The Beast's Pen

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Union Jacks draped across trestle tables, a notice board plastered with parish council news, Women’s Institute announcements and a photo of a lost guinea pig. We are unmistakably in a community hall in rural England. In the Derbyshire town of Bakewell to be precise, where the annual baking contest is taking place. The seven finalists proudly parade their cakes and compete for the chance to create the definitive Bakewell tart (or is it a pudding? or maybe a cake?). This musical is the work of The Baking Committee, a group consisting of the 11 performers in the show plus three others who all came together at Guildford School of Acting, sharing a common love for musical theatre and for cake. It is not high art but it is relentless fun, leaving no pun unturned and discarding no double entendre for being too awful. Alexandra Spalding is a jolly presence throughout as Victoria Sponge, the MC. The contestants include: a saucy Lucy Emmott as “the original Bakewell tart”; Tom Beynon as Henrietta Apfelstrudel, a German transvestite who champions her Black Forest gateau and complains that “you always bake alone when you sound like a baritone”; Victoria Humphreys as a singing nun who glows over her angel cake; and Tim Stuart as a shy postman who strikes up a romantic chord with one of the judges and, clutching his mixing bowl to his chest, sings to her “you make me rise”. Individually, the singing is passable, but the team seems to have decided that they sound better as a chorus and they deliver several well-harmonised numbers, culminating in the excellent How Do I Feel? The lyrics are of variable quality, occasionally bland but often quite witty, with some sparkling rhymes. They combine well with the tunes which, if not too memorable, are always easy on the ear. Musical director Kevin Michael Cripps ensures that all the numbers are performed with aplomb. Choreography by Nicole Tiffany Rushing and Kayleigh Thadani also adds to the merriment. Undoubtedly this show is a little rough around the edges, but what it lacks in polish and sophistication is more than made up for by the energy, good humour and enthusiasm of the performers. As a first stab at a musical it is not bad at all and shows considerable promise in all departments. If the Baking Committee turns out to include a budding Sondheim, that will really be the icing on the cake.

Not content with just being one of the finest stage actors of his generation, Rory Kinnear now  makes an outstanding debut as a playwright. He has constructed a heart-warming comedy on the foundations of a heart-rending drama, dealing with the strains put on a family when one of its members is severely disabled. The family is gathered to celebrate the 21st Birthday of Andy, never seen but ever-present, who suffers from an unspecified disorder that is described as “much worse than Downs Syndrome”. The production is very strongly cast with Amanda Root and Louise Brealey superb as Andy’s brittle and bruised mother and sister. Kenneth Cranham and Anna Calder-Marshall contribute splendid comedy turns as his grandparents. Unusually for a fringe production, the performance area is much too expansive, it taking eight large rugs to cover the floor of the living room set; much of the space is never used and the actors sometimes look lost in it. However, this is a very minor criticism. Kinnear’s play is beautifully written and performed, making for a highly entertaining evening.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Alexandra is a Greek Cypriot who was driven from her homeland by the 1974 Turkish invasion and now runs a small shop in London. She lives alone with only Neil Diamond’s music for company and she dreams of returning to her home city of Famagusta, the Greek name for which is Ammochostos, meaning “hidden in the sand”. But the city is now part of Turkish Northern Cyprus, so she can only cling to memories of her lost life, unable to move forward until, one day, Jonathan, an English academic, walks into her shop and they fall in love. James Philips’ tender and passionate new play is a middle-age romance taking place against the backdrop of 20th Century European conflicts. The play is set in 1999 and Alexandra’s niece (Daphne Alexander) is a photo journalist working in Kosovo; she has seen at first hand the terrible consequences of war and displacement, but she is a generation removed from the Cyprus invasion and she does not even speak Greek. Alexandra’s estranged sister (Yolanda Vazquez) has re-married and cut her ties with her home country. Just Alexandra herself remains stuck in a time warp, still believing that her former lover, who disappeared on the day of the Turkish invasion, will return; she cries “to give up hope is to betray”. Can Jonathan help her to become reconciled with the past and reclaim her so that she can live and love again? As Jonathan, Scott Handy is earnest and sincere, even if his character is slightly under-written. However, it is a luminous performance by Sally Dexter as Alexandra that elevates this production to a higher level. She simply lives the part, conveying emotional turmoil, confusion and vulnerability as her character confronts her demons. Quite literally, she moves us to tears at several points during the course of this play and few better performances are likely to be seen on the London stage this year. The story begins in London and ends in Cyprus, but Timothy Bird’s predominantly white set design is more Mediterranean than British and back projections of faces from the past effectively evoke sadness for worlds now lost. This studio space is so small and the drama, particularly in the second act, is so intense and intimate that we feel like intruders who have no right to be there. Phillips’ writing is truthful and believable, always holding our interest and, whilst political themes are always present, he never allows them to overshadow the human drama. His writing and direction rightly focus primarily on Alexandra. She and the actor who plays her tower above everything else.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

