, there has been considerable chopping and changing of the original text, with even the iconic ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy being drastically relocated to the second half. What emerges, however, is not a radical re-reading; several of the choices feel arbitrary rather than artistic and there is no coherent vision for the production. Director Max Lewendel’s interpretation has taken one step towards radical re-imagining but stopped short and opted for a safe approach, leaving it awkwardly stranded somewhere between traditional and innovative.

The small cast struggle to flesh out a play that at times feels too big for them, putting in a collection of adequate but on the whole unchallenging performances, adding little to roles that have already been subject to interpretation upon interpretation. Loren O’Dair stands out from the rest with a touching, vulnerable portrait of the spurned Ophelia, rendering her emotions in delicate shades and doing a great deal with the short time she is on stage, while John Paton as Claudius has an uneven start but improves as the play progresses, adding some colour to what can be a two-dimensional villain.

More so than any other of the Bard’s plays, a production of Hamlet inevitably rests on the shoulders of its eponymous hero. Unfortunately, in this case Giles Roberts lacks the strength to bear this weight, not fully conveying the character’s depth of anguish and mental turmoil despite a few brilliant moments. So lengthy is the hesitation of Hamlet, the ultimate procrastinator, that it requires an actor of great skill and sensitivity to shed light on his protracted inner struggle. Rarely does Roberts achieve a moving sense of the prince’s plight, and with a lack of truthful emotion in several scenes, all too often this performance feels superficial and forced.

Icarus’s attempt at interpretation is patchy, with unnecessary and confused elements such as the use of human statues and the odd, distracting choice to cast female actress Dani McCallum in the role of Horatio. A powerful moment comes at the close of the first half as Hamlet stands poised over Claudius with his dagger raised, the combination of white-clad figures, echoing voices and eerie lighting achieving an impressive effect, but this is a rare diamond swamped in a gloom of mediocrity.

The purpose of theatre, according to Hamlet, is to ‘hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature’. This production, however, falls somewhat short of capturing human passions as they are depicted in Shakespeare’s rich script. While Icarus may achieve their aim of making this text more accessible, there is little to get excited about in this uninspired interpretation.

Review: The Last Five Years, Tabard Theatre, Friday 11 February 2011

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

As small-scale musicals go, Jason Robert Brown’s The Last Five Years is about as intimate as they come. In the tiny space of the Tabard Theatre, the audience are placed as flies on the wall of the five year relationship between successful writer Jamie and struggling actress Cathy, invited into the joys and sorrows of their shared lives. In a unique twist, the couple’s story is told both forwards and backwards; Cathy opens the show at the end of their marriage, her side of the story unfurling in reverse chronology, while Jamie starts at the beginning.

The eighty minutes of this production fly by as we are swept up in the utterly believable drama of Cathy and Jamie’s relationship. Brown has written two characters who are astoundingly and refreshingly ordinary, laying bare the sometimes beautiful and often ugly relationship of two flawed individuals. This is no idealised, hearts and flowers romance. His lyrics flit masterfully between the poetic and the mundane; the characters sing about leaving the toilet seat up or losing weight. There are no truly show-stopping numbers here, but the honest simplicity of the songs is fitting to a show that is moulded entirely around the emotional lives of two people.

The varied score and witty lyrics exploit Lauren Samuels’ full potential, as she belts out flawless high notes and charms with her quirky comic touches, breathing life into Cathy before our eyes. So luminous is Samuels’ performance that she leaves Christopher Pym’s Jamie somewhat in the shadow, despite his best efforts. He brings an overflowing, effervescent excitement to Jamie in the early scenes of their romance but struggles to convey with equal commitment the poignancy of the relationship’s breakdown; while Samuels paints a moving visual portrait of a broken, anguished woman, Pym struggles to achieve the same emotional engagement. Neither can he quite compete with Samuels vocally, with the few cracks in his voice occasionally emerging as the show progresses.

As they move in different directions, Cathy and Jamie never meet except at their wedding, the central hinge of the story. By keeping them apart for the majority of the show, isolated in their own halves of the small stage, the distance between them is emphasised; perhaps, one feels by the end, their relationship failed because they were always two separate parts rather than a unified whole. This is visually mirrored by Ben M Rogers’ beautifully simple set of two identical spaces split down the middle, physically dividing the couple. The ingenious incorporation of video screens showing photographs of the pair provides a timeline for their relationship, as they one by one go dark on Cathy’s side and light up on Jamie’s.

The beauty of Brown’s storytelling device is that it lends a heartbreaking sense of inevitability to the early stages of Jamie’s story, while simultaneously managing to conclude the musical with a wistful shred of hope as Cathy, back in the first bloom of their romance, waves ‘goodbye until tomorrow’. By turns poignant, moving and laugh-out-loud funny, The Last Five Years is a delight of a musical that sings straight from the heart.

