SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS

SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS

One from the Heart at the Civic Theatre Chelmsford

02.12.2017

A portentous start, with Richard Strauss, a star cloth and a flying mirror, but One from the Heart soon get into their panto stride in a show, directed by Kerris Peeling, that’s packed with comedy routines and high octane musical numbers.

The USP this year is The Man in the Mirror – not Michael Jackson, but Louie Westwood’s silver-suited camp dynamo, combining the role of narrator and Good Fairy – with the pyrotechnics to prove it. A very engaging performance, his That’s The Way I Like It catch phrase (courtesy of KC and the Sunshine Band) quickly getting the young audience on side. He proves a decent song and dance man, too, in his opening number, Live in Living Color from Catch Me If You Can.

He’s backed by four lithe chorus boys, students from Laine Theatre Arts and Bird College. An ensemble of eight in all, including three local dance students, who pop up to contribute some excellent steps – choreography by Chris Whittaker – behind practically every number: Someone in the Crowd from La La Land, Wake Me Up, Cut to the Feeling from Ballerina, Nothing Holding Me Back, and another triumph for the Man in the Mirror, now sporting a rainbow hat, Sweet Charity’s If My Friends Could See Me Now. Though musical theatre buffs will point out that although “food” might make more sense than “chow”, it doesn’t actually rhyme …

Some choices seem more relevant to the plot than others: Holding Out for a Hero works well in context, with a cheeky nod to Les Miz at the end.

Useful to have these extra bodies to fill the wide Civic stage, not to mention the “seven fun-sized helpers”, the synonymous dwarfs excellently done by the Green Team of local boys and girls on Press Night. “Ho Hi, we cry,” they sing, in an impudent gesture to Disney. Because there are only six actors to cover the characters; no king, no attendant for the hunky Prince Henry (Dominic Sibanda, another fine dancer).

Abigail Carter Simpson is a lively Snow White in her “classic black bob” and puff sleeves, Dickie Wood an energetic comedian as a streetwise Muddles, silly son to Andrew Fettes’ Nurse Nellie. A rather shouty dame, perhaps – the decibel level high on both sides of the footlights, but brilliant in the demanding comedy routines. The wicked Queen Grizelda is done with a touch of the Valkyries by Jenny-Ann Topham.

Simon Aylin’s script is patchy – a few desultory topical gags, and a puzzling reference to Dukes, which as Chelmsford clubbers will know, has been closed for five years. But he does include some lovely panto favourites. The man-scoffing skeletons from the ghost routine let loose in the auditorium, a super tongue-twister based on the Prince’s homeland of Asfaria, the echoing wishing well, the classic quick-fire Three Houses nonsense, and two novelty numbers, The Music Man, with gestures, before the wedding, and an energetic Twelve Days, giving the crew time to set the cottage, and finishing with another favourite, the wicked super-soaker water cannon to drench the punters.

James Doughty’s pit band gives superb support to all those punchy numbers – even Agadoo, once voted the worst song of all time …

The big finish has fresh frocks for all, five treads for the walk-down, and a smashing megamix finale for the whole company. Leaving the audience happily exhausted by another enjoyable Civic panto.

SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS

SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS

Mercury Theatre Colchester

for The Reviews Hub

This sparkling Snow White – Daniel Buckroyd’s fourth panto for Made in Colchester – is a delightful cocktail of glamour, glitter and good old-fashioned fun.

David Shields’ designs feature giant candles, surrounding the flown title, and later the magic mirror and the Princess’s glass coffin. There’s an impressive dungeon laboratory, as well as a charming cottage for the Dwarfs, which opens out like a book as Snow White walks in. The pyrotechnics are safely in the ceiling, and there’s a stunning mirror-ball above our heads.

We begin traditionally, with a stand-off between Good and Evil, familiar banter from Fairy Blossom and wannabe Maleficent, the tamely named Enchantress. Both, incidentally, excellent singers, more than capable of selling their big numbers to a noisy opening night crowd.

Then a wordless waltz behind the gauze - “the artistic bit”, as Nurse Nellie has it; she makes a low-key appearance (how hard must that be!) in this scene-setting backstory.

Antony Stuart-Hicks – his third time out on the Mercury stage – is the Dame - “back to lower the tone”. A masterclass in this unique genre, much harder to nail than many people think. He takes the audience by the scruff of the neck, with quick-fire gags of varying degrees of smut, and astounding audience skills. A late-comer, quite far back in the stalls, is the target for some acid remarks, before Nellie charges up to him, inspects his hands, berates his lateness, and in a priceless pay-off discovers he’s a police officer. And doesn’t forget ...

