HOLY MACKEREL!

HOLY 

MACKEREL!

Eastern Angles at the Sir John Mills Theatre Ipswich

08.12.2015

Shanty Theatre Company shares many of the ideals of Eastern Angles. So it makes sense to do as many others have done, to share a production. And what better subject than the culture clash between the West Country and East Anglian invaders ...

Fresh faces and new ideas for Ipswich. But this first partnership does not quite hit it off, despite an interesting historical background and some very clever notions. There are token attempts to interact with the Christmas show's loyal audience in the Sir John Mills, but not everyone manages a real rapport, and the tricky acoustic means that some of the words, and the lyrics, are lost.

The improbable plot is based in fact. The Newlyn fishing riots of 1896 saw “Yorkies” from Lowestoft steal an unfair advantage by fishing Cornish waters on the Sabbath.

The excellent company of five work hard to bring all the characters to life, directed by Tim Bell. Writer Harry Long has the lion's share of laughs as Norman the Chosen One, not, as he admits, the sharpest spanner in the works, who ends up leading both the mighty armies in the battle of Newlyn. Christian Edwards is Brassy Balls, the wicked boss of the fleet; Daniel Copeland the Harbour Master and the local Methodist minister. Mabel Clements is the sweet young local girl Kerra, Louise Callaghan a feisty Mags. Everyone, though, plays more than one part, and we're grateful for the names beautifully incorporated into their costumes.

Verity Quinn's design uses the space well – three entrances, ingenious storage, sixteen suspended oil lamps and bits and pieces flown in in the traditional way.

The style is often surreal, and relentlessly meta-theatrical. Subtext, allegory, soliloquy are all knowingly referenced. Some of the silliness works well: the three bearded harbour masters, the excruciating stage wait, the dual control room with a window for each side. And, in a rare concession to Christmas, there's a welcome appearance from Bella the Cow. Stu McLoughlin's music, though cleverly conceived, often feels like a distraction – boy band, Police tribute ensemble pieces are polished, but add little to the plot. But I enjoyed Norman's Les Mis “What Should I Do” moment.

The tone shifts from far-fetched flights of fancy to genuine tenderness, whereas infectious fun might fit the bill better, in this slot, in this space. And I know it's not a documentary – Norman thinks Wesleyanism is a type of cheese – but even in non-conformist Cornwall I'd be surprised to find a crucifix in chapel, or even a vicar …

production photograph by Mike Kwasniak

AMAHL AND THE NIGHT VISITORS

AMAHL AND THE NIGHT VISITORS

Trinity Methodist Music and Drama

06.12.15

A festive treat from Trinity this year: Menotti's children's opera staged as a curtain-raiser to the traditional carol concert.

A suitably simple production, directed by Tony Brett with Felicity Wright the Musical Director. Chorister Elliott Harding-Smith sang, danced and acted pleasingly in the key role of the crippled child who accompanies the Kings as they follow the star; Isabella Gage and Benjamin Lewis both excel as Amahl's Mother and Melchior. The Child We Seek quartet was especially moving, as was the Mother's aria Do They Know. Mick Wilson was the hard of hearing Kaspar, Jeff Green the bass Balthazar. Ed Carter made the most of the unnamed Page to the Magi. Fine support from the Shepherdesses – movement and music combining perfectly in the offerings sequence – augmented by the offstage choir. And, right at the end, a very civilized camel for the journey to the stable.

All accompanied by Christopher Wood's piano, with Gillian and David Miles on oboe and bassoon for Amahl's all-important pipe.

After the mince pies, a varied programme of Christmas choral works, with Danielle Harding-Smith at the piano and Keith Byatt at the organ. Rise Up, Shepherds, with its infectious rhythm and catchy tune, a Russian Ave Maria and, new to me, Frederick Silver's take on the Twelve Days, in case you wondered what became of all those unsolicited gifts: “with a single cartridge, I shot that blasted partridge ...”. Two helpings of Rutter, and a chance to join in with Sullivan and Goss, with glorious descants by David Willcocks.

