What (is) a Woman - Review

Arcola Theatre, London

****

Written by Andrée Bernard

Directed by Michael Strassen 

Andrée Bernard

For two hours Andrée Bernard holds the audience rapt in her one-woman wonder What (is) a Woman, a play with music penned by the actor herself.

Telling the story of an (un-named) woman, Bernard skilfully blurs any boundaries between autobiographical fact and fiction as her tale follows the arc of an actress from a teenage drama-school naïf through to the worldly wisdom of middle-age.

Bernard charts us through her character’s crushes and loves - from the sad abortions of her early sexual experiences through to the tragic desolation of failed IVF attempts in her later years, in a narrative of remarkably bitter-sweet charm.

This male reviewer cannot comment upon the authenticity of Bernard’s prose, but as she exhaustingly commands both the Arcola Studio’s compact stage and our attention with her story, and irrespective of our own sex, one cannot fail to be moved by the overwhelming humanity of the evening.

Bernard brilliantly captures the key people who’ve impacted her character’s life - from an elderly bandy-legged drama coach through her various lovers and a frequently appearing hilarious pastiche of her gay, cigar-chomping agent, Cholmondeley.

The script ranges from witty, to biting, to painfully poignant - and in an elegantly flowing dress and sensible heels, Bernard’s performance, directed by Michael Strassen and choreographed by Lucie Pankhurst, is a whirl of perfectly positioned movement.

The acting is flawless - how Bernard ages her character with no additional makeup or costuming is little short of remarkable - and the writing and compositions, en-pointe throughout. There may be moments when Bernard’s singing is less than perfect, but the strength of her lyrics carry the songs nonetheless.

Daniel Looseley and Jess Martin on keyboards and bass respectively provide the musical accompaniment to an evening of outstanding new writing, brilliantly performed.

Runs until 4th May

Photo credit: Kate Scott

These Trees Are Made Of Blood - Review

Arcola Theatre, London


****

Music and lyrics by Darren Clark
Text by Paul Jenkins
Original Story by Amy Draper, Paul Jenkins and Darren Clark

Directed by Amy Draper

Alexander Luttley

These Trees Are Made of Blood is quite the title, and “political musical cabaret” is quite the concept. Inspired by the director’s study year in Buenos Aires and the harrowing yet inspiring story she uncovered there, this is a performance well deserving of its transfer from the Southwark Playhouse. 

Rob Castrell as the General, making full use of his dangerous eyes and casual charm, takes centre stage. He draws us into the seemingly fine and dandy world of 1970s Argentina (The Coup Coup Club, the “p” is silent) with his brazen Wing Commander (Alexander Luttley) backup prancing in marvellous drag. Luttley is cheeky and flirtatious from the moment one enters the theatre, piquing the audience’s curiosity about what lies in store before they’ve even picked up their tickets.

The three military leads beautifully juxtapose each other, from the commanding gumption of the General, to the gentle but discerning tones of Lieutenant Suarez (Neil Kelso), who mesmerises with magic that seems playful if you don’t think about it too much and the Wing Commander in shoes that one could barely walk in.

The whole point of the 1970s military in Argentina seems to have been to ensure that the people didn’t think too much and trusted the seemingly magnanimous General, the self proclaimed Father of the Nation. With the audience taking on the role of the nation it isn’t difficult to ride the wave into stark realisation with Ellen O' Grady's Madre. 

The chief double-threat in a show of marvellous actor/singers is O’Grady, who gives the most honest performance (in the sense most others have a hidden agenda or several characters to encompass). Her stunning and heart bursting rendition of My Little Bird in the second act leaves the audience in little doubt that the perceived light-heartedness is well and truly over. 

Darren Clark's musical numbers ingeniously make the audience laugh when they shouldn’t for as long as possible before a perhaps too hasty descent into the dark reality of the plot. In true cabaret style, the music is brought to life by an incredible live band including Anne-Marie Piazza playing accordion and ukulele, Josh Sneesby on guitar and grieving boyfriend, Eilon Morris playing drums and Judge and Rosalind Ford playing cello and CIA agent stripper. 