Review: A Midsummer Night's Dream, Nuffield Theatre, Tuesday 8 February 2011

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

Successfully reconfiguring a classic is never an easy task, so Headlong Theatre’s bold re-imagining of one of Shakespeare’s best loved plays had its work cut out. In this innovative new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Bard’s comedy of angst-ridden lovers and mischievous fairies is resituated to 1960s Hollywood, where director Robin Goodfellow is concluding the shooting of his new movie whilst off-screen romance blossoms between stars Theseus and Hippolyta.

The intoxicating glamour of studio-era Hollywood has a certain resonance with the fairy-dust sprinkled world of Puck and Oberon and in the opening scenes, following a clever opening credits projection that neatly establishes the premise, this production’s fresh and fun concept brims with promise. Putting Puck in the director’s chair is an ingenious device that allows for an implicit questioning of the process of creating and observing drama, while confirming the impish rogue as the true overlord of the comic chaos. Sandy Grierson diverges from the traditional route of playing Puck as an excitable, other-worldly bundle of mischief and instead lends him a jaded movie director’s sardonic edge in what is a refreshingly novel interpretation of the character.

In embracing the updated setting, director Natalie Abrahami has taken the opportunity for playful manipulation of the text. The surreal incorporation of songs into the scenes provides some of the production’s most entertaining moments, while the dreamlike elements occasionally slide into the downright bizarre. Whether it is fairies in 3D glasses munching on popcorn or impromptu musical routines, this production continually surprises, delights and perplexes. Credit must go also to movement director Georgina Lamb, who has constructed an engagingly kinetic interpretation of the script that exploits the comedy to its full potential.

The cast take interesting approaches to characters that can easily become rehashed stereotypes, adding extra facets to these well known roles. Christopher Logan as pompous would-be thespian Bottom and Michael Dylan as an excitable Flute bring out the flamboyant theatricality of these hapless aspiring actors rather than emphasising the buffoonery of the labouring class mechanicals against the wit and intelligence of the aristocratic leads. Logan prances about the stage flaunting his dubious performing skills to any available audience, while Dylan has a hilarious, scene-stealing turn as a pouting Thisbe.

From the remaining solid performances, Max Bennett and Oliver Kieran-Jones as Demetrius and Lysander respectively deserve a mention for their skilful comic handling of the characters’ bewitched affection for Helena, making quite the double act. Deirdre Mullins also impresses as a decidedly gutsy Helena, endowing the spurned lover with a greater helping of scorn than despair. In contrast with more vulnerable portrayals, Mullins has an appealing flinty edge that is nicely suited to this modern updating.

Unfortunately, however, accomplished performances, adept handling of the comedy and an abundance of inventive touches do not ultimately save Headlong’s concept from a lack of cohesion. While the 1960s Hollywood glamour is convincingly evoked, the setting and text do not always make comfortable bedfellows. Headlong and the Nuffield are to be applauded for their attempt to achieve a cutting edge make-over of a much revived work, but the end result does not feel as radical as it promises to be and while it is undoubtedly fun, this interpretation never quite finds its voice.

Review: Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Palace Theatre, Thursday 13 January 2011

Three drag queens, buckets of glitter and staggeringly high heels - what could be more theatrical? It is a wonder that this quirky Australian film did not make it to the stage earlier; it was simply begging for a musical make-over. Now about to go into its third year at the Palace Theatre, Priscilla Queen of the Desert is still as glitzy, euphoric and outrageous as when I first saw it eighteen months ago.

The show tracks the adventures of drag queens Tick/Mitzi and Adam/Felicia and transsexual Bernadette as they travel across the desert in their bus, the eponymous Priscilla, to do a drag show in Alice Springs. Unbeknownst to Felicia and Bernadette, the journey is one of particular personal significance to Tick, who is journeying west to meet his young son for the first time.

As Tick, Ben Richards provides the emotional core of the show, struggling to face his impending head-on collision with fatherhood. He can deftly manoeuvre between brash, camp drag queen exterior and moments of genuinely moving pathos, while boasting an impressive voice in the musical numbers. Don Gallagher too brings a subtle balance of attitude and vulnerability to Bernadette, equally able to deliver a cutting put-down and an emotional speech.

Yet the serious moments are fleeting in this breakneck whirlwind of sequins and feathers. The scenes are strung together by a series of classic, crowd-pleasing disco hits such as 'I Will Survive' and 'Boogie Wonderland', paired with hilarious and often ridiculous dance routines. After the sight of an interesting array of mourners and a coffin spun around the stage in one uproarious dance extravaganza I will never be able listen to 'Don't Leave Me This Way' with a straight face again.

