20th Century Boy

New Wimbledon Theatre, London

***

Director and choreographer - Gary Lloyd

Warren Sollars

Some twenty years ago, Steven Spielberg shocked the world, bringing life to a T. Rex in Jurassic Park. Today the movie-maker's feat has been more than matched by the clever pair of Gary Lloyd and John Maher, who having successfully delivered Michael Jackson's hits to the West End in Thriller Live, turn their creative focus to Marc Bolan and his eponymous band.

Where other juke box musicals attract an audience that spans the ages, The New Wimbledon Theatre was a packed out sea of grey as a throng of 60-somethings re-lived (or more likely imagined) a mis-spent youth. Either way, it didn't really matter. They were there to enjoy the recreated glam-rock sensation and the show did what it said on the tin. The sound (all played live) was a nigh on perfect cover and in hiring Warren Sollars to play the wild-haired rock star, casting director Anne Vosser has found a performer recognisably Bolan-esque to those of us old enough to remember the 1970's. Sollars is simply immense as the doomed singer and leads a cast that matches his skills. Donna Hines and Lucy Sinclair as Gloria, Bolan's girlfriend and June his ex-wife respectively, both put in turns that are vocally thrilling and contribute to spine-tingling moments, whilst Katia Sartini offers up a convincing Helen Shapiro.

Away from the songs, the narrative is trite and cliche-ridden. The show tracks Bolan's (real life) son Rolan on a fictional journey from LA to London, to learn about his father and ultimately reconcile Phyllis (a decent performance from Sue Jenkins), Bolan's grieving mother with June. Whilst Bolan's back story is fascinating, the show renders it trivial, with a mediocrity clearly signalled in the evening's programme: always be suspicious when no book writer is credited amongst a show's creative team.....

It is however when the band is in full spate that 20th Century Boy becomes a slick pulsating display of excellence. Lloyd's dance work is inspired and with Maher's musical arrangements, this replica T.Rex roars with an authentic magnificence. Diego Pitarch's sliding screens of scenery, married to projections that range from powerful to occasionally cheesy, lend themselves well to the touring production and credit to Chris Whybrow's sound design which was perfectly balanced on this first night in Wimbledon. A nod also to Ben Cracknell, whose lighting design that needed to segue from moments of intimacy to simulated stadia performances, was never less than convincing.

Fans will not be disappointed. All the band's hits are there and a 3 song encore had everyone dancing in the aisles and cheering for more. Technically and musically, there's no finer company in town.

Plays until 28th June then tours

John Owen-Jones - In Cabaret At The Hippodrome, London

Hippodrome, London

****

John Owen-Jones giving it everything at the Hippodrome

For over 15 years John Owen-Jones name has been inextricably linked with those two Cameron Mackintosh behemoths, Les Miserables and Phantom of the Opera. Very few can match the combined performance count of the youngest ever Jean Valjean and the longest running West End Phantom.

So it is perhaps unsurprising that his cabaret evening at the Hippodrome centred around his Mackintosh years, both in terms of song choices and in repartee with the audience, in which he revealed his (feigned) animosity for the ‘younger, better looking’ Ramin Karimloo. Backed by an excellent seven piece band under musical director John Quirk, we were treated to ‘Music of the Night’, ‘Bring Him Home’, a fine rendition of ‘Til I Hear You Sing’ - Love Never Dies’ stand out song – and the recent addition to the Les Mis songlist, ‘Suddenly’. And the epic musical theatre anthems didn’t end there, with ‘This is the Moment’ and ‘Anthem’ also getting outings. It is easy, I suppose, to be sniffy at such a list of over-performed classics, but it was clear that this was what the audience had come to hear, and very few people can sing them better than Owen-Jones. 

It did mean, however, that there was a slightly relentless quality to much of the evening which wasn’t helped by how loudly both singer and band were miked for the relatively small room. Owen-Jones has a wonderful, powerful voice, and he could have been miked a quarter less loud and still easily have carried above the band. It may have been giving the audience what they wanted, but at times one was left wishing for an introspective moment, if only to give the ear drums a rest!

And in fact, what introspective moments there were, were very lovely. Queen’s ‘Love of My Life’ (accompanied only by a solo guitar), the Bacharach-esque ‘Dangling’ by Maury Yeston, and Joe Cocker’s ‘You Are So Beautiful’ were all beautifully sung highlights. 