Amy Draper directs a show that surprises, entertains and informs, bringing into the light a worryingly modern but not widely known conflict that ended with the Falklands War. The show harrowingly acknowledges the Mothers of the Plaza De Mayo, who continue to remember the hundreds of disappeared children under the stifling regime of the Dirty War.

The sometimes overly literal language hints at the show’s flaws, but that is by no means a reason not to buy a ticket. See this show to peek behind a flashy cabaret curtain and uncover a fascinating tale of subterfuge and state terrorism beyond.

Runs until 15th July

Reviewed by Heather Deacon

Photo credit: Helen Murray

The Plague - Review

Arcola Theatre, London


***


based on La Peste by Albert Camus
Adapted and directed by Neil Bartlett

Sara Powell

The Plague by Albert Camus is adapted here by Neil Bartlett into an even more curious, almost dystopian play, showing at the Arcola Theatre until 6th May. In the unnamed town that the five characters inhabit, any hope or joy is promptly quashed and left in a pool of despair on the floor, just like the mysteriously dying rats that plague the streets. It’s not a fun evening, but nonetheless makes for a formidable and incredibly disquieting piece of theatre. 

Camus’ original was written and set in the 1940s and was known for the way it resonated with the millions struggling to understand the fascism that had overwhelmed their lives and families for many years. The time and city of this adaptation are unspecified, but considering that the five witnesses have sheets of notepaper and newspaper cuttings to aid their retelling of the plague that caused their town to be walled off, we can assume it’s not recent.

From the doctor’s office, the apartment buildings and the gutters through to the temporary hospital in a school, the audience is left to imagine where and when the play takes place. It is noted that the plague is always lurking, a metaphor if ever there was one, so the where and when is deemed unimportant and rather it is the journey and decisions of the inhabitants that take prominence.

This vagueness stretches to every character. Sara Powell’s Dr Rieux who’s trapped in the quarantined city delivers a central performance full of authority and sensibility, promising no emotion but delivering a heap of it. Then there is the ambitious journalist, Rambert, from out of town and pining for his new love beyond the gate. Billy Postlethwaite brings a naivety and thoughtlessness of youth to Rambert, who is to do much growing up in the course of the play. Burt Caesar’s Grand has the most gorgeous baritone that makes his sentimental and guileless inability to write a letter to his lost love the most charming thing in a play that is quite unforgiving in its bid to tell this harrowing tale.

The Plague never lets up on its intensity, which after 80 minutes is a little full on. The few attempts at a little light relief, mainly from the rather compelling Martin Turner, fall flat as the dark quickly creeps back in with another death, another statistic, another philosophical quote spoken in unison. Not recommended for a sunny evening of theatre, but thoroughly recommended to sit through during a storm. 

Runs until 6th May

Reviewed by Heather Deacon

Photo credit: Alex Brenner

Drones, Baby, Drones - Review

Arcola Theatre, London


**

This Tuesday

Written by Ron Hutchinson and Christina Lamb

Directed by Nicolas Kent

The Kid

Written by David Greig

Directed by Mehmet Ergen

Anne Adams as Maxine

An evening of two short plays sandwiched between the verbatim thoughts of Reprieve’s Clive Stafford-Smith, Drones, Baby, Drones examines the psychologies at play behind the controllers of America's drone fleet. The texts look at both the Washington based elite who draw up the weekly hit lists for the missiles to be aimed at, and the pilots who actually fly the unmanned planes via remote control from an air force base just outside Las Vegas.

The first piece, This Tuesday is set in DC early one morning and is based around the build up to the White House weekly target meeting. The complexities set in as Maxine, a senior CIA official who is due to attend the meeting, learns of her daughter having been critically injured in a road crash (that's coincidentally witnessed by Meredith, the young intern/mistress of Doug, one of the Administration’s security advisers and another meeting attendee). The premise is clear, comparing Maxine’s love for her precious child with her disregard for the targetted victims, along with the associated collateral deaths, thousands of miles away. 

