KING LEAR

KING LEAR

Chichester Festival Theatre at the Minerva

28.09.2017

A visceral, intimate Lear: a unique staging with McKellen's tragic king at its centre, and the audience on the edge of the torrential storm.

As director Jonathan Munby has it, this is conversation, not declaration, in the shared air of a room.

It's set in Britain, in a recognisable land, at a time which still feels like the familiar recent past. It opens with pomp and circumstance, a Latin anthem, and speeches from a dais with microphones. A formal Lear divides his kingdom by taking a pair of scissors to a map. The daughters make their pitch, and in the first sign of his true affections, the king sketches a couple of dance steps with her as he helps Cordelia to the lectern.

But there are signs of the dementia to come, a moment of temper brandishing a chair.

There are many such dramatic outbursts: Lear's knights – got up as hooray henrys or Young Farmers – and the volleys of bread at the feast, the suspended cage for the stocks, the stark abattoir for the blinding, and the Fool confronting Edmund to end Part One. And much later, Goneril, like the ghost of Hamlet's father, walking along the wall of Dover chalk at the back of the stage.

McKellen is magnificent. Not only as the ailing, failing King, feeble in mind and body, but also in the stronger man, fighting his own battles almost to the end, doggedly carrying the body of Cordelia slung across his back. To see him rage against the storm, or realise the perfidy of his flinty-hearted daughters, at such close quarters is an unforgettable theatrical experience.

He heads an impressive cast. His fool is Phil Daniels, a comedian with comedy glasses and a banjolele; imagined here as a kind of aide-de-camp, he is perhaps most at ease in the earlier scenes.

The scene with Gloucester, movingly done by Danny Webb, has echoes of Godot as the two old men sit and talk – later there’s even a leafless tree …

Webb is especially strong in his scenes with Jonathan Bailey as Edgar [aka Poor Tom], the other wronged child in this tragedy – his madness never overplayed, his empathy with Cordelia helping to meld together these two parallel plotlines.

This production has much in common with Nancy Meckler’s version running concurrently at Shakespeare’s Globe – the contemporary parallels, and especially an outstanding Countess of Kent – at Chichester it is Sinead Cusack, excellent both as courtier and as Caius, disguised in exile.

Kirsty Bushell’s Regan is brutally sensual, gleefully relishing the blinding of Gloucester (in the abattoir, with a meat hook); Dervla Kirwan’s changing moods as Goneril make her the more interesting of the sinister sisters, while Tamara Lawrance’s youthful Cordelia has a strong, sympathetic presence. Damien Molloy is a striking Edmund, while among the lesser characters I especially enjoyed Michael Matus as a pompous footman, casually combing his brilliantined hair.

A privilege to see this great Shakespearean at the height of his powers – and, at 78, still carrying his Cordelia, and getting drenched to the skin every night. A privilege to share his air, and the relentless torrential rain of the storm …

ALL SHOOK UP

ALL SHOOK UP

CAODS at the Civic Theatre

26.09.17
for Sardines

A juke box musical par excellence, featuring an actual juke box, and music from that golden era when those Seebergs and Wurlitzers were the beating heart of youth culture.

The title number – which makes a great opener for Act Two – is just one of dozens of hits from the King's discography, generously applied to a frothy story set in the summer of '55.

Shakespeare contributes a few plot devices, a sonnet and a quote, but there's not