The cherry on the top of all this camp extravagance is Jon Tsouras as the flouncing, flamboyant Felicia, sustaining a feverish energy that rarely wilts and gifted with wicked comic timing [note: this role is usually played by Oliver Thornton]. Matching the theatricality and excess of the performances and almost stealing the show are the wonderfully imaginative and over-the-top costumes, designed by Tim Chappel. Expect platform heels, a kaleidoscope of bright colour and some truly magnificent wigs.

For pernickity types, the show could be criticised for a slightly fluffy storyline and a few shaky Australian accents, but I find myself blissfully overlooking any faults this musical may have. Priscilla is pure, unadulterated, infectious fun - the perfect guilty pleasure. What's more, beneath the wigs and frills there is an utterly believable friendship between the central trio that holds the show together and without which the rest would merely be a dazzling façade. 

For an uplifting, feel-good theatrical experience look no further; Priscilla is a giant glitterball of fun with a great beating heart.

Review: The Potting Shed, Finborough Theatre, Thursday 6 January 2011

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

Is it best to let sleeping dogs lie – or sleeping plays, for that matter? Family secrets, lost memories and a crisis of faith are the themes running through Graham Greene’s neglected play, now revived for a second time at the Finborough Theatre as part of their RediscoveriesUK season. The season aims to excavate forgotten plays by British writers, presenting the first London production of psychological drama The Potting Shed for 40 years.

In the intimate space of Finborough, the claustrophobia of a family suffocated with secrets is tangible. Paul Cawley is James Callifer, a man estranged from his family and with a disturbing lack of childhood memories, mysteriously haunted by the potting shed at the bottom of the garden. As he returns home on the eve of his father’s death in search of answers, the scene is set for bitter confrontation and shocking revelations.

In James’s long and painful quest for the truth about his childhood, Cawley effortlessly weaves between agitated frustration and raw grief, his frenetic movements hinting at a man teetering on the brink of madness as he delves deeper into the repressed memories of his youth. It is a stretch of the imagination, however, that this is a man who initially feels, as he states in the first scene, nothing; Cawley’s performance is all too feeling.

Imagination is something that is required in quite a considerable dose to swallow all the improbabilities of Greene’s plot. Although the portrait of a family falling apart at the seams is carefully painted in subtle shades by this solid cast, the script leaves gaping holes that, at times, make the psychological motivations of the main players somewhat incomprehensible. As questions of faith take precedence in the latter stages of the play, there are elements of the past that are left oddly untouched, leaving the end impression of a jigsaw puzzle with a piece still missing.

Despite the downfalls of the plot, the production successfully evokes a taut atmosphere of 1950s reserve, with Eileen Battye standing out as the embodiment of the older generation’s carefully contained emotion in the role of James’s mother; it is very much stiff upper lip and sweeping anything unpleasant under the carpet. Meanwhile, James’s inquisitive niece Anne, played as a deliciously precocious child by the impressive Zoe Thorne, turns detective to unravel the mystery.

This is a mystery, however, that is a little too protracted. There could hardly be more cryptic dialogue skirting around the all-important potting shed, so that before long we too want to shout with James ‘what happened there?’. When the secret is unveiled, at the close of the second act, it is slightly underwhelming and is followed by a slow third act that never quite delivers. Those expecting a dazzling denouement will be disappointed.

Greene’s play begins promisingly, sketching out a mouth-watering mystery and slowly building anticipation, but his plot unfortunately fizzles out in the final third. An odd piece, The Potting Shed succeeds as an interesting exploration of the nature of faith and an effective portrait of the 1950s family, just not as a consistently engaging story. Although this is not perhaps a play that urgently needed to be unearthed, Svetlana Dimcovic’s direction and the excellent performances of the cast, including a notable turn by Martin Wimbush as a disillusioned priest, wring all that they can out of the slightly lacklustre script. One can begin to see why this play has not been performed in 40 years, but the team at the Finborough make an impressive effort to bring it back to life.

Review: Christmas Cabaret Ding-Dong, Lauderdale House, Sunday 5 December 2010

Originally written for The Public Reviews.


Lauderdale House’s Christmas Cabaret Ding-Dong, concluding their current cabaret season, did exactly what it said on the tin, delivering classy cabaret together with a heavy dose of seasonal silliness. The cabaret portions of the afternoon showcased the talents of Helena Blackman, Nancy Sullivan and Emma Odell, while the other performers donned Santa outfits, elf hats and fairy wings to bring us a series of Christmas surprises. An eclectic blend of music, comedy and festive cheer, this performance was an enjoyable winter warmer to kick off the Christmas season.

