Love Me Tender – Review

Churchill Theatre, Bromley 

****

Based on the book by Joe DiPietro

Directed by Karen Bruce

Love Me Tender's Ensemble

Based on the music of Elvis Presley, Love Me Tender is a juke-box musical that tells several love stories at the same time and all set in “a small town no-one’s ever heard of in the middle of nowhere.” We’re introduced to its inhabitants who are resigned to a life of enforced conservatism and where frivolities such as music, dancing and "public necking" are all forbidden - until the arrival of Ben Lewis’ Chad, an Elvis-esque roustabout to shake things up. 

At times the story verges on the ridiculous, particularly in the second half when the plot races desperately towards a conclusion that reconciles eight characters' love stories. Yet it's not entirely formulaic. There is an element of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night thrown into the mix, as Natalie (Laura Tebbutt) masquerades as Ed which in turn delivers a surprising and pleasing splash of female empowerment as she exercises a choice that utilises the confidence and freedom she found as Ed.

The cast led by Mica Paris and Shaun Williamson is incredibly strong across the board, with several standout singers including Tebbutt and Mark Anderson ensuring that the production is not overly reliant on the big hitters. Though when Paris takes the stage for her solo, the effect is one of awe; her voice is truly incredible. 

The musical arrangements are well done and rock and roll is neatly packaged up for the theatre. The choreography (Karen Bruce and Elliot Nixon) captures the retro vibe while injecting it with a dose of the contemporary. 

Morgan Large’s set design is complex and ambitious, but the risks more than pay off. There are also several memorable and comic human set fixtures, such as two ranch-style doors held by two actors, which swing open and shut to mark the entrances and exits of several characters. 

Although the main focus of the story is love's ability to conquer all, the cheesiness is often offset by lots of clever wit and dry humour, delivered with perfect comic timing. 

At Bromley this week, before heading out on tour – Love Me Tender makes for a fabulous night in the theatre!

Guest reviewer: Bhakti Gajjar

Zombie Fight Club - Review

***

Certificate 15

Heavily stylized, Joe Chien’s latest Far East zombie romp sees a collapsing Taipei slowly succumb to the zombie virus.

The twist to this movie is a gladiatorial fight for survival, as the un-infected city rulers wager each other as to how healthy mortals will survive mortal combat against the undead. That’s basically it, but to Chien’s credit, whilst the yarn may be only the latest variation in a long line of zombie flicks, his fight choreography is imaginative. Filmed in a jaundiced light, the black spurting sticky stuff and entrail-munching monsters hold our attention alongside inventive leading performances from leads Andy On and Jessica C. The battles are crazy with much CGI deployed, though the scene where one old guy tries to save the world armed only with a chainsaw, was a treat.

Shamelessly exploitative, Zombie Fight Club’s pace is so frenetic its hard at times to grasp or even care about the plot lines – but it is sure to tick all the boxes for genre fans. Amidst mayhem that’s not easy to follow, Zombie Fight Club is one for the collection and strictly for the genre fans.

Now available on DVD

Howl - Review

****
Certificate TBC

Directed by Paul Hyett

Tickets please!

Helming his second full length feature, Paul Hyett’s Howl is a movie whose title along with the poster’s full moon, give a clear hint at the story's lycanthropic pitch and proves to be one of the year’s best horror pictures so far.

Some of the best werewolf movies have been made in Britain and in one of the most imaginative takes on the genre since John Landis' groundbreaking An American Werewolf In London, Hyett's yarn (penned by Mark Huckerby and Nick Ostler) kicks off in the comfortingly familiar surroundings of Waterloo Station.

Train based terror has long fuelled the romance of ghost and horror tales and in a summer that has rail strikes gripping the nation, it’s refreshing to watch Alpha Trains' (a fictional company whose livery is only loosely based on South West Trains) evening express pull out of the London terminus, with its dozen or so souls on board heading towards far more than their usual Waterloo sunset.

There is an ever-so British budgetary constraint to the movie that suggests an air of Hammer Horror. The cast are far from household names, (though in a neat touch, Rosie Day and Sean Pertwee, both carryovers from Hyett's The Seasoning House make short-lived cameos) the purpose built railway carriage set wouldn't withstand the scrutiny of even a mildly obsessive train-geek and some of the matte work is cringeworthy. But no matter, for as a deer on the line brings driver Pertwee's train to a shuddering and unscheduled halt, it is only a matter of time before (nearly) all of the onboard souls succumb in turn to beautifully brutal slaughter.