Other Colchester favourites are back, too: Simon Pontin is promoted to Chamberlain this year; Dale Superville is Muddles, another perfect panto personality. A beautifully youthful Snow White, spirited and excellently sung, from Megan Bancroft. Her “true love” who wakes her with his kiss, is the bookish young Rupert, Alex Green. The ageing king, bewitched by the wicked queen and trapped in the mirror, is James Dinsmore.

The good fairy is a cuddly, bubbly Gbemisola Ikumelo, more than a match for the Enchantress of Carli Norris. This is a remarkable performance, her dialogue peppered with hashtags, managing the evil as well as the vocals and the comedy (a nice bit of business with the apples). She looks stunning too – the devil has all the best gowns here. At the end, of course, she sees the error of her ways, when the frog is snogged and everyone is Walking on Sunshine.

Although the script does not shy away from the darker elements of the Grimm story – the poison, the deer’s heart, the tomb - most of the traditional tropes are in place: A Ghost Routine in the Spooky Wood – no mere king-size sheet here, but a splendidly costumed spectre – a classic mirror number, complete with vibraphone underscore, an audience song (Wiggly Woo, in case you want to practise beforehand) and a shout-out for Lorna the birthday girl and the Rainbows and Brownies packing the front stalls. And scarcely any topical gags – Adele and Theresa May the only victims.

Richard Reeday leads a band of three in the pit, with a nicely eclectic playlist, from Positive Thinking – a great duet that could have come from any panto over the last forty years – to Bieber’s Puerto Rican hit from earlier this year. The Disney songs – now 80 years young - are strictly off limits, of course, though the Dwarfs sail pretty close with the Spanish Jai Ho, and an ingenious reworking of a Jeff Beck hit from the 60s, Hi Ho Silver Mining. There’s even a cheeky Hi Ho at the end of the Wizzard festive encore.

And what of the Dwarfs ?  Not the junior chorus (these talented Apples and Pears, nicely choreographed by Charlie Morgan do the cute woodland creatures and general ensemble) but new and original characters – the Captain, a Scotsman, a French chef, Windy, the last to arrive … done as puppets by Abigail Bing, voiced and moved by members of the cast. Though panto lighting (Mark Dymock) is not perhaps best suited to puppetry, this is a refreshingly original touch in an otherwise traditional treatment.

MR DARCY LOSES THE PLOT

MR DARCY LOSES THE PLOT

LipService Theatre 

at the Cramphorn Theatre

10.11.2017

for The Reviews Hub

LipService have a dedicated following for their unique brand of literary fun – it’s good to see them bringing their tour of Mr Darcy Loses the Plot to the Cramphorn, their first visit here for some years.

It’s a two-woman band; like all their shows this spiffing spoof is written and performed by Maggie Fox – the loftier of the two, a “fine tall presence” as our Mr Darcy – and Sue Ryding. Like Thrills and Quills, their other show currently on the road, it draws its inspiration from the oeuvre of Jane Austen. But other women writers worm their way into the proceedings – Gaskell, Potter and Du Maurier inter alia – as the character of Darcy flows from the Austen pen. It transpires that he is less than happy with the way his role is developing – the dashing Mr Wickham seems to be getting all the romantic action. In a fit of frustration, seeking a more exciting storyline, he finds himself in Manderley having close encounters with Mrs Danvers (she’s just like Judith Anderson in the movie) and the mousey second Mrs de Winter.

The intimate setting is furnished with screens and ottomans adorned by quilts, contributed by a cottage industry of devoted, creative fans. There’s a multimedia element, too, with the Netherfield ballroom sequence especially effective, and a chance to relive that notorious scene by the lake. The video inserts work brilliantly, with the live action blending almost seamlessly with the version on screen. The “outdoor swimming” is especially surreal, with a Lego Darcy, homespun special effects, and our hero stranded on the beach at Manderley, before being tempted back to the Parsonage for his big scene, The Proposal. The mobile screens effect the transitions between one scene and the next. The two-dimensional Mr Bingham is a cardboard cut-out before his character is fleshed out, and much use is made of puppets and dolls to people the stage. With Wickham’s teenage groupies, for example.

Virtue is continually made of necessity – the modest means and the makeshift effects are celebrated. Jasper the dog, for instance, is much funnier than one could imagine, not to mention Bingley melting into the background, his waistcoat a perfect match for the wallpaper. Irony and in-jokes abound. We occasionally stray into the present day – the first writer we meet is modern, penning this very piece. She has a nice, if irrelevant, riff on cloud storage. Other references, while amusing, seem a little dated: Basil Brush, say, or “Man at V&A”.

