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...

A Flea in Her Ear at the Old Vic

As I've already pointed out, there were stars in the audience when JC and I saw this particular show last week.

After treating a very tired JC to a great meal in amongst the Christmas Parties at Tas on The Cut, I was a little apprehensive about this show. Here we were, nodding to rather than celebrating our anniversary, as tradition dictates, about to see a show that I was unconvinced would keep JC awake in his shattered state.

Happily, I was completely wrong.

A Flea in Her Ear turned out to be hilarious. Just the right mixture of silliness and talent to make a lovely, diverting night out.

Read my full review here on londonist.

Educating Rita: From Liverpool's Past to Trafalgar's Present, Still Short of the Mark

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, there was a University Drama Society, based at Liverpool University.

And one day, many, many years ago, that University Drama Society, without a hint of irony, decided to put on a play: that play was Educating Rita. A scouse play. A Liverpudlian play.

The (non-Liverpudlian) students involved worked very, very hard, but it has to be said, there was little new or interesting about the show. It was staged in quite an interesting room; the actors involved had to work very, very hard to get all their lines learnt, but when it came to the crunch, the show was distinctly average.

The End.

Incredible really, that, to my mind, there were about 100 layers of meaning, subtlety, nuance and so on that we missed. Plodding slightly thoughtlessly through in our 90s grey-scale nike trainers, I guess. But then I sometimes think, that's students for you.

The show's currently running in London. I went along with my sister. Despite similarly fantastic hard-working actors and another interesting venue (the Trafalgar Studios), once again, I felt it was an average production. (Happily, she loved it.)

I was struggling with my review for londonist one morning, when it suddenly turned into a political piece about funding. Very unlike me.

It's a shame, because I think Willy Russell is a fantastic writer. There's just something a little bit twee, a little bit stuck-in-a-time-warp, a little bit workin'-cla'ss-heroww (as EW might say) about his work. I almost wish someone would ask him to script a story that they're in charge of, and he might do better.

For delicious one liners, he's up there with Mr Stoppard. For universality of theme, timelessness of emotion, I don't think he even gets close.

The Comedy of Errors at Regent's Park Open Air Theatre

Ahh, the Open Air Theatre. Ahh, theatre trips with your sister. Ahh, the joy of an unfamiliar Shakespeare comedy. Ahh, summer pleasures.

I don't know The Comedy of Errors. At all.

Turns out, it's hilarious. And not just in that imagine-these-ancient-jokes-being-funny-once kind of way that Shakespeare sometimes is. This felt really funny *now*. I know slapstick and visual comedy of one sort or another will always tickle funny bones. Ditto for gratuitous gorilla suits (file under "Never Not Funny"). But there are moments in the text that really sparkle for me too: Dromio's talking about the fat maid being like a map of the world could've almost been part of a Jimmy Carr sketch, somehow. And riffed nicely with the current World Cupish kind of foreigner stereotyping we'll be enduring until 11 July.

After dwelling on the show, I realise I also love Daniel Weyman's Antipholis of Syracuse. In a slightly silly way, I'll confess he reminds me of MC from school's Demetrius. It's an incredibly measured performance, building brilliantly from excited naivety to slight bemusement, to cheeky confusion, to pure bewilderment, to utter incomprehension. If he moved too soon at any point, the perfect arc of the show's comic tension would spoil. But he doesn't. Top notch.

I also love the way shows at the Open Air Theatre go for the playful, the magical, the theatrical. It's been the case in most of the things I've seen there recently. As well as a heavy dose of class and quality, everything seems to be dusted with an air of the "wonderful", in the real sense of the word.

They're full of wonder.

There's just something classic about a group of people, forming a tail behind a leader, reacting as one to a percieved threat. In his review, Charles Spencer (who hates everything I like about TCofE, including Shakespeare's story, and likes everything I don't) tired of what he regarded as the "Keystone Kops" routines. A and I, relishing the childish wonder of seeing this kind of tableau working perfectly, compare it to The Enormous Turnip, and file this sort of thing in that "Never Not Funny" drawer.

And the Open Air Theatre's actors, with their audience in daylight for at least half of the show, also seem to have perfected the "cheeky glance to the audience" to a tee. Both Dromios execute this perfectly, as do several other members of the cast. And it has me on the edge of my seat every time. Feeling their frustrations. Laughing at their expressions. *In* the play. Captivated.

