My Top 10 Theatre Shows of 2011

Everyone loves a round-up-of-the-year blog post, right?

I sketched a few ideas onto a post-it during the last week of work, in preparation for the annual Best Of The Year post we do for the visitlondon.com blog. As the various theatre shows I've enjoyed in 2011 came out around the 10 mark, it seemed fitting to put them together for you here.

Obviously, it's been a pretty unforgettable year for me, events-wise (wedding, hen do, honeymoon being in the top three!), but in amongst all those life-changing events has been a steady stream of top-notch theatre too...

1. One Man, Two Guvnors, National Theatre, June
Now transferred to the West End, and extending its run with a new lead, I was lucky enough to see One Man, Two Guvnors without having read much about it, and before hearing all the hype. It turned out to be the perfect show for the Friday before the Friday before the wedding... Total escapism for me and my husband-to-be. Hilarious, slick, surprising, hugely entertaining; I felt like we were in the hands of enormously talented people, all with incredible performance power. Long may it continue to entertain. Here's what I wrote about it for londonist.



2. Matilda The Musical, Cambridge Theatre, November
I saw Matilda after the hype. But I still loved it. I defy anyone (with just the vaguest sense of enjoyment when it comes to musical theatre) not to be won over by this show. It's just got so much heart. And the show has introduced me to the brilliance of Tim Minchin (he's really from Northampton, y'know), and Bertie Carvel (who's possibly going to be Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones' Diary The Musical - oh my...!). After writing the Matilda review for londonist, I was also invited to talk about Matilda on French Radio London, which was fun.



3. Crazy For You, Novello Theatre, October
My sister and I saw Crazy For You back in the 1990s with the whole of our family during a lavish Day Out in London for my Grandma's (75th? 80th?) birthday. I was just about a teenager (13 or 14), and the day involved a trip to Claridges' for afternoon tea too. As it turns out, all I can really remember from the day is being offered actual different types of tea (who is this Dargie Ling you speak of?); a waiter telling my Grandma she looked like the Queen Mother (what a charmer!); and a girl singing while sitting on a crescent moon hanging from the flies at the end of the show. Nothing about the musical itself. Seeing it again all these years later, I realised it was no surprise that we couldn't remember the plot! It's totally nonsensical and arbitrary, in the best tradition of all the best musicals. (But, I'd argue, still contains what I like to call the Forest of Arden displacement treatment.) After this incredible production, my sis and I were thumping our knees and crying "Again! Again!" Really, for musical lovers, it's a total treat. The music! The dancing! The shoes! The tap routines! The telephones! The sets! The gloves!



4. Frankenstein, National Theatre, April
Another top show from the National; another which is now indelibly linked to 2011 in my head, as we saw it the day before The Hen Do. That night, Johnny Lee Miller was The Creature and Benedict Cumberbatch the Doctor (a role they alternated, in case you weren't aware). I'd've been happy to see it either way, but loved the dramatisation of this ever-fascinating tale. It was also a great example of a Nat Theatre epic: sets, sound and lighting that had you wondering as much about the skills of the builders back stage as the players on it.



5. Clybourne Park, Wyndham's Theatre, February
The first mention of a Royal Court show in this top 10, Clybourne Park transferred to the West End early this year, and made quite an impression on me. As well as a deliciously sassy script, it was wonderfully acted by a fantastic cast. Here are the thoughts I put together about the show for the visitlondon.com blog.



6. Betty Blue Eyes, Novello Theatre, April
Ahh, Betty. With an actual royal wedding happening at the same time, Cameron Mackintosh producing and Alan Bennett in the mix, I just don't know what happened. At the time, I was pretty sceptical. But in hindsight, I think I actually loved a lot of it. Indeed, here's a round-up of reviews I put together for londonist, concluding:

"Fantastic choral skills ensemble, some brilliantly bonkers songwriting by Stiles and Drew (one about chiropody, another about a bad smell – seriously), and slick choreography by Stephen Mear."

Now watch this and tell me WHY this wasn't a hit?



7. The Westbridge, Theatre Local, November
It's not often you get to see Royal Court-standard theatre a short walk from your house. Unless you live in Sloane Square, of course. But I don't. So it was very exciting to be able to make the press night for The Westbridge at Theatre Local in the Bussey Building in Peckham, a mere hop, skip and a jump from my front door. As well as being wonderfully "local" in every possible way, the acting was spot-on, the script sizzled and the production was innovative and impressive. I hope the 'Court enjoyed their time in my 'hood.  Here's what I wrote about The Westbridge for londonist.



8. The Playboy of the Western World, Old Vic, October 
I was thrilled to finally see The Playboy of the Western World, having struggled through it at school. The Old Vic's production made for a fascinating evening of half-remembered A Level quotes, page-bound characters bursting to life, a strong slice of Ireland in the heart of Waterloo, and a hugely entertaining piece of comedy drama. Here's what I wrote about The Playboy of the Western World on the visitlondon.com blog.





