House of Burlesque - Saturday Salon - Review

Century Club, London

***

With lockdown lifted across the country there is much to commend the twirling bravura of Tempest Rose, in thrusting her company’s short season of burlesque onto a performance-starved and entertainment-craving capital city.

Socially distanced, Shaftesbury Avenue’s Century Club (which later that same evening was to prove the venue for Sky News’ Kay Burley’s undoing) accommodated some 30 souls for an eclectic set. But in a number of ways, it was the requirements of our times that led to the evening failing to reach the potential to which Rose aspired. Intimately performed burlesque playing to an audience of tens, rather than, say, hundreds demands not only a cabaret-style setting, but an audience lubricated by cocktail-fuelled libation. With current regulations demanding that alcoholic beverages only be served alongside a “substantial meal” leaves the audience required to choose from the Century’s disappointing food menu, if they are to lose some of their inhibition to the demon drink. And with such imposed restrictions, much of the noir-esque intimacy that this artform demands, is lost.

That being said – there were moments of talent in the House Of Burlesque set, with the women displaying not only sex-appeal (an integral feature of a burlesque show), but also classy vocal tone and gorgeous movement. There was wit to the routine too – most notably a reverse strip that saw the scantily clad performers don their clothes to the music, rather than the expected traditional take (off).

The show moves to the South Bank’s Bridge Theatre for a brief late-night residency, where theatre style, the artistes’ talented charms may have more effect. But for burlesque as well as for Burley – last Saturday evening at the Century Club failed to enthral.

HOUSE OF BURLESQUE SALON - FRIDAYS AND SATURDAYS AT CENTURY SOHO

11th – 12th  & 18th – 19th December

HOUSE OF BURLESQUE AT THE BRIDGE

11th and 12th Dec

Socially distanced theatre seating

American Idiot - Review

Hammersmith Apollo, London

*****

Book by Billie Joe Armstrong and Michael Mayer

Lyrics by Billie Joe Armstrong

Music by Green Day

Directed by Michael Mayer



Jenna Rubaii and Thomas Hettrick



The logo for Green Day’s American Idiot is a clenched fist clutching a hand grenade that has in turn been fashioned from a bleeding heart. No orphaned waifs or green faced witches to depict this show. In what is possibly the most refreshingly intelligent new musical to open in London for some years, Michael Mayer (who also directs) has, in collaboration with Green Day’s creative talent Billie Joe Armstrong, taken the threads from the songs of the American Idiot album and woven a harsh but nonetheless credible and relevant story of America post 9/11.

The show is a refreshing blast of rock opera, painting a grand canvas that charts three disaffected young men, disillusioned with the modern USA.  Johnny falls into a drug-fuelled trajectory that almost destroys him, Tunny enlists and goes to fight in the Gulf whilst Will who also succumbs to a dope and drink fuelled life is forced to confront the responsibilities of accidentally becoming a father, a challenge that he ultimately fails to live up to.

Where musical theatre can typically be a land of charmingly talented whimsy, albeit one in which the most challenging of human circumstances may arise, American Idiot is born, not from the pen of a worldy-wise theatrical composer, nor from the saccharine stack of juke-box musicals that flood the commercial stages, but rather from the urgency of one of the most striking rock albums of this time. The music has a pulsing integrity and the book that is portrayed on stage is often harrowing but occasionally uplifting

The performers are all from the the States, which is where this touring company rehearsed the production under the direction of the original Broadway creatives. A six piece band spread across the largely open, but subtly designed stage, provides an authentic sound that replicates Green Day, but be warned: The acoustics of the cavernous Apollo are unforgiving and some of Billy Joe’s finely crafted poetry is at times lost against the wall of sound. If one can attend with some pre knowledge of the songs, it is to be recommended.

The drugs’ effects are performed harrowingly if not graphically and set against the horrors of war, the show hits deep levels of pathos. Tunny loses a leg fighting and in the field hospital prior to surgery he visualises an Extraordinary Girl. What follows is a sensational aerial ballet performed by the two characters (Thomas Hettrick and Jenna Rubaii) in which a passionate swirling dance and embrace of two talented performers fills the entire breadth, depth and height of the stage in a routine that is breathtaking to observe.  In one of Green Day’s most recognised hits, Wake Me Up When September Ends, Hettrick, with Alex Nee and Casey O’Farrell, Johnny and Will respectively, all play acoustic guitar to open the sensitive number before the band and ensemble fade in to support them.