Katie Ventress and Ellen Verenieks, responsible for compiling and directing this festive treat, introduced more than a hint of pantomime to the traditional cabaret format. The performers brought an infectious sense of fun to the proceedings, appearing to have as much of a laugh as the audience as they pranced about in pantomime gear and sang us into the seasonal spirit. Admittedly the afternoon lacked polish, with some transitions feeling clunky, and the interweaved pantomime humour and cabaret did not always sit entirely comfortably side by side. Yet the performance’s flaws were oddly endearing and in the intimate setting the audience felt invited into the fun, even coaxed into singing along at the conclusion of the festivities.

All the stock pantomime characters – the dame, the villain, the prince – made appearances, although Ventress and Verenieks inserted some witty twists. I doubt that there is another pantomime in which the fairy godmother sings Lady Gaga’s 'Bad Romance' and Santa gets a visit from the health and safety inspector. A playful Glee-inspired number concluded the first act in side-splitting style and a cheeky, hilarious reworking of 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' provided one of many laugh-out-loud moments throughout the afternoon.

The pantomime larks were punctuated by some excellent turns from the featured performers, with Nancy Sullivan as one of the highlights delivering simple and heartbreaking renditions of 'To Make You Feel My Love' and the Judy Garland classic 'The Man That Got Away'. Emma Odell brought smiles to the audience with her delightfully comedic version of another Judy Garland favourite, 'The Trolley Song', while Helen Blackman rounded off the afternoon with an exquisite vocal performance. The material was well selected and all three performers shone, but I would have liked to hear more from these talented women, who had regrettably short slots in the performance.

The evening was concluded with a good old Christmas sing-along to warm even the coldest of hearts and send everyone home brimming with Christmas cheer. I could have done with more of the cabaret and less of the ding-dong, but only a true Scrooge could leave such an afternoon without a smile on their face and if the performances of Blackman, Sullivan and Odell are anything to go by then next year’s cabaret season at Lauderdale House could be one to look out for.

Review: Pins and Needles, Cock Tavern Theatre, Saturday 27 November 2010

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

What better way to change the world than through the power of song and dance? Pins and Needles, in attempting to sing ‘a song with social significance’, brought tap dancing and jazz hands to political theatre in its record-breaking original Broadway run. Over 70 years after its conception this witty and intelligent musical revue is no less in tune with society, its Depression-era satire taking on new meaning as we are in the grip of recession and staring down the barrel of government spending cuts.

First created and performed by a labour union in 1937, this entertaining collection of musical skits and sketches has a timely British premiere at the Cock Tavern Theatre. Satire about 1930s American politics and society, far from appearing distant and outdated, is strikingly resonant with the world of today; its comments on right wing politics, big business and manipulative advertising remain current and biting. The Cock’s production has smartly updated the production with some small twists to make explicit the show’s relevance for today, with a certain well known politician making a hilarious appearance.

Director Rachel Grunwald has successfully adapted the piece to the intimate space, with the actors’ every movement carefully executed and economic, while choreographer Nicola Martin’s small scale dances prove surprisingly effective. The small and simple staging is apt, taking the show back to its amateur labour union roots and allowing the music and the sharp, witty lyrics to speak for themselves without being obscured by the kind of flashy theatrical extravaganza lampooned in the Federal Theatre Project sketch.

Grunwald’s ensemble cast breathe life into Harold Rome’s sparkling lyrics and perform the various sketches with vigour, enthusiasm and comic skill. Among the most effective skits are those targeting the exploitative world of advertising, simultaneously succeeding both as hysterical musical numbers and as disturbingly accurate indictments of our image-obsessed society. The hilarious Matthew Rutherford, Adam Walker and Mark Gillon have us in stitches prancing around as the devils of advertising, while the insecurities of cowering Elizabeth Pruett and Elain Lloyd’s lament that ‘nobody makes a pass at me’ reveal uncomfortable truths about the way in which the media makes us view ourselves.

In the tiny Cock Tavern Theatre there is nowhere to hide and the cast do well in overcoming the challenges posed by such a space. Their performances are infused with humour and wit throughout, although there are a few vocal weak links that cannot be covered up in such an intimate setting. Pruett and Lloyd stand out in particular with some stunning solos and Walker steals the Four Little Angels sketch with a brilliant turn as a hilariously camp Hitler. Some of the more forgettable songs fade away beside uproarious numbers such as 'Sitting on Your Status Quo', but the diverse range of sketches are neatly pulled together by the final song, with a clever added tweak that highlights once more for us the significance of its political jibes. Managing to be both entertaining and politically on-the-button, Pins and Needles is an ideal musical for current times.

Review: Richard III, Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Tuesday 23 November 2010

Originally written for The Public Reviews.