9. Hamlet, Young Vic, October
No video here, and no review to link up either. I'm so pleased I've finally seen Hamlet live. I'm also really pleased I've seen Michael Sheen perform. He was certainly everything I'd hoped for. And there was lots to enjoy in this innovative show  at the Young Vic. But ultimately I was disappointed. Several of the other actors just weren't good enough. And the production just felt kinda cheap. But Mr Sheen's performance just inches this into the top 10 of the year... 

10. Umbrellas of Cherbourg, Gielgud Theatre, March / Pippin, Menier Chocolate Factory, December
I know, I know. Having two for tenth place in a top 10 just makes it a top 11, right? Well, there are lots of similarities between these two shows. (As well as a shared cast member in the lovely Carly Bawden.) I guess I'd list both as flawed musicals. That's not to say they weren't enjoyable; indeed, there were moments of brilliance in both. I'm sad the sweet, stylish Umbrellas of Cherbourg didn't survive for longer. Here's what we made of it at work.



And Pippin was, well, different. Really different. And I rather liked most of it. Here's what I wrote about it for londonist.

There was more, of course. I Am The Wind at the Young Vic was one of my favourite reviews to write. The Children's Hour was star-studded, but a dud play, in my opinion. The RSC were on top form with King Lear and As You Like It at the Roundhouse, both quality productions, but because I always expect so much from them, they perhaps didn't surprise me enough to make the final top 10. I quite liked the overambitious 13 at the National. Then there was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (finally!), and Backbeat (OK, but kinda disappointing), and Double Falsehood (a new theatre for me, but far from Shakespeare's best, IMHO.)

And next year? Well, there'll be more. I should try some more venues, as well as some new companies, and some new shows. Perhaps I can be a bit more adventurous in 2012 than I have been in 2011.

I'll keep you posted...

Spotted: Mel Giedroyc

When: Monday night
Where: Comedy Theatre, watching Birdsong

The lovely presenter of The Great British Bake Off was at the theatre on Monday night, watching Birdsong.

I spotted Mel in the queue for the always-confusing ladies at the Comedy Theatre (queues to left and right? Blind corners with more loos hiding behind them? Mirrors that make you look like death? They're all in there...)

Mel was looking punkier than her British Bake Off image, with spikier hair, and maybe sporting some leopard print?

Last time I saw her in a theatre, she was giving an absolutely stunning performance in EUROBEAT: Almost Eurovision! at the Novello Theatre. She was brrrrilliant.

Birdsong was less good. Much longer, far fewer laughs(!), and left me strangely lacking in emotion, despite being about one of the saddest things in the world: trench warfare and WWI. Read my Birdsong review here on londonist.

Image from an orange blog on GBBO

Deathtrap: Disappointing Despite Jonathan Groff

I'm so glad I posted that video yesterday. It makes last night's disappointment all the more, well, explainable, really.

You can read my review of Deathtrap here on londonist. But as you can guess, I've got a few more things to add...

Now, first up, I've nothing but praise for most of the cast in last night's performance of Deathtrap. Simon Russell Beale was suitably awesome (reminded me of MH, which is unexpected and quite funny); Jesse St James, sorry, I mean Jonathan Groff filled Cliff's boots perfectly; and Claire Skinner was just great as a fragile 70s housewife. (Estelle Parsons wasn't good, but then her part was a complete mess, so you can't really blame her.)

My quibbles, however, are many. And are mainly with the play, and the way it's been promoted over the last few months. Deathtrap the play is just SO FAR from that "theatrical trailer", I was almost convinced I was in the wrong theatre. Once again, like that Judi Dench Midsummer Night's Dream, the gulf between my expectations and the reality as it happened on stage before me has put me in a terrible mood. I was expecting something epic, filmic, inventive, modern and moody. I was waiting to feel Six-Characters levels of awestruck and breathless again.

Instead, the word that wouldn't leave my head was "kitsch". Now, watch that youtube clip from yesterday, and tell me how far from kitsch it feels.

As well as that, it was baggy and slow at times; obvious in its "get ready to jump" set-ups at others; it was smarmy and smug; and it was old-fashioned - and not in a good way.

There's also a teeth-clenchingly rubbish repeat of what's just happened at the end, with an awkward voice-over that made me feel like I was being treated like an idiot. And there's some problems with the sound; something like an echo whenever Estelle speaks in her not-that-funny accent that really should've been sorted out.

And then, my main quibble: now, I love a bit of self-reference in a play. Any sideways, knowing nodding to the audience generally sends a shiver up my spine. If there's a moment of metadrama to be found in a play, I'll be there, enjoying that particular practice of pointing at theatre through theatre. (Shakespeare does it; Stoppard does it; Six Characters blew me away with it: I'm a fan.)

But with Deathtrap, there was just TOO much. And it was the worst kind of nodding too: one with a big West End theatrey hat on. An expensive, exclusive-in-the-negative-sense (err, non-inclusive?) elitist hat. The kind that says "this is a plaay", with a long, Stewie Griffin style "aay". A witty plaay, that takes place in a thee-ater. The kind that says aren't we funny, we're sending up a sacred artform here, naughty, naughty us.

It's the kind of theatre that puts people off theatre. In many ways, the worst kind.