Mark Shenton of the Sunday Express and The Stage drew some parallels between American Idiot and Movin Out, the show based on the songs of Billy Joel. This blog saw the Joel production both in New York City and in the West End and Shenton is right to comment. On Broadway, Movin Out was punchy and literally moving, taking Joel’s songs to create a believable story of the struggle of America’s post Vietnam veterans. The audience wept. In London though, the show bombed and whilst in the USA it touched a nation’s psyche, at the Victoria Apollo it was just another ( albeit good ) show that lacked  a domestic spark. Green Day have a larger and more youthful audience than Joel, so this production may achieve greater UK success in the future, but where expensive West End tickets require a wealthy  and typically older (and therefore possibly, not so connected to Green Day’s music) audience base, for American Idiot to achieve long or even medium term commercial recognition on this side of the pond will require immense hurdles of culture and attitude to be overcome.

Whilst success for the show "over here" cannot be easily predicted, it is unquestionably  deserved. American Idiot is brilliant, perceptive and whilst not telling an easy tale, is arguably the best new musical theatre in town.


Runs to December 16th

Fascinating Aida - Review

Richmond Theatre, London

***

This review was first published in The Public Reviews

With 30 years performing and touring behind them, Dillie Keane’s Fascinating Aida troupe delivered an accomplished one night only performance to a packed house in Richmond as their current UK tour winds to an end. The current line up of the trio comprises fellow veteran performer Adele Anderson who co–writes with Keane, together with younger soprano Liza Pulman.

Keane and Anderson have brilliant minds, and their lyrics are frequently incisive. With a routine that mocks youth, gays, paedophiles, men, women and Dignitas, the act contains something to offend everyone. That their rhymes can nonetheless be frequently anticipated is a modest disappointment, though a spoof rap that includes “ I may not be hip…but I got my own hips” was one of the evening’s moments of genuine humour. Whilst politicians come in for an expected battering it is a sad reflection that notwithstanding the intellectual firepower of these women, the biggest laughs of the night were for a filthy song about tax avoidance, Companies Using Nifty Tax Schemes ( the initials, geddit?) and for another number entitled and about, Dogging ( google it). Clearly, however talented the performer, knob-gags and smug-smut are what the fans crave. Is this a reflection of these “all-licensed fools” or of the British audience? The answer is probably both. Their by now well-known routine, Cheap Flights, a Riverdance inspired criticism of the likes of Ryanair, was witty in both lyric and dance, though a later piece with cod Bob Fosse Cabaret-inspired choreography that made fun of the Germans, was shallow. In a moment of serious reflection, towards the end of act 2, Lay One Less Place At The Table was a wistful observation on the loss of dear ones as the years pass. Included amongst such ribaldry however, the song comes across as more mawkish than the performers would have intended. A penultimate number suggesting a move to New Zealand to avoid world destruction and global terror was quite simply awful and seemed an odd choice to be part of a closing routine.

The three women excel as performers. Word perfect and with excellent sound and lighting, they are exemplary in their commitment to touring with outstanding technical standards. Their routines are skilfully planned and executed, wittily directed and aside from a momentary crotch revealing wardrobe malfunction by Miss Anderson, fun to watch. Evidently adored by their fans and notwithstanding their imperfections, Fascinating Aida remain a pillar of Britain’s comic establishment.

see www.fascinatingaida.co.uk for future tour dates

Lemony Snicket's Latke Who Couldn't Stop Screaming

Roundhouse, London

****

Music & lyrics: Lemez & Fridel

Co – directors: Olivia Jacobs and Tim Hibberd

 

This review was first published in The Public Reviews

Lemony Snicket sees his work brought to the British stage for the first time with this seasonal tale of cultural diversity.

Latkes are traditional potato pancakes served during the Jewish winter celebrations of Chanukah, but the one that Snicket focuses on, upon realising that his ultimate purpose in life is to be plunged into hot oil and fried, not unreasonably chooses to escape the frying pan. As he runs through his snow covered village, he encounters gentile and Christian seasonal traditions that make for some well observed contrasts.

Tall Stories who were commissioned to create the work, have succeeded in presenting a one act piece that deploys the considerable talents of their five person cast in stimulating and exercising the imaginations of their young audience. Their depiction of twinkling Christmas lights on a nearby house, using simply different coloured bobble hats and the actors’ nodding head movements is brilliant, whilst their portrayal of the heroic battle that underlies the story of Chanukah, using different vegetables to tell the saga, is inspired. The audience at the press performance comprised very young school children who laughed and clapped through most of the show.

