Magic - Review

Festival Theatre, Chichester

****

Written by David Haig

Directed by Lucy Bailey

Hadley Fraser hangs out in Magic

Magic is an ingenious new drama from David Haig, an actor and playwright with a talent for spotting an episode of history and then building a fictitious drama that is grounded in a fact-filled foundation. The play explores an imagined series of meeting between Harry Houdini, the acclaimed illusionist and escapologist, and Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle. The author is of course renowned for his creation of the detective Sherlock Holmes, but what is not so well known about Conan-Doyle was his belief in the world of spiritualism and seances.

The essence of Haig’s drama draws on Houdini’s mastery of trickery and ultimate cynicism – he was a man who made his fortune by skilfully deceiving his audiences via fairgrounds and flim flam – and how he deploys that skill to challenge what he believes to be the fraudulent trickery of the spiritualist mediums, who he is convinced are deceiving their clients, not via circus-style chicanery but rather, and arguably far more sinister, by preying on their emotional vulnerabilities. 

Magic is set in the 1920s when Conan-Doyle was already a widower and on his second marriage and had recently lost numerous close relatives including Kingsley, a much beloved son, to the fighting in the First World War. Haig sets out Conan-Doyle’s belief in the spiritual world as almost obsessive, with the clashes between the writer and the illusionist making for compelling theatre. There are moments in the evening when one feels that the ground is familiar, as some 30 years ago Haig wrote the play My Boy Jack that focussed on Rudyard Kipling’s grief over his only son Jack, who had been killed in the Great War. 

The evening’s physical theatre is magnificent. Hadley Fraser is Houdini, while Haig himself takes on Sir Arthur. Lucy Bailey directs with her usual flair of shocking brilliance that sees the play open to Fraser being suspended upside down while escaping from handcuffs. Fraser masters the scene spectacularly, but the visuals are striking enough to remind one of Bailey’s stunning Titus Andronicus at Shakespeare’s Globe in 2006 that left audiences fainting, such was the impact of her take on that play’s violence.

 

Aside from Fraser wowing the Chichester audience with his immaculate 6-pack, ( This reviewer jealous? Never! ) his take on the escapologist is passionate and convincing. Equally, Haig’s interpretation of the complicated author desperately seeking a connection with his dead son is deeply moving. There is strong work too from Jenna Augen and Claire Price as the spouses Bess Houdini and Jean Conan-Doyle respectively and a fabulous cameo from Jade Williams as Mina Crandon, a famed medium of her time, who Houdini tries to expose. 

The tone of the evening is classy as Bailey and her designer Joanna Parker create ‘just the right level’ of tawdry in the dancing troupe that supports Houdini’s vaudeville turns. The special effects and illusions are fun too – this could almost be a family show if the subject material wasn’t so troublingly dark.

Spellbinding theatre.

Runs until 16th May

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Price - Review

Marylebone Theatre, London

****

Written by Arthur Miller

Directed by Jonathan Munby

Henry Goodman

Arthur Miller’s The Price, now playing at the Marylebone Theatre is a timely reminder of the writer’s ability to dissect both the human condition and the American Dream. As Victor Franz, a cop, meets up with Gregory Solomon, a furniture appraiser in his dead father’s house, he is unexpectedly joined by his brother Walter, a successful doctor. Solomon is there to give Victor (and Walter) a price for the building’s contents, but as Miller’s narrative unfolds and we learn of the resentments and envious complications that simmer between the brothers (where Victor had previously devoted much time caring for his dying father, as Walter had been more estranged towards his family), it becomes clear that the prices Miller seeks to explore are more than just monetary.

Elliot Cowan and John Hopkins are respectively Victor and Walter, but it is in Henry Goodman’s take on Solomon that this production truly takes flight. Miller’s language is acutely New York Jewish in its style, with Goodman savouring every word, delivering his words with an immaculate understanding of the pauses and emphases that each sentence demands. Miller’s observations are wry and Solomon is gifted some sublime wisecracks and perceptive analyses to inject into the conversation from time to time. Under Goodman’s masterful delivery, each gag lands perfectly – the audience chuckling at the accuracy of the actor’s interpretation.

Faye Castelow plays Victor’s wife Esther, in a role that adds little heft to the narrative. Castelow’s performance is fine, but the dialog and reactions given to her frequently sound superficial and cliched.   

Jonathan Munby directs with sensitivity, but ultimately The Price is not Miller’s finest work. The play’s second act in particular as the brothers’ verbally spar, each line revealing yet another twist in their father’s decline, feels more like an emotional whodunnit rather than the critique of wealth, poverty and jealousy that Miller has sought to explore.

The Price may not sit alongside Miller’s Death of A Salesman or All My Sons, as a seminal work of 20th century American literature – but it is nonetheless compelling theatre.