Perhaps I'm coming across as overly negative. I have to say, I had a pretty bad overall theatrey experience that evening (the lovely ET excepted). Uncomfy seats, coughing and whispering all around, a tall guy in front obscuring half the stage, and being plonked back in Row Q does not a happy critic make.

The funny thing is, I agree with almost all the positive points other reviewers have made. I nodded through those WEW boys - I concur with everything they've said here. But maybe while they liked those things, I didn't.

I can't help thinking I've been left feeling short-changed after watching that damn trailer and, once again, by believing the hype.

The Little Dog Laughed: Friend, and a Friend of a Friend

Last week's second trip al teatro was to see the new (to London) American play, The Little Dog Laughed.

As well as all the excitement of a movie star's West End debut, seeing a Bond Girl live on stage alongside Charles Dickens' great-great-great-grandson AND the quite wonderful Tamsin Grieg (she should play a funny, ballsy lesbian more often: it makes her very, very sexy), really, the most exciting thing was knowing that, at any moment, should any evening-cancelling accident befall either of the guys up on stage, Taylor would have to step in.

Yes, my one famous actor friend-of-a-friend Taylor James (JC was at school with him) is trying his hand at the mysterious art of understudying.

Of couse, I find this totally fascinating. What does he do all evening? How does he keep psyched up to go on stage at any moment, knowing he probably won't? What does he do with all that adrenaline and energy when eventually the evening's over, and he hasn't been able to get that audience-reaction buzz that surely fuels all performers? Is he bored? Does *he* get a night off? What if he's ill? And, in a show where there's one understudy to the two male characters, what happens if they're both run over by buses?

(I know the answer to this last one: they've got insurance. Mundane, but true: if both boys are ill, people would get refunds on their tickets.)

And here's a link to my review on londonist.

The Little Dog Laughed is very slick and very funny; but I thought it was a little too glib to be truly brilliant. That's glib as in lacking in sincerity, being a bit too blase or facile: lacking in depth.

And I felt a bit awkward about some of the laughs. Here we have a liberal, South-East England, middle class audience, who've all happily bought tickets knowing they're seeing a play about homosexuality, with the odd gay kiss and at least one bare male bum (clenched). No-one's offended, enlightened, or otherwise: everyone's just laughing along jollily. Are we laughing at gays as a group? No, sir. Are we laughing at gays being afraid of coming out? Not really. I suppose we're laughing at Hollywood's homophobia. We're laughing at the ridiculousness of a huge, showy, glittery industry being openly anti-gay.

And I'm not sure if that's laugh-out-loud funny.

Hence my slight confusion over some of the laughs.

But then JC pointed out that satire doesn't have to be about something funny. In fact, quite often its about things which really aren't funny at all. Which of course, is true. (Today's story about Chris Morris' Four Lion being a perfect example.) JC's clever.

Absenteeism

Disappointing, I know.

Where the hell have I been all this time? Is this blog even still going?

Well, between work and londonist, and lots of other things, sadly writing stuff for Culture and the City has really slipped.

JC turned 30; I turned 30. The world and his wife celebrated birthdays (and not just people: even londonist was due a 5-candled birthday cake and some binge-drinking - can you make candle a verb?? I'm getting all inventive after seeing The Spanish Tragedy on Tues, where a characted "dewed" someone in his tears - beautiful language, our Kyd...) After the wedding-filled summer, it seems September and October are now full of more reasons to dress up and see friends. NOT that I'm complaining. Seeing people more is one of my old-age resolutions. Hence a dinner party planned for Monday night, and another for the first week in November.

Since my excitement over An Inspector Calls (totally right to get enthusiastic about this - it was aces), I've seen a disappointing George Dawes in Prick Up Your Ears (followed by the poor fellow pulling out after his ex-husband killed himself... sad story), and been thoroughly pissed off by an entire evening at the Greenwich Theatre, seeing an averrrage School for Scandal. Here's what didn't make it into my review:

But perhaps Mr Billington, unlike us, doesn't venture down to Greenwich Theatre. If he did, he'd've witnessed several people getting mixed up with their tickets (the same seats having been sold to a number of people); our own tickets failed to exist - we were given one in row N, two empty rows separating us from the rest of the audience. Mr Billington could've been greeted into the auditorium by the most unenthusiastic staff in the world. It was cold back in row N. Mr B would've heard our neighbour continuing to send text messages throughout the first scene on a beeping blackberry, before leaving the theatre altogether halfway through the first half; Mr B could've taken advantage an over-indulgent half-hour interval, despite the actors being on stage and ready, presumably to make sure the cold audience could all be served a cup of hot water with a teabag floating in it (£2.50) by the slow, sulky staff; Mr B would've also been able to hear the stage directions coming across loud and clear in a dad-style stage whisper (pun intended) from the lighting box OVER the cast on stage.

Not a good show. I could barely concentrate on what was going on on stage, the whole surrounding "stuff" was so distracting.

I took a week off from going to the theatre after that.

Happily, Tuesday's Spanish Tragedy was very, very cool. I liked the Arcola, it was lovely going with Lindsey Londonist, the play was fantastic, the direction had hints of Goold (mad, bad, blood-coloured hints), and all the staff were really good. Was it simply because I was close enough to smell them?? Maybe a contributing factor, but there was so much good about this, it's hard to put it all into words. And over all the good things, a sprinkling of magic that means you can't quite put your finger on why it was you enjoyed it so much. You just do.