In a sometimes creaking story, the director’s skill lies as much in the suspense he’s woven into the film as it does in the gruesomeness of his imagery. Having cut his teeth (sorry) designing special make up and effects for creature features such as The Descent movies, Hyett has a keen eye for what shocks. To be fair there's nothing here that quite matches Rick Baker's award winning genius in American Werewolf, but Hyett knows his craft.  

Also impressive is that amidst a script of occasional corniness, (The Seasoning House had a far superior text) Hyett coaxes performances from his cast that convince throughout. Ed Speleers leads as a bumbling train guard searching for the hero inside himself, whilst Elliot Cowan is Adrian, a handsomely chiselled bounder and a womanising cad who in a neat post-modern touch reveals that he won’t employ women at his City finance house because of their annoying tendency to fall pregnant. Back in the day it used to be that just being a bastard marked a character out to deserve a spectacular death - turns out in 2015 he has to be a sexist bastard too. 

For the cinephiles playing werewolf bingo, Howl trots out most of the tropes, (but not all mind, there are no silver bullets in this picture) with the occasional twist. We’ve been brought up to know that those bitten by the beast have to become werewolves themselves. Hyett however offers up a nod to the zombie genre by having his victims spew that particularly dark red blood, only ever found in those transitioning to the world of the un-dead. There is also a lovely touch as Ania Marson, Jenny an elderly female victim, finds herself vomiting out her dentures, only to then develop a far more useful set of incisors, infinitely superior to anything available on the NHS.

As Ellen the train's trolley stewardess, Holly Weston gives an assured performance that suggests a hint of sexual frisson and rivalry amongst the characters, whilst Calvin Dean’s Paul provides occasional moments of drunken slob comedy (and classy suspense) before his number's up.

Whilst Hyett's best may yet await us, Howl remains a ripping yarn, cleverly realised and yet again, only enhanced by Paul E. Francis’ intelligent score. Not just worth the ticket and popcorn, it's a great date-movie too.

Piss off, you miserable bastard! - My visit to Dismaland

*****

Those words in the title above were the parting shot from the sales assistant as I exited through Dismaland's gift shop, having dutifully paused to pick up catalogue and t-shirt. Whilst her valedictory message was (I hope) insincere (though I fear those who know me well may say the cap fits perfectly), it summed up the spirit of the faux-misery that Banksy’s Bemusement Park strives to achieve.

Outside in the real world shop assistants, waiters, nurses, teachers, indeed anyone who routinely provides a service - heavens, that may even include accountants - will nearly always affix a smile and a pleasantry when serving a client/customer/patient – and very often the smile is sincere. But we all also know so well those occasions when our smiles are glued on and we ease our way through false pleasantries, simply because it is simply an expected common courtesy.

In Dismaland, whilst the jackanapes’ insults may be insincere (cf my above fears of course!), they are no less glib than the grinning staff member who assists you at Thorpe Park or Disneyworld, maybe at 4pm in the afternoon at the end of a long shift, when he/she doesn’t really want to help you with your baby buggy and trailing brats and just wants to go home exhausted.

But he/she glues on the smile regardless, possibly, silently, cursing you. And that is one of the aspects of what Dismaland is all about. Stripping away the hypocrisy of day to day niceties, to reveal an uglier, but not entirely unfamiliar, verite. 

Many of Dismaland’s (un-?)attractions have already been well documented in the national press. I was rather taken by the sideshow inviting one to roll-up, roll-up and attempt to topple a cast-iron anvil from its pedestal....by hurling a ping-pong ball at it. It’s a ridiculous premise – but at least it’s honestly and overtly ridiculous. The contrast of course is with sideshow attractions at real funfairs that mug off their punters who gamely believe they have some fair chance of winning that ridiculously sized cuddly toy – when of course it’s 1 in 100 or some such loaded odds. The barkers smile and flirt with you, grinning to themselves as they take your cash. At Dismaland the attendants’ style is more grim than grin, but at least what you see is what you get…

Much of Dismaland shocks. The centrepiece castle, an imitation of Disneyland’s very own imitation castle is weathered and dilapidated. After queuing to enter, the scene is one of Cinderella’s toppled pumpkin carriage, crashed and upended, with the shattered body of a Disney-esque Cinderella, all ball gown, flowing blonde locks and very much cartoon features, lying flung through a carriage window. It’s shocking, but what disturbs even more is that in the pitch black, the crash scene is surrounded by mannequins of real life paparazzi, whose flash guns, strobe-like, illuminate the horror. It’s a short hop of the imagination to Paris’ Pont de l’Alma some 18 years ago – and it is the ghoulish photographers, juxtaposed on to a cartoon scene of fictional fairytale tragedy, that makes Banksy’s work so effective.

