Another busy year, with
groups – from the biggest professional to the tiniest am-dram –
battling to entertain us through the recession.
Some of my five-star
hits were long-awaited: Kiss Me Kate at Chichester, Simon Callow
doing Dickens for Christmas, CYGAMS' Les Mis revival, Mark Rylance
back on the Globe stage as Olivia. But as ever, the unexpected gave
the greatest pleasure – Chris Barber, sharp and witty, providing a
superb two-hour set, or The Drowsy Chaperone, from Brentwood Operatic
[how can I have missed this one up to now?].
Last
show of the year, 180th audience I've joined in 2012, and
a special treat, the chance to catch up at last with Will Tuckett's
enchanting Wind in the Willows deep under the Royal Opera House in
the Linbury Studio.
Loads
of very young children in the audience, and they loved it, despite
very few concessions being made to tender years. There was a
literate, poetical narrative [written by Andrew Motion, no less,
pastoral often, but with urgent Night Mail rhythms for the exciting
dénouement] and plenty of theatrical magic – butterflies on
mittens, snowfall on the stalls for the carol singing, and a wardrobe
which disgorged the river. And through the wardrobe, not Narnia but
Toad's gypsy caravan. The police pursuit of the errant Mr Toad, in
his little motor, was conducted through the crowded foyer in the
interval ...
The
storyteller was Kenneth Grahame himself [Anthony McGill], guiding us
through the story and watching it unfold from his favourite armchair
in the attic.
The
music, played by a chamber ensemble, was inspired by George
Butterworth, composed by Martin Ward and conducted by Tim Murray.
There were songs, as well as dance, a pantomime dame for the Gaoler's
Daughter, even some Morris Dance work with handkerchiefs, and all the
unforgettable characters from the riverbank.
Will
Kemp was a superb Ratty, pipe clenched between his teeth, nicely
contrasted with Clemmie Sveass's modest, myopic Mole. Tom Woods made
a wise old Badger, and Cris Penfold's Toad was an amazing creation,
assuming a brilliant physical persona which exactly matched the
character Grahame's created. All the creatures were much more human
than animal; just a hint of make-up, a suggestion of fur. The weasels
were strutting teddyboys, the stoats, and the judge, beautifully
animated puppets.
The
whole experience held us all – from the tiniest to the most cynical
– enthralled, captivated by this Edwardian fantasy fable – "a
world at once impossible and true".
That
great philanthropist and social campaigner would be delighted to hear
his best Christmas story performed to raise funds for Great Ormond
Street.
This
revival by Pica Productions of Jim Crozier's adaptation travelled to
three Chelmsford villages just before the holidays, a timely reminder
of some of the real truths of the festive season.
It's
not a dramatization, but the narration, and the dialogue, is
creatively shared between the seven actors, with a refreshing variety
of voices. Not unlike Dylan Thomas's Play for Voices, Under Milk
Wood.
Scrooge,
the "grasping old sinner" at the centre of the story, was
Richard Baylis, who sensitively suggested the waggish human being
behind the Bah Humbug, and was moving in his change of heart.
Crozier
himself, as well as a narrator, was a finely characterized Cratchit,
Greg Whitehead played young Scrooge and his nephew – his infectious
laughter a tour-de-force. Beth Crozier, Anna Jeary and Debbie Miles
covered Dickens'women, from Mrs Dilber to Fan and Belle. Many plum
roles, and plummiest voices, came from Roger Johnson – Marley,
Fezziwig, the schoolmaster and the portly gentleman.
We
enjoyed the famous moments, of course, the death of Tiny Tim was
superbly done, but it was a real pleasure to meet the whole Cratchit
clan, and to be reminded of the story of Ali Baba and Crusoe's
parrot.
A
Christmas treat from CTW, James Christie and his comically gifted
cast.
The
Odd Couple has had a long and successful career on stage and screen –
now it is becoming a period piece, and the 60s setting was nicely
observed in this production, especially perhaps in the appearance of
the English girls from upstairs, played with a nice sense of style,
and effervescent enthusiasm, by Naomi Phillips and Vikki Pead.
The
Riverside Drive apartment was convincingly recreated too, with a nice
pair of louvred doors for the offstage kitchen.
The
action revolves around a poker school, and there were some lovely
characterizations here, notably Jesse Powis's cop, and Barry Taylor's
dyspeptic Speed. Though there was impetus a-plenty in their
exchanges, we did sometimes long for more rapport, a pacier overlap
of dialogue.
