Avenue Q - Review

Shaftesbury Theatre, London

*****

Book by Jeff Whitty

Music & lyrics by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx

Directed by Jason Moore

Emily Benjamin, Charlie McCullagh and Meg Hateley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Booking until 29th August

Photo credit: Matt Crockett

hOWL - Review

*

Written by Howard Jacobson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hOWL is available from all the usual bookselling outlets.

Kinky Boots - Review

London Coliseum, London

****

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

Johannes Radebe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Booking until 11th July

Photo credit: Matt Crockett

Summerfolk - Review

National Theatre, London

***

Written by Maxim Gorky

in a new version by Nina Raine and Moses Raine

Directed by Robert Hastie

Justine Mitchell and Peter Forbes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Runs until 29th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson

The Producers - Review

Garrick Theatre, London

*****

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

Directed by Patrick Marber

Richard Kind and the company of The Producers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reviewed by Russ Kane

Booking to 19th September

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Teeth 'n' Smiles - Review

Duke of York's Theatre, London

*****

Written by David Hare

Directed by Daniel Raggett

Phil Daniels

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

Runs until 6th June

Photo credit: Helen Murray

Henry V - Review

 Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Tamara Harvey

Alfred Enoch

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

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

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

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

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

Runs until 25th April

Photo credit: Johan Persson