The second half's offering, The Kid, sees a social evening at the Nevada home of drone pilot Pete. His partner Shawna is newly pregnant and the joy and value in their unborn child is again contrasted with the lives of kids in the target zone. Intra-couple friction between the guests smoulders, sending the whole cheese and wine gig into a take on Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf mixed with a Stop The War meeting.

There are clearly sound dramatic and moral messages to be explored here, but both these plays' conceits are just too patronisingly obvious. Neither work is helped by Stafford-Smith's stated slant that all those involved in drone warfare, Britain's GCHQ included, are part of a modern-day Mafia.

Notwithstanding the cliched dialogue and blunt politicking. the acting is, for the most part excellent and Lucy Sierra’s design is imaginative. But the shows' arguments are naive and clumsy, lacking the precision of the Hellfire missiles that they're based around. Mercifully it’s all over in 90 minutes.

Runs until 26th November

Photo credit: Simon Annand

Richard II - Review

Arcola Theatre, London

***

Written by William Shakespeare

A new version directed by Jack Gamble and Quentin Beroud 

Tim Delap

Following its recent performance at the Palace of Westminster, Jack Gamble and Quentin Beroud bring their Richard II to the Arcola Theatre for a short run.

It has been often said that Richard II is the most “political” of Shakespeare's plays: the story of a King too held back by the past, the last Medieval Sovereign killed more by historical change than by the man who reigned after him. 

Rightly, Jack Gamble and Quentin Beroud have decided to transport the story from the dark times of 1399 to a contemporary setting. This Richard II is less a King and more a Prime Minister dealing with his own political party, his enemies and the Press. 

The Press is the most prominent new presence of the performance, with breaking news, shown on three different screens, working as the underlining punctuation of the plot’s highlights. An omnipresent journalist played by a convincing Eleanor Cox, acts as a pushy commentary on what is happening behind closed doors and even the duels here are no longer a matter of bloody swordplay but rather a televised debate.

In this modern dress take on the play, with actors surfing news on iPads, reading newspapers and using mobile phones, the language created by Shakespeare becomes a lively and vibrant interpretation of our modern day existence and the choice to retain it proves successful for most of the play. Occasionally however the words written for a King invested by God don’t sit well with a more modern character. This leads to a sense of detachment that prevents the audience from fully engaging with the show. 

Given that, Tim Delap’s Richard has a strong and powerful stage presence. His is an anxious leader capable of showing all his fragile humanity only at the end when, betrayed by his advisors and deposed, he is confined to prison. A man that is eventually deprived of his crown (and of his grey suit) finds himself able to see through the underhand plots. 

But it is Hermione Gulliford as Harri Bolingbroke who really shines in this production. Her fierce look, her controlled resolution depicts perfectly the leader for a new era. Her charisma in delivering Bolingbroke’s lines gives new, deep insights to the character. 

All in all a well-produced and acted production that, due to its contemporary and topical subject matter is recommended – especially for politicians!


Runs until 7th May

Reviewed by Simona Negretto
Photo credit: Robert Workman

The House of Mirrors and Hearts - Review

Arcola Theatre, London


***


By Eamonn O'Dwyer and Robert Gilbert
Directed by Ryan McBryde

Gillian Kirkpatrick

'Pain can blind us, twist us, change us – sometimes for better, sometimes for worse'; writes Eamonn O'Dwyer in the programme notes of his new musical playing at the Arcola Theatre. House of Mirrors and Hearts is an ambitious piece, looking to investigate the oppressive nature of grief associated with loss and its destructive impact on a family unit. It is a chamber musical of intense intimacy, but often shuts the audience out more than it draws us in. It's a shame, as the space feels perfect for the subject matter and yet it is somewhat undermined by some unsympathetic characters and predictable narrative clichés.