Aside from his years on the West End, the one other key influence on the night was made clear the moment he opened his mouth to speak: ‘In case you don’t know…I’m Welsh!’ he cheerfully announced. And easily the best moments of the night were the two songs from the back catalogue of his great hero, Tom Jones. Both ‘Thunderball’ and ‘Delilah’ were delivered with such a joyous relish and vocal power that suddenly the sound levels felt exactly right. Relentless it may have been at times, but when the singing is that good, who’s complaining?

John Owen-Jones - Profile Of A Star

John Owen-Jones

As John Owen-Jones brings his first ever solo cabaret to the West End this week, I took the opportunity to grab a coffee with one of musical theatre’s leading men and to find out a little more about the talented Welsh tenor. With more appearances under his belt (or mask) than any other Phantom and having performed Jean Valjean on both sides of the Atlantic, Owen-Jones occupies a respected and lofty viewpoint from which to comment upon theatre today, as well as to offer some choice reflections upon his career to date.

There’s a hint of romantic good luck that surrounded his early days in the business. Leaving the (as was) Central School of Speech and Drama in 1994 Owen-Jones was the only actor to graduate without having secured an agent. What followed however was that rare turn of events that saw his exceptional abilities combine with some remarkable moments of good fortune. After an initial couple of roles in Yorkshire, an ensemble part in the West End’s Les Miserables swiftly followed, that in turn led to an invitation to join the National Theatre company to play the Liebeslieder in Sean Mathias’ acclaimed A Little Night Music. The stellar cast of the National production included Judi Dench as Desiree Armfeldt (her reprisal of the show’s Send In The Clowns being one of the highlights of the RNT’s recent 50 year anniversary celebration) and Owen-Jones valued the opportunity to work in a leading theatre company alongside industry greats. He observes however how cossetted the subsidised NT’s rehearsal process was, or is, in contrast to the harsher regime that faces commercially staged productions.

As well as offering him a chance to work close up with Stephen Sondheim, his stint at the National saw him well placed to be pitched into a return to Les Mis when his South Bank time was up. Working back at the Palace Theatre and cast in the minor roles of Factory Foreman and Grantaire as well as First Cover Valjean, a terrible road accident rendered Phil Cavill (the incumbent Valjean) out of action. Owen-Jones was called to step up to the part, Cameron Mackintosh was impressed and almost immediately the young Welshman was cast as the youngest Valjean in the show’s history. Owen-Jones reflects even today upon how it was due to Cavill’s misfortune that he was catapulted into stardom, sanguinely acknowledging that one has to grab opportunities as they arise.

From Les Mis, Owen-Jones was put up for auditions for Phantom Of The Opera and whilst he was expecting to be cast in the modest role of Piangi and auditioning against John Barrowman, he was surprised to be offered the lead. There began an association with Lloyd Webber’s gothic, tragic anti-hero that was to last for almost 12 years. It was a part that Owen-Jones loved, though whilst he acknowledges that he could one day be tempted back to Cameron Mackintosh’s barricades, (maybe as Javert?) his days in the catacombs beneath the Paris Opera are on hold. Married (to a schoolteacher) and with children of 10 and 12, Owen-Jones found the demands of a lengthy Phantom tour conflicted with family life, convincing him to hang up that particular mask for a while.

Owen-Jones as the eponymous Phantom

Aside from Phantom, recent years have seen the performer promote his international reputation and indeed our coffee had been held up as he negotiatied some complexities with Japan. With two solo albums under his belt, he has also worked with fellow Phantom Earl Carpenter and an original Christine, Rebecca Caine in creating the touring Three Phantoms, a concert of show-tunes that spans the years but nonetheless retains a re-assuring bias towards the modern day triumphs of Les Mis and Phantom. Seeing Owen-Jones perform in the Three Phantoms in Cardiff a couple of years ago was a treat. His evident pride in his local roots and the returned warmth shouted back at him from the crowd was a joy to witness. Owen-Jones has a comfortably relaxed air in concert and cabaret, the assuredness of man who is both excellent at his craft yet one who is profoundly aware of that excellence with, a confidence that is as modest as it is talented. In a business often crowded out by oversized egos, his is a humility rarely encountered.