It's something that I think The Globe could learn from, to be honest. (Gasp as ZJG seems to suggest something at The Globe could be improved!) Slick moments of 21st-century audience interaction seem so much more successful at the Open Air Theatre - why? Is it because these guys are on your level? Somehow feel closer? Who knows.

Anyway, I loved it. And cried at the end, which does reveal the play's aching heart, despite what Mr Spencer would have you think. And I reviewed it for londonist and for work, if you want to read more.

A Midsummer Night's Dream: Dame Judi Dench at the Rose

You'll remember I was hugely excited about this show.

I love A Midsummer Night's Dream. Not only was I in it at school (a very lanky 14-year-old Helena), but I've seen it lots of times, and it nearly always makes a fantastic impression.

So you'll be surprised to hear I was really disappointed in the version of the play I saw at the Rose last week.

Here's my review on Londonist. But, as you can guess, I've got a few more things to add...

On paper, I believed this Midsummer Night's Dream had all the makings of a once-in-a-lifetime theatrical event. Here were these old masters (Mr Hall and Ms Dench), alongside a really exciting-sounding cast about to reveal to us the incredible wisdom of their experience.

Instead, I now understand that this show has been done before. More than once. As pointed out on Radio 4's Front Row by Michael Dobson of Birkbeck College, London. There was a 1962 play; a 1968 film; and a 1980s opera. So this is fourth time around: "slightly diminishing returns" is one of the phrases Mr Dobson uses. You can say that again.

It was pretty static during the usual static-Shakespearean scene 1. No problem, I thought, you can use that for contrast: the staid Athenian court giving way to the unruly, magical forest. But no. It seems standing still, proclaiming your perfectly rounded lines was all the rage in the 1960s. So we get the same again today. I felt like the cast were each holding a very precious jug or ornament called Shakespeare's Priceless Verse, and they had to look after it throughout the play. If they spoke too quickly, or gave a couplet a modern twist for comedy, or dropped a less meaningful quarter phrase, or said something less strongly as an aside, this priceless object would break... Did they rehearse with a metronome? It felt like each of them spoke in the same rhythm. It made the whole thing very difficult to listen to, because everyone (perhaps bar Charles Edward's Oberon) ended up sounding the same.

Costumes. So, it's nice seeing Shakespeare done in Elizabethan dress. It must've been a rare treat back in the 60s when everything was hippyfied. But its standard fayre at The Globe every summer nowadays. And what about the terrible, distracting swords worn by nearly all the men? They clunked around the set, causing the boys to hold onto them with one hand thoughout so they didn't swing around and do someone a mischief ("ay, in the temple, in the town, the field"). Awkward one-handed acting? Not my cup of tea.

I spent some time thinking what it was the Rose Theatre's shiny black stage reminded me of. Was it a dodgy club I've been to somewhere? Or the stage on an 80s version of Top of the Pops? Whatever it was, it was yet another distraction.

Worse than this was Titania's "bower". Now, I've seen a few different bowers in my time: gorgeous, breathtaking pink umbrellas; amazing Sellotape spiderwebs; an odd green pyramid on wheels. This looked like a papier-mâché lump, made in CDT to stand for a cliff in a school production of Our Day Out. The mechanicals had better props in the play within a play. Poor Dame Jude.

Sadder still, I hardly laughed at all. The lovers weren't funny in their falling in and out of love. There was no difference between the register of Demetrius and Lysander; nor really between Helena and Hermia. They were in love in the same way when they were potioned(?) into falling in love; they were cross in the same way when they fought.

And Ben Mansfield, good looking though he is, needs to sort out that hair. This was the second time in a month I've been distracted by a boy's floppy locks requiring constant hand-over-face-and-head flicking which is quite unsuitable for when you're on stage. Jared Leto can get away with it in My So Called Life. But neither Demetrius in AMND or Pisano in Madness in Valencia can. Sorry.

What a shame. Still, practically all the top reviewers were completely enamoured with this production, so maybe I missed something....

I followed the crowd out of the theatre, and it was a while before I realised they were headed to Kingston's multi-storey car park, and the lowly train station was in the other direction. A lonely walk through the pedestrianised shopping area, past Links of London, Past Times(!) and two shops selling art (really; proper actual art) to the station, and I started thinking perhaps I'm just not the Rose Theatre's target audience...

Spotted: Clive Owen (and then some...)