House of Mirrors and Hearts tells the story of a fractured household. Anna and her two daughters, Laura and Lily, are left reeling after a tragedy throws their previously blissful life into turmoil. For seven years they desperately try to cling to normality, with a veritable powder keg of secrets lying beneath a fragile surface. The uneasy tension of the house is threatened by the entrance of a young intellectual lodger in the form of Nathan and the inevitability of confrontation becomes apparent as the delicate existence of the family becomes increasingly unbearable. The narrative is jagged and harsh, full of fiercely barbed exchanges and frustrated menace.

With the exception of a curious finale in which unexplained mysticism and telegraphed 'twists' rear their rather unwelcome heads, the second act picks up immensely. Director Ryan McBryde is given license to let the piece breathe, as the heavy oppression of grief is counter balanced with the discovery of love. This blossoming romance allows Grace Rowe's Laura to explore a more mature sense of identity and Jamie Muscato's Nathan to act as more than a plot device, designed to grease the wheels of the family's existential meltdown. Their cathartic bottle smashing scene is beautifully played and resoundingly resonant.

Muscato's performance throughout is impressively nuanced. His ascent to the poetic headiness of first love is utterly believable and he ensures every second of his stage time is detailed and truthful. Molly McGuire is also a highlight as the attention-seeking Lily, providing a pulsating sound with her rich voice and showing a comforting command of the stage. Her number 'Look At Me' is both unsettling and exciting, as she prowls around the stage with equal parts power and vulnerability. Gillian Kirkpatrick, as the alcoholic family matriarch, sings effortlessly and willingly provides some of the more vocally acrobatic elements of the score. Whilst I enjoyed her embittered take on the self destructive Anna, I felt it was a little too unfocused to be as effective as it could be. Her wild, gesticulative wine-sloshing was often more distracting than it was engaging.

Eamonn O'Dwyer's score has both a contemporary flair and a more traditional haunting edge, effectively blending the horror of the past with the hope for a more positive tomorrow. The songs, whilst not always tuneful, succeed in their own way; most notably during the occasions where Nathan and Laura bond through musical recitations of Alexander Thornton Grays' verse. There are some playfullly original lyrics dotted throughout the score as well, particularly in Anne's witty ode to the bottle, Something For the Pain.

After a slow first half and a group of characters that seem difficult to warm to, House of Mirrors and Hearts discovers its voice in an enjoyable second act. Relationships are allowed to develop and its message of healing through confrontation becomes apparent. It can be a challenging watch at times and with subject matter exploring the depths of human dysfunction following tragedy, this is hardly surprising. However, with some choice performances, an impressive modern score and a chance to celebrate new British writing, House of Mirrors and Hearts is worth your time. 

Runs until 1st August 2015

Guest reviewer: Will Clarkson

Product - Review

Arcola Theatre, London

***

Written by Mark Ravenhill

Directed by Robert Shaw

Olivia Poulet

Ten years is a long time in the theatre and as geo-political influences and events have shifted, so too has Mark Ravenhill’s Product that was written in 2005 for a world post 9/11, come to look a little dated.

The one-hander focusses around movie producer Leah who is attempting to sell the role of Amy to Julia, a wannabe starlet. The emptiness of Amy’s life and by analogy Leah’s, is highlighted in the sharp contrast between what motivates her and what motivates the tall, dusky ‘hero’.

Ravenhill’s perspectives would have been timely and relevant in their day, with Amy having been wounded by the events of 9/11 and the loss of her lover in the Twin Towers’ destruction. The writer’s aim of confronting our own prejudices, stereotypes and interestingly, our fantasies too, not so much of Islam, but of Islamic men, would also have made for an interesting conceit, giving us a flavour of the appeal to loveless faithless Western women of the tall, dusky men whose lives are dominated by ‘the knife’ and ‘the prayer mat’, subservient to the mullah and a guaranteed path to paradise.

But the shadow of recent years’ atrocities, both in the UK and abroad, have cast a sobering shadow over Ravenhill’s “romanticized” perspective and writing a decade ago, he could never have conceived the notion of young women fleeing this country in the hope of finding love amongst terrorist fighters abroad. 