Keeping in touch with modern developments on stage, Owen-Jones speaks in awe of the 2013 Broadway revival of Pippin and refers to his kids (who not surprisingly have already seen a fair amount of musical theatre!) as having sat through the show “open-mouthed” in amazement. He wonders though if there is a talent-base broad enough on this side of the Atlantic that could see the show, famed for its combination of breathtaking circus skills alongside outstanding song and dance, successfully open in London. He loved I Can’t Sing!, though acknowledges that the show’s tunes were not memorable and that whilst he and his wife were crying with laughter, his kids were baffled by it. Supporting lesser known writers too, Owen-Jones has sung twice with New York composer Scott Alan in the American’s recent London gigs, once at the O2 and more recently at the London Hippodrome, engendering a warm respect between the two men, with Alan speaking warmly of his admiration for the performer, not just as an outstanding vocalist but also as a kind and compassionate man.

A spectacularly open individual, with much sage comment upon both his colleagues and the business, much of what Owen-Jones had to say had either a frankness or an irreverence that demanded that it remains off record. Unquestionably a star of the modern stage, his erudite observations on the entertainment world are the thoughts of an individual who will not suffer fools, yet commands an air of relaxed gravitas. There is not a hint of arrogance to Owen-Jones at all, just quiet, outstanding ability.

It is to the Hippodrome that Owen-Jones returns this Saturday night. With a set list that bears a nod to Joe Cocker and Tom Jones, as well as signature tunes Bring Him Home and Music Of The Night, the evening’s patter is likely to be as revelatory as the songs will be sparkling. Almost sold-out, a few tickets still remain for what is sure to be one of the capital’s most exciting cabarets this summer.

John performs in the Matcham Room at the London Hippodrome on Saturday 21st June

For tickets, visit www.hippodromecasino.com/whatson/john-owen-jones-in-concert/

Here Lies Henry

Camden People's Theatre, London

**

Written by Daniel MacIvor

Directed by Jason Langley

A 70 minute bare stage monologue, punctuated only by lighting changes and occasional penile projections, Here Lies Henry is a glimpse into one man's mind, desires and frustrations. Framed around the writings of Nietzsche, the focus of the work is around the eight different kinds of lies that together add to human knowledge. The acting is breathtaking and passionate throughout, but MacIvor’s text is only sometimes profound and often, introspectively pretentious. The billboards proclaim that “you will laugh and cry”. They omit to mention that you may also yawn (or even sleep, as those unfortunates seated in the baking upper tiers of the tiny venue, were heard to confess as the show ended)

First produced nearly twenty years ago, this little known play's programme notes suggest that over the years Here Lies Henry has been described as an enigma and as an explanation of the existence and purpose of the one-person play. This conceit is misplaced, for whilst one-person arcs can indeed be stunning, (Beckett's work in particular was masterful), the overall sensation of Here Lies Henry is one of a relentless rant, rather than revelation. Sure, there are moments along the scripted tirade that do make one pause and reflect but little more than that. Text updates pay a rather sensational nod to Jimmy Savile's crimes, which prove more of a momentary distraction rather than the contemporary freshening up that the creators intend. And whilst one has no choice but to listen to Henry's observations, it is hard to truly care about them.

The production is unquestionably a tour de force from actor Matthew Hyde who merits a deserved nod for his work. There can be few harder working actors on the London stage today and notwithstanding a tendency to Nietzschean navel-gaze, if Here Lies Henry serves only as a springboard to this remarkable actor's career, then it will have achieved some good.

Runs until 14th June 2014

Lear

Union Theatre, London

***

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Phil Willmott

Richard Derrington as the eyeless Gloucester

‘Tis the the season to re-interpret the bard. As a trimmed down Hamlet plays out in Hammersmith, so Phil Willmott’s Lear, precociously billed as “by William Shakespeare”, opens at the Union Theatre. This should be an innovative production as Willmott has deliberately removed “King” from the play’s title - his ageing monarch is a woman and if he had sought to leave it at that, then Ursula Mohan’s performance in the title role might just have given the show the strength it needed. But while Willmott's bow is bent and drawn, his Lear falls far short of the mark. The director’s treatment of the text will not only appal scholars, it may also baffle newcomers. Even knowing the play well, the hashed denouements of Willmott's truncation of Act 5 are a ghastly confusion in this production.