But the comedy is endlessly inventive – the chamber pot, mercifully unseen, Bingley and Darcy struggling to have a convincing man-chat, a candlestick telephone ringing in a handbag. Mrs Gaskell, dark satanic mills belching smoke behind her head, uses the wicked Wickham not in North and South but in Mary Barton. Mrs Potter makes him a scarlet-clad foxy gentleman eager to make a meal of the excruciatingly upper-middle-class Jemima Puddleduck.

It’s all very silly, great fun and more than a little bonkers. It probably works best for those fortunate enough to have read all the books in question. But there’s a wonderful chemistry between these two very funny women, and their warm, generous performances leave us all feeling a little more educated, and richly entertained.

THE INVISIBLE MAN

THE INVISIBLE MAN

at the Queen’s Theatre, Hornchurch

31.10.2017

for The Reviews Hub

H G Wells’ iconic novella lends itself to the screen rather than the stage. Only one notable theatrical adaptation, by Ken Hill, most recently seen at the Menier Chocolate Factory. Until now.

This world premiere of a commission from Clem Garritty - Artistic Director of Kill The Beast - brings his trade-mark mix of dark drama, physical theatre and live music to the Queen’s. The story is set against a backdrop of a chilly, Gothic Victorian London – it was first published in 1897 – and follows Griffin – here traditionally christened Jack – from his lodgings on Great Portland Street to the rural remotenesses of West Sussex.

Lily Arnold’s set is a masterpiece, constructed largely of cabinets, suggesting the laboratory, with two levels, gas-lamps and multiple doorways. Griffin’s rooms at the university, and his lodgings at the inn at Iping, are pulled in from the wings. The lighting (Nic Farman) is suitably atmospheric – the train journeys are suggested purely by sound and light.

The eight actors are also musicians; one of the strengths of this production is the use of music and song to tell the story and to comment on it, Sweeney Todd style. “Come listen,” they sing as the show opens, warning of the “demon at your front door”, “neither flesh nor ghost”. And ballads, accompanied by fiddles, accordion or pub piano, punctuate the story at key moments.

The action begins with Dr Kemp (a strong, somewhat enigmatic presence from Paul McEwan) lecturing on optics and refraction. A graduate student – none other than the soon-to-be-invisible Jack Griffin – stays behind to hint at a scientific breakthrough undreamed of by the professor. And, in a flash, we’re in Sussex where a sinister figure in dark goggles and a leather greatcoat, his head completely shrouded in white bandages, is about to bring fear and hysteria to the village.

He’s given a compelling performance by Matthew Spencer who movingly portrays the increasingly demented desperation of the scientist who loses control of his experiment, closeted, like Dr Jekyll, with his potions - “I must find a way to reverse the process...”. His performance all the more remarkable since he has to convey so much with just his body language, without any facial expression; in some very effective scenes he is merely a disembodied voice.

Garritty gives his protagonist a strong female counterpart – the suffragette Lucy (Eleanor Wild, who also plays her twin sister, the “actress” Amelia). Like Jack, they both disappear – Amelia into the dangerous slums of Whitechapel, Lucy in Griffin’s university rooms.

Sophie Duval brings out the subtleties and the struggle in the character of Mrs Hall, the pub landlady who rents Griffin a room. Matthew Woodyatt is brilliant as Teddy, her “man”, who mends the bar-room clock  - “time moves more slowly here...” - and later assists the Invisible Man. And Phil Adele plays Thomas Marvel, the vagrant who is recruited by Griffin - “neither of us shall go unseen ever again” - and then steals his precious notebooks.

There is much food for thought alongside the science-fiction/supernatural storyline. Both the vagrant, and the women scientists, suffer “invisibility”. And one of the ballads poses the familiar philosophical question “What would you do if no-one could see?”

There is some stunningly inventive stagecraft – Jack, invisible, unties his books, is captured under a blanket, runs amok in a police cell. And, yes, we do see him disappear before our incredulous eyes. The roof-top dénouement – another invention – makes a dramatic climax. Some of the simplest ideas are the most effective – running across the stage with lanterns, the bowler hat right at the end.

If there is a weakness, it is in the writing; the idiom, while lively and immediate, is sometimes too modern for the period, so well captured in the costumes and the set.

image: Mark Sepple

The Invisible Man from Queen's Theatre Hornchurch on Vimeo.

PRIVATE LIVES

PRIVATE LIVES

London Classic Theatre 

at the Civic Theatre, Chelmsford

26.10.2017

for The Reviews Hub

Coward’s frothy comedy of manners was concocted – as a vehicle for the Master and Miss Gertie Lawrence – at break-neck speed. And that’s how it’s delivered by London Classic Theatre, in Chelmsford for the 12^th date of its national tour.