The
two writers of the title – fastidious Felix and "divorced,
drunk and slobby" Oscar were played by Kevin Stemp and Dave
Hawkes. Possibly the best double act to grace this stage, they both
inhabited their roles with total conviction – Oscar the
wisecracking kidult in his baseball cap and sneakers, Felix fragile
in his pain, awkward with the Pigeon girls, humming along to Mozart
as he dishes up.
The
music, too, was well used; a whole ballet "Too Good to be True"
developed for the big sulk that opens the final scene.
History
and tradition were respected at St Laurence this year: ending with
Stille Nacht to send us off into the night, and beginning with
Gaudete, Ben Parry's arrangement of an ancient tune which may well
have echoed round these walls when the great Priory still dominated
the village.
But
there was a healthy injection of new music, too. Conductor
Christopher Tinker led us through Matthew Owens' very different
setting of The Holly and the Ivy, Thomas Hewitt Jones' What Child Is
This, with its haunting motif [Michael Frith at the organ], Will
Todd's My Lord Has Come, and Bob Chilcott's lively Sussex Carol
arrangement, rhythmic and harmonically interesting, the tune often in
the lower voices. All performed with care and commitment, the voices
of this chamber choir blending effectively in these lovely
surroundings.
The
reading this year, by Mavis Holmes, was Kipling's Eddi's Service
[where the congregation – "such as cared to attend" –
were the Ox and the Ass] looking back to an early Christmas at St
Wilfrid's in remotest Sussex, a church even older than Blackmore's
ancient Priory.
Eddi,
priest of St. Wilfrid In his chapel at Manhood
End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared
to attend.
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas,
And the night was stormy as well. Nobody came to service,
Though Eddi rang the bell.
"'Wicked weather for
walking," Said Eddi of Manhood End. "But
I must go on with the service For such as care to
attend."
The altar-lamps were lighted, --
An old marsh-donkey came, Bold as a guest invited,
And stared at the guttering flame.
The storm beat on at the
windows, The water splashed on the floor, And a
wet, yoke-weary bullock Pushed in through the open
door.
"How do I know what is greatest,
How do I know what is least? That is My Father's business,"
Said Eddi, Wilfrid's priest.
"But -- three are gathered
together -- Listen to me and attend. I bring good
news, my brethren!" Said Eddi of Manhood
End.
And he told the Ox of a Manger And a
Stall in Bethlehem, And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider,
That rode to Jerusalem.
They steamed and dripped in the
chancel, They listened and never stirred, While,
just as though they were Bishops, Eddi preached them
The World,
Till the gale blew off on the marshes
And the windows showed the day, And the Ox and the Ass together
Wheeled and clattered away.
And when the Saxons mocked him,
Said Eddi of Manhood End, "I dare not shut His chapel
On such as care to attend."
No
straight play this year, but a stripped-back showcase of the varied
talents in the group, full of fireworks and fun, with some touching
moments of pathos for contrast.
We
did have some sketches for light relief [directed by Emma Tapley] –
Ab Fab generation gap, four posh boys, and a running gag about
dumbed-down daytime TV.
A
tasty menu of musical theatre, too, from Avenue Q to Matilda.
Especially fine were the numbers from Les Misérables, the huddled
masses economically drawn, and a beautiful On My Own from Laura
Messin. Tara Divina gave a superb performance – dramatically as
well as vocally perfect – of With You, from Ghost, with just a box
and a picture frame for props.
Figure
of Eight, now through to the final fifteen for the BBC's 2013 Comic
Relief Does Glee Club, gave us a polished routine based on the
popular Wilson Phillips hit Hold On.
The
stage was packed with performers for the final sequence, For Now,
wide-angled and confidently sung, Beyoncé's Move Your Body, and,
inevitably, All I Want for Christmas. All done with that winning
blend of raw energy and precision that is the trademark of Tomorrow's
Talent. Musical Director was Mark Sellar, and the show was
choreographed by Liz Pilgrim and Gavin Wilkinson.
Glory
and lowliness – the two themes of this beautifully presented
concert – come together in Ted Hughes' powerful poem Minstrel's
Song [read by Martyn Richards]. It was followed by a brief but
brilliant Gloria, penned by Martin Shaw, a former organist at
Writtle. A much older Gloria, by Robert Cowper, began the sequence,
and a third, by Colchester composer Alan Bullard, ended it –
Cantate Gloria, with its uplifting rhythmic drive.