Runs until 7th June

Photo credit: Mark Senior

In The Print - Review

King's Head Theatre, London

*****

Written by Robert Kahn and Tom Salinsky

Directed by Josh Roche

Alan Cox and Claudia Jolly

Rarely are history, politics and drama fused so perfectly as in In The Print, currently playing at the King’s Head Theatre. The title draws on the phrase, used for years, by workers in the print rooms of the newspaper industry to describe their employment. 

Robert Khan and Tom Salinsky’s play is set at the time of the 1986 decision by Rupert Murdoch’s News International corporation to shift the printing of its four titles from the labour-intensive presses of the central London, to a modern computerised print factory in Wapping in the city’s east end. Brenda Dean was the leader of SOGAT, the major print workers’ trade union of the time, with the genius of this story being its creation of fictional tableaux based around historical facts, and all performed to perfection.

The play demands some context, with In The Print’s programme helpfully including a description of the times:

“The Fleet Street print unions - SOGAT and the National Graphical Association, the NGA – held the upper hand. Newspaper operations were hugely inefficient, with old-fashioned hot metal presses which kept breaking down, and ancient agreements with the unions about which type of worker did which job. Print workers were remarkably well-paid, and enjoyed short hours which enabled them to hold second jobs such as driving cabs. Fleet Street print-rooms were rife with legendary Spanish Practices' - overmanning, cash payments, and non-existent ghost workers with names such as Donald Duck.”

Alan Cox plays Murdoch, with Claudia Jolly as Dean. (A nod here to Simon Money, the production’s dialect coach, who has honed Cox’s required Australian accent to perfection.) Both lead performers are electrifying in their interpretations - Cox depicting Murdoch’s ruthless singleness of purpose brilliantly, as Jolly captures the agonies of Dean desperately trying to defend the livelihoods of her members while having ultimately to surrender her fight to the march of technology and progress.

Jolly and Cox are ably supported by Alasdair Harvey, Georgia Landers, Jonathan Jaynes and Russell Bentley who between them convey a raft of recognisable supporting characters of the era ranging from union officials through to Murdoch’s editors. Harvey’s Andrew Neil (The Sunday Times) and Bentley’s Kelvin MacKenzie (The Sun) are particularly enjoyable cameos. Josh Roche’s direction is deftly nuanced, in particular tracing Jolly’s journey that sees Brenda Dean transition from defiance to defeat. 

It is sharp writing that packs so much well constructed content into this one-act, 90-minute gem. Older theatregoers will savour the well constructed return to the nation’s febrile industrial relations scene under Margaret Thatcher’s premiership. Younger audiences will simply enjoy this rather exquisite history lesson.

Runs until 3rd May

Photo credit: Charlie Flint

The North - Review

****

Written & directed by Bart Schrijver

In a love letter to the Scottish Highlands, Bart Schrijver’s The North follows two friends trekking the West Highland Way and the Cape Wrath Trail, reliving a journey they had made some 10 years previously.

Not just a beautifully photographed narrative, The North is a perceptive comment on the evolution of a friendship and its underlying complexities. Navigating not only the 350 miles of stunning landscapes, Lluis (Carles Pulido) and Chris (Bart Harder) face the challenges of trust and honesty between themselves, as well as an ongoing battle to keep the outside world, including incoming phone calls from the office, at bay. 

It’s a gritty yet touching tale. Brief interjections from other hikers that the pair encounter on their trek move the story along. Filmed amongst the raw beauty of the Scottish elements: sunshine, rain and wind, the challenges facing Lluis and Chris become almost tangible.

A thoughtful, beautiful movie.

In cinemas from 24 April

Avenue Q - Review

Shaftesbury Theatre, London

*****

Book by Jeff Whitty

Music & lyrics by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx

Directed by Jason Moore

Emily Benjamin, Charlie McCullagh and Meg Hateley

LP Hartley famously wrote that “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there” Never has this been more true than in musical theatre, where today marks 20 years since Avenue Q first opened in London. With its brilliantly scripted and piercing satire puncturing many of today’s pretentious pomposities, one has to reflect that this show would never be written today, our modern lyricists lacking both the wit and the temple-tumbling cojones of Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx. Quite simply, Avenue Q returns to reclaim its title as one of the funniest shows in town.

Who knew that this inspired parody of Sesame Street would prove so timeless? Lopez and Marx’s songs may drip with an inspired cynicism - but what makes this show really soar is that the brilliantly animated puppets convey stories of powerfully poignant humanity - their furry appearances belying beating and sometimes broken, hearts of gold.

Minorities are mercilessly mocked, the cruelty of this libretto proving a slap in the face to today’s relentlessly entitled generations. But as with the very best of clowns, when they ridicule our society, they hold a mirror to us all and as some of the evening’s monstrous animations ultimately find paths towards love, redemption and a joyously happy ending, they make us shed tears of both hilarity and also profound joy. It is a rare show can hit both of those emotional sweet-spots simultaneously.