An all-male production of Shakespeare is always an intriguing prospect. In a play such as Twelfth Night it adds another teasing layer to the gender confusion, or sometimes merely the sight of a man flouncing around the stage in petticoats is enough to give an added element of comedy. Propeller, however, do not play for laughs in a Richard III that is sinister, compelling and distinctly bloody.

The absence of female figures casts an even blacker shadow over an already dark play of murder and political intrigue, as Richard schemes his way to the throne and the bodies pile up. In pre-Tudor England, everywhere reigns masculine brutality; glinting torture instruments dangle ominously from Michael Povelka’s metallic, clinical set, men perpetrate bloody murder and masked figures persistently lurk in the gloom, weapons in hand. The young princes are puppets with the faces of porcelain dolls, reducing even the semblance of innocence to nothing more than that – a semblance, a facade.

Dominic Tighe endows Queen Elizabeth with genuinely moving maternal anguish upon the discovery of her sons’ murders but never loses an edge of flinty hardness that is naturally enhanced by Tighe’s sturdy masculine presence. Propeller’s actors never let us forget that they are men, yet their lack of concession to femininity is appropriate to a play which is deeply concerned with the political scheming of men. Women such as Elizabeth and Tony Bell’s wonderfully venomous Queen Margaret are forced to don, as it were, the mask of masculinity in order to wield any power or influence.

The lack of women also projects an image of a sterile, sickening state, an image cultivated by the crowds of sinister masked orderlies and the folding hospital screens that usher in the actors. Pavelka’s design is awash with symbolism: the scheming, murderous architects of England’s destruction wear black, while Robert Hands as the Earl of Richmond is the nation’s literal as well as metaphorical white knight, arriving clad in a dazzling white suit; the royalty drink one another’s blood as England is bled dry by their internal battles. Chilling and fascinating though the central concept is, this production has employed a few too many metaphoric images, threatening to overwhelm the audience with a generous clutch of motifs that it sometimes struggles to keep hold of.

Any production of Richard III, similarly to Hamlet, rises and falls on the shoulders of its eponymous protagonist. As the murderously ambitious Duke of Gloucester, Richard Clothier is a commanding, irresistible puppet-master. He makes a deliciously, maniacally evil villain, all the while retaining an undeniable charm that keeps the audience hanging on his every word. Clothier brings out the consummate actor in Richard, playing other characters off one another, his manipulation punctuated by knowing looks and asides to the audience.

Propeller’s production, under Edward Hall’s able direction, highlights the brutality and drama of Shakespeare’s history. Music is integrated ingeniously throughout, with haunting choral singing filling the spaces between scenes, urgent drum beats building tension and an electric guitar heralding Richard’s accession to the throne. Although the concept is shaky at moments it is an excellently executed interpretation on the whole, with a core of superb performances. Sinister scenes are broken up with enjoyably grim humour but this is essentially a dark production and even as Henry VII takes the crown in the final scene, uniting a warring nation, Propeller’s ensemble of menacing masked men still loom in the shadows.

Review: Deathtrap, Noel Coward Theatre, Wednesday 17 November 2010

How far would you go in pursuit of literary ambition? This is the question posed by Ira Levin's comedy thriller, with many twists, turns and laughs along the way. Sidney Bruhl (Simon Russell Beale) is a washed-up playwright running out of ideas and desperate for a hit, Clifford Anderson (Jonathon Groff) an eager, brilliant young student with a promising script - a script worth killing for.

From the moment the curtain lifts the play crackles with sinister tension. Rob Howell's well designed set, littered with various ancient murder instruments, hints at a bloody climax before a single word has been spoken. To reveal any details of the thrilling denouement, however, would be a betrayal; as Clifford tells Sidney, the audience should never be aware of significant plot details too early on. Suspense is the essence of this show, with its overwhelming strength being its delicious and unrelenting twists, keeping us teetering on the edges of our seats throughout.

Russell Beale delivers Sidney's knowing one-liners with relish, has impeccable comic timing and is suitably sardonic as the over-the-hill writer, although he never quite imbues the character with a significant sense of despair. Groff impresses as enthusiastic young  protege Clifford, bubbling with barely-suppressed excitement, his eyes sparkling with a constant glimmer of genius and ambition. They are adequately supported by Claire Skinner as Sidney's wife, Terry Beaver as the lawyer and Estelle Parsons in the role of a local psychic, providing hilarious comic relief.

It is clear, however, that Levin prioritised plot over character and despite the best efforts of the cast the motivations of the main players are not always clear. Behind their surface characteristics there lurks little depth in Levin's protagonists, whose other emotions are obscured by ambition and self-interest. Yet this is not a complaint that significantly damages enjoyment of the play. Levin, like Sidney, has little interest in a character and emotion driven narrative and if he had devoted himself to delving into the subconscious of Sidney or Clifford this would be a much less exciting theatrical experience.