All over in and hour and three-quarters, including the interval. Realistic characters performing in classic Coward style – speeches to the front, consonants sharp and precise. The pace is often a plus. The four actors have achieved a chemistry that enables subtle interchanges while rattling through the speeches like well-oiled machine guns. But there is a price to pay. Difficult decisions have to be made about which lines will be allowed a laugh, and some of the worldly wit, a few of the bons mots, must fall by the wayside.

The piece is nothing without style, and Michael Cabot’s production has plenty of that. The set – by Frankie Bradshaw, who also designed the costumes – is masterly. The Deauville balconies have twin french windows, with louvred shutters, and twin bistro tables, separated by a row of standard roses. During the interval, the stage is transformed into the flat in Paris, elegantly furnished and dressed with nods to Erté and Tiffany. There are some lovely frocks, too, though even the most sheltered upbringing will have encountered a more ”ravishing” dressing gown than that sported by Elyot here.

Four splendid performers capture the mannered style very convincingly. The first honeymooning couple we meet is Jack Harwick’s Elyot, relaxed in spats, and Olivia Beardsley’s Sibyl – kittenish and breathlessly gushing as she takes in the harbour view. The most tremendous coincidence has the next suite occupied by his ex, Helen Keeley’s langorous, vampish Amanda with her new partner, Victor [Kieran Buckeridge, whose physicality, and physiognomy, seem perfect for the period]. His “rugged grandeur” is somewhat ruffled by first-night nerves, but complications come thick and fast when Amanda spots Elyot over the rose-bushes – her reaction perfectly judged.

Coward’s own “cheap music” doesn’t get a look-in here – the hotel orchestra is both larger and more remote than usual. But the “travelling the world” speech is beautifully delivered, with its unspoken undertones of love rekindled. And when the other halves emerge in their turn, and spot the Duke of Westminster’s yacht, the difference in their reaction neatly encapsulated the difference between the two couples.

In the Paris apartment, Elyot and Amanda squeeze onto the chaise longue; their tempestuous relationship is punctuated by music from the mahogany Victrola and a tiny music box – no baby grand here – and by the time-out imposed by the Sollocks truce. These moments of respite are cleverly devised as cadenzas, allowing the actors and the director to bring in subtleties not explicit in the text.

The two doors recall the symmetry of the Deauville balconies; the violent row at the end of the piece – like Elyot and Amanda, Sybil and Victor find their fights a heartbeat away from passion – echoes the confrontation at the end of Act Two.

The breakfast scene – the quartet crowding behind a small table, Elyot and Amanda happily munching brioche as their partners argue – is exquisitely done, a perfect end to this bracing sprint through Private Lives, in a stylised, and stylish, interpretation. Another fine production of a great play from this enterprising touring company.

production photograph: Sheila Burnett

THE LADYKILLERS

THE LADYKILLERS

Queen's Theatre, Hornchurch

03.10.2017

for The Reviews Hub

Forget Alec Guinness. Forget Tom Hanks. This is an ingenious stage version of William Rose's classic Ealing comedy, penned by Graham (Father Ted) Linehan and first seen in 2011.

Despite its cinematic origins, it is at heart a good old-fashioned farce, lacking only the manic inevitability of the best of that inter-war genre.

Five career criminals take a room in a house near to King's Cross station – very handy for the “stick-up job” they're planning.

Their landlady – serial complainant and waster of police time – is fooled by their unusual “front”, a classical string quartet, but sees through their disguise when the cello case disgorges its cargo of crisp white fivers.

Peter Rowe, artistic director at the New Wolsey, Ipswich, where this revival originated, has produced a slick, well-paced show, greatly assisted by Foxton's impressive set. The house opens like a book to reveal a richly detailed interior, and the whole thing revolves – powered by stage-hands in time-honoured fashion - so that we can see the roof-tops, and the quaint animated board depicting the heist itself. The scene changes are covered by gothic organ music and the play of steam and signals to evoke the railway beyond. Composer and Sound Designer Rebecca Applin provides some very authentic-sounding incidental music, setting the mood and the period to perfection in the wordless prologue.

Rowe's cast is a little uneven. As the widowed Mrs Wilberforce, Ann Penfold gives a lovely little old lady, primly comic. Masterminding his quartet of criminals, and conducting their avant-garde performance, is Steven Elliot's plummy Professor Marcus, his trailing college scarf an amusing running gag; Graham Seed makes the most of con-man Major Courtney, battle-fatigued war hero and closet cross-dresser. Anthony Dunn never really gets the measure of violent Romanian Louis, neither the accent nor the character, but there are very satisfying turns from Sam Lupton – reminiscent of a young David Jason – as the pill-popping, nervy spiv “call me 'Arry” Robinson, and from Damian Williams, excellent as the slow-witted, ham-fisted “Mr Lawson”, looking a little like Oliver Hardy in his ill-fitting jacket.