When: last night
Where: Jerusalem at the Apollo Theatre

I had a fantastic time last night, in the main because JC was able to come with me for a change. And we had a great meal before we even got to the theatre.

And then there was the celeb spotting. JC was really enjoying looking around the audience, saying, "oh, that's... that's... oh, whatsisname..." And, for once, my brain kicked into gear, and I said, "Clive Owen?" and got a "Don't be ridicu... oh, it's Clive Owen," back from JC.

But Clive wasn't the only one. Sure, he might've been the biggest name there, in Hollywood terms (even though I can't stand the way he talks with the back of his mouth), but there was more than just Clive Owen in the audience at last night's masterpiece.

We also saw Felicity Kendal, Ben Miller and Nigel Planer.

Jerusalem itself was mind-blowing. There'll be more said on the topic, you mark my words...

And of course, this isn't the only time I've been in the audience with Miss Kendal recently. It seems she likes following me to shows.

The press night of Enron at the Noel Coward in the West End was one of my biggest celebrity spotting hauls to date. (Again, I reviewed it for londonist.) I'm pretty sure my friend Felicity was there, but so too were John Simm, Frank Skinner, David Dimbleby, AA Gill, Cillian Murphy, Monkee Micky Dolenz (nice hat) and Benedict Cumberbatch. Crazy, n'est pas?

Not only that, but on the same row as me were Charles Dance and Lindsay Duncan. "Charlie," as one of the ferociously annoying bright-young-things in front of me called him, was attending the after-show party. I can't speak for the others, but I'm sure they were all there.

Best of all was Rupert Goold. Sure, he'd won an award for Enron earlier that day. But did he have to arrive later than everyone else, and take his seat in the middle of a row, in the middle of the stalls, waving, air kissing, and shaking hands with everyone around him?! It was the most theatrical entrance I've ever seen a member of the audience achieve. Even counting the seemingly drunk Su Pollard at the Open Air Theatre in the summer. Pretty impressive.

It's been a surprisingly star-spangled start to the year. Long may it continue.

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.

Theatre Review: Legally Blonde @ the Savoy Theatre

Ohmigod, ohmigod, you guys! So, I finally saw it. 

Legally Blonde: ohmigod, it's so good.

From the start, when the sorority girls open the show with their first number, I was totally hooked. Lots has already been written about how funny, silly and sassy this new show is. Here's my tuppence-worth...

First up, I still haven't seen Hairspray, so I can't really comment on this choreography and direction (by the same Jerry Mitchell) being any better, or the same. I can say that I loved it.

Second, I think last night was perhaps the second-ish time in my life I've ever given a standing ovation. (I'm British. We don't really do it over here.) I might've been way back in row T (freebie marketing seats, thankyouverymuch) but when Sheridan Smith came to take her bow, I simply felt the overwhelming, non-British need to stand up. To show her how impressed I was with the work she'd put into my evening. 

I really think the main thing about the whole show is Sheridan Smith. 
She's the clever cog who stops Legally Blonde The Musical being too saccharine sweet. Her wit and, er, spunkiness (ick word, but it's the best I can do) shine through all the already shimmery, pink, shiny parts of the show, and somehow end up giving the whole musical a kind of interesting, deeper, classy gloss finish. In almost any other actresses' hands, I really think Legally Blonde just could've been too, too much.  

I don't know if it's just me, but having found out so much of SS's "backstory" (the idea that she's worked so hard for the part, that she acknowledged that she is: "honestly the laziest person and get a stitch walking to the car, so this is quite a big ask for me (from SOLT). It’s great to have something to work towards and challenge yourself", that, as Peter Davison points out in the reelkandi video of the Opening Gala, in need of regular reassurance that she is "good enough"), I found it almost impossible not to root for Elle / Sheridan. 

Quirky, cartoony, kooky as she is, SS captured my attention throughout. She's odd looking; too tomboyish even in a power LPD (little pink dress) and heels to ever look like a proper, beautiful, sexy, leading lady. Underneath all her acting it up as the uber-Malibu-blonde Elle, there's somehow still a whole heap of Smithy just millimeters underneath the surface. And yet, somehow, it all really works.

In fact, I'd like to see the show again soon, so I can watch more of the other stuff going on on stage, the choreography, the chorus members, the set, rather than getting caught up with watching SS and her beautiful but weird wigs. It's hard to take your eyes off her.