Jason Moore, who directed the show to glory both on Broadway and in London all those years ago, returns to helm this revival with a neat touch seeing him assisted by Julie Atherton who back in the day created Kate Monster /Lucy The Slut  in the show’s London premiere.

This time around Emily Benjamin is simply magnificent as Kate/Lucy, at times delivering both sides of her characters’ deliciously barbed exchanges. Benjamin is matched by the equally talented Noah Harrison who is fabulous as the preppy Princeton and investment banker Rod, perpetually struggling with his sexuality. These two performers have both a physical presence and a vocal genius that delivers passion in their puppetry. As with all good puppetry, our focus is on their respective animated characters - but sneak a glimpse at their (human) faces as they perform, and the integrity and commitment of their performances is just joyous.

Benjamin and Harrison may be doing most of the narrative’s heavy lifting, but this show is truly an ensemble piece. Equally stunning are Charlie McCullagh’s hilarious Trekkie Monster and (Frank Oz soundalike) Nicky, Amelia Kinu Muus is an horrifically blunt Japanese therapist Christmas Eve, Oliver Jacobson is her Jewish husband Brian, as  Dionne Ward-Anderson steps up as Gary, the show’s only black character. Amidst the mayhem, Meg Hateley silently animates other characters that drive the story. The energy across this entire company is relentless and with pinpoint timing, all of the show’s gags make perfect touchdowns. 

There’s a classy creative crew too. Ben Holder directs his five-piece band to make fine work of the deeply varied score. Ebony Molina’s choreography is tight, Anna Louizos’s (also ex-Broadway) scenic design is a treat, enhanced by Tim Lufkin's nifty lighting plots.

Blink and you’ll miss them but there are some barely perceptible script-tweaks that bring the show into the modern era. The song Mix Tape is enhanced with a ‘playlist’, as ChatGPT gets a brief mention too. But overall, Avenue Q remains 99.9% true to its brilliant, original self.

They don’t write ‘em like this any more – and more’s the pity for that. Only here for the summer, take a stroll down Avenue Q for a night of outrageous comedy and brutal social comment. Musical theatre does not get better than this!

Booking until 29th August

Photo credit: Matt Crockett

hOWL - Review

*

Written by Howard Jacobson

In perhaps one of the most shamelessly exploitative works of fiction, and arguably an extremely unfunny comedy, Howard Jacobson’s hOWL charts the journey of Ferdinand Draxler MBE, a Jewish headteacher from south London as he navigates his world following the massacres of October 7th 2023.

Draxler is a character whose credibility quite simply defies belief. Married to a non-Jew, their daughter Zoe is a staunch antizionist, his brother Isak who had emigrated to Israel also harbors a skeptical view of the Jewish state. Draxler’s Deputy Head, Axelberg, is a Christian man who converts to Judaism so that he too can assume an Israel-critical stance. Draxler’s mother is a survivor of Bergen-Belsen concentration camp where she may, or may not, have had a sexual relationship with the camp’s Nazi commandant.

Notwithstanding this eclectic array of characters, Jacobson subjects his protagonist to the raft of de-humanizing experiences that have befallen the diaspora since October 7th. Many readers will have found themselves facing ghastly antisemitic challenges in recent times. Draxler experiences almost all of them. De-platforming, raw hatred, Banksy’s murals, heck, even Glastonbury gets a mention. It is as though Jacobson has worked his way through a checklist of antisemitic/antizionist tropes and abuses, ensuring that as many as possible can be woven into the threadbare tapestry of his prose.

The book drifts in and out of reality, Jacobson perhaps having intended his blurred use of timelines to reflect Draxler’s loss of reason as the narrative unfolds. In reality, this blurring by the writer masks an overall incoherence that is found to be liberally sprinkled with gratuitous sexual references. Other than for prurient sensationalism, or a (very) cheap laugh, why else does Jacobson feel the need to let us know that as a teenager, Isak masturbated into his shirt drawer?

Almost halfway through the novel, Jacobson reveals a worrying (possibly autobiographical?) sentiment. In a letter that Draxler is penning to his daughter in an attempt towards an ideological reconciliation, he writes: “I won’t say the baby-murdering, land-grabbing Jew you march against does not somewhere exist, but he is not me.” In that one sentence Jacobson single-handedly pours petrol onto the fires of one of the oldest antisemitic tropes, the Blood Libel, and for that, Howard Jacobson, one of the most celebrated Jewish writers of our time, is to be condemned.

The book’s jacket bears a quote from Patrick Marber, lauding hOWL that reads: “A howling comic masterpiece”. In those four words Marber brings the classic children’s fable of The Emperor’s New Clothes, bang up to date. To be clear, Jacobson has not written a comic masterpiece.

To have released – what the book’s publishers Jonathan Cape describe as – a ‘tragicomedy’, in the wake of October 7th, a day so horrific that many of its survivors have yet to fully address the impact of its trauma and more than 1,200 families mourn their murdered relatives, and as world Jewry faces murderous antisemitism on a scale not seen since the Holocaust, stands as possibly the most crass, insensitive and shamefully opportunistic decision in the hitherto noble history of Anglo-Jewish literature.