Staged in three sections, the first two being promenade and the final seated, the audience enter to the opening scene being an elegant modern day soiree, during which Lear divides her kingdom. The promenade concept (on press night at least) stuttered and rather than stroll and mingle around the confines of the Union space, most of the audience clung to the walls, some nervously clutching drinks, portentously suggesting the air of a party that has yet to get going. It didn’t really work, though Lear’s addressing a promenader with “cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool”, in the trial scene did make for an unexpected chuckle.

Mohan’s monarch is a creditable effort though she never truly reaches that air of tragic majesty that a good Lear should inspire. Her Fool (neat work from Joseph Taylor) is portrayed as an NHS carer/nurse and hence there is a suggestion that from the outset her mind has long been flawed, which detracts from the impact of her early rages and at the close, rarely has Lear’s “Howl, howl, howl” at Cordelia’s death been so unmoving. To those who know the play, when Lear typically mourns his daughter with “Her voice was ever soft,” that Willmott has then cut the following line “Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman” smacks of a conveniently sexist expediency in his editing. 

The post-modern touches are everywhere. From an act one “selfie” of Lear with her daughters, to Edgar shooting up with heroin after Edmund manipulatively tells him to flee, to Stephen Harakis' Cornwall chopping a line of cocaine before the (rather gloriously bloody) gouging of Gloucester's eyes. Snorts of charlie notwithstanding, Willmott chops too vigorously and rather than Kent being banished, in this version the trusted courtier is axed completely. This is a cut too far, for Kent’s noble devotion to the King should present a thread of reasoned morality in a world gone crazy.

Undoubtedly flawed, Lear is nonetheless still worth seeing. Not just for other directors to observe how not to stage a promenade piece, but for some fine acting too. Richard Derrington’s officious Gloucester nails the bumbling yet brave nobility of the adulterous Earl, whilst Rikki Lawton’s illegitimate Edmund is a plausible bastard of a bastard. There is a tad too much pantomime in all three sisters’ performances but if Willmott can temper that into the run, it will be to the show’s advantage.

Off-West End productions continue to represent a pulsing heart of the capital’s theatre scene and bravo to Willmott and co and to the Union’s Sasha Regan for having the guts to mount this version. Wear comfortable shoes and be pro-active in moving around. Gloucester may have stumbled when he saw but you won’t, it’s worth the walk.

Runs until 28th June

Picture Perfect

St James Studio, London

***

Music & lyrics by Scott Evan Davis

Conceived & directed by Simon Greiff

Jerome Pradon

In another display of fine production values, the fledgling United Theatrical team of Stuart Matthew Price and James Yeoburn have assembled a classy quartet to premiere Scott Evan Davis' new show.

Empty picture frames adorn the St James' basement stage, signalling that whilst appearances (frames) may be gilded, what lies beneath often isn't. Early on we find fourty-something Elizabeth discovering hubby Harry's infidelity. As son Josh agonises over the fear of mom leaving home, the mistress-young-enough-to-be-Harry's-daughter Ellie, swoons over her lover's apparent perfections. Throughout, Simon Greiff directs his company with a precise clarity.

Helen Hobson gives a beautifully weighted Elisabeth. Singing from the book, the script she held was barely noticeable. It is a mark of the woman that her delivery was exquisitely nuanced, either as caring mother or betrayed wife. She gives fabulous vocals and a faultless presence.

Jerome Pradon is her greying deceitful spouse. Again, a flawless performance, though it is in his role that the cracks in Davis' writing start to emerge with his guilty husband/dad character barely given an opportunity to crawl out of cliched predictability.

Josh is played by a mellifluous Joel Harper-Jackson. The young man's voice has a divine range and a fabulous belt and it is a mark of his talent that he can convince in songs that pitch him from aged 7 through to a much older young man struggling with his sexuality. He too however is bogged down by lyrics that are sometimes eye-rollingly awful. "Knowing who I was, Has taught me who I am" is a line that should never have made it past an early workshop.