The cast is completed by Marcus Houden as the long-suffering Constable MacDonald; he also contributes a hilarious cameo as Mrs Jane Tromleyton, figurehead of the “swarm” of elderly ladies who come to hear the performance by the bogus Boccherini lovers, mercifully curtailed by the interval. They are played by a community chorus, locally sourced for each venue.

The rickety old house, with its dodgy plumbing and faulty lights, not to mention permanent resident General Gordon, the raucous Macaw, will take to the road again at the end of the month, to be shoe-horned onto the stage of the Salisbury Playhouse, where it completes its tour.

production photograph: Mike Kwasniak

THE WEIR

THE WEIR 
Mercury Theatre, Colchester

14.09.2017

for The Reviews Hub


“It's just people talking,” is how the playwright modestly sums up The Weir.
And so it is. But Conor McPherson's compelling chamber piece has proved popular at home and abroad over its twenty year life, picking up an Olivier for best new play along the way.
The Weir is the name of the bar where all this talking goes on. Conversations in a pub. The barman shares his day with Jack, and later with Jim. The talk turns to Valerie, a Dubliner, a new incomer to this rural village. When she shows up – with Finbar – the banter and the shared memories take on something of the supernatural, and Valerie is moved to share a tale of her own …
That spare summary ignores the richness of the writing, and the finely detailed characters of these storytellers. In Adele Thomas's atmospheric production, the listening carries equal weight with the speaking: each time a ghost story emerges from the casual conversation, the ripe banter, the faces of the listeners, so many still figures in a careful, painterly composition, add weight to the tale. The feel of the pub is largely naturalistic. Madeleine Girling's set accurately recreates this unremarkable, out-of-the-way hostelry, almost entirely devoid of character. But the lighting and the soundscape hint at a different world. And when the pub is deserted once more – the show runs for an hour and three-quarters without a break – the characters and their stories seem to linger for a moment in the stale air of the bar.
The acting is naturalistic too, even in the heightened other-worldly atmospheres of the ghost stories, and those rich Irish accents – dialect coach Hugh O'Shea – take a while to tune in to, and a few words might go missing along the way.
Sean Murray has the best role: Jack, the cantankerous curmudgeon, pouring his bottled Guinness, man-spreading like a leprechaun on his bar stool. His voice coloured by countless Silk Cut, he tells the first tale, “relishing the details”, of a house built across a Fairy Road. And several pints later, in an armchair by the turf stove, he tells the last - ”not a ghostly story” -  revealing the roots of his loneliness, a guest at the wedding of the woman he loved and lost. The two other “single fellers” are barman Brendan (Sam O'Mahony), who is denied a story to share, and Jim (a very convincing John O'Dowd), the quiet man with “more going on in there than you might think”, whose gravedigger's tale is perhaps the most spine-chilling.
Except, that is, for the story that Valerie tells. Inspired by listening to these fanciful tales of the supernatural, in which the boundaries between life and death seem blurred, she calmly reveals the all-too-real tragic events that led to her separation and her arrival in the village, seeking peace and quiet in the countryside. A heart-rending performance from Natalie Radmall-Quirke: hesitant, understated, emotionally drained beneath her sociable façade.
Her guide to the village is Louis Dempsey's Finbar, who left for Carrick to make his fortune. Married but playing the field, he stands in stark contrast to the other three, accentuated by his cream-coloured suit and his ready smile.
“We'll all be ghosts soon enough,” says Jack. And we wonder for a moment if these five, taking refuge for a while from the wuthering wind outside, are perhaps just spirits. But the bar is haunted, not by the dead, but by feelings of loss, of loneliness, of lives unfulfilled.
This production, a collaboration between The Mercury and English Touring Theatre, is by no means entirely melancholy – an earthy profanity and infectious Irish charm ensure that our evening spent in the Weir is enjoyably entertaining as well as poignantly moving.

production photograph: Marc Brenner

A FOX ON THE FAIRWAY

A FOX ON THE FAIRWAY

Queen's Theatre, Hornchurch

29 August 2017

for The Reviews Hub

This pacey, undemanding comedy sees rival country clubs resort to desperate measures to take home a coveted golfing trophy.