In
between, typically careful programming saw the one secular piece –
Martin Taylor's Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind, with its lovely Heigh-ho
ending – leading into In The Bleak Midwinter; The Barn, a poem by
Elizabeth Coatsworth, heralding an attractive arrangement of Silent
Night, and the sublime simplicity of Tallis's O Nata Lux contrasted
with the lively complexity of an old French carol, Célébrons La
Naissance.
Some
wonderful sounds in the candlelight from this ambitious chamber
choir, directed by Christine Gwynn with Andrew Taylor as accompanist,
as well as a chance to join in some old favourites before the mulled
wine and mince pies.
Minstrel's
Song
I've
just had an astonishing dream as I lay in the straw. I dreamed a
star fell on to the straw beside me And lay blazing. Then when I
looked up I saw a bull come flying through a sky of fire And on
its shoulders a huge silver woman Holding the moon. And afterward
there came A donkey flying through that same burning heaven And
on its shoulders a colossal man Holding the sun. Suddenly I
awoke And saw a bull and a donkey kneeling in the straw, and
the great moving shadows of a man and a woman— I say they were a
man and a woman but I dare not say what I think they were. I did
not dare to look. I ran out here into the freezing world Because
I dared not look. Inside that shed.
A star is coming this way
along the road. If I were not standing upright, this would be a
dream. A star the shape of a sword of fire, point-downward, Is
floating along the road. And now it rises. It is shaking fire on
to the roofs and the gardens. And now it rises above the animal
shed Where I slept 'til the dream woke me. And now The star is
standing over the animal shed.
A
Christmas present from the Singers to the City, gift-wrapped in
sparkling candlelight.
Spectacular
it certainly was, thanks in large measure to the contribution of
Westminster Brass, who gave us some splendid arrangements of seasonal
favourites, from a medieval Pat-a-Pan to Leroy Anderson's Sleigh
Ride, with party poppers obbligato.
They
also played magnificent fanfares for Hark The Herald and O Come All
Ye Faithful, in which the audience joined. We were also cajoled into
the much more challenging Rutter arrangement of I Saw Three Ships,
and then Wenceslas and The Twelve Days of Christmas.
The
brass players, and percussion, were to the fore in the central work –
Rutter's Gloria, with soloist soprano Beverley Lockyer, and beautiful
playing from Jacob Ewens, this year's Organ Scholar. The Singers,
under their new director, James Davy, gave a nuanced, energetic
performance; they shone in three contrasting Peter Warlock carols,
and in the gentle "wild card" – Sund's A Child Is Born,
sung in the original Swedish.
A
shmaltzy "White Christmas" and "A Merry Christmas"
rounded off an enjoyable evening, innovative and refreshingly varied.
More
innovation for Christmas 2013, when we're promised Duffy and
Manning's Manchester Carols.
More
tales from Beatrix Potter at the Brentwood Theatre; an intimate,
innocent world of talking, singing animals, where the only humans are
the grumpy McGregors, little Lucie and Miss Potter herself –
Deborah Luery this year, writing her stories at the side of the
stage, sketching her friends, "the wild ones, the tame ones",
and showing us the pictures right at the end.
The
tiny acting space is cleverly extended by using upper levels to
suggest the countryside; Potter's own artwork adds authenticity. The
adaptation, by Adrian Mitchell with music by Stephen McNeff, manages
to be sophisticated and charming whilst keeping some very young
children entertained. Some of the songs, in particular, were
pleasingly ambitious – I liked the Blackberries song, and Mr
McGregor's number, very well sung by Andrew Nance. Mia Keadell gives
three lovely characters, including a pipe-smoking Mrs McGregor,
Sophie Farquar plays a couple of insects and a sleek White Cat.
Jackson Pentland drags up for that "excellent clear-starcher"
Mrs Tiggywinkle, and Peter himself is played with energy and panache
by Nicholas Rutherford. I should also mention the various cuddly
puppets [Liz Southgate] who spy on the action, offer their advice,
and join in the choruses.
Peter
Rabbit is directed by Ray Howes, with Ian Southgate in charge of the
music. It is a Brentwood Theatre Production, co-produced by David Zelly and Vivid Musical Theatre.