The story however carries some flaws. The ultimate change of heart of the latke, to willingly accept being deep-fried (and hence die) is not explained and similarly in the battle, from amongst a wealth of available fruit and veg, the writers elect to portray the Jews using potatoes, vegetables that within this show’s structure at least, have a sole destiny that is to be grated, fried and ultimately consumed. Whilst children may not make such a dark connection, this is a clumsy mechanism that inappropriately addresses a classic piece of history. The Chanukah dreydl, or spinning top, is introduced but not satisfactorily explained, nor is the closing Hebrew song of Moaz Tsur, which whilst being familiar to a Jewish audience, will leave other faiths bewildered. Perhaps the producers could provide a more detailed programme, rather than the current meagre sheet of A4 paper.

Amongst the cast , Michael Lambourne is a delightful lead, whose movement and facial expression had the kids in fits of giggles. Stuart Barter’s guitar, with other actors on clarinet provides an authentic klezmer background, whilst Heather Saunders as a sultry Miss Candy Cane is sweetly seductive.

The show is a fun fifty minutes that will broaden your mind and leave you craving a hot fresh fragrant latke.

Runs until 30 December

The Dark Earth And The Light Sky - Review

Almeida Theatre, London


**


Written by Nick Dear

Directed by Richard Eyre

This review was first published in The Public Reviews

Shaun Dooley (l) and Pip Carter watch Hattie Morahan (Helen)

The poet Edward Thomas led a full, if melancholy life, before enlisting to serve in the First World War and being killed in an explosion at Arras in 1917 at the age of 39.

Nick Dear’s play charts Thomas’ life from his younger days and meeting Helen, whom he was to marry, and pays particular attention to his relationship with the much lauded American poet Robert Frost, as their paths crossed shortly before the outbreak of war. Thomas also enjoyed an arguably unhealthy but nonetheless strictly platonic friendship with the 20th century writer Eleanor Farjeon, adding a complexity further deepened by Helen’s ensuing jealousy, which forms another strand of Dear’s writing.

Whilst the play’s canvas is certainly broad, it fails to be as effective as Dear would surely have intended, only occasionally presenting a moving depiction of the human condition. Thomas, sensitively played by Pip Carter, wrote of rural landscapes and as the programme acknowledges, often with a metaphysical reach that embraced the natural world around him. He was a man enchanted by birdsong and nature. To then attempt to recreate and import his beautiful world onto a theatre’s stage, albeit one sprinkled with genuine earth but nonetheless still within the intrinsically artificial environment of the Almeida auditorium and then pepper it with recorded sound effects and a starlit backcloth, seems to abuse all that was natural that inspired this wonderful poet. Dear has also reduced too much of the action of Thomas’ life to caricature, though Ifan Huw Dafydd relishes his role as Phillip, Edward’s father. Shaun Dooley as Frost is a stiltedly arrogant American, and when late in act two he relates the familial tragedies that have befallen him, it seems a strangely perfunctory inventory of death and illness.

The audience learn of Thomas’ death firstly in an act one monologue from Farjeon, touchingly performed by Pandora Colin and then after the interval, complete with sound effects and pyro, we have to witness the poet’s actual demise on stage. Dear’s re-visiting of this death is unnecessary and rarely has a stage reference to The Great War been as unmoving as this play’s. One jumps at the explosion, but does not weep at the loss. R C Sherriff’s Journey’s End achieved so much more with much less stagecraft.

Whilst the work’s intentions are noble, as a drama it is flawed. Richard Eyre has immense wisdom and creative talent and with further development, this tale could deserve a cinematic treatment. Eyre has excellent form behind the camera, and for him to capture England’s Hampshire and Gloucestershire and New England’s Franconia on film, would give Dear’s writing and Thomas’ verse the stage they so richly deserve.

Runs to 12 January 2013

Too Many Penguins - Review

Polka Theatre, London

****

Dramaturg  Brenda Murphy

Director Heather Fulton

The review was first published in The Public Reviews

The colourful staging of Too Many Penguins

Too Many Penguins is a delightful piece of children’s theatre, aimed mainly at 3 – 4 year olds but with occasional toddler-friendly performances for 1 – 2 year olds throughout the run. Accompanied to a lunchtime performance by 21 month old Layla, The Public Reviews was able to truly gauge the impact of this Polka Theatre show upon its target audience.

Set somewhere in Antarctica, the 40 minute story revolves around a delightful Latina penguin, Penguina, and her charmingly stuffy, FT reading, polar bear of a neighbour, Mr Polaro, who amongst other things , has a responsibility for maintaining the local lighthouse. Partial to jazz, Polaro has a modest vinyl collection , played on a genuine turntable, which sets some of the show’s musical ambience, other musical interludes include a delightfully squeaky Faith by George Michael, given a distinctly Hispanic feel. Whilst Polaro is an English educated bear, Penguina speaks a pidgin language, but with sufficient key words in her vocabulary so as to be understood by the toddler audience.