As coquettish Ellie, the outstanding Charlotte Wakefield again shows why she was up for an Olivier earlier this year (coincidentally nominated for a Maria that played against Helen Hobson's Mother Abbess in the Open Air's Sound of Music). Amongst the best of her generation Wakefield dances her way through the show, each number a distinct and polished example of acting through song. A youthful audience filled the theatre (an impressive achievement on a sunny Sunday afternoon) and today's musical theatre students would do well to note the professionalism and excellence that Wakefield brings to all her roles.

Colin Billing's piano work with Sarah Bowler on cello bring a passion to the afternoon's accompaniment, though whilst all the tunes are superbly played, few are memorable.

In a curious irony, the show lives up to the pretext it purports to argue. The cast and creatives are glitteringly top-notch but scratch this show's surface and there is very little to stir the soul. Picture Perfect is a middling book about mediocre folk. Davis needs to inject more sparkling satire that lifts his lyrics above a paltry attempt at humour referencing human vices. Where Sondheim and Schwartz possess a brilliance that either tickles ribs or bites at one’s psyche, too much “new writing” (with Dougal Irvine and Scott Alan being notable exceptions) lacks the wit of these wordsmiths. On this showing, Picture Perfect remains a work in progress. Remove the cliche and there may yet be a deeply moving show waiting to emerge.

Hamlet

Riverside Studios, London

***

William Shakespeare's Hamlet

Directed by Zoe Ford

Adam Lawrence

There has long been debate over who wrote Shakespeare’s works. Bacon, Marlowe or the Bard himself? One thing’s for sure. They are all spinning in their graves tonight at what Zoe Ford has done to Hamlet.

With a slimmed down cast, Denmark’s Elsinore is translated to HM Prison Liverpool, in which Ford has decreed that some of the characters are convicts and others visitors or prison officials. A lengthy mise en scene (that includes Liverpool FC’s recent throwing away of the Premiership at Crystal Palace in the background, as well as Hamlet enduring a full body search) is a quirky addition that sets the tone for a maelstrom of meddling that does the learned Ms Ford no credit. This is a dumbed down Hamlet that strips the play not only of much of its verse, but also of several of its famous quotes and moments. Whilst Fortinbras’ omission from the text is understandable (and common), the players' arrival at Court is curiously transformed into a group therapy session, whilst other memorable text excisions include “neither a borrower nor a lender be” along with the whole of the dialogue between Hamlet and the Ghost in Gertrude’s closet. And Yorick doesn’t get a look in at all. (Actually that is a real shame, because some of Shakespeare’s finest humour occurs between the Gravediggers and Hamlet/Horatio. Ford’s pseudo-witty attempts elsewhere in the play at modern colloquial banter do not come close to the original and this scene’s butchery is a cut too far.)

There is a liberal use of the f-word throughout and a schoolgirl emphasis on the assonant fun to be had with “country matters” during the play-within-a-play scene, with the overall effect being a cheapening of the whole. One suspects that Ford, whose day job is as a Text Assistant at Shakespeare’s Globe, is driven by a worthy motive of seeking to make Shakespeare accessible to a wider audience. ‘Tis a noble cause for sure, but all she achieves here is reducing much of the prose to a lowest common denominator. A-level or GCSE students should avoid this production lest they quote Ford’s interpretation of the play, as set in a Scouse jail, on an examined script.

So, why three stars, when Ford’s edited text merits far less? Amongst her having made Shakespeare sensational (and there’s a quote waiting to be taken out of context if ever there was one), she has created some perceptive moments. Ophelia’s mad scene is poignant, (good work from Jessica White) Gertrude’s pain at Hamlet’s apparently insane interaction with the Ghost in her closet is a rare episode of deep emotional pain and the maleovelant and downright nasty duplicity of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is shown in clear relief. Also, as is often the case with stage Hamlet’s, Adam Lawrence’s performance is excellent and a huge physical effort, though around him there is mediocrity as Joyce Greenaway’s Gertrude is often mumbled and Anthony Kernan’s Polonius disappoints.

Above all, this is a Hamlet that should be seen as a curiosity. If you are a newcomer to the play then sadly it will deny you much of the nuanced beauty of the finely crafted original. But if you know the play well, then go and enjoy the fun. It’s a corner-cutting novelty for sure, but at least at just over two hours including interval, it won’t leave you bored.

Runs until 22nd June 2014