production photograph: Val Scott

ALADDIN

ALADDIN
at the Queen's Theatre Hornchurch
30.11.2015

for The Reviews Hub

Here be dragons …

Mark Walters' fairy-tale designs for this year's panto at the Queen's are charmingly oriental, with dragons round the proscenium, on the cloths and even projected onto the auditorium carpet and the walls - and noisily invading the foyer on opening night. Lovely ruins in the Tibetan land of ice, a gorgeous backdrop of a lake with junks, and a picture-book market-place in Old Peking.
Nicholas Pegg's take on the tale of Aladdin and his lamp is a fast-moving family show – there's even a number celebrating family values, though maybe the Twankeys are not the best example. There's lots of throwaway humour, some of it filthy, though most of it is clever and slightly off-the-wall. The Vizier's titles for the Emperor, for instance, are a splendid running gag – the sesame substitutes and the TfL Lions too - and there are passing references to Tinder, Star Wars and the Emperor's new clothes, as well as an up-to-the minute dig at Olly Murs. For the record, on press night the Sainsbury's gag went rather better than the smut.
The best pantomime performers forge a bond of affectionate complicity with their audience, and know exactly when to serve the story and the style, and when to send them up.
Sam Pay's Abanazar succeeds brilliantly here, pure evil with his big red book, slickly subverting the script but raising deafening boos from the youngsters in the audience. Fred Broom is a wicked Widow Twankey, wearing her fantastical frocks – Willow Pattern, rotary drier, Pagoda, pink and lilac Frozen – with aplomb. The classic twin sisters routine is perfectly done. Matthew Quinn works his socks off as Wishee Washee, Naomi Bullock slaps her thigh in the title role and Callum Hughes' Emperor of all China is a charming old buffer. Mixed doubles from Rachel Nottingham as the shy feminist Jasmine and a soap-addicted Slave of the Ring, and Thomas Sutcliffe as a lisping Vizier and a straight classical Genie of the Lamp. A great guest appearance from ASMs Rhyan Eldon-Davis and Joe Watch as the Abdominal Showman.
Carol Sloman's original songs are lively and tuneful – a nice old-fashioned duet for Twankey and the Emperor, and for the youngsters [three teams of eight on this show] a nicely choreographed Our Chinese Garden to open Act Two. The kids also got to be mini-me Genies, tiny Abanazars and the comedy cops.
The effects are a little tame, though the carpet flies well, and the lighting is often spectacular.
Something for everyone in a packed two hours – crisps and sweets for the cubs in the stalls, a ker-ching moment for the sponsors, a traditional story clearly told, a front-cloth song for all ages, a proper staircase for the wedding walk-down and a moral message before the title cloth falls.
The Queen's Resident Company is directed by Matt Devitt, with choreography by Donna Berlin and musical direction by Dan de Cruz.

production photograph by Mark Sepple

STRICTLY SEX FACTOR ON ICE

STRICTLY SEX FACTOR ON ICE

Writtle Cards in the Village Hall

27.11.15

Among this year's festive invitations: The Nutcracker on Ice, and The Sword in the Stone reworked as a rock'n'roll panto. But nothing quite so outrageous as this – fictitious – entertainment on offer in Writtle.

Times are hard for Little Grimley Amateur Dramatic Society. Their ranks are thinning, talent is in short supply and audiences seem to prefer to spend their Saturday nights in front of the box. Hence these desperate measures. A sex panto – though I think Jim Davidson got there first with his smutty Sinderella – and a monstrous mash-up of talent shows off the telly.

The first play – Last Panto in Little Grimley – sees members of the group debating, very amusingly, the way forward. Four lovely performances here: Jean Speller as the hapless Joyce, Paulette Harris as the overbearing Margaret, Daniel Curley as the “ape man” stage manager and Nick Caton, loudly booed by the audience, as the ruthless director. The wonky word-processor gag seems lame, but there were many hilarious moments, not least the very recognizable round of “diary bingo”.

“There may be trouble ahead” warns Nat King Cole at the start of the second piece. Same characters, but renamed, recast and relocated to Writtle. From the subs bench we have Beth Crozier being overbearing, and new signing Marge Naylor as Joy, compelled to perform on roller skates, just like they never did in Cats. Jim Crozier is the autocratic dictator this time – a fine oratorical monologue – and, getting lots of laughs as the lad Barry, Chris Rogerson, wisely creating a character as far removed as possible from the consummate comedy of Mr Curley, whose use of a banana was a masterclass in hilarity. The choreographed scene changes work well, and I love the inflatable Tonioli on the judging panel.

Post-match stats – number of prompts – something of a hostage to fortune, perhaps, as is the cutting criticism of Simon Dupont, reviewer for another paper, who pens the kind of poisonous piece I shall write just before I retire ...

It's not Noises Off, or The Play That Goes Wrong, or even the Farndale Ladies. But it is a wickedly well observed look behind the amdram scenes, slickly directed by Liz Curley, and a great hit with the packed house in the Village Hall.

HERE WE GO

HERE WE GO

National Theatre at the Lyttleton

25.11.2015

A new play by Caryl Churchill. Brief, even for a one-act offering. Tripartite. First, the “funeral party for a man with an adventurous past” - drinking champagne in hospital is mentioned.

Mourners stand around awkwardly, wine-glass in hand, making small talk interspersed with intimations of their own mortality – or pithy autopsies – and recollections of the departed. Rarely is a sentence finished, but instead of a naturalistic blending or overlapping, each speaker seems to apply the brakes – a disconcerting effect.

Then a masterly monologue by the dead man – a disembodied torso in the darkness – a confusion of ideas about the [possibly overpopulated] afterlife: Chiron, Valhalla, Purgatory. A powerful performance from Patrick Godfrey. 

Then an extended image – Godfrey again, with a patient Hazel Holder – perhaps of end-of-life futility, or perhaps eternal damnation, echoing Marlowe's Faustus -  “Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.”

Too much of an eternity for some, exiting early through the Lyttleton doors before the final fade to black.

Dominic Cooke's uncomplicated direction lets Churchill speak, though I'm not sure what she's getting at in this black triptych.