The writers Eli Wiesel and Eli Sharabi, who both survived the horrors of the infernal depths of antisemitic Jew-hatred, are amongst the most qualified to write of those desperate times. In their shadow, Jacobson is but a literary pygmy. He should donate any income earned from this execrable work to a charity that supports the rebuilding of those devastated Israeli communities within the Gaza Envelope.

hOWL is available from all the usual bookselling outlets.

Kinky Boots - Review

London Coliseum, London

****

Book by Harvey Fierstein
Music and lyrics by Cyndi Lauper
Directed by Nikolai Foster

Johannes Radebe

Strutting back into the West End, Cyndi Lauper’s Kinky Boots takes up a 16-week residence at the London Coliseum. Nikolai Foster directs, stunt-casting a brace of reality TV stars with Johannes Radebe of Strictly fame playing Lola and former X-Factor champion Matt Cardle as shoemaker Charlie Price.

Set around the turn of the century and loosely based on real events, the story moves on some clever pivots. Drag queen Lola bemoans that glamorous boots for men are impossible to source, at the same time as Price’s Northampton factory is on its uppers.  Harvey Fierstein's book sprinkles a hint of fantasy over the proceedings, as his glamorous tale of the bootmaker and the queen plays out to a spectacularly sequinned happy ending.

The role marks Radebe’s debut in musical theatre and he smashes it out of the park. Immaculate footwork is a given for the South African performer (whose accent to be fair, doesn’t quite match up to his having grown up in Clacton in Essex as the story demands), however it is not just his dance, but also his vocal strength and acting that add depth and colour to a complex role.

Cardle delivers a competent cobbler but is outshone by Radebe. Vocally strong - with the duet sung by the two leads in the first act, I’m Not My Father’s Son proving to be one of the evening’s more poignantly sensitive moments - his acting at times seems strained.

Lauren, the factory girl who falls in love with the boss, is played by Courtney Bowman in a powerhouse performance. Her solo The History of Wrong Guys (another first-half banger) is simply magnificent, with Bowman sustaining impressive energy levels throughout the show. A number of smaller roles are crucial to the story’s narrative and there are marvellous contributions from Billie-Kay, Billy Roberts and Rachel Izen that keep the evening perfectly paced. On the day of this review Joshua Beswick and Rio-Blake Power played Young Charlie and Young Lola respectively, with both boys delivering delightful work.  

The show’s creative credentials are excellent. Leah Hill choregraphs the dance-heavy production with whip-smart flair and precision. Robert Jones set design ingeniously appears to crop itself with luminous borders scaling the proscenium’s height and width – and his representation of the Northampton shoe factory is ingenious. Jone’s work is well complemented by Ben Cracknell’s lighting plots. In the Coliseum’s pit, Grant Walsh directs his nine-piece band to make fine work of Lauper’s powerful score.

With sky-high heels, a full-throttle score and a star turn stealing his every scene, this Kinky Boots doesn’t just return—it kicks down the door in spectacular style.

Booking until 11th July

Photo credit: Matt Crockett

Summerfolk - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Written by Maxim Gorky

in a new version by Nina Raine and Moses Raine

Directed by Robert Hastie

Justine Mitchell and Peter Forbes

Summerfolk at the National is one of those rare examples of art mocking life. Set in pre-Revolutionary Russia at the turn of the 20th century, Gorky’s tale was always one of entitled middle-classes squabbling amidst their privileges. The Summerfolk of the title are the prosperous Muscovites who decamp to their country daschas for the summer, folk who care little for their temporary rural surrounds, and looked on with envy and resentment by the local impoverished peasants.

Swap 1905 daschas for 21st century second homes or AirBnBs in Provence or Cornwall or Southwold - places where the local communities have been societally impoverished - and the echoes couldn’t ring louder. That such privileged folk are likely to include those that can afford London’s theatre ticket prices and the evening’s irony becomes even more acute.

Robert Hastie directs a massive company who for the most part are an entertaining troupe. Standout performances come from Peter Forbes as Semyon Dvoyetochiye, a wealthy old uncle to the story’s sprawling family and also from Justine Mitchell as Maria Lvovna, an elderly doctor who finds herself the complicated object of desire in the eyes of the much younger Vlass (Alex Lawther).

The evening’s acting may well be classy but the script is uninspiring.  Not speaking Russian, this reviewer is unable to comment on the accuracy or otherwise of the adaptation by Nina Raine and Moses Raine, suffice to say that the political pulse of the drama unfolds with very little sophistication. The politics of the piece is hammered out with such crass simplicity that it sounds more akin to a party political broadcast, rather than a sophisticated work of modern literature.  