Inventive: that's all I want. Something that makes me smile, and think, "That's clever." Whether its a line of script, a piece of costume, a strain of music, some cool way of staging a scene. Something surprising and intelligent. Like my friends and the people that I admire.

Spotted: Mark Rylance

When: last night
Where: Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, one of my favourite places on earth

Mr Rylance, former artistic director of the aformentioned esteemed establishment popped up in the audience last night. I hope he enjoyed himself.

He was wearing a rather jaunty black pork-pie hat, with a white band around it. Made me worry momentarily whether he was a) Justin Timberlake or b)... but hey.

CB admitted she's had rather a crush on him since his star turn in Jerusalem. I've always thought he was pretty great; perhaps I'll get to see him on stage soon; he's in Complicite's new Beckett thing...

The show was good, not amazing. I really enjoyed the performances; I'm just not convinced the play was quite good enough. Trevor Griffiths, also in the audience last night, has created a great script, line-by-line, but I needed a bit more of a dramatic curve to keep me going over the three hours.

Then if you call your new piece "A life...", you're going yourself into to get some tricky structural problems, I guess.

You can read my londonist review of A New World - A Life of Thomas Paine here.

Spotted: Theatre Stars Galore at the Open Air Theatre

There was a host of just-about familiar faces at the Regent's Park Open Air Theatre last night.

So many, in fact, that I stuck them all in a VL blog post on the subject:

1. Natalie Casey
2. Desmond Barrit
3. Nigel Cooke
4. Clive Rowe

It's an odd mixture, isn't it? I'm sure there were far more actors in the crowd; it seems they like the Open Air Theatre. Last time we were there, watching the very brilliant Much Ado About Nothing, A and I witnessed much drunken hilarity from someone who looked very much like Su Pollard... but we couldn't be sure.

Did they enjoy Hello, Dolly! as much as my sister and I did?

I doubt it.

(You can read my pretty restrained londonist review of the show here.)

Round the Reviews: Sister Act The Musical

You'll remember, I was so excited about seeing this show.

But Sister Act The Musical failed to live up to expectations.

Sure it was fun. There were funny moments. Some of the songs were sweet. The blokes did a good job in their cameotyped(?!) roles.

But my overriding feeling about it was that it was just all a bit crass.

The supposed heart-string-pulling songs seemed manipulative; the set with the giant Jesus feet and the terrible glitterball Mary bordered on obscene. Some of the innuendo was truly awful (JC was most unimpressed when I told him about the bulging pockets line when I got home!) I tried to say as much in a hastily written review for londonist.

Part of me even wondered if anyone with a particularly religious outlook (and admittedly, a slightly out-of-place funny bone) might've actually found it offensive.

I was worried all this negativity might've been because I'd been lucky enough to see the wonderful Billy Elliot all too recently, so I've been round the reviews to see what everyone else was saying...

Charles Spencer has put together one of the most terrible pieces of reviewing I've seen for a while. Here's the opening:

What is it about Andrew Lloyd Webber and nuns?

There has always been something dark and brooding about Lloyd Webber. Could it be that he harbours dark erotic fantasies about nuns?

Jeez. It gets worse:

Among the support, Katie Rowley Jones makes a sweet novice, Claire Greenway is deliciously plump and funny as the over-enthusiastic Sister Mary Patrick, while Julia Sutton plays the oldest, toughest sister more like Jimmy Cagney than a nun.

I wonder if he's ever described a man as "deliciously plump". It's hardly a review of her performance, is it? Oh, and there's the inevitable pun at the end that no-one needs or cares about, but that makes sure the Torygraph gets on the posters:

I suspect this musical comedy about a nun on the run could prove habit-forming.

Good old Billington gave it an appropriate two stars:

What was originally a fairytale fantasy, however, makes little sense in its new, vulgarised incarnation. In the movie, the music arose naturally from the story: there was even a certain wit about seeing a group of wimpled warblers turned into a cohesive unit. But here, long before the heroine has got to work on their larynxes, they are leaping about the stage like showbiz pros telling us How I Got the Calling.

Over at the Times, Benedict Nightingale says:

a rather sweet, sentimental film has been hyped up, coarsened, given what — were the Palladium flown to Times Square — we'd call the big, brash Broadway treatment.

And while I hate to agree with the Daily Mail, I really think that their reviewer (Quentin Letts) is spot on:

I hated its artistic laziness, its predictability, its incuriosity, its idea that disco is divine and that spirituality can never be found in discreet and dignified worship... From the start there is basically one joke: namely, the spectacle of nuns grooving around on the dance floor. I know I may be taking it too seriously but I found myself recoiling sharply from this story's saccharine values and its bullying gaiety.

...

But oh, the clichés. In any comedy involving a large troupe there seems to be this recipe: one fat character (probably with glasses, looking like ex BBC weatherman Ian McCaskill); one old 'un, invariably a hell raiser; one young innocent. They duly turn up here.

I'm sure, along with the two critics I agree with, that it'll run and run. Can't wait til WEW get to see it...