When the mischievous Penguina is not scribbling on the lighthouse , to gasps of disbelief from the audience at such naughtiness, she is busy welcoming numerous members of her family who have come to visit. The arrival of boat and car and balloon loads of cuddly penguins that follows is delightful, and the ingenious nature of the production’s simple effects had the children wide eyed in amazement.

By the time the tale is told, a couple of dozen penguins are sharing the stage with Penguina and Polaro and when they are gently thrown into the audience for a participative finale the shrieks of delight are a joy.

Samuel Jameson and Clare Fraenkel perform the piece, cleverly costumed so as to be recognisable as bear and penguin, but open-faced so as not to be in any way frightening to the children.

Layla did not stop smiling throughout the performance, clapping her hands before the show was ended such was her appreciation of the excellence on display. The Polka is a wonderful venue, aimed exclusively at children and their parents or carers and this production entertains and stimulates amongst a sea of grinning faces.

In repertory until February 16 2013

Sweet Smell of Success - Review

***

Music by Marvin Hamlisch

Lyrics by Craig Carnelia

Book by John Guare

Directed by Mehmet Ergen



Stuart Matthew Price



If the aromas of this country’s recent nasty episodes of cheque-book phone-tapping journalism could be distilled they might be ironically labelled the Sweet Smell of Success. This show from Marvin Hamlisch, he of blessed memory, is a thoroughly unpleasant tale of a morally bankrupt press, with a plot that includes almost flippant nods to McCarthyism, suggested incestuous motives, suicide and murder. There is a love interest , but it merely serves as second fiddle to the devious malfeasance that drives this work.

David Bamber is JJ Hunsecker, an influential New York columnist, with an unhealthily protective attitude towards his much younger sister Susan, played by Caroline Keiff. Whilst the immorality of the press has long been a rich seam for writers, Bamber’s character however loathsome is not a patch on the grotesque media baron that was Lambert Le Roux in David Hare's Pravda. Bamber’s acting is impressive but his singing disappoints and a second act vaudeville number, whose sole purpose seems to be that of providing Hunsecker with a big song and  dance routine, is an opportunity squandered. As Sidney Falcone, a protege of manipulative journalism whose character is ruthlessly manipulated by Hunsecker,  Adrian der Gregorian is frequently reduced to acting by simply shoulder shrugging.

To the show's credit, other performances shine. Stuart Matthew Price is masterful as Dallas, the young pianist in love with Susan. It is a delight to see this actor in a large “almost lead” role that for once offers his character numerous opportunities to sing solo, as his voice is simply divine. Similarly excellent is Celia Graham in the far too minor role of cigarette girl Rita. A highlight of the evening is the belting of her character’s one and solo number, Rita’s Tune. Wonderfully mopping up a handful of the minor scene-setting roles is Russell Morton, a young man of striking presence and potential. Hamlisch’s melodies are bold and jazzy and Bob Broad’s direction of his pitch perfect 7-piece band is a beautiful evocation of time and place.

Nathan M Wright’s choreography of the ensemble numbers lacked polish on press night. It was sometimes clumsy, and whilst expensive sets may not be expected in this fine off-West End establishment, foot-perfect dance routines are and Wright should urgently drill his cast further. Mehmet Ergen’s direction also denies his actors their full potential. The show’s staging is at times poorly thought out: a crucial beating takes place on a badly lit gantry, not easily visible to a proportion of the audience and a repeated gag of the chorus appearing from an upstage pit, wears thin with repetition.

In Jason Robert Brown’s Parade one song from a journalist, Real Big News, says more about a corrupt press than this show manages in two acts. If the cast and creative team can refine its weaker points, then this production stands a chance of generating a modest whiff of success.

Runs to December 22

Loserville - Review

Garrick Theatre, London

****

Book, music and lyrics by Elliot Davis and James Bourne

Director: Steven Dexter

This review was first published in The Public Reviews

Eliza Hope Bennett and Aaron Sidwell in the Planetarium

Busting on to London’s West End following a run at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, Loserville is a rare beast, an entirely original musical brimming with innovation. Free of star billings and with no movie or jukebox tie-in, this show stands on the infectious confectionery of its lyrics and a deliciously talented cast.

Staged on an amusingly “low-tech/hi-tech” melee of printed circuit boards, this all-American story – played out in the 1970s – follows teenager Michael Dork, a geeky, youthful, Bill Gates-type character, as he discovers the foundation of internet computer connectivity. Along the way he encounters love, betrayal, jealousy and rivalry, not to mention the villainous scheming of the local rich-kid bully, out to steal his invention. Francis O’Connor’s design, with oversized pencils and notepads, suggests a Matilda, albeit one for high school kids, and the whole visual impression is that of a retro cartoon-style America, in which the digital age has yet to take off.