A fortune, subsidised by Arts Council England, has been invested (squandered?) in Peter McKintosh’s impressive set that recreates the dascha’s Russian forest setting, complete with rivers and ponds. Given the shallow depth of the play's argument, it’s hard to consider that this has been money well spent. 

Summerfolk offers that rare opportunity of watching an audience seeing themselves dissected on stage.  Revolutionary theatre? Only time will tell… 

Runs until 29th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson

The Producers - Review

Garrick Theatre, London

*****

Music and lyrics by Mel Brooks
Book by Mel Brooks and Thomas Meehan

Directed by Patrick Marber

Richard Kind and the company of The Producers

It seems almost impossible to believe that The Producers came out as a film in 1967, nearly 60 years ago. It remains a comedic masterpiece written by surely one of the greatest comics of all time, the legendary Mel Brooks, himself now a sprightly 99 years old. To many, turning the film into a stage musical was akin to drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa. Why attempt to improve perfection? In 2001 they achieved the impossible, turning a brilliant film into an equally brilliant and hilarious musical.

The plot is simple. It seems that there is more money to be made in producing a guaranteed failure on Broadway than a hit show, so Bialystock and his naïve accountant partner Leopold Bloom, set out to create a guaranteed disaster and pocket $2 million. 

After a highly successful run at the Menier Chocolate Factory, the show transferred to London's Garrick Theatre. Andy Nyman, who opened at the Menier as Bialystock is taking a brief sabbatical and has handed his cardboard belt to Broadway actor Richard Kind. Kind's on-stage energy levels are never dialled to less than eleven, and he has the comedic ability to earn a round of applause with just a look or a simple, subtle gesture. He inhabits the role as if it were a tailor-made suit and eeks out every single molecule of the crooked producer. He’s as crooked as a politician, but the audience loves and roots for him.

Elsewhere, this tried, tested and fabulous company continue. Marc Antolin plays the neurotic, shy accountant, Leopold Bloom, drawn into Max’s nefarious, fraudulent scheme. Antolin can sing and dance superbly, having everything one needs to be a musical star and shining in every scene. 

The rest of the cast are equally superb, wringing every last ounce of comedy gold from the simplest, even throw-away lines, turning already inspired characters into even better, funnier versions. Australian Trevor Ashley is hilarious as the hopeless director Roger Debris, and is clearly loving every on-stage moment, as is his ‘assistant’ Carmen Ghia played by Raj Ghatak. The duo bring a new dimension to camp and the result is a gem. Harry Morrison as the deranged playwright  Franz Liebkind, eats the scenery whenever he’s on stage - the laughter he induces is painful! Special mention to the pigeons scene – a terrific touch. 

The always reliable Joanna Woodward plays Ulla, the barely intelligible ‘Swedish secretary’ hired by Max and Leo, and her Monroe-esque presence illuminates the stage as does her comedy timing. 

What is communicated so clearly to the packed audience is that every member of the entire ensemble is having a blast, seemingly enjoying their roles as much we are enjoying watching them. Is this a show for the easily offended? No. But that's the point. A musical entitled "Springtime for Hitler" was shocking in 1967. Now the swinging sixties have evolved into the grim, divided, angry 2020s and in many ways, the show's message is stronger and more relevant than ever.

The Producers is an outrageously offensive, camp, rude, and irreverent musical from which no one is safe from being the butt of a joke. I loved every moment of it. One word sums it up, a word we hear less and less these days – fun. Enjoy it while it’s still legal.

Reviewed by Russ Kane

Booking to 19th September

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Teeth 'n' Smiles - Review

Duke of York's Theatre, London

*****

Written by David Hare

Directed by Daniel Raggett

Phil Daniels

First seen in London some 50 years ago, David Hare’s Teeth ‘n’ Smiles is a deliciously delivered slice of British history, telling of a failing rock band hired to play three sets at the May Ball of Jesus College, Cambridge. The play, set on and around the band's Cambridge stage, charts the devastating evening of the ball.

 

Famed for his political dramas Hare, the toast of Britain's champagne socialists was clearly cutting his own teeth when he penned this script. There's a very modest undercurrent of a 'rich v poor' theme and some tepid anti-war narrative after the interval, but not much more. For the most part however, this is an acute narrative of an eclectic bunch of individuals, where Hare's fangs fire rapid repartee and sharp social commentary.

 

The band’s singer Maggie, played by Rebecca Lucy Taylor (aka Self Esteem) is a woman whose decline is in a drug-fuelled free-fall. Delivering songs written by Nick Bicat and Tony Bicat, hers is a picture of human devastation, immaculately sung and powerfully portrayed. That Helen Mirren created the role in 1975 speaks to its potential - Taylor redefines it as her own.