Deathtrap is an ingenious and expertly crafted piece of theatre that does not let its audience relax for a moment. Levin's sparkling, witty dialogue can plunge us in the space of seconds from laugh-out-loud comedy to icy suspense, cutting a laugh short with a sharp shock. This is not recommended viewing for those of a nervous disposition; the burliest of men in the audience are to be witnessed jumping from their seats.

Far from merely delivering cheap frights, the show is also dazzlingly clever. Levin shrewdly and amusingly questions his own craft, sending up the conventions of stage thrillers in a drama that is always knowingly self-aware. There is the sense that the play is writing itself around Sidney and Clifford, tapped out letter by letter as they sit at their typewriters. The sudden turns taken by the plot can be implausibly contrived and outrageous, but that is part of the beauty of this compelling, playful and sometimes downright silly play.

The plot contrivances, as well as keeping audiences guessing, are another element of Levin's dissecting look at the thriller genre. The ever shifting relationship between the two central characters is consistently entertaining, but the real star and focus of the action is their script. In Levin's thriller, the play's the thing.

Review: Dirty Dancing, Aldwych Theatre, Saturday 6 November 2010

As a member of the female sex, it is almost blasphemy to not like Dirty Dancing, a singing-into-your-hairbrush chick flick classic. So I will go ahead and begin this review by predictably admitting that I am a fan of the film. I own it on DVD and have watched it more times than I can remember, though I have not - thankfully - attempted to do the famous lift while intoxicated (though I am sure there are many others who have!). I approached the stage version, however, without great expectations.

It would not have been my first choice of musical to see and I have to admit that had it not been a group trip I probably would never have got around to seeing this show and would not particularly regret it. Yet, as a fluffy, fun, girly outing to the theatre, this show, much like its big screen parent, delivers without fail.

Stephen Brimson Lewis has done wonders with the set design, finding pleasing and ingenious solutions to the staging difficulties presented by the film. The stage smoothly revolves, rises and falls to create new settings, while a screen behind the actors suggests the changing locations. The scene changes are seamlessly handled, although the scenes themselves are sometimes fleetingly short, a reminder of the show's cinematic origins that does not work as well on stage as on screen. Overall, however, the film is slickly recreated on stage.

Recreated seems an apt word, as this is almost a carbon copy of the 1987 movie. The scenes are the same, the central dances are the same; Hannah Vassallo as Baby even sports Jennifer Grey's slightly frizzy hairdo. I could have mouthed along almost word for word with the dialogue. I am also slightly dubious of its claim to be a musical, as it might better be described as a play with a few songs, most of which function as background music rather than being central to the scenes.

The cast, with Vassallo and Johnny Wright as the leads, do well, but it is the dancing that is the real star of the show. More dances have been added for the stage and Kate Champion's choreography crackles and fizzes across the floor. It is when Johnny dances with partner Penny, played by Nadia Coote, that the moves really come alive, with some truly breathtaking steps and lifts. Quite rightly, the dancing steals most of the scenes.

Unfortunately, I feel that the creative team have missed an opportunity to do something special with this in the transition from screen to stage. With the addition of new songs and some true musical numbers incorporating both singing and dancing this could have gone from an enjoyable copy of the film to a stage show in its own right. In comparison with what has been done with Priscilla Queen of the Desert, for example, Dirty Dancing falls a little flat. What it lacks is that something extra that makes the theatre experience a world apart from the movie.

That said, by the finale you no longer care. As everyone cheers at the iconic words 'nobody puts Baby in a corner' and we see that eagerly anticipated lift, you will leave the theatre on a natural high. For those looking to save some money I might suggest that you sit at home with the DVD, but watching it on a television screen will never give you the atmosphere of the auditorium, which is what you really pay for. It might not be the time of your life, but it is a very enjoyable night out.

Review: Southampton Theatre Group's production of The Pillowman, Annex Theatre, Wednesday 27 October 2010

Once upon a time Martin McDonagh wrote a disturbing, haunting play called The Pillowman. A sinister tale concerned with the ancient craft of storytelling, it is the perfect play to stage at Halloween, against the backdrop of chilling ghost stories whispered between friends. McDonagh questions the impact that literature can have upon its readers, as his protagonist Katurian is arrested in a police state following a series of child murders that bear an eerie resemblance to his dark short stories.

The first scenes of the play hover in the murky zone between fact and fiction, with the line between storytelling and reality repeatedly blurred. It is not always clear where Katurian’s fabricated fictions end and the truth begins, whilst his police interrogators Tupolski and Ariel frequently employ deceit in an effort to force him into a confession. Interwoven into the plot are terrifying retellings and enactments of Katurian’s stories, one of which, under the veil of fiction, exposes his own horrific childhood and begins to explain his twisted tales.