A remote Welsh cottage made inaccessible by the worst snowstorm in decades and, inside, a dead body. No, this is not an Agatha Christie whodunnit, rather it is a curious little play that edges between black comedy, family drama and suspense thriller. The body is that of Granny, who, having called a family reunion, rather thoughtlessly goes to meet her maker after only two family members, sibling grandchildren, have arrived. Left alone with little food, faltering water and electricity supplies, no mobile phone signal and no wifi, the pair settle in for a night of opening up the wounds from past traumas, whilst Granny lies rolled up in a carpet on the floor. This is rather a neat opening premise for a black comedy and the setting is nicely realised in Jenny Davies’ design; cluttered with old fashioned crockery, bric-a-brac, sheep skulls and quail egg shells, this is just where an eccentric old lady could have lived and died However, for the first 40 minutes of this 70 minute play, there is nothing black and very little comedic as the siblings simply bicker childishly over trivia; they each complain of being driven mad by the other, but, in fact, it is us being driven mad by both of them. In the later stages, events take a sinister turn and become more interesting and suspenseful, but there is still little real bite in the writing. Mark (Mathew Foster) is a high-flyer working in New York, whilst his sister Elyse (Pascale Morrison-Derbyshire) is recovering from the breakdown of a five year relationship. Yet, in this production, both look, sound and behave like adolescents. If the characters had been played older, maybe they would have had the gravitas to bring out the play’s darker undertones. As it is, the inconsistency between the characters brought to life on stage and their back stories damages the play significantly and, if Marietta Kirkbride’s intention was to show how adults revert to their childhood selves when with family in pressured situations, the point is lost. So, from a promising start, this all turns out to be rather a disappointment. There are entertaining moments and, being so short, the play does not drag on, but it ends up being lightweight and insubstantial, when we had hoped for much more.

The West End is awash with adaptations from films, using non-original music, but, if any film ever cried out for a stage version, it is “The Commitments”. Roddy Doyle adapts his own novel about the emergence of a soul band in working class Dublin and director of the moment, Jamie Lloyd, injects much the same level of raw energy that made the film so likeable. The first half is a musical with hardly any music and some of the comedy falls flat, but things get much livelier in the second half once the band has been formed. In any event, the story is fairly thin and anticlimactic, so the show relies heavily on the songs. Killian Donnelly as the obnoxious lead singer with the golden voice, is terrific in delivering them. Denis Grindel, as the young manager, carries us though most of the narrative energetically. There is enough entertainment here to ensure a decent run, but anyone who just wants to hear a bunch of soul classics reasonably well performed could do better by simply getting a ticket to see a real band.