 

An inspired casting choice sees Phil Daniels play Saraffian the band’s manager. A man with no heart (although late in the play we learn how he came to be so dehumanised), Daniels is majestic in his monstrosity. With camel coat and thick spectacles there is no room for sentiment or empathy in his life. If it’s got any value, Saraffian steals it, trampling on the weak as he does so. Such is his cynical understanding of reality, we learn that he had cancelled the band’s upcoming gigs long before their catastrophic Cambridge booking. A fusion of Arthur Daley and Iago, Phil Daniel’s Saraffian is one of the finest performances in town

 

Elsewhere Michael Fox puts in a thought-provoking turn as Arthur, the band’s complicated songwriter, emotionally entangled with Maggie and himself a Jesus College alumnus. Roman Asde as posh-boy undergraduate Anson offers a neat contrast between the college’s rigorous history and the (brilliantly played) anarchy of the band as he struggles to discover his own identity.

The other band members and roadies are (mainly) fellas, out to play their tunes and shag their way around the country. With an air of prescience, Hare manages both to capture the UK's music scene that was to evolve into punk, as well as quite possibly lay down the foundations for the TV series The Young Ones that was to follow seven years later.

The music is loud and the performances sparkling. Teeth ‘n’ Smiles is theatre with bite.

Runs until 6th June

Photo credit: Helen Murray

Henry V - Review

 Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Tamara Harvey

Alfred Enoch

Alfred Enoch delivers an attractive, forceful and youthful performance as Henry V. In a production that at times is elsewhere workmanlike in its spoken prose, Enoch grasps some of the most iconic speeches in the canon, delivering them with an understated passion and a profound understanding. His is a youthful king, a wise and focussed leader who in the ugliness of war, can both inspire his troops and also make bold and tough decisions.

Enoch commands the stage with his presence, offering up a truly enjoyable snapshot of this most celebrated of warrior kings. One cannot help but reflect that as head of state some 600 years ago, his almost Churchillian stance offers up a bold contrast with the vapid leadership that England suffers today.

Tamara Harvey may coax beauty from Enoch in his Henry, but elsewhere the company work suggests that the RSC’s Co-Artistic Director needs to focus more on the individual than on the broader ensemble. Save for the wry comedy of Paul Hunter’s Pistol and the quality contributions from Jamie Ballard as both a soldier and the King of France, the rest of the cast fail to stand out.

Lucy Osborne’s set, largely a massive scaffold on a revolve does well to double as the walls of the besieged city of Harfleur but otherwise provides a questionable contribution to the story. Ryan Day’s lighting however is magnificent, beautifully depicting the night leading into dawn that builds towards Henry’s St Crispin’s Day speech and adding a rich texture to Enoch’s beautifully delivered verse.

A large squad of supernumeraries add a human heft to the fighting and while Harvey’s decisions regarding the battle scenes may be a little bit fanciful, her Henry V makes for an entertaining take on this most celebrated of Shakespeare’s histories.

Runs until 25th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Glorious! - Review

Theatre Royal, Windsor

****

Written by Peter Quilter

Directed by Kirk Jameson

Wendi Peters

Some 20 years after it premiered, Peter Quilter’s Glorious has been revived by Manchester’s Hope Mill Theatre and is now on tour. Quilter tells us of Florence Foster Jenkins, an American singer who in 1944 and at the age of 76, gave her first (and what was to be her last) concert at New York’s Carnegie Hall. What made Jenkins so distinctive a performer was that she lacked virtually any singing talent whatsoever. And while she may possibly have been well aware of her vocal deficiencies, Jenkins possessed a grit and energy that drove her onwards, either oblivious to, or in defiance of, the cynical naysayers who surrounded her – and presented the most remarkable display of courage and spirit.

Wendi Peters is Florence, in a performance that suggests the very best of Hyacinth Bucket and Norma Desmond as she acts with depth and sensitivity. Incredibly well rehearsed, Peters (herself a gifted singer ) has learned to sing ‘badly’, capturing the gauche naivete of her character while at the same time making her believable and incredibly credible. Such is Peters’s take on the Habanera from Carmen that she imbued the awfulness of Jenkins’s vocal screech with a heart-rending perceptive pathos. Not only that, but the evening’s humour, which by the nature of the story needs to played out in quite a deadpan style, is equally mastered by Peters.

Opposite Peters is Matthew James Morrison as Cosmé McMoon her pianist. The genius of Quilter’s storytelling is to bring out the touching and authentic poignancy of the relationship that evolves between the pair, displaying a mutual fondness that transcends the differences both in their ages and backgrounds.

Sioned Jones and Caroline Gruber complete the cast, playing a handful of supporting roles, but this rather delightful story, gently told and charmingly performed, belongs to Wendi Peters. She really is glorious!

Runs until 21st March, then on tour

Yentl - Review

Marylebone Theatre, London

****

Based on the original short story by Isaac Bashevis Singer

Co-written by Gary Abrahams, Elise Esther Hearst & Galit Klas

Directed by Gary Abrahams

Evelyn Krape above Amy Hack 

Drawn from Isaac Bashevis Singer’s famous short story, Yentl tells of a Jewish girl from a shtetl in the Pale of Settlement whose dream is to study Judaism’s holy scriptures in the yeshiva. But with the strictures of her faith excluding women from places of study, it is through Singer’s wonderful imagination that Yentl assumes the identity of a young man, changes her name to Anshel and starts her unique journey.