Theatre Group’s production, ably directed by Rob McGough and Sam Gray and produced by Hannah Griffiths, works wonders with a basic space. The Annex Theatre is transformed into the gloomy, intimidating interrogation room, faintly lit by a single, flickering overhead lightbulb. In a master stroke, audience members enter the auditorium in almost complete darkness, the only light illuminating a distressed and blindfolded Katurian on stage, establishing a tense atmosphere from the outset.

In an impressive cast, Richard Copperwaite in particular stands out as the central character of Katurian, convincing both as the cowering captive and the disturbed master storyteller. At crucial moments his horror is utterly believable and he adds the softness to Katurian, particularly in the scenes with his brother, which is necessary to invite audience sympathy. But it is when he is narrating Katurian’s gruesome stories that he is at his best, with a menacing glint in his eyes that has the power to truly terrify.

He is well supported by fellow cast members Irene Babille and Sam Beath as interrogators Tupolski and Ariel respectively. Babille brings a contained anger to the character of Tupolski which occasionally spills over in excellently judged outbursts and she inserts one brief moment of subtle vulnerability as a counterpoint to her otherwise consistent cynicism. In the early scenes Beath comes across as a relatively two-dimensional ‘bad cop’, but as we gradually learn about his past the performance becomes more nuanced and his anger assumes a tragic air. Alexis Forss also does well as Katurian’s mentally disturbed brother Michael, lending childlike innocence to the role whilst handling the dark comedy successfully, but there were moments where he did not entirely convince.

Although I found McDonagh’s play clever, chilling and thought-provoking, I was ultimately unsure what he is trying to say about storytelling and morality. His question about the power of literature to influence others is never effectively answered; one wonders if his aim was to be provocative rather than to engage with larger issues.

Perhaps we are intended to make our own conclusions, but I am still formulating mine. In the meantime I will have to hope that the nightmares remain at bay.

Review: Les Miserables, Queen's Theatre, Saturday 16 October 2010

It is no secret that I am a fan of Les Miserables - a quick glance at my post in honour of the musical's 25th anniversary will tell you that much. So I was in two minds about reviewing my most recent outing to Queen's Theatre this weekend; I would hardly be writing from a wholly objective standpoint. But I have placed my doubts aside to set down my impressions of the current production of Les Mis, a production that has been slightly neglected of late, standing in the shadow of its anniversary sister production.

Saturday's performance had much to recommend it. Good thing number 1) excellent audience behaviour. This is completely unrelated to the production itself, but considering that last time I went to see Les Mis my fellow audience members repeatedly changed seats, talked during the performance and answered mobile phone calls (I've expressed my ire regarding this in a previous post), this made a vast difference to my experience. Of course this might have had something to do with the fact that I was sitting in the dress circle (thanks to my wonderful parents!) rather than right at the back of the theatre ...

Good thing number 2) some outstanding performances from the cast. Simon Bowman is an excellent Jean Valjean, providing the heart of the show and delivering a deeply moving rendition of 'Bring Him Home'. For me John Owen Jones will always be the ultimate Valjean and he is a hard act to rival, but Bowman comes very close. Another highlight is Samantha Barks' heartbreaking Eponine, her impressive performance coming as a pleasant surprise; from the initial promise she showed in the BBC's 'I'd Do Anything' she has improved almost beyond recognition.

The production design has barely changed since I last saw the show, the set with its masterful revolving stage as effective as ever. There is arguably slight overkill with the dry ice, but in moments such as the sewer scene this proves extremely evocative of the setting. Striking images abound, with the sight of Enjolras' body on the barricades wrapped in the red flag etched vividly upon my memory.

Of course the show is not without its weaknesses. Despite excellent comic timing, Martin Ball's Thenardier is somewhat lacking and his vocals are underwhelming, whilst I found Alistair Brammer's Marius a little halting. I have also always thought the staging of Javert's suicide disappointing, lacking the visual impact to back up the emotional punch of the music.

Nevertheless, my verdict is that after 25 years Les Miserables is still fresh and capable of delivering the same emotional impact to audiences night after night, as the overwhelming standing ovation testifies. For me at least the magic has not faded.

Review: Punk Rock, Lyric Hammersmith, Thursday 16 September 2010

Troubled youth is nothing new. The last hundred years or so have provided us with a host of literary portrayals of adolescent disaffection, depression and violence - J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, William Golding's Lord of the Flies, the controversial German play Spring Awakening by Frank Wedekind - several of which are undoubtedly influences on Punk Rock. This, however, does not lessen the impact of Simon Stephens' articulate, tense and terrifying play, currently being revived at the Lyric Hammersmith almost exactly a year after it premiered there.