Elsewhere the illusive artist has re-ignited the Tropicana’s mini-motorboat attraction (you know the type – coin in the slot and radio-control a miniature boat on a pond) – but Banksy’s boats are packed with models of desperate Med-crossing migrants, with the Action Man sized bodies of migrant corpses bobbing face down in the water as the boats sail over them. It makes for another troubling tableau – and with several tiny children happily steering their craft (one of the boats is a military gunboat) there was much laughter around the pond. 

Some of the adults watching (and talking about) the exhibit clearly had an evident compassion for the refugees’ plight that the boats highlight, but for all of Banksy’s noble intentions, is this exhibit leading people to laugh at, rather than care about, the migrants?

It’s a moot point and one must suspect that there will be many children (and possibly many ignorant or uncaring parents) who may not grasp the real sea-borne tragedies occurring daily. 

Has Banksy set these victims up to be laughed at? Discuss.

Even if he has, he's only been following a fine seaside tradition. The misogynist Mr Punch has, for generations, been a source of beachside hilarity and kiddie entertainment has he lays into the hapless Judy with a big stick.

Banksy updates the macabre classic, inviting Julie Burchill to script this 2015 glimpse into domestic abuse. Oh my, how the kids who sat in front of the Punch and Judy booth laughed as today’s Punch, whose banter had already referenced the monstrous Jimmy Savile, beat his wife, telling the children “you know she likes it really”.

Much has been made of the unique nature of Dismaland, but I had a niggling sense of deja-vu, that back on the train to Bristol, I nailed! In their rock opera Tommy, The Who have Uncle Ernie open up the dystopian Tommy's Holiday Camp. Dismaland is Banksy's version.

As the artist was quoted in yesterday’s Sunday Times “It’s interesting that Dismaland gets described as ‘twisted’ — I’ve never called it that. Somehow building a family attraction that doesn’t ignore injustice, casual cruelty and mortality means your attraction is deemed twisted. I think it should be the other way round.”

Banksy is laughing at us all – but thankfully he’s only charging a fiver for the humiliation. When one fails to topple his anvil there’s a consolation prize instead. It's a wristband with the slogan: Meaningless Rubber Bracelet – which in fact, one week on, has served as a pertinent reminder of the day.

Dismaland bemuses, amuses and hopefully also disturbs. If it doesn’t, there truly is no hope for society.

Dismaland is open at The Tropicana, Weston Super Mare until the end of September. Tickets are released weekly, online at www.dismaland.co.uk
Note: All tickets up until 7th September are sold out.

Tickets for 8th – 15th September will go on sale at 10am on Wednesday 2nd of September.

My Eyes Went Dark – Review

Finborough Theatre, London


*****

Written and directed by Matthew Wilkinson

Thusitha Jayasundera and Cal MacAninch

"...If a country can't protect the rights of its people, what can a man do? A man must stand up... A man must defend himself."

Matthew Wilkinson's My Eyes Went Dark is an extraordinary piece of work. It tells the story of man, Nikolai Koslov, (played by Cal MacAninch) who loses his wife and two young children in a plane crash that occurred when two planes collided mid-air.

Grief stricken and utterly disconnected from the world without his family ("My life. As any family is the life of the individuals within it"), he seeks justice. This search begins immediately; as he is digesting the reality that his family is gone at the beginning of the play, he questions what happened, asking for an update on the flight recorders and attempting to coerce an explanation, of any sort, from the official he is speaking to.

This is a particularly striking characteristic of Koslov who, as a successful architect and family man, is probably used to drawing clear lines between events, ideas and thoughts, drawing out rational conclusions accordingly. He seems to be a rational being and a normal functioning one at that. This is best typified in professional settings, such as when he is giving an interview or operating in a work environment. 

This two-hander also features an outstanding performance from Thusitha Jayasundera, who plays ten different characters to incredible effect. 

Beautifully suited to the intimacy of the Finborough, the staging is simple; it features only two chairs. The sound design (Max Pappenheim) and lighting (Elliot Griggs) are flawless. Props are invisible but acted with such conviction that their physical absence is barely registered. 

The performance lasts approximately ninety minutes and comprises an intense sequence of scenes, cutting back and forth over the span of five years, over three different countries. Throughout its course, a range of themes including commentaries on justice systems, corporate responsibility and politics are investigated and provide much for consideration. 