Adapted from Ingmar Bergman’s screenplay for television and then cinema, this is a case of the title telling almost all. Marianne and Johan have the perfect marriage, they congratulate themselves on it in the midst of their friends’ marital turmoil. But, typical of highly educated professionals, they think too much, then talk too much and pick at perfection until it starts to unravel. They then become a couple that can neither live together nor apart. A few of the early scenes in Trevor Nunn’s slick and classy production are pedestrian but most scenes work to great effect and the play tightens its grip as it progresses. It is tender and harsh in turns, with considerable warmth and nice dashes of humour belying the play’s Nordic origins. Chief credit for this all coming together so well must go to the superb chemistry between Olivia Williams and Mark Bazeley, who bring their complex characters completely to life and sustain a magnetic presence throughout. The St James continues to establish itself as a prime destination for quality theatre.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Faced with irksome neighbours, wouldn’t we all sometimes like to just build a barrier between properties and shut them out? This new play begins with one household going to such extremes over what could seem to some a petty dispute and it goes on to examine the consequences for themselves, their neighbours and the surrounding community. Shalev and Malka (Toby Liszt and Dominique Gerrard) are Hasidic Jews who move in next to Cas and Sam (Antonia Davies and Jack Pierce), whose house has an automatic security light covering the approaches. Turning on a light on the Sabbath contravenes strict Jewish teaching, thereby leading to the dispute. When challenged on the unreasonableness of his request to have the light removed, Shalev simply pleads “It’s my religion”. Therefore, the play asks to what extent, in a multi-faith community, is one party entitled to impose religious beliefs and customs on another and whether religion should override all other considerations in disputes. A Polish builder asserts that the British allow minorities to get away with too much, another character proclaims that the World would be a much better place without any religion at all. The arguments are presented and discussed succinctly and with great clarity. The play takes no sides and reaches no conclusions. We see people who are essentially reasonable and tolerant becoming unreasonable and intolerant when under pressure and occasional intrusions by a drunken fascist thug serve as a reminder of the dangers that such a drift can present. As a play debating social and moral issues, this all works very well, but, sadly, it is much less successful as a human drama. Sally Llewellyn has created the characters to demonstrate the points that she wishes to make, but they are one-dimensional and under-developed. This lack of depth gives the actors too little to work on and, as a result, some of the performance often seem laboured and unconvincing. Additionally, the Spartan stage design and bright, harsh lighting give the production a chilly feel that distances us further and counters our efforts to empathise with the characters. It is not until deep into the second act, when both of the wives veer toward breakdowns, that we feel any emotional currents and, by then, it is much too late for us to begin to care. This is an intelligent and topical play that embraces important themes. There is much to stimulate the brain, but, with so little to stir the heart as well, it is ultimately less than satisfying.

This review ws originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Six Welsh miners, trapped underground after an accident, listen for the sound of drilling and await their fate. Chris Urch’s first full-length play is set in May 1979, the month of Mrs Thatcher’s first election victory and, although it is not overtly political, it draws clear parallels between the plight of these men and a whole industry, together with the communities built around it, for which by then the death knell may already be tolling. The dramatic structure is fairly familiar; a small group facing a common peril tears itself apart and pulls itself back together. If Urch does not completely avoid all the cliches, he creates well-rounded and believable characters and he manages to sustain the play’s grip on us through solid and varied writing. As the men stare death in the face, there is always time for dark humour and even a song or two. It is quite a treat hearing numbers normally associated with Julie Andrews or the Sex Pistols being sung (surprisingly well) in the style of a Welsh male voice choir. Paternal figure to the group is Bomber (Clive Merrison), nearing retirement and hiding ill health, and the play begins with him dispensing fatherly advice to Mostyn (Joshua Price), a naive youth who is struggling to deal with his incarceration. Curly (Kyle Rees) and Chewy (Taylor Jay-Davies) are brothers, very different in character, the former tied to his community and the latter about to leave mining to start a life in London. Hovis (Paul Prescott) is a stoical former Polish soldier in World War II who has seen much worse before in his life. Individually and as an ensemble, the acting is very strong. The “deputy” or leader of the six is Chopper (Patrick Brennan). For much of the time, he appears strong and silent but, as the days drag on without rescuers arriving, he is faced with a mutiny and Brennan delivers the production’s tour de force; raging as he is losing his power, standing almost naked in the face of adversity, he is King Lear in miniature. Designed by Signe Beckmann and lit (sometimes unlit) by Hartley T A Kemp, the small set evokes perfectly the claustrophobic atmosphere of the underground cavern in which all of the action place. A less intentional contributor to giving the play the right feel is Theatre 503 itself, which is badly ventilated and lacking any form of air conditioning; as the audience leaves dripping in sweat, we have certainly shared in the experience of the characters in the play. If this production often makes us feel uncomfortable, it is both for the right and the wrong reasons.