Responsible for the music and lyrics, as well as the book, are Elliott Davis and James Bourne. Bourne was the creative force behind the UK band Busted and to those familiar with his recordings, the style of his compositions will not disappoint. He has a clever eye and ear for the nuances, angsts and frustrations of teenage life and the songs Don’t Let ‘Em Bring You Down and The Little Things provide amusing vehicles which not only portray the boys’ awkwardness but also describe the teenage girls’ recognition of the testosterone fuelled course that boys typically chart through adolescence. Whilst the bouncing Busted tone and sometimes smutty lyrics are a guilty pleasure to which to listen, the plot does occasionally become more reflective, though plaintive number We’re Not Alone, set in the town’s (beautifully lit) planetarium, fails to move in the way that the writers would have intended. Steven Dexter has directed a show that is a fun and imaginative night out, but is nonetheless a tale that lacks a central passion. The plot pales in comparison with, say, the grand celebration of human diversity that was the bedrock underlying Hairspray. It feels simply too hard, and actually too geeky, for the audience to care too much about the invention of email.

Aaron Sidwell leads the line as Dork, and whilst his acting is convincing, his voice lacks a smoothness that one might expect from a West End production. No doubt as the production settles into its run his vocal performance will mature. Lucas Lloyd is Dork’s closest buddy, and Richard Lowe in this role, presents the most moving portrayal of social inadequacy of the night. His solo number Holly, I’m The One, in which he painfully pines for the girl who Dork is romancing, is perceptive and poignant. As Holly, Eliza Hope Bennett is both convincing and impressive to listen to whilst Charlotte Harwood’s performance as the bitchy girl Leia is also a fun caricature to savour. The astonishing performance of the night however is delivered by NYMT alumnus Stewart Clarke as bad guy Eddie, not only making his professional and West End debut, but filling the shoes of Gareth Gates who had created the role in Leeds. It may well be easier to act the villain, oozing pecs, sex and charisma, but Clarke owns the stage with powerful delivery and superbly controlled poise.

This ball of candy floss of a show undoubtedly makes a fun family treat. Nick Winston’s clever choreography delights and the production will appeal to both those old enough to remember the 70s and those young enough to enjoy the clever songs of Bourne and Davis.

Runs until 2nd March

I Heart Peterborough - Review

Soho Theatre, London

**

Written & directed by Joel Horwood


This review was first published in The Public Reviews


Jay Taylor and Milo Twomey



I Heart Peterborough is a piece of drama that may be brilliantly performed but unfortunately lacks a direction in its construction. Whilst programme notes suggest it is drawn from “modern suburbia”, the publicity flyer makes reference to the play’s location being “a city stuck in the fens” and as a further contradiction, co-producer Eastern Angles’ website refers to the play being “a desperate tale of life in an overspill town”. That these three diverse descriptions emanate from the production’s own creative team suggest the fact that this is a play still struggling to define its own identity. As it happens, the setting of Joel Horwood’s work is probably best described as “grim provincial”.

The story tells of Lulu, a gay transvestite and his son Hew (sired in a moment of unprotected adolescent exploratory sex) tracking both men’s trajectories from birth, with a scope that commences in the 1960’s but is largely played out in the 70’s and 80’s. Life for this unconventional pair is hard, particularly with local folks’ intolerance of Lulu’s sexuality, the older man frequently referring to beatings he has suffered. Hew too has a difficult upbringing leading to a chilling description of having been raped amongst the riverbank reeds whilst an adolescent. Peterborough, the place, is not flattered by this play and whilst the City Council is credited with having provided public funds to support the work, it is a disappointment that the picture created of this historic city is so two-dimensional.

Milo Twomey and Jay Taylor as father and son provide outstanding performances of commitment and energy. Twomey’s poise, timing and movement is as perceptive an impersonation of a female as could be wished for and Taylor effortlessly voices a multitude of characters that the pair encounter, as well as portraying the damaged young man. The two perform snatches of classic 80’s songs throughout the single act that serve to define the period well.

Whilst the play has rare moments of genuine humour, (a mimed karaoke session is technically brilliant) and may indeed be imitating life as its arc frequently switches between moments of frivolity and misery, it struggles to be more than an extremely well-acted but nonetheless confused and ultimately unsatisfying, portrayal of East Anglian life.