What is incredibly powerful about My Eyes Went Dark is its ability to explore the complex and permanent effects of plane crashes. It is a tragedy that most of us are familiar with, blessedly, only through news reports that the media thrive on. The play however offers a stark reminder that the effects never leave those who have experienced loss and for whom so many questions are left unanswered.  

Wilkinson, MacAnich and Jayasundera capture this tragedy perfectly and hauntingly.


Runs until 19th September
Guest Reviewer: Bhakti Gajjar

Thoroughly Modern Millie - Review

Landor Theatre, London


**

Music by Jeanine Tesori
Lyrics by Dick Scanlan
Book by Richard Morris and Dick Scanlan
Directed by Matthew Iliffe

Sarah-Marie Maxwell and Alex Codd

The twenties don’t so much roar as whimper in SDWC’s new revival of Thoroughly Modern Millie at the Landor. Matthew Iliffe’s production strips back not only the set and cast, but also the life and soul of the show, leaving us with a raw and undercooked slog of questionable casting and dull direction.

For those unfamiliar, Thoroughly Modern Millie transports the audience back to 1922 New York and follows the travails of a new arrival in the big city; Millie Dillmount. She is desperate to find a more metropolitan lifestyle after her Kansas upbringing and reinvent herself as the epitome of Vogue’s ‘modern woman’. Ostensibly the show is an uproarious farce that barrels through prohibition, celebrity parties and solicitous romance with all the subtlety of a travelling fair. It has the potential to be great fun, but Iliffe’s production never seems to capture the garish excess that cements the show. His pared down cast of 12 reduces the enormity of New York life to a small village community and Andrew Riley’s set is bare to the point of feeling naked. For a show like ‘Millie’, New York is as much a character as anybody on stage and her bustling crowds and grand sense of scale just felt lost in the intimate Landor space.

Sam Spencer-Lane does her best to inject the choreography with some Broadway punch, but again the sequences are at odds with their surroundings. Numbers feel hampered by the limited space, looking to explode into life with no room to grow. That a dancer crashed into some lights on the night I watched was no coincidence.

The cast also seemed to struggle with this tonal imbalance, unsure as to whether to play the show as writ, or try and adapt the uproarious dialogue for the chamber space. For most, it left them in an unflattering middle ground, precariously teetering between mugging for laughs and striving for sincerity. There were also some distracting casting decisions, with young graduate actors being unfairly asked to play far older than they are and jokes about characters’ ages therefore falling flat. More disconcerting than this though, was the decision to cast a Caucasian actor, Alex Codd, as Ching Ho, one of the Chinese henchmen. That Mrs Meers’ offensive Asian caricature is only acceptable at all is because we are supposed to laugh at the absurdity of a Caucasian female trying to pass herself off as another race. With Codd in earnest trying desperately to do the thing we are meant to be laughing at, Steph Parry’s performance as Mrs Meers becomes completely undermined. The entire villainous subplot becomes tremendously uncomfortable, laced as it was with an air of racial insensitivity.

On the positive side, Sarah-Marie Maxwell is the undeniable standout, giving a charming and incredibly watchable performance as Miss Dorothy. She is a joy every time she comes on stage and injects her scenes with just the right amount of detail and energy. Her voice is also beautiful, packing real power even without a microphone and giving a lilting edge to the higher parts of the score. The singing in general is of a high quality and Chris Guard’s small band does well to maintain the score’s brassy 20s roots even with only five members.

Thoroughly Modern Millie inherently seems like a bizarre choice for a fringe revival. It just isn’t that kind of show. Iliffe has done his best to downsize the glitz and glamour, but his endeavours lack the creativity to allow the audience to get lost in Millie’s world. Unfortunately, without stellar performances and an exciting design, these flappers are a bit of a flop.

Runs to 13th September

Guest reviewer: Will Clarkson

Mrs Henderson Presents - Review

Theatre Royal, Bath

*****

Music by George Fenton & Simon Chamberlain

Lyrics by Don Black

Direction and book by Terry Johnson

Tracie Bennett

A musical can only be as good as its underlying book – and in Mrs Henderson Presents, the show’s fable couldn’t be more strong or poetic. Based upon the 2005 movie, the true story tells of Laura Henderson, wealthy widow and owner of London’s Windmill Theatre, who sought to halt the venue’s falling revenues by putting on shows of naked girls. Britain’s censorship laws were fierce at the time, forbidding nude performers, but in a bid to circumvent the Lord Chamberlain’s disapproval, Henderson, along with close adviser Vivian Van Damm, concoct a revue that will feature naked women but in still life tableaux. The Windmill’s success was assured and as war with Germany broke out in 1939, so did the Windmill never close, always packed with troops enjoying morale boosting visits even through the darkest days of the Blitz and in its own way capturing the essence of British resilience.