Aside from our heroine, how's the rest? Well, Duncan-James-from-Blue does just fine, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. (I hope.) Peter Davison is OK as Professor Callahan (LK wanted someone nastier, but she's a Doctor Who fan, so...), and as I predicted, Jill Ha'pney is totally brilliant as Paulette.

It's funny how, when people have been in EastEnders, Chicago and the like (Byker Grove, anyone?), the snobbery quickly descends. But I think Jill Halfpenny is an actual properly brilliant musicals actress. Big voice, great mover, utterly believable, professional to a pin-prick, perfect in every way on stage. I hope she likes what she does, and sods the rest of them.

And the songs. The SONGS!  There's a hilarious song called "Gay or European" which nearly induced Mamma-Mia-style stare-at-the-floor-til-they-stop hysterical palpitations from yours truly. There's a few Wicked-style power-ballads, all messed up with really funny bitchiness from the self-proclaimed Greek Chorus. There's "Whipped Into Shape", which, as I may have mentioned elsewhere, features simultaneous skipping and singing. Skipping AND Singing! There's an early near-romantic near-duet ("Serious") which made me think of a Rogers-Hammerstein-Carousel duet (memories from the same theatre, perhaps), before it's all turned, hilariously, on its head. Callahan's "Blood in the Water" made me think of "Why Can't the English" from Lerner and Lowe's My Fair Lady. 

Put it this way, there's some class behind the songs, both the lyrics and the tunes. Well done Mr O'Keefe and Ms Benjamin. (Anyone know what else these two are working on??)

Anyway, I'll probably think of more things I love about it, but that'll do for now. I'm pleased to have a new obsession. I just need to work out exactly where it fits in the whole my Top 10 Stage Musicals blog post that I've been writing for about eight months. Terrible. I should perhaps get back to that.

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.

A Merry Night at the Menier

I'm just back from a great night out courtesy of CB.

I haven't been to the Menier Chocolate Factory before, so was thrilled to get an invite, particularly to a press night.

First, we dined like 2-4-1 queens at the Pizza Express near the Globe overlooking the Thames, with lovely views of a sunny London evening, happy tourists, girly catch-ups and so on. Lots of nice chat, putting our little worlds to rights, swapping house-buying notes and examining that odd good/bad feeling of getting older (and possibly slightly wiser?), together.

Then we went on to the Menier, to see Rookery Nook. CB warned me that the WEW review hadn't been favourable.

It's a farce. That's almost all you need to know. Scantily clad girls, put-upon husbands, cheeky lads, overbearing wives, staff, secrets, hinted-at sex and innuendo. That's all. Put all the ingredients into an old, well-worn pot, and heat until you hear laughter.

There were some great one-liners, ace comic timing, lots of slamming doors and one of those classic country house sets with multiple exits and a window that reminded me of when the teachers at school used to do Jeeves and Wooster...

True, the cast were all spot-on. Neil Stuke, who played the hapless lead, Gerald, I finally realise I know from the awful and brilliant Game On (although he's been in lots besides). I really enjoyed the slimy cousin Clive, played by Edward Baker-Duly: a name that makes you wonder why playwrights bother. Something about him reminded me of 100 other things: old films, Blackadder / Richard Curtis-style humour, plays at school, moments from the LUDS years. Sweet, sweet nostalgia.

CB and WEW were both impressed with Mark Hadfield; as was I, although he perhaps had fewer chances to shine than the other two guys, and reminded me too much of a certain BJT from LUDS at uni...

And the girls were great too: there was Nurse Gladys Emanuel from Open All Hours (thanks WEW), a lovely turn from Sarah Woodward, and a brilliant slightly cameoish part played by Victoria Yeates, who gets to wear great 1920s underwear, and slap her own arse with pleasure.

I'll be interested to know how it does, to be honest. It classy and clever, but over-long and really lacking in anything suggesting originality. We'll see...

Lots of top theatre criticy people were there. The Billington, an older woman I seem to see at everything, the guy from theatreonline (or some such), and happily, my new "friend" Nick Curtis, of the Evening Standard.

In a string of conincidences akin to some of those on stage, it turns out Nick knows CB's cousin, they both attended said cousin's wedding, he's standing in for De Jongh doing some theatrey stuff at the moment, and, like us, he did the magazine course at Cardiff! (Many years ago, he was keen to add). And he seems lovely. He was gracious enough to listen while I babbled in semi-awe AND he gave me his business card.