Runs until 20th October

Barb Jungr - Live at the Hippodrome - Review

The Hippodrome Casino, London

***

This review was first published on The Public Reviews

Barb Jungr opened her residency at The Hippodrome in a show promoting her album due out in October, Stockport To Memphis. Her voice has a beautiful clarity and married to her well-rehearsed four piece accompaniment, The Stockport to Memphis Rhythm and Blues Band, who incredibly were playing live as an ensemble for the first time, the sound was perfectly matched and very easy on the ear. In particular Neville Malcolm on bass and pianist Simon Wallace are sublime in their relaxed contribution to the evening’s sound.

Jungr performed most of the tracks on the upcoming album, which is a collection of her own compositions combined with covers. Demonstrably proud of her Stockport roots, her writings are often autobiographical and when Jungr sings New Life, her pride in her émigré father who settled in this country against tough odds is evident. However, whilst Jungr may have the most perfect of pitches, as a lyricist her sentiments often have the potential to be too saccharine and shallow.

Urban Fox, a blues number inspired by a late night encounter with just such a creature was heartfelt in intent, but a little naive in delivery. An accomplished children’s writer, this song seemed to find Jungr almost caught in the headlights of an unfortunate crossover betwixt child-focused analogy and adult soulful intensity. In her cover numbers, Jungr’s soft sound anaesthetises the painful intensity of Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come and similarly smoothes over the coarseness of Bob Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay, rendering both songs into more of an elevator music rendition than is probably the singer’s intention.

Perhaps the timing of the show is wrong. 7.30 in the evening may well just be too early for a gig which, like a long mellow whisky, is probably best appreciated around midnight. When Jungr eventually sang her new album’s title song as the penultimate number she did truly give of herself into a passionate performance of R&B, but by then it was too little too late. As it stands, her set is crying out for more spine-tingling moments.

The Matcham Room is one of London’s newer cabaret venues and the fair sized audience in this stylish and spacy, yet still intimate theatre, clearly contained many of her admirers. As this performance is definitely one for the fans, they will not have been disappointed.

Runs until September 29

Confessions of a Butterfly - Review

The Lion & Unicorn Theatre, London

***

Written by Jonathan Salt

Directed by Sam Conway



Programme cover from
Confessions of a Butterfly

In a modest flurry of London plays about Dr Janusz Korczak, Confessions of a Butterfly arrives as a one act, one man tribute to this Polish-Jewish hero of the Warsaw Ghetto.

Korczak was a renowned paediatric doctor, ahead of his time, who devoted his career to studying and caring for children and to documenting The Rights of The Child, a doctrine later to be enshrined by the United Nations. In Warsaw between the wars, he established a Jewish orphanage where much of his research and observations were undertaken. When the Nazis occupied Poland and amongst their plans for the Final Solution to exterminate the Jews, they established the ghetto in Warsaw into which the orphanage was transferred. Throughout this period of deprivation, degradation and horrific suffering, Korczak heroically remained with his charges until he and they were transported to the Treblinka concentration camp and murdered.

The play is set in Korczak’s bedroom/study in the orphanage, the night before transportation. Amidst modest sips of vodka and aware of the fate that awaits him and the children in the morning, he describes his work and philosophy through flashback and direct explanation to the audience. Jonathan Salt, who plays Korczak, has researched his subject thoroughly. Salt is very learned and committed to teaching others of man’s inhumanity against man.

Against such a devoted background of study, scriptwriting and performance it seems churlish to criticise, however the play fails to reach the heights, nor plough the harrowing depths, to which its creators aspire. Like his subject, Salt’s performance is stoic, but stoicism by its nature barely scratches the surface of a person’s emotional core. We do see the Doctor moved when he has to care for a baby dying of typhus, but through much of the play, the man is more narrator than impassioned and above all troubled, protector. We rarely get a chance to see the brave face that of course he would have put on for the children, drop and we need to. For this work to have  dramatic impact, Salt needs to be less understated in portraying the Doctor and instead explore the emotional anguish that his hero would be suffering, so cognisant of the destruction of his community and his children. Towards the end of the play Korczak suffers a nightmare as he fitfully sleeps during that awful final slumber. This may be Salt’s nod towards Korczak’s inner turmoil, but it is a confused moment in the play, and as a recognition of the man’s emotional upheaval, it is too late on in this well intentioned, but nonetheless flawed, tribute.

Runs until 29 September 2012

Sweeney Todd - Review

Adelphi Theatre, London

*****

Music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim

Book by Hugh Wheeler

Adaptation by Christopher Bond

Directed by Jonathan Kent

Imelda Staunton and Michael Ball

Sweeney Todd at the Adelphi Theatre is a rare production these days. Having received critical acclaim in Chichester in 2011, the producers brought it to the West End for 6 months only, and when its residence on The Strand ends this week, that’s it. The show’s over.  No formulaic production here, complete with instantly recognisable logo or slogan, that can be replicated around the world, and re-cast every 12 months as necessary. Neither are there any gimmicks apart from a rather gruesome barber’s chair and pints of stage blood. This Sweeney is most definitely cast-specific, and it shows.