American playwright Ken Ludwig's last outing on this stage was Lend Me A Tenor, a fast-moving backstage comedy. A Fox on the Fairway, getting its UK première here, also harks back to the golden days of British farce, though the setting is the Tap Room – nineteenth hole – of the Quail Valley Country Club, and many of the jokes are alcohol or sport related.

“Golf and sex are the only things you can enjoy with being good at them,” says Quail Valley's vampish Vice President, setting the tone of the evening early on, in a slightly awkward pre-show string of one-liners delivered straight out to the audience.

Colin Falconer has come up with a stunning set – shades of cream and green, silverware above the bar, crossed niblicks over the doorway. Two swing doors either side of the bar – what farce can do without doors ? – and a general air of moneyed luxury.

A typical American country club, one might think, except that the action has been transposed for the Hornchurch production to the Home Counties, with some success, although the Club cheer and occasional idioms (whole new ball game) betray its origins.

The plot is carefully constructed. The scaffolding is sometimes obvious, the twists predictable. Some very venerable tropes are pressed into service: the birthmark, the wayward PA system, the priceless vase tossed around like a rugby ball. “Just like a Greek play,” opines the gormless waitress, beautifully played by Ottilie Mackintosh – her efforts to conceal her ring-less finger are priceless. She's doing an evening course in Homer, and sees the tournament as a mythical battle of the Ancient World. She also gets to deliver an epilogue, as on the Jacobean stage, before the six actors dance a jig de nos jours to Walk the Moon's Shut Up and Dance.

Her intended is Justin, the newly hired hand who turns out to be the secret weapon in the tournament; he's played with impressive physicality by Romayne Andrews. His pre-shot warm-up, and his melt-down at the crucial seventeeth, are both memorable moments.

His boss is Henry, suave and articulate, played with practised ease by Damien Matthews. His delivery is perfectly pitched - “Oh darling that was our secret ...” he replies, deadpan and unconvincing, to the aforementioned VP, Mrs Pamela Peabody, as she spins lies to get him off the hook. A fine farcical performance by Natalie Walter. Henry's opposite number at the rival Crouching Squirrel Club is Simon Lloyd's Dickie Bell, constantly at risk of being upstaged by his knitwear. A nice character study of an obnoxiously cocky little man, forever mangling his aphorisms. Last to the party is Henry's battle-axe (or Sherman tank) of a wife. A cliché of a character, really, but neatly subverted here in Sarah Quist's larger-than-life performance, earning her an old-fashioned round of applause on her first exit.

The production values are pleasingly high – the scene change in the second act is a wonder to behold. Philip Wilson directs a well-oiled revival of this homage to the innocent days of Rookery Nook and See How They Run. The slapstick is polished, the pace is good, though I could imagine the US version being snappier. Twenty-four hours and eighteen holes all done and dusted in two hours, including the rain break and a twenty minute interval.

There's a helpful links-side lexicon in the programme, and the company were put through their paces at Upminster Golf Club. But you certainly don't need to be an aficionado to appreciate this tale of true love, rivalry, greed and fate.

PETER PAN

PETER PAN 

Mercury Theatre, Colchester

02.08.2017

for The Reviews Hub

A magical, enchanting Peter Pan to follow James and the Giant Peach and Wind in the Willows onto the Mercury stage in the long vacation slot.

Not just another attempt at the increasingly popular summertime panto, but an adaptation, by Daniel Buckroyd and Matthew Cullum (who also shared directing duties), which manages to seem fresh and child-friendly while still respecting J M Barrie's original.

The nursery furniture is shrouded in dust-sheets as we arrive. Simon Kenny's set is uncluttered and inventive, shape-shifting to the Neverland island and the deck of the pirate ship. Drawers pull out to form beds, the crocodile is suggested by a pair of headlamp eyes before making its spectacular final appearance.

The story – quite complex for the youngest minds – is bookended by a prologue and an epilogue in which the actors tell the story in the time-honoured Nicholas Nickleby style. Their boisterous play foreshadows adventures to come (except perhaps for the farting teddy-bear).They are musicians too, and apart from Wendy (Charlotte Mafham) and Peter, play multiple roles. This doubling is very slickly done – the performers rarely leave the stage altogether – and is often part of the entertainment; the Lost Boys are picked off one by one only to re-enter moments later to swell the pirate band. Particularly impressive character work from James Peake as Nana, a convincing canine in fur coat and flying helmet, as well as Cecco the pirate and the know-it-all Slightly Soiled, and Alicia McKenzie as a feisty fairy Tinkerbell and a peg-leg pirate Jukes.