Life of course bowls its challenges and as Yentl’s narrative unfolds and the course of true love emerges, the complexities of her deceits and desires lead to the most unconventional and uncomfortable ménage a trois. This is a story of a world of orthodox tradition being upended by the most unorthodox of behaviours, played out with a sensitive finesse. What makes Yentl even more distinctive is that the evening’s dialogue seamlessly segues between English and (surtitled) Yiddish, imbuing the story with a rich authenticity.

This production is devised by the Kadimah Yiddish Theatre of Australia under the leadership of the show’s director Gary Abrahams and the company’s artistic director Evelyn Krape and first played in Melbourne four years ago. It speaks much for the cast's belief in this play that three of its quartet of players are from Australia and have journeyed across the globe to bring the show to London.

Amy Hack assumes the title role in a performance that is as delicate as it is powerful. Hack convinces us of Yentl’s passion and her pain.

It is Evelyn Krape herself who lends the most flavoursome sprinkling of Yiddishkeit to the proceedings. Her character is The Figure, a ghostly fusion, if you will, of Greek chorus and the Emcee from Cabaret, who both comments on the story’s calamitous turn of events, as well as at times portraying Yentl’s conscience. Onstage for most of the play, Krape is magnificent in a portrayal that captures the compassion, pathos and above all the self-deprecating satire of Yiddish theatre. Look at Krape to get a glimpse of the dramatic forces that were to inspire the likes of Mel Brooks and Larry David.  

Ashley Margolis and Genevieve Kingsford, respectively play Avigdor and Hodes, the two “innocents” who fall into Yentl’s web of deception. They too give very strong performances that are both believable and credible as we follow their personal experiences of discovery and revelation. 

This is not a show for traditionalists, who may find both the narrative and the moments of occasional nudity troubling. But for those who seek an alternative interpretation of a slice of Jewish literary history, together with the most fabulous tribute to the art of Yiddish theatre, then Yentl is unmissable.

Runs until 12th April

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Holy Rosenbergs - Review

Menier Chocolate Factory, London

**

Written by Ryan Craig

Directed by Lindsay Posner

Tracy-Ann Oberman and Dorothea Myer-Bennett

Set in north west London’s Edgware, Ryan Craig’s The Holy Rosenbergs was a muddled collection of Anglo-Jewish stereotypes when it premiered at the National Theatre back in 2011. Fast forward 15 years, and it transpires that time has not treated Craig’s playtext kindly.

David and Lesley Rosenberg had three children. Ruth is a human-rights lawyer working for the United Nations, Jonny is struggling to find his way in life and Danny, who had emigrated to Israel, has recently been killed in action serving as a helicopter pilot with the Israel Defence Forces in Gaza. The play takes place on the eve of Danny’s memorial service at the local synagogue.

Against this backdrop of conflicting views and profound loss, Craig weaves a narrative that lurches from the sensational to the implausible in a two-act play that is at best, problematic. Ruth, and equally improbably, her boss Sir Stephen Crossley (played by Adrian Lukis) who appears half way through the second act, lays out the charges against Israel’s allegedly criminal military conduct, while offering scant criticism of Hamas’s corrupted governance of Gaza and minimal objective comment upon its terrorist activities. It has sadly taken the horrors of October 7th 2023 and that day's ensuing revelations, including the intimate connections that have been found to exist between agencies of the UN and Hamas, to realise the naïveté, or perhaps more accurately, the useful idiocy, of Craig’s argument.

Done well, Jewish self-deprecation can provide moments of masterful drama as demonstrated by the likes of 20th century greats such as Sheldon Harnick and Jack Rosenthal. Craig aspires to be an (Arthur) Miller Lite, offering us clumsily constructed nods to the American's Willy Loman and Joe Keller in the character of David Rosenberg. His writing however doesn’t come close to matching Miller's genius.

So the work may be profoundly flawed, but what of Lindsay Posner’s production values? Tracy-Ann Oberman as Lesley and Dorothea Myer-Bennett's Ruth are both magnificent. Oberman in particular, capturing the complex emotions of a mother struggling to maintain her equilibrium while simultaneously dealing with unimaginably traumatic grief. Her take on the role is credible and carefully crafted. Equally, Myer-Bennett in a part that is hard to be seen as believable, makes a first-class job of some mediocre writing.

As for the men, Adrian Lukis's human rights lawyer offers up the best work of the night. As David, Nicholas Woodeson struggles to suspend our disbelief, and though his final scenes in the play are delivered with a sincere poignancy, it is too little, too late.