The greatest things sometimes emerge from the simplest of ideas. In a city where, supposedly, nobody ever talks to their neighbours, this is just an evening of Londoners talking to Londoners. Each participant was directed around various rooms in all parts of the old Battersea Town Hall where no more than two of us met ordinary people telling their own personal stories of the City, each lasting approximately 10 minutes. With almost 40 story tellers, several return visits would be needed to hear them all. The stories were, in turns, happy, sad, moving, amusing, up-lifting. I heard of a lost childhood friend, trolls in Highgate Cemetery, a suicide attempt on Blackfriars Bridge, the joys of being a Millwall supporter, an anorexic rejected by her family and a woman secretly married because of cultural differences. Each story was beautifully told. Others attending on the same evening would have heard completely different stories, but it is likely that the cumulative effect for them all would have been just as stunning. These were no more than six snapshots of a sprawling cosmopolitan conurbation, but they provided a remarkable insight into what makes up the whole City.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

Frank Wedekind’s Lulu plays of 1896 and 1904 told of a young dancer who uses her sexual charms to entice wealthy men, climbs the German social ladder and later falls into poverty and despair. These plays were then adapted into an opera, left unfinished, by Alban Berg and it is this opera that the Austrian composer Olga Neuwirth has now developed further. For the first two acts, she has adapted and re-orchestrated Berg’s work and written the text, in collaboration with Helga Utz; for the final act, she has composed original music and written the text.  Wedekind wrote a bold and, at that time, controversial indictment of the treatment of women in German society. Looking back on his plays and on Berg’s opera, Neuwirth sees them as defining women through the eyes of men and she now seeks to tell the story from the perspective of a woman, Lulu herself reflecting on her life. Abused and consigned to a demeaning role in a male dominated world, she turns the tables on her oppressors and ruthlessly uses all means at her disposal – sex, duplicity, prostitution, even murder – to break free. The basic narrative supports the feminist themes well, but Neuwirth then adds another layer to the sub-text by transplanting the story to New Orleans and New York during the era of the Civil Right struggles between the mid 1950s and the early 1970s. Lulu is now a black woman facing still further oppression and we hear extracts from Martin Luther King’s speeches and June Jordan’s poems to underline the historical context. Possibly this added dimension gives the opera one sub-text too many. It is already a complex and multi-layered work that is sometimes difficult to absorb and a further diversion does not help us to follow the plot or to assimilate the core feminist messages which go back to its roots. Magda Willi’s design evokes the atmosphere of a seedy night club which befits the drama well. All the action takes place on a small performance area in front of the orchestra, London Sinfonietta conducted by Gerry Cornelius, with a shimmering see-through curtain veiling different parts of the stage at various points. Angel Blue makes a striking Lulu; she possesses the looks, the acting skills and, above all, the glorious soprano voice. Berg’s dramatically effective music is not always easy on the ear, but, as adapted, it is infused with influences from American jazz; these influences become more prominent in Neuwirth’s original composition. The accomplished jazz singer Jacqui Dankworth plays Lulu’s lesbian lover Eleanor and hearing the two women sing together delivers some of the evening’s greatest pleasures. Opera being performed in a night club setting seems incongruous, as does the fusion of classical and jazz styles, but, intriguingly, these odd combinations work well. This is an ambitious project, possibly overly so and it does not quite hit all of its targets. However, working from rich source material and mixing in unusual elements, Olga Neuwirth and director John Fulljames have created a unique musical and theatrical experience that is, for the most part, innovative, powerful and compelling.