Jonathan Kent has set Sondheim’s work in an unspecified era with Anthony Ward’s design being darkly evocative, bleak and stark. This deliberate blurring of the time boundaries  (The Judge and Beadle predate Robert Peel’s police force,  yet Pirelli drives a petrol powered trike) adding to the production's sensation of disquiet and enhancing the slightly supernatural aspect of Todd’s persona. The feel of the production is almost as cold as steel itself. It is harsh, industrial, and gritty. A steam sirens blasts, heavy doors clang shut and even the massive set piece that bears Todd’s barber shop, is stored behind a noisy steel roller shutter door when not in use. The one item striking item of garish colour on the set is the neon sign ( again, a time-warping design feature ) promoting Mrs Lovett's Pie Shop. The neon is of course ghoulishly ironic, beckoning customers to enter and unwittingly feast on their fellow man.

Michael Ball plays the barber with calculating vengefulness. His smiles are always insincere, his purpose always focussed as he uses any means he can to avenge his wife’s supposed death, his daughter’s abduction and his false imprisonment. Rarely is a murderer so convincingly sympathetic and Ball explores the full depths and complexities of the troubled man as we follow his journey. Sondheim’s lyrics and melodies are not easy, nor is the show easy-listening. The words are fast and harsh, and the harmonics frequently in complex minor keys, yet 6 months into the show’s London residency, Ball remains both fresh and comfortable in the role, without in any way slipping into lazy over-confidence. His comic moments are few, often being a straight man to Mrs Lovett’s effusiveness, yet they shine. In A Little Priest, his understated irony is perfect, whilst his armchair sardonic attitude towards the clearly besotted Mrs Lovett, in a parlour scene leading up to By The Sea, has distinct echoes of Michael Robbins’ Arthur, from 1970s TV’s On The Buses.

Without question, Michael Ball is one of the country’s musical theatre stars. Since creating the role of Marius in Les Miserables, his performances have nearly all involved lyrics as well as prose. By contrast, Imelda Staunton who plays Mrs Lovett, herself one of the country’s top actresses, does not have such a popularly recognised reputation in musical theatre. Yet, when the Chichester casting was announced in 2011, the decision to pair Staunton with Ball, was deservedly greeted with universal acclaim. Lovett is a down trodden, poor, woman of the people, as well as being arguably the (second) most evil character in the show and Staunton plays her definitively. Her character is complex: cunning, compassionate, caring, comic but above all, lonely. Staunton’s performance portrays all these aspects and then some more and does so with a breathtaking clarity of speech and melody of voice.  Maybe one day Sondheim will write the story of what happened to Mr Lovett. As and when he does Imelda Staunton should reprise her remarkable creation. Both Staunton and Ball are professionals who are at the pinnacle of their careers and whose ability to act through song cannot be surpassed. They quite simply provide a masterclass in musical theatre. 

Adding a further comment with regard to Staunton, this reviewer witnessed her as a Hot Box Girl in Richard Eyre’s Guys and Dolls some 30 years ago and devotedly followed her progress within that show over time, until she was rewarded with the lead role of Miss Adelaide. It is interesting to note that with both Miss Adelaide, and now Mrs Lovett, Staunton has taken iconic women from two seminally New York and London inspired shows, both of whom, coincidentally, had been memorably and famously performed by Julia McKenzie, and given each her own unique and powerful interpretation.

The supporting cast are typically outstanding to a man. John Bowe is a nauseatingly perverted Judge, whose lust, first for Todd’s wife and then for the barber's young daughter is flesh-creeping. And it speaks volumes for the pedigree of this show that an actor of the calibre of Peter Polycarpou was lured to take the modest role of Beadle Bamford. As the young lovers, Lucy May Barker and Luke Brady play their parts in the story with passion and conviction.

All these outstanding performances however are hung on the framework of creative excellence that is Sondheim's talent with words and music. A New Yorker, his eye for the pulse of a city is cleverly worked into his rhythm and words and coming from across the pond, his is a rare talent that can compose lyrics and dialogue that have an authentic London feel. His cockney writing has more to do with Lionel Bart's Oliver, than Disney's "Mockney" that the Sherman brothers foisted on Mary Poppins' Dick van Dyke.

It is both sad but also absolutely correct , that Sweeney Todd should bring the curtain down this weekend. The inspired brilliance of the pairing of Ball and Staunton is not likely to be replicated soon on a London stage, and it would be a travesty to deliberately re-cast this union with fresh actors. If you have not seen the show yet, you have five more days and seven more performances to catch it. Not to be missed!