Olivia Poulet’s Leah is a powerful performance with the cliché rich text that Leah enthusiastically thumbs throughout the 50 minute monologue quite possibly serving as a metaphor for her own cliché ridden life. The passion with which she enthuses the storyline’s references to its heroine’s huge loft style apartment in a converted East London abattoir, albeit lacking a loving relationship, suggest her own lifestyle might be somewhat similar.

Whilst its relevance may have waned, Product remains a powerfully performed and sharp observation of the humiliating process of pitching, written with a generous measure of humour that draws an empathetic laugh from the audience. Poulet’s creation of the parallel characters of Leah and Amy, bringing the starlet Julia to life through her one-way exchanges with the audience, is masterful and her performance alone justifies the ticket.

Runs until 23rd May 2015

Carousel

Arcola Theatre, London

*****

Music by Richard Rodgers

Book and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II

Based on Ferenc Molnar's play Liliom as adapted by Benjamin F Glazer

Directed by Luke Fredericks

Tim Rogers and Gemma Sutton

Producers Morphic Graffiti present a re-engineered Carousel at London’s Arcola Theatre. With the blessing of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s publishers, they have pitched the tale around the time of the Great Depression, with a costume and style that sets the era apart from traditional turn of the 20th century stagings and it’s an interpretation that works, for the sense of poverty and depravation that surrounded the clapboard housed whaling communities of New England has long been a consistent theme of the show.

The time shift however is only an adaptation of style rather than substance. The grand human struggles of love and redemption, crime and endeavour that underpin Ferenc Molnar’s original play have a timelessness that speaks to us today – with perhaps the one exception being the un-conditional love that Julie Jordan feels towards Billy Bigelow whilst demonstrably accepting her lot as the victim of his domestic violence. Julie’s is a love that is tested in a way that is at best outmoded and at worst a misogynist’s charter.

But it remains Julie’s love and Billy’s futile doomed hopes to better himself that are the engine room of this show. Gemma Sutton is Julie and in the intimate cockpit of the Arcola, her expressions of passion and yearning towards her future husband are played out with pinpoint definition. Sutton masks the steel of her character in layers of hesitant tenderness and when this is married to her exquisite vocal work, the fusion is musical theatre bliss. When she sings If I Love You, her take on the complex melody is pitch perfect and later in act two, when her character, faltering, stumbles choked in her grief and unable to sing You’ll Never Walk Alone until Nettie takes over, the poignancy of the moment is at once both exquisite and unbearable. 

Opposite Sutton, Australian Tim Rogers brings an energy to Billy that suggests Hugh Jackman’s Curly, performed at the National Theatre in 1998. Rogers’ technical excellence manifest through his irreverent energy is another treat of a performance rarely found with such intense beauty on London’s off West End theatre scene.

And around these two lead performers beats a company that drips with perfection. There follows a name check of the most memorable, but all the company were no less than outstanding. Vicki Lee Taylor’s Carrie Pipperidge is a confection of perfect poise, presence and tone, whilst Joe Montague’s Enoch Snow nails the humerous foibles of the pompous but ambitious puritanical procreator. Joseph Connor, Katrina Dix and Susie Porter all display a balletic or acrobatic talent that is never less than breathtaking. A twirly-moustachioed Paul Hutton plays all manner of male authority roles with panache, whilst Amanda Minihan never falters as an inspiring Nettie, Richard Kent chills as a spiv Jigger and Valerie Cutko defines the wise yet complex cravings of carousel owner Mrs Mullins

The show’s design is perhaps the most visionary interpretation of low-budget scenery to be found, with the emotional impact of the opening Carousel Waltz reducing me to tears in minutes. The brilliant use of simple gates and boxes, combined with an acrobatic movement of the company that suggested a hint of Broadway’s Pippin is visionary dance work from Lee Proud and amongst all the numbers, Proud’s talent shines. The act two ballet in particular, a challenge to mount on a more generously proportioned stage let alone the Arcola, proving yet another display of masterful movement.

Stripped down to a 5 piece band, Andrew Corcoran gives Carousel’s timeless melodies a makeover. A subtle use of flute and bass is enchanting, whilst the harp accompaniment to You’ll Never Walk Alone is as subtly inspiring as it is heartbreaking.