Although teenage angst may not be original, Stephens' play is strikingly current, examining the pressure that Britain's results-fuelled education system places on its young people and the altogether worrying implications of this. In the setting of a grammar school library, contained fear, anger and violence constantly simmer under the surface of the pupils' intelligent banter, while the discordant bursts of music that punctuate the scenes notch up the tension. There is the inescapable sense from the very first scene, even as we laugh at the often brilliant dialogue of these gifted teenagers, that something far more sinister lurks around the corner.

The young cast are all excellent, although Rupert Simonian in particular stands out as the awkward and troubled William Carlisle, delivering an increasingly unsettling performance. Mike Noble also impresses in his stage debut, playing bullied but astoundingly intelligent Chadwick, and his apocalyptic vision of humanity has to be the speech of the play. Stephens' dialogue is dazzling throughout and it is refreshing to see teenagers engaging in lively intellectual debate, even if some exchanges do stretch the imagination slightly.

The dusty library setting, ensconcing the pupils in the suffocating tradition and expectations that they yearn to break free of, is inspired. Similarly to the uninhabited island in Lord of the Flies, it provides a claustrophobic adolescent boiling pot, a world sealed off from adults where emotions escalate. Yet despite the self-contained environment, the play is engaged throughout with the world outside and the wider issues that touch the lives of these youngsters.

Stephens clearly sees a serious problem with the way this country is raising its youth, but neither diagnosis nor cure of this problem are forthcoming. Ultimately Punk Rock projects a bleak vision not unlike Chadwick's apocalyptic prophecy. The play is made even more unsettling by Stephens' canny choice of his protagonists' social class; wealth, intelligence and education no longer offer any promise of happiness or success.

Unfortunately the play is slightly let down by the final scene which, although it provides a couple of thought provoking moments, blunts the raw shock of the library climax. One feels that this is an unnecessary self-indulgence on the part of Stephens; but perhaps considering the brilliance of the rest of the play we can allow him this. The vaguely disappointing ending does not stop this from being one of the most riveting plays I have seen, and I suspect it will be some time before Punk Rock releases its chilling grasp on my thoughts.

Review: Shoes, Sadler's Wells, Monday 6 September 2010

Never has our obsession with the shoe been more apparent.  Sex and the City has transformed footwear into a lifestyle choice, Uggs have taken over the world and the Jimmy Choo has become an icon.  Shoes, the most recent show at Sadler’s Wells, certainly has its finger on the pulse of the world’s consumers, building an entire dance revue around our bizarre infatuation with all things leather, suede and stilettoed.

Richard Thomas, best known for the infamous Jerry Springer – The Opera, turns his irreverent wit on a selection of the more ridiculous footwear fashions that have emerged over the last few decades, from seventies platforms to the more recent Ugg phenomenon.  His viciously funny lyrics and ingenious word play – ‘time wounds all heels’ was a personal favourite of mine – are paired with the inspired and innovative routines of a team of choreographers led by West End and Broadway dance legend Stephen Mear.

Mear and his collaborators have incorporated an impressive array of shoes into the dances, as Ugg wearers prance around in sheep costumes, glam rock wannabes perform a tap routine wearing platform boots and swimming cap clad dancers pirouette in flip-flops.  The most entertaining dances are those that revolve solely around the shoe in question, mainly due to the sheer awe and disbelief that they inspire.  Building choreography around footwear that is far from ideally suited to the medium of dance must have been a challenge to say the least, both for the choreographers and the dancers.

The show is a visual tour de force, with the set dominated by a giant stiletto to rival the one currently in residence at the Palace Theatre, home of the equally glamorous (and equally, gloriously camp) Priscilla Queen of the Desert.  The costumes – a highlight of which are the playful sheep suits – are dazzling both as individual creations and in their extraordinary range.  Of course we must also not forget the footwear, the centrepiece and star of the show, with no less than 250 pairs of shoes being worn over the two hours.

However, as enjoyable and visually stunning as Shoes may be, I cannot help feeling that Thomas and Mear have missed an opportunity to examine our often irrational and sometimes worrying consumer culture.  Thomas’s razor wit seems to have softened, with the overall tone gently mocking rather than cynically cutting.  We never see a true exploration of the psychology behind our attachment to shoes and Thomas rarely exposes the darker side of human nature that is so prominent in Jerry Springer.  One feels that this is a celebration rather than a criticism of our love affair with designer footwear.

To be fair, Thomas has stated that he wanted to write a fun show, and Shoes certainly delivers on the entertainment front.  Expect two extremely enjoyable hours at the theatre, but do not expect the incisive and controversial social observation of Jerry Springer.  Shoes, like its subject matter, is a bit of a guilty pleasure.