The story works on so many levels. Laura Henderson herself is an independently minded woman, ahead of her time. Van Dam is a Dutch Jew, painfully aware of his family’s destiny in continental Europe, the Lord Chamberlain is a deliciously blustering (and compromised) political buffoon (who one can easily imagine lived in Dolphin Square) and then there are the girls. Invited to contemplate performing in the nude, the show picks out their anxieties, aspirations and in the case of Maureen, a Lyons’ nippy who much like Mack and Mabel’s Mabel Normand is discovered by Mrs Henderson and fast becomes the star of the show, a poignant love interest too.

Terry Johnson’s book (and Johnson also directs) in conjunction with Don Black’s lyrics precisely fillets the shows emotions. There’s comedy that includes moments of fabulously rehearsed plank-based slapstick, naked men’s bottoms and a sprinkling of Carry On infused knob gags - a seam of humor which if mined responsibly can always prove eye-watering. But there is also the pathos of Laura Henderson’s love for her theatre and ultimately her girls, set against her own mortality and failing health. There’s the tragedy and passion of the war – and there is the portrayal of the girls’ journey to their nude performances, delivered without pulling any punches, but which is at all times beautiful, tasteful and not once gratuitous.

Making a welcome return to the English stage, Tracie Bennett plays Laura Henderson with her usual perfection in poise, presence and performance. Believable as a wealthy lady bucking the disapproval of her peers, Bennett commands the stage. Vocally magnificent, with Whatever Time I Have, along with a massive finish to If Mountains Were Easy To Climb Bennett reminds us what a star of today’s musical theatre stage she truly is. More of this woman, please.

Ian Bartholomew is Van Dam, bringing a carefully crafted compound of comic bluster with profound pathos to his part. There’s smutty genius in his number Rubens And Renoir, that sees him explaining the concept of nudity to the girls (in a scene that using a hugely oversized picture frame, speaks volumes just in imagery) – whilst Living In A Dream World offers just enough of a carefully weighted glimpse into his agony at what is happening across the North Sea.

Maureen is played by the truly scrumptious Emma Williams – whose voice and movement are exquisite. We see her rise and fall in love and in moments that wrench at heart strings, Williams is always on point, never sentimentalising, just delivering. Her number Ordinary Girl tells of plaintive aspirations, whilst her duet with Matthew Malthouse’s Eddie, What A Waste Of A Moon is a vocal and choreographic treat. Indeed, huge credit to choreographer Andrew Wright who at time brings traditional music hall, gorgeous tap routines and some moments of glorious ballet to the show.

Graham Hoadly’s Lord Cromer, the Lord Chancellor, is yet another turn from this gifted performer that defines comic acting through song, as Mark Hadfield serves up a treat as a stand-up comic, part narrator, part teller of gags that are as old as the hills, yet which still raise a chuckle.

The show’s nudity demands a professional bravura from its actresses and as Williams leads the line, she is ably backed by Katie Bernstein, Lizzy Connolly and Lauren Hood who all bring a respectful, tasteful dignity to their roles – beautifully sung and acted.

George Fenton and Simon Chamberlain have written a score that defines England through the 19th and 20th centuries. There is much of the music-hall in some numbers, whilst the Lord Chamberlain’s Song suggests a nod to Gilbert and Sullivan. Their lampooning of the Germans as the war rolls on and creation of melodies that define a sense of national pride, offer a musical take on history that speaks loud and clear to a modern audience. Theirs’s is beautifully crafted work, alongside Tim Shortall's inspired set design and Richard Mawbey's wonderful wig work.

The orchestra is under Mike Dixon’s baton and it is clear that this gifted music-man has had much to do with the show’s evolution. It was the Dixon and Johnson team (with Bartholomew starring) who last year so wonderfully revived Oh What A Lovely War! At Stratford East and there is just a touch of how that show marked The Great War, in how Mrs Henderson Presents tackles the war with Hitler.

Mrs Henderson Presents is innovative new writing – beautifully staged and so wonderfully British. Only dipping the briefest of toes into Bath’s delightful Theatre Royal, this show demands a transfer to the West End.

Runs until 5th September