Programme Notes: Much Ado About Nothing at Regent's Park Open Air Theatre

A and I had a great time at the press night of Much Ado About Nothing, the season opener at Regent's Park Open Air Theatre.

It was a great show, a lovely bit of Shakespeare in a great venue. And I reviewed it for londonist.

But I've got a bone to pick with Viv Groskop, who supplies the programme notes.

A little research has shown that Viv is something of a top journalist. But I can only presume that she was having an off-day when she put together the couple of pages entitled "Much Ado About Beatrice and Benedick" for the Open Air Theatre programme. Or that she was hoping for a sub to turn it into something more meaningful with that punctuation stuff...

Beatrice we're told, is "way ahead of her time. So much so that she's maybe even ahead of our own time. In any case she makes Bridget Jones look like a lovesick fool."

Riiight. Isn't Bridget Jones a lovesick fool?

The other thing that wound me up was the seemingly unavoidable paragraph about those gender complications... I'm so bored of it. "It's important to remember, though" Viv tells us "that in Shakespeare's time (no comma) all the female roles would have been played by men in drag:

The role of Beatrice could have easily been played to extreme ironic effect by a male actor. It's only now that she can truly come across as an intelligent and sparky heroine. When Beatrice wails, 'Oh God, that I were a man!' and wants to avenge Hero herself, we feel her injustice. In Elizabethan times, the line would have got a laugh (because she really was a man - and probably in seriously bad drag). It's only today, stripped of the added layer of gender confusion provided by Elizabethan casting, that the play can have a multitude of messages which stretch from the comical to the political.

Gah: where to start?

• Were there really no intelligent and sparky Beatrices back in the day?
• Were all the members of the play's early audiences just sitting there thinking, "God, I can't wait until women can play these roles and so later audiences can finally enjoy this great piece of writing."
• Can we ever know what those audiences were thinking?
• Were contemporaneous audiences really laughing more than us, knowing there's a joke there that won't exist in 400 years' time, when women are allowed on stage?!
  
• And I really dislike the use of the word "drag" here: twice. I don't know about you; is there something sexual about the term? Derogatory? Belittling? I don't know why, but I just don't think it's right in this context.
  
• Did the play have but one message in Shakespeare's day?

It just feels like lazy writing to me. And I really don't like lazy writing.

Romeo & Juliet: Londonist & Stats

A quick moment of blowing my own trumpet, if you please.

Just excited to share the news that my review of Romeo & Juliet at The Globe on londonist has this week climbed three places to number 4 in the most-read posts of the month.

Maybe it's the fact that Romeo & Juliet at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre is google-friendly; maybe it's the picture gallery that's pushed up the stats; maybe it's the comments... whatever the reason, I'm really chuffed.

Let's hope for more like this in the future.

Ellie Kendrick, Toby Young, Judi Dench: Hell Hath No Fury Like Actresses, Critics and Commentators Scorned...

Well, a commenter kicked off about my slightly provocative review of Romeo & Juliet on londonist earlier in the week...

Fair enough, I think. I was quite cheeky about Ellie Kendrick, and appreciate someone commenting on my writing, whether for positive or negative. In some cases, negative feels more meaningful.

During the same couple of days I was interested to read that the lovely Judy Dench has also made her feelings known about Charles Spencer's comments about her performance in Madame De Sade:

"I've always rather admired you but now realise you're an absolute shit," she wrote.

The ever-readable Toby Young has made this brilliant addition to the Guardian's theatre blog on the subject:

The golden rule in theatreland is that you should never respond to your critics, no matter how uncharitable you think they've been. Whether you're a playwright or an actor, the correct response when asked to comment on an unfavourable notice is to deny all knowledge of it... They know that the worst punishment for a critic is to be ignored.

Most critics regard these sorts of letters as the equivalent of receiving a Tony award. Had I ever received a missive like that from a theatrical dame, I certainly would have milked it for all it was worth, just as Spencer has done...

...the best way to make a critic feel guilty about a negative review is to be gracious about it.

Thanks Toby. This certainly made me smile.

Theatre Review: Dirty Dancing @ The Aldwych Theatre

I finally saw Dirty Dancing at the Aldwych Theatre this week. It's a funny one.

I'm sure lots of people know this, but the people behind the show have actually transposed the film, scene for scene, line for line, word for word, onto the stage. And if anyone's interested in looking at the difference between stage and screen writing / blocking / setting, this would make an interesting case study.

As a result, there are some ludicrous moments: where Johnny smashes the window of his car because the keys are shut inside, we have to have a car, on stage, so the actor playing Johnny can smash the window. There's no plot development in this scene, it's hardly essential, and yet there it is, taking up precious moments of a stage show.

Because of the complicated settings in the film (it's a film afterall), Dirty Dancing on stage has some of the most grand, complex, expensive(?), meaningless sets I have ever seen on stage. (OK, except Lord of the Rings and Les Mis.)

The scenery is epic. The log, the dining room, the car, the stage, the kitchen where Penny cries about her pregnancy, Johnny's room, it's all there, recreated on stage as faithfully as possible.