Luke Frederick has fashioned a production of flawless technique and artistic excellence. Shows this good don’t come along that often and Carousel deserves a West End transfer. Whilst it plays at the Arcola until July 19th, don’t miss it.

Plays until July 19th. 

Titus Andronicus

Arcola Theatre, London

***

Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Zoe Ford

On the basis that a good Titus Andronicus should never be for the faint-hearted, then this Hiraeth production should rate as outstanding.Well it's good, for sure, but it cuts too many corners and takes a few too many liberties to be a truly memorable Titus.

Zoe Ford sets her tale in 1980's London. The Roman Andronici are fascist skinheads. Tattoos, lager and skinhead haircuts depict hatred. Their Goth enemy, in this show, are Irish immigrants. There's sufficient potential for hatred and retribution between these two communities to support the revenge themes that run through the veins of the play and interestingly Aaron the Moor, a compelling performance from Stanley J Browne, is given an added degree of depth as being a black man amongst such a vile and racist people. In a text that has been been cut extensively by Ford, she has wisely retained Aaron's closing speech of venomous hatred.

It's a show that's curiously cast. As Titus, David Vaughn Knight does an excellent take on Bob Hoskins' Harold Shand from the movie The Long Good Friday. No one does revenge better than a pissed off Cockney, but Titus is more than vengeful. Like the Goth Queen Tamora, he is also a wronged parent, grieving for the woes inflicted on his children and whilst Rosalind Blessed's lusty, busty, flame haired Tamora is all sex and wicked deviousness, she also portrays a distraught parent with far more credible grief than Knight. Maya Thomas' Lavinia is perhaps a bit too much of a thug prior to her rape and she does not come across as sufficiently chaste to merit the pursuit of emperor Saturninus, a critical component of the play's opening movements. Notwithstanding, following her assault, she does elicit our pity portraying her muteness with heart-rending pathos.

The cast and creative team have clearly had some fun here and for a typically low-budget Titus, the stage blood flows. Chiron and Demetrius have their throats cut with a circular saw, whilst Titus lops off his own hand with a heavy garden spade. It's deliciously brutal and not for the squeamish, though one complaint: when Lavinia tries to speak following the ripping out of her tongue, the torrent of stage blood that pours from her mouth is expected. Her bleeding stumps however deserve more of a special effect than a pair of red socks, which look suspiciously like a cheap cop-out by the designer.

Ford has played it fast and loose with the prose and that's a disappointment. Whilst liberal additions of the "f" and "c" words might be presumed to make a production more accessible to an audience unfamiliar with Shakespeare's writing, they actually detract from the beauty of the Bard's verse. That too many of the lines are inaudible is also a detraction from the impact of the text.

If nothing else, the play is certainly an uncomfortably humorous take on slaughter, which at two hours length including interval, will not leave you bored. That Ford opens her work with the 80's classic Come On Eileen blaring and for a finale sends her cast on to take their bows to Madness' Our House, suggests that for all her worthy intentions she does not wish her production to be taken too seriously.

Runs until 26th October

Handel Furioso

Arcola Theatre, London

*****

Music by George Frideric Handel

Directed by Max Hoehn

Robyn Allegra Parton and Anna Starushkevych

Currently playing in London’s Dalston is one of the finest set of performances to be found on London's fringe. As part of the Arcola’s "Grimeborn Festival" the Isle of Noise are performing their Handel Furioso, a love story that they have created, fused from a selection of George Frideric Handel's duets, arias and orchestral works.

Isle of Noise is a deceptively modest title for this company, a name that suggests cacophony rather than the sublime harmonies that await. A cast of two, supported by the 8 piece Sounds Baroque Ensemble, perform, in one act, a 75 minute series of 16 separate pieces. Their story is simple, introducing us to a young boy and girl and following them through courtship, matrimony, an estranged separation and finally and enchantingly, a reconciliation in their old age before the boy (now elderly and grey-haired) dies in the (now old) woman's arms.