Peter himself is played by Emilio Iannucci, a winning blend of innocence and bravado, and Pete Ashmore, a familiar face on the Mercury stage, takes on the traditional pairing of Mr Darling and Captain Hook. Not your average old Etonian, maybe, despite his dying words, but he handles his cod-Shakespeare convincingly.

“I do believe in fairies,” whispered one little girl in our row, in a moment of unprompted empathy. The production is aimed squarely at children, as is only right, though there were subtleties to satisfy the most jaded adult palate, and the ingenious costume and scene changes help to maintain our interest. All the magic is that special theatrical kind, where our imagination is willingly co-opted to do half the work. Tinkerbell dances as a light on the end of a long wand; Curly's kite is attached to a stick. And, though there's no Kirby, no Foy, the flying sequences are thrillingly done in the simplest way possible.

It is very pleasing to see several editions of the book on offer amongst the crocodile merchandise. And of course, as Barrie intended, the production will benefit the beleaguered Great Ormond Street Hospital.

The sad and the sinister are not neglected: Peter's unwillingness to be touched, or the “tragedy” of the ending, in which Wendy's daughter assumes her role as mother to Peter and the Lost Boys.

Richard Reeday's music underpins the action – there are few big numbers – and it's fun to see the flute, the tuba and two violins shared amongst the colourful characters.

The final tableau sees Peter framed in the window, still looking out beyond the stars to the Neverland, before the braver children in the audience are allowed to explore the nursery for themselves, try out the beds and peek into the delightful dolls' house where Peter's shadow was hidden.

production photograph: Robert Day

MICHAEL MORPURGO'S FARM BOY

MICHAEL MORPURGO'S FARM BOY
A Made in Colchester Production
at the Mercury Theatre, Colchester
18.06.2017

for The Reviews Hub

This is the sequel to Morpurgo's phenomenal War Horse. It's a very different animal – a couple of actors, a costumed musician, and, centre stage “an old green Fordson”, the tractor which turns out to be at the heart of this story. But it succeeds on its own terms, since, as in War Horse, the author's skill as a story-teller carries the narrative, and keeps the audience enthralled.
This ingenious adaptation is by Daniel Buckroyd, now the Mercury's Artistic Director, and it was first seen here in 2012. This new production, directed by C P Hallam, has been touring local schools, with just one weekend on the Mercury main stage.
The two actors take the roles of Grandpa, who's actually the son of Albert from the earlier piece, and his grandson, who as a young child played at farming seated on the ancient tractor, and eventually takes over the farm. The relationship between the two is beautifully drawn – teasing, encouraging, and, in the play, unselfconsciously sharing all the other roles, including the Corporal, as the adult Albert is known in the village, the grandmother Maisie, and rival farmer Harry Medlicott. 
The old man loves to remember, and loves to tell his stories. But illness and idleness have left him illiterate, and after his wife dies, he persuades the boy to teach him his letters. As a reward, his grandson gets £100 and a story, ten pages of painstakingly pencilled capital letters.
This story of the ploughing match, pitting horses against horse-power, is the thrilling climax of the piece. The staging is simple, stripped-back. The two horses are step-ladders, the cockerel a rubber glove, Medlicott's paunch the cushion from the tractor's seat. Ru Hamilton's music underpins the action beautifully – flute for the flight of the swallow, harp for midnight Christmas Eve – the old ballad Dives and Lazarus effectively quoted here and elsewhere. And for the competition on Candlelight Field, a cello, joined by a bucket for a drum, the jingle of the harness and percussion on the Fordson.
The two actors – Danny Childs as the boy, Gary Mackay as the old man – draw us in to the story, and seem to relish bringing the scenes to life. Nothing is over-stated. We use our imaginations as they use theirs – they talk of horses, and we see them. The old man speaks of death, as he recalls his father's terrible trauma in the trenches. The boy, who pulled the cornsacks off the old tractor at the back of the barn all those years ago, returns to the farm after college, and finally restores the Fordson, which triumphantly bursts into life as this lovely sixty-minute show ends.
It's good to be reminded of the power of words to carry a story; the magic of theatre does not have to rely on technical wizardry and special effects.

production photograph: Robert Day

BRING ON THE BOLLYWOOD

BRING ON THE BOLLYWOOD

Phizzical in association with Belgrade Theatre Coventry and Vivacity Key Theatre
at the Queen's Theatre Hornchurch 

13.06.2017

for The Reviews Hub

A colourful tribute to the Bollywood genre, this big-hearted show explodes onto the Hornchurch stage in a riot of song and dance, gorgeous costumes and songs from the big screen. A little bit camp, a little bit kitsch, but great uncomplicated fun from the title song to the wedding finale.