And around all this monstrous set moves what suddenly reveals itself to be one of the flimsiest stories EVER.

I like really Dirty Dancing, the film. I always saw it as a great coming-of-age piece; hilarious, sexy, convincing, great dancing, a little bit magical, a little bit silly, a lot of fun, with great performances from the two leads, Jennifer Grey and the Swaze.

Transported onto the West End stage, word for word, line for line etc, its suddenly slow, clunky, awkward, slow, completely unconvincing, and painfully slow.

Did I mention it felt slow?!

When you're on film, and no-one's speaking, moving, or even doing anything, there's still a sense that the film is alive. Trees move, music plays, time passes. On stage, when no-one's speaking, or moving (Ken Branagh's pregnant pauses in Ivanov aside), NOTHING'S happening. Nothing. You're just waiting for the next bit of film to happen, so the actors on stage can come back to life, and start recreating the film for you again.

Here's a tip: stay in, and watch the film.

Ahh, but maybe this is unfair. It's a fun show. The dancing's good. The two leads do their jobs admirably. In fact, Baby (Leanne Rowe) is likeable, remarkably faithful to the original, and wonderful at recreating the young girl's awkwardness on stage. You have to admire the female cast for their sheer weightlessness: I'm surprised some of them could dance, they were so thin.

And afterall, this is a show for pissed-up hen parties to woop and cat-call at the hunks on stage for a couple of hours before they go clubbing in the West End; it's not meant to be a great piece of theatre.

Once again, though, it does feel like a bit of a missed opportunity to do something thoughtful and meaningful with a fun plot, great music, and the opportunity for some amazing dancing.

Sublime and Ridiculous: Royal Albert Hall to the Hen and Chickens Theatre

It's been a pretty odd day, events-wise.

Alongside the launch of The King and I at the Royal Albert Hall, I also caught the press view of Obama On My Mind at the Hen and Chickens Theatre, not in Camden, as I'd mistakenly thought, but in Highbury / Islington. (North of the river is such an impenetrable maze...)

So, heading for a post-11pm cliche, it really has been a day swinging from the sublime to the ridiculous.

I channelled Olivia Jools at the Royal Albert Hall, knowing no one in an awkward pre-launch mingle, but was thrilled to finally hear from the real Raymond Gubbay (I thought, like the Colonel in KFC, he was long gone, and more of a semi-mythical character than a real-life person), a lovely bloke from the RAH, who's about to retire, and the wonderful Maria Friedman, about to take on the role of Anna. She sang "Hello, Young Lovers" in a nicely, unpolished version. I think she's going to be good.

Then, after work, it was all about the trusty 43 up through The City, and into the unknown of Highbury and Islington. Which I still manage to get confused about after all this time.

The Hen and Chickens is a delightful little pub theatre. Obama On My Mind is an odd, inappropriate little musical. Indeed, from the outset, when the cast all came on in pink hats with wobbling pigs on top, overfilling an under-funded space, it seemed to be as far from the impressions I have of Obama as it is possible to ever, ever be. A whole galaxy. Light years away from the slick, well-funded machine that got this clever, slick man into power. Actual, real, whole, light years.

I'll write the review in the morning.

Musical Excitement: Obama On My Mind @ the Hen and Chickens Theatre

Very excited about tomorrow evening's entertainment.

I've got press tickets to see what's become known as The Obama Musical, or Obama: The Musical at the Hen and Chickens Theatre in Camden.

It's actually about the campaign trail from the p.o.v of an American in London, I think. You can listen to the theme toon on their site. This from The Graph:

Written and produced by the Ohio-born Teddy Hayes, The Obama Musical focuses on the personalities behind the Democratic candidate's campaign.

Songs in the show, due to receive its premiere at Barons Court Theatre next month, include Obama and Me, which is sung by an obsessive member of his team and includes the lyric: "We are a pair/like chocolate and éclair".

Hayes said: "I've done a bit of work for the Obama campaign and this is a send-up of what happens behind the scenes."

Except, it seems things have changed since that report, as it ain't at Baron's Court, it's at Hen and Chickens.

As well as being intrigued about seeing a new musical, I'm also excited about finally hitting another one of London's pub theatres I've been researching recently. Review coming...

Plus, I just like the idea of someone else waking up with "Obama on my mind..."

Great Writing: Peter Bradshaw

Loved The Bradshaw's review of Revolutionary Road. This, today, at 10.30am, feels like truly great writing.

Frank and April's summer of dashed hope and ruined plans is excruciating not merely because it forces them to admit an existential defeat, but because it shows them a happiness they would never have known, had they never thought of leaving, and also, crucially, a happiness they would never have had in Paris: a happiness of pure, innocent, happy anticipation. Frank and April's dreams were not simply a Chekhovian yearning for Moscow: the plan was not entirely beyond the bounds of possibility, and the likelihood that their marriage would have been just as unhappy in Paris paradoxically reinforces the agonising plausibility of the dream.

Really want to see the film, and read the book now.

Complicit Delays Opening Night

So, there I was, worrying about how best to write a review of the Old Vic's Complicit for londonist as it was press night tonight, when I read they're putting off opening night for another nine days.