Mezzo-soprano Anna Starushkevych plays the Boy, whilst Robyn Allegra Parton is the soprano Girl. As would be expected the staging is modest, but English surtitles are thoughtfully projected onto a moon suspended over the stage.

The singing is exquisite. My knowledge fails me in offering a structured operatic critique of these women's talents, so all I can report is that their voices are close to perfection, with both range and faultless tone deployed in a moving combination of strength and sensitivity.  Their acting is similarly excellent, as the love story unfolds and their performances and appearances age in line with their characters.

Julian Perkins conducts from the harpsichord and his ensemble, complete with William Carter on theorbo (a remarkably incongruous and oversized 16th century lute), provide an accompaniment that exceeds one's expectations for an evening of Handel.

Only in London until the weekend and then followed by a short tour, these ten talented and disciplined performers provide a rare glimpse of excellence. Their's is an eclectic take on Handel's work and if the era or the genre appeal, then this show should not be missed.

Runs until August 31st then on tour

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

The Pitchfork Disney - Review

*****

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews

February 2 2012

The Pitchfork Disney is widely recognized as the first piece of “in yer face” theatre. That the play can still shock, some 21 years after it burst on to the London stage and during which time reality has caught up with and in some cases even overtaken the graphic imagery of Ridley’s 1980s imagination is yet further credit to the craft of its composition.

In a bleak east London home, two twins, Presley and Hayley Stray in their late twenties, eke out a tawdry isolated existence, drugged on medications and surviving on chocolate. Their parents disappeared from their lives some ten years previously, and in their quasi-orphaned and rudderless state, their lives have slumped into a vacuous routine that is as callow and as unhealthy as the complexion of their skin.

Their sole excitement is derived from the sharing of outlandish fantasies or traumatic recollections, a recurring theme being that they are sole survivors in a post-apocalyptic city, thus providing them with a deluded justification for their self-imposed isolation from the outside world.

This fragile existence is rocked by the arrival of Cosmo Disney, vomiting as he enters their home. Disney is a showman who has learnt that people want to be shocked . He states that there are “No miracles: just freak accidents and freaks” and we subsequently learn that his performance routine involves eating live animals before a paying audience. Nathan Stewart-Jarrett in this role is brilliantly menacing. His sexual interest in the stupefied Hayley is immediate and the subsequent elegant and aggressive worldliness with which he deceptively wins Presley’s naïve trust before going on to gratify himself with the drugged girl is disturbing.

Towards the end of the show Disney introduces an accomplice, Pitchfork Cavalier, a menacing hulk, gimp-masked and latex clad from head to toe. Whilst Cavalier’s character is not explored in depth, the names of the two intruders are critical. In an astounding monologue Chris New as Presley has told of a recurring nightmare, in which people are slaughtered by a disfigured man known as The Pitchfork Disney. This begs the question, are Cosmo and Pitchfork real? Or are they themselves, simply false creations of the fevered troubled minds of these two damaged siblings? Ridley leaves that question hanging.

It is a reflection of our times that over the last 21 years aspects of the writer’s allegorical prescience have come to pass. Celebrities frequently eat live insects on “I’m a Celebrity” as light entertainment, whilst the play’s suggestion of the twin’s abusive parents having drugged them routinely, chillingly echoes the recent criminality of Sharon Matthews.

The Pitchfork Disney is not for the faint hearted. The descriptions of human slaughter and animal mutilation are visceral. And proving that sound can sometimes be as, or even more, horrific than vision, the crunching of cockroaches being chewed on stage and the snapping in half of a finger bone, had a seasoned audience gasping.

Whilst the subject of the play is challenging, the performances are outstanding. New takes Presley on a powerful arc , from being frightened of “foreigners”, to manifesting profoundly violent anger. He is ably complemented by Mariah Gale as Hayley. Edward Dick effectively tackles the play’s lengthy monologues, cleverly coaxing as much physical movement as well as vocal nuance, into their delivery. And Danielle Tarento has again produced a show with outstanding production values all round. If you can stomach it, see it.

Runs until March 17