The setting is simple – stylised Himalayas for a backdrop, and a suggestion in front of Lakshman Villa, the comfortable family haveli in warm colours. There are many scenes, involving the shifting of trucks and some awkward fades to black, but the story moves along almost seamlessly.
Like many juke-box musicals, the plot is secondary to the numbers. Here we have a typical romance, borrowing cleverly from She Stoops to Conquer, in which there is conflict between the old ways and the new, India and the UK, the big city and the quiet life up-country.
Katrina (Nisha Aaliya)is an over-worked doctor in the UK. She's flying back to her roots in India for her brother's wedding. Across the aisle sits Ronny (Robby Khela), on a pilgrimage of his own. We sense, as they do, that their paths will cross again …
But Katrina's mother is anxious to fix her up with “a suitable boy”, and little brother Lucky – the Tony Lumpkin of this version, played by Anthony Sahota - has biceps to die for and issues of his own as the plot unfolds.
But it's not really about the story. Both the writing and the acting are often little more than adequate. As Katrina reminds us, Bollywood is 100% escapism, the sort of thing that movies used to do, back in the day that La La Land sought to recapture. There are fine comic performances from Sakuntala Ramanee as the match-making mother, and Rohit Gokani as the crusty whisky-drinking Colonel. Nice work, too, from the trio of house-servants, and Yanick Ghanty as Amit, the film star with the London accent.
It's all about the exuberant song and dance – Khela particularly impressive in his numbers. And what a variety there is, from the pumping bass of the opener to the almost operatic temple scene, and the traditional puppet dance up on the roof.
It would be nice to have some live music, maybe even one or two actor/musicians, but the glitzy staging and the feel-good fairy-tale will certainly please the Essex fans as it has Coventry and Doncaster – this tour takes its final bow in Peterborough at the end of August.
There's even merchandise – we could all use a Happy Happy tee-shirt, couldn't we ?

production photograph: Nicola Young

THE EVENTS

THE EVENTS
A Made in Colchester Production at the Mercury Theatre Studio Colchester 
06.06.2017
for The Reviews Hub


First seen in 2013, and inspired at least in part by the Anders Breivik massacre of the year before, David Greig's powerful piece has been revived many times since.
Dan Sherer's production in the Mercury Studio is intensely visceral, its impact enhanced by the intimacy of the staging.
James Cotterill's set suggests a church hall; a uniform, monochrome grey for the walls and all the furniture, fixtures and fittings. There are skeletal trees and creepers, also grey. Grim reality mingles with the darkly surreal. The threads of the narrative emerge gradually. The text is often abstruse or elliptical, highly effective, but making considerable demands on the audience,
The euphemistic “events” of the title involve the murder by a lone gunman of the members of an inclusive community choir. One of the many strengths of this production is the formation, especially for the show, of a choir that reflects the make-up of the fictional choir in the script, trained and directed by Scott Gray. They sing the chillingly appropriate Sound of Silence, and Blur's Tender. They have lines to deliver; they are involved in the expressive movement. Great work, community choir !
At its best, Greig's dialogue is moving, disturbing, terrifying. Claire, victim and survivor, fantasises about adopting “The Boy” - the killer – dreams of terrible revenge, of smothering him at birth. The young man - “a Europe-wide malaise”, a tribal warrior – lives out his first “berserking” with frightening force. Their meeting – the desperate “forgiveness lady” sitting opposite the nervous, awkward boy in specs, confusing Claire with some girl in a silver car – is utterly gripping.
Not all the scenes have quite so much dramatic strength; not all of the characters Claire meets – all played by The Boy – are as convincing as The Father or the racist Politician. And it is not clear why Greig conceives Claire as a priest. The character is strong and believable, the psychology underpinning it is entirely credible. But religion has very little role, and she simply fails to convince as a woman of the cloth.
Both actors are phenomenal. Anna O'Grady inhabits Claire's haunted face very movingly – impossible not to share her distress, her mixed emotions, her trauma. And Josh Collins – memorable as the young squaddie in the same team's Bully Boy here in 2015 – handles the very challenging role of the terrorist sensitively. Is he mad ?  evil ?  “empathy-impaired” ?  An engaging presence, he also takes on nearly all the other roles, with almost imperceptible changes in voice and demeanour. He's The Friend, The Journalist, and Catriona, Claire's yurt-builder partner – this detail one of the few, very welcome, moments of humour in an otherwise unrelenting study of the CoD enthusiastic who kills to protect his tribe.
There is a glimpse of redemption at the end of this descent into madness; new red chairs are unveiled, and Claire's colourless world is further brightened by the new choir, gaily clad, singing a capella “We're all in here ...”
production photograph: Robert Day