The Guardian hints it's because Dreyfuss can't remember his lines. JC then remembers he saw Richard wearing an earpiece during the preview we saw. I can't be so sure.

I hope the delay is because the writer has decided to rework the piece. As far as I was aware, the actors on stage were doing fine; it was the terrible script that needed work. We shall see.

Review: Sunset Boulevard at the Comedy Theatre

Seen any Andrew Lloyd Webber this year? And I'm not talking about watching the Lord spout his meaningless witterings about "raising your game" and "going on a musical journey" on some Saturday night TV show.

I'm talking about bona fide, spine tingling, heart-string tugging clichéd-but-we-love-it musicals that seem to hit the right note (pun intended), every.single.time.

If you don't have the ALW gene, the one that makes your eyes well up when the two doomed leads start singing that octave-separated duet, the one that increases your heart beat when you hear that flute solo, the one that roots for that unwitting, innocent outsider pulled into an odd gothic entanglement (The Woman in White, The Phantom of the Opera, Sunset Boulevard), don't worry. But, well, I'm sorry: this might not be the show (or even the review) for you.

Sunset Boulevard is the Tony Award-winning 1990s musical of the 1950 film of the same name. It tells the story of a tragic relationship between an old silent movie star, Norman Desmond ("the greatest star of all", played here by Kathryn Evans), and a young writer called Joe Gillis (Ben Goddard). This reworked version, directed by Strictly Come Dancing's Craig Revel-Horwood, is greatly paired-down from the blockbuster it became, and features a cast of actor-musicians.

Like Avenue Q, there's a moment at the start of this Sunset Boulevard where you have to enter into a contract with the people on stage. In AQ, you agree to accept the puppets. Here, it's about the instruments. Yes, they're going to be playing their instruments on stage, in view, while dancing, while acting; in some cases, while having a conversation. Pretty much throughout. And yes, you have to go with it.

In fact the result, as well as being in awe of the incredible talent on stage, is an interesting one. While playing and watching in the sidelines, the musicians add another kind of participatory, voyeuristic audience to a play which is very much about playing, theatre, being on show, celebrity and audience.

The two leads are fantastic. Crazy self-obsessed old bat Norma Desmond is a dream role for any actress (Glenn Close, Elaine Paige and Petula Clark have all played her). Kathryn Evans' gorgeous full-bodied voice suits the big show-stopping songs perfectly. She also brings a desperate lonely physicality to the role –those long fingers, that long neck, those long eyelashes – that makes her more than a match for Ben Goddard's big-statured Joe.

Goddard shines as Joe, too. It helps that he's rather gorgeous, as well as being a likeable, troubled rake. I didn't mind watching Ben being stripped down to the pants of his writer's clothes and trussed up in tails at all. Joe's as enamoured with fame and celebrity as he is disgusted by it; this duplicity comes through particularly nicely in the rousing title song which Goddard totally nailed after the interval.

The rest of the cast are also ace. Kudos must go to Laura Pitt-Pulford making her West End debut as Betty, who not only manages to play the flute while "sunbathing" lying down, but also manages to get herself upright, gracefully, seamlessly without a break in playing. The girl's got stomach muscles.

Norma and Joe's wonderful New Year's Eve tango was a particular highlight; which is to be expected from a show directed by Revel-Horwood.

Tellingly, for a show about a writer, it has some lovely one-liners, some nice cheeky quips, some excellent turns of phrase and rhyme in the lyrics and the script. That's lyricist Don Black for you. He's the chap behind Born Free, a handful of Bond themes, and lots of other top notch classics. And here he's paired with Christopher (Atonement, Dangerous Liaisons, The Quiet American) Hampton. Here's a fantastic profile of Mr Hampton.

There are less successful moments. I didn't love the awkward, over-long car chase. The full-cast numbers occasionally felt a little clunky on the Comedy Theatre's stage. (Is it too small? Were we sitting too close – for once – and too on one side to appreciate the blocking?) And Ben Goddard occasionally needs to relax his (lovely, big, musical-instrument caressing) hands when he's singing.

But these are minor quibbles in a fantastic, magical piece of musical theatre, which really lived up to my expectations.

Take anyone under 18, whose New Year's resolution is likely to be to give up whichever musical instrument they currently hate practising because it's uncool. And anyone of any age with a pure and simple interest in theatre craft, and everything (clever props, gorgeous costumes, great sound and lighting) that goes into creating the magic of a show. And of course, this is must-see fodder for everyone with that secret ALW gene. Go, believe the illusion, and be taught "new ways to dream".

Sunset Boulevard is playing at London's Comedy Theatre until 18 April. Photo of the two leads tangoing is by Robert Day.

Theatre Review: The Tragedy of Thomas Hobbes at Wilton's Music Hall

The Royal Shakespeare Company opens its London winter season with The Tragedy of Thomas Hobbes, at Wilton's Music Hall, a crumbling old relic down a back street in Tower Hill, which last night reeked of soporific mulled wine.

The play, like its venue, is a curious mix.

It's a new history. It's about English philosophy after the Civil War, by an American with an Italian name (Adriano Shaplin).