Runs until September 22 2012

King Lear - Review

Almeida Theatre, London

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Michael Attenborough

The Almeida's image of Jonathan Pryce as King Lear

King Lear at the Almeida is a raw production, designed and costumed with a pre Christian simpleness of stone, flax and linen that serves the story well. Lear's pagan kingdom, rife with base human motives of bastardy, lechery, jealousy and greed, as well as deep love and loyalty is clearly depicted in this interpretation by Michael Attenborough.

At 65, Jonathan Pryce is realistically aged for the title role. At times majestic, his wild ( not entirely grey ) hair and luxurious beard combined with a partially exposed chest, suggest a man still in possession of many physical faculties. His is a rare Lear that still has the potential to make members of the audience swoon. The performance is pitiful too as we witness the fraying of the king's powers of reason with his age. "Oh let me not be mad " has rarely conveyed such power, coming from a man who whilst at that juncture of old age where his mind is becoming increasingly muddled and  impaired, is young enough to still be painfully aware of his own decline.

Clive Wood’s Gloucester is as good as any. He easily suggests a man who enjoys life and who enjoyed begetting Edmund out of wedlock, yet is sufficiently naïve to be hoodwinked by his bastard son into believing Edgar's plot against him. Even more than Lear perhaps, this Gloucester is a man more sinned against than sinning. As Edmund, Kieran Bew possesses power, presence and evil will. He exudes the sexual attraction that sees both Goneril and Regan lust for him and up until his final swordfight he remains a plausible villain. Richard Goulding provides a thoughtful Edgar and in an interestingly creative touch, Attenborough has us introduced to the young man whilst he is whoring. A credible concept given his father’s track record and with a further degree of inventiveness provided by Edmund paying off the whore. This small detail by the director provides a slightly refreshing perspective on the two brothers, clearly demonstrating Edmunds perceptive and manipulative skills. Goulding’s Edgar goes on to be a moving performance, particularly after he encounters his blinded father, but he has more in the tank that can be given to this production and he needs to find it to truly win the sympathy and pathos that an exceptional Edgar can garner. 

Attenborough has also had some creative fun with Regan and Goneril. During the opening scene in which the kingdom is divided, as Lear awards each sister their portion, he kisses these two older siblings fully and inappropriately on the mouth, clearly suggesting an abusive sexual relationship. This sexual connotation almost justifies the sisters’ subsequent cruel stance towards their father and provides another refreshing perspective on a critical aspect of the tale. Zoe Waites is a worthy Goneril, but no more than that. The moment when Lear curses her with sterility, is a point in the play that has the power to bring an audience to tears. Where a well acted king requires an "as strong" actress as his daughter, to flinch at her father's venomous words, Waite's response to this pivotal speech lacked emotional power. Jenny Jules’ Regan also needs greater depth. Attenborough could have and should have extracted more from both these women, they deserved it.

Chook Sibtain’s Cornwall was nasty throughout. He oozed contempt with word and action, blinding Gloucester in a scene that owed as much to Eli Roth’s “torture porn” as to classic writing. When he throws the ripped out eyeballs at his bleeding helpless victim, the audience flinch and rarely has Gloucester’s Tenant needed to have been as kindly as Alix Wilton Regan’s, her warmth almost soothing the crowd before they rush out for much needed interval G&Ts.

The Almeida stage is sparsely adorned for the production. Laid with heavy flagstones, a pre mediaeval time is clearly suggested. The production is generally lit well too, though there is an occasional incongruity with electric bulkhead lights flickering on external castle walls that sit at odds with the setting of the play, particluarly true with traditional flaming torches burning in the production. 

Without doubt this is a King Lear that demands to be seen. Whilst Attenborough could have made the company more exciting around their star, Pryce remains one of the leading actors of his era. His performance as the ageing raging king is memorable, moving and will stay with one for a long time.

Runs until November 3 2012 

FOOTNOTE

Much anticipation surrounds each new production of both Hamlet and King Lear. Within an actor's professional life cycle, to play the Dane marks an accession to Shakespeare's great roles, whilst Lear is a role typically tackled in the twilight of a career. At 65, Jonathan Pryce plays the ageing king at perhaps the commencement of a twilight chapter with his performance presenting a more "youthful" take on the ageing monarch when compared to some of the other relatively recent Lears of Jacobi and McKellen. As a footnote and albeit long before blogging was invented, Hecuba was fortunate enough to see Pryce's astounding 1980 Hamlet at the Royal Court and it is pleasing to witness part of the revolve of this actor's Shakespearean career.