Tim Shortall’s set may be authentic Edgware, but lest there be any doubt about this production’s bias, as the audience take their seats in the Menier an audio mise-en-scene plays clips of Gordon Brown’s and Barack Obama’s criticisms of Israel’s military.

Notwithstanding some outstanding work from the women, The Holy Rosenbergs does not stand up to the scrutiny of being revived and should have been allowed to rest in peace.

Runs until 2nd May

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Marie & Rosetta - Revew

SohoPlace, London

*****

Written by George Brant

Directed by Monique Touko

Beverley Knight and Ntombizodwa Ndlovu

Journeying from Chichester and Kingston through 2025, Marie & Rosetta at last receives the West End opening it deserves. And like a smooth bourbon, this show has matured beautifully on the road, its double act of Beverley Knight and Ntombizodwa Ndlovu delivering one of the finest pieces of theatre to be found on a London stage.

Knight plays Sister Rosetta Tharpe, born in Arkansas in 1915 to cotton-picker parents, and who rose to become ‘The Godmother of Rock and Roll’. A gifted guitar player and even more blessed singer, Rosetta was to influence the greats including Chuck Berry, Jimi Hendrix and Elvis.

Ndlovu is Marie Knight, an equally gifted pianist singer with a gospel heritage, who for three years in the 1940s was to tour with Rosetta.

That’s the background - the genius of George Brant’s play is how the two women’s stories are woven into a narrative that speaks so much of the USA’s racial, social and musical history through the 20th century.

Born from the women’s success in the music industry, Brant sets out a narrative that reflects the pain they both endured. The damnable policies of segregation, the despicable behaviour of abusive partners together with brutal moments of domestic violence are all touched upon -  but it is the beauty of Brant’s imagined dialogues between the pair, so powerfully given life by the two performers, that makes for this evening of humbling and uplifting theatre. When Rosetta tells of having sung at church in the morning and The Cotton Club at night, a whole landscape is painted by Brant in those few words.

And then there’s the songs. Beverley Knight and Ntombizodwa Ndlovu are both blessed with magnificent vocal strengths, along with their impeccable acting skills. Fuse those talents with a bond that has been forged through this show’s evolutionary early months, and the result is a collection of songs that are delivered with such an intense authenticity, they transform the Soho Place into a gospel hall of love, passion and harmony.

Frequently sung a capella, the evening’s musical gems showcase a range of numbers from the period, all performed to perfection. Solos and duets pepper the evening, none more powerful than the two women singing Four or Five Times in exquisitely synchronised harmony and at a breathtaking tempo.

The chemistry that has evolved between Knight and Ndlovu is rare and precious. As the two women lift the roof off the Soho Place, they create an evening of unmissable theatre.

Runs until 11th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Broken Glass - Review

Young Vic, London

*

Written by Arthur Miller

Directed by Jordan Fein

Eli Gelb, Pearl Chanda and Alex Waldmann

Rarely is a production as muddled and disappointing as its underlying script as is to be found in Jordan Fein’s take on Arthur Miller’s Broken Glass.

Set in 1938 in New York's Brooklyn, Broken Glass is one of Miller's later plays. Through the dysfunctional marriage of Phillip and Sylvia Gellburg, the playwright seeks to explore his own interpretation of the American Jewish experience, set against a backdrop of the rise of antisemitism in Nazi Germany - the play’s title drawn from the infamous Kristallnacht, The Night of Broken Glass of November 1938 that saw German synagogues torched across the country. 

Miller explores a very tenuous connection that sees Sylvia lose the use of her legs, ostensibly as a reaction to the persecution of German Jewry. That Sylvia’s concern for events in Europe is dismissed by her isolationist husband and friends is plausible - but by rendering her immobile because of what the Nazis are doing, Miller, through such crass sensationalising, weakens his argument that seeks to explore her sense of ideological loneliness. Add in to the play's storyline the facts that: 1. the Gellburgs’ marriage has been devoid of physical intimacy for 20 years and; 2. Sylvia’s physician (Dr Harry Hyman played by Alex Waldmann) is a man whose sense of professional ethics has deserted him in his sexual desire for his patient, and it becomes clear that the whole (one-act)  evening really is a mess. Coming from a writer who’s demonstrably capable of literary genius, Broken Glass has to represent the nadir of Miller’s creative arc.

Fein has a lot to answer for too. A detail of his set, he has the Gellburgs' marital bed strewn with newspapers. If the newspapers had been facsimiles of 1930s newsprint that would have been fair enough. But with the subtlety of a brick however, Fein has selected real recent British publications, all with blazing headlines that have been chosen to demonise the right-wing of Britain's contemporary political spectrum, Fein clearly not realising that this country's current antisemitic hatred is largely being stirred up by the Islamist-sympathising Left. Fein's casting choices are equally mismanaged, Eli Gelb and Pearl Chanda as the Gellburg couple appearing far too young to have raised a 20 year-old.

Disappointing theatre.

Runs until 18th April

Photo credit: Tristram Kenton