It's based in a time when theatre was banned, written in blank verse. It's very like Shakespeare, but with the occasional modern "Bollocks!" nudgingly reminding us of its relevance today.

In a time of massive change, upheaval and uncertainty (knowingly referred to as the "pamphlet age of instant reply") two factions develop. Hobbes, the celebrated philosopher, played by the John Hurt-like Stephen Boxer, is full of the arrogance that precedes a fall. Goaded by out-of-work actors Black and Rotten (James Garnon and Angus Wright provide punchy light relief), he battles a group of modern scientists. (You'll recognise Boyle – the one with the Law – and Newton at the very least.)

Despite its title, The Tragedy of Thomas Hobbes is actually an ensemble piece. Once Hobbes has met his comeuppance, the pendulum of tragedy continues to swing, as new kid of the block, Newton rails against Boyle's former protégé Robert Hooke (the gorgeous Jack Lasey), and a new generation of thinkers trample over the discoveries of the last.

Puritanical protector Cromwell pops up at the start; more dramatically pleasing is the rockstar king Charles played with relish by Arsher Ali. Ali, with his long hair, long cuffs and long legs in skinny jeans had more than a hint of Russell Brand about him. I couldn't help smile when Charlie looked mischievous about his naughtiness in exile, thinking about the currently disgraced Brand.

The Tragedy of Thomas Hobbes provides a fascinating insight into the development of scientific thought in the Restoration. The money required, the politics of patronage, the radical experiments going hand-in-hand with extreme religious views and fervent patriotism.

Does that make it sound rather dry? It isn't. Thomas Hobbes is also about personality, celebrity, ambition, authority, prodigy. Shapiro isn't afraid to tackle many tricksy topics; I've never been in an audience so deep in analytical conversation as the interval drew to a close.

I have to apologise for a lack of deep knowledge about all the -ologies, -isms and -osophies battered across the stage. But the play was no less enjoyable for that.

These RSC men (and one woman confusingly playing a man, Amanda Hadingue) are clearly enjoying themselves, as they chew through this meaty material. They swing and jump around Soutra Gilmour's terrific three-tiered set with so much energy over the two-and-three-quarter hours, it's impossible not to go with them.

The show's by no means perfect. You can't help feeling short-changed as too many characters with too many stories and too much science fly by without the time to elaborate. At one point, the play descends into physical theatre, ideas escaping as bodies surge about the stage; later, as London burns, you get the feeling you're watching a trilogy that's been mashed into one evening's entertainment.

Giving the final lines to the actors, as Hooke ran from his humiliation, was a little twee and in-jokey, and left the play feeling a little flat.

While the characters of Rotten and Black were high on the favourites list, Hooke, with his charismatic, troubled, love-me attitude, and scraggy indie band frontman appearance was surely who most of the audience were rooting for. Or was that just me? (Checking the script, it seems a final soliloquy from Boyle had been cut...)

Nevertheless, if you're getting excited about Channel 4's upcoming The Devil's Whore, are longing for something both a bit Shakespearean and totally unfamiliar, or just want to see high calibre acting in a remarkable setting, make sure you check this out.

The Tragedy of Thomas Hobbes plays at Wilton's Music Hall until 6 December.

Londonist: Theatre Review: No Man's Land

The new production of No Man's Land at the Duke of York's Theatre has all the right ingredients.

It's a play by Harold Pinter, whom everyone seems obliged to describe as "our greatest living playwright".

It's directed by the award-winning Rupert Goold, Theatreland's man of the moment. (Not content with getting an Olivier for his Macbeth with Patrick Stewart last year, he's also behind the stunning 6 Characters in Search of an Authour, Liverpool's King Lear with Pete Postlethwaite, and the forthcoming Oliver!)

It stars the fabulous Michael Gambon as the aging writer, Hirst. We don't know about you, but we'd pay to listen to Mr Gambon read the telephone directory, let alone act parts deemed tailor-made for him by the writer.

It's even got the celeb box ticked, in the form of Little Britain's David Walliams, playing one of Hirst's sinister henchmen.

What's not to like?

Well, it's long, it's slow and it's kind of hard work. Sure, you're seeing some of the greatest acting you'll ever witness in the West End (and therefore anywhere), but this Londonista couldn't get over the fact that she was aware of her aching, theatre-weary arse, occasionally immune to the lines that were eliciting guffaws from the middle-aged, middle-posh, smug audience, and everso slightly wishing the play would, well, hurry up a bit.

There are gorgeous moments – Spooner's (David Bradley) description of a painting he never made; a wonderfully absurd set of directions around a one-way system from Nick Dunning as Briggs, sounding like something out of a particularly dark episode of Only Fools and Horses; and Gambon's frequent, lyrical dream-like reminiscences.

These are the flashes of sunlight in an otherwise shadow-filled evening's entertainment. To a non-scholar of Pinter (confession: this is the first Pinter play I've seen), this play was more like watching a very well-acted video installation in a gallery than a spending a life-affirming night in the theatre.

But what do we know: Michael Billington loved it.

No Man's Land is playing at the Duke of York's Theatre until 3 January 2009.
Image by Jeremy Whelehan shows Michael Gambon as Hirst, and David Bradley as Spooner.

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