This being a night of awkward farce (something I can excel in), I was, of course, completely unable to locate a copy of mine in return.

Meh.

His review is great; I particularly like the last para:

Best not to look too closely at the plot, much less the sexual politics. Travers takes delight in linguistic and romantic confusion, and absurdity for its own sake. Most people will be glad that they really don’t make ’em like this any more. But the clockwork meticulousness and rollicking impetus of Johnson’s revival makes me glad, too, that they did, once upon a time.

Great stuff, and a fab night out.

"The Blocking is Shocking!" And Other Things I Never Think About

In the Singin' In The Rain interval at the New Wimbledon Theatre, I got chatting to another critic from the Croydon Advertiser, or some such. She was really nice, despite going for the usual cliched:

"I was wondering what you thought, because, well, you're so young! And I wondered what young people were thinking of the show. Tell me, tell me: what do young people think?"

So I told her I wasn't loving it; the "make 'em laugh" number didn't, and I was struggling to like that most likeable of characters Don Lockwood, because I didn't think he was, well, very good.

[Londonist, you'll be pleased to hear, got a more reasoned Singin' In the Rain review a few hours later.]

Then I think I surprised her (given that I've just been let out of school for the evening, right) by saying I much preferred the last production I saw: with Adam Cooper as Don, at Sadler's Wells. Different from the film, marginally better dancing than we were currently enjoying in Wimbledon (I jest), and a whole lot snappier. (Turns out the Indy didn't love it, but this was a different time for me, and I was just thrilled to be on my first trip to Sadler's Wells, out of that damp flat, enjoying big ol' London, and so on.)

She'd seen the same show, and agreed Adam Cooper was ace.

Then, she started talking about the blocking. And that's when I started to feel odd about the exchange. I never know what to say when audience members, critics, whoever, talks about a play's blocking being good or bad. I just don't get it.

Blocking: it's where people stand when they talk, right? And where they move to when they're done. That's it...

Script, music, costumes, acting, casting, scenery, voices, singing voices, the band, the audience's reaction, the auditorium, the seats, etc etc all strike me as more relevant, more interesting, more inviting of reaction than the b.l.o.c.k.i.n.g.

Surely it just is or isn't there, done, constructed. Not intricate degrees of good or bad. Perhaps I've missed something crucial, but there it is.

To me, talking about it is like enjoying a meal at a lovely restaurant, good service, great food, nice place, comfy seats and, instead of enjoying all of that, moaning about the typography on the menu being something you don't quite like.

Meh, I'm just never interested.

More on Madame De Sade

What did I say last time? "It's going to be good."

And, yes, my press seat in row E certainly was. Next to another critic, it was one of the best in the house, and I'm very, very grateful to my boss for handing it over.

However, I wrote "it's going to be good" with regards to the play. And I'm sad to say it wasn't. It took a while, but I finally pulled my ideas into a review for londonist. And other people agreed:

The Times's two stars: "It's lead, gilded lead, highly decorated lead, but still lead."
The Guardian's three stars: "The acting and staging are breathtaking, the play itself is an example of the Higher Tosh"
The Whingers: "It should have served as something of a warning to the Whingers that Madame de Sade was written by Yukio Mishima whose own ritual disembowelment and decapitation (aka seppuku) was severely botched and mocked. Why did he do it? Perhaps he had been obliged to sit through his play once too often."

And so on.

Not many of them talked about the projections on the back of the set. Word counts and lots to say and top-line opinions and all that.

But, given the sumptuous set and all that jazz, I found it really distracting from all that talking, which was, incidentally, where the drama was supposed to be, according to the programme notes:

…the narration is advanced by Racinian tirades - often lengthy descriptions given by a character of some event or perception. Mishima believed that the dialogue itself created the drama and that the brilliance of the costumes and the extravagance of the period would add the necessary visual appeal. (With thanks to the Whingers.)

So, Anna, the little sister is chatting about being in Venice. But not without a ripply water feature on the back wall. There's a description of a fire: cue barely discernible flames rippling, a bit like the water did, on the back wall. And there's a retelling of a riot; so let's have some mismatched images projected... on the back wall.

It really doesn't help when you are trying to listen to the pretty inscrutable, heavy dialogue that keeps coming at you like a barrage of so many fat, unread, improving non-fiction novels on philosophy and morality and more.

Enough already. Either you believe, with Mishima, in the drama of the dialogue, or you don't.

And if you don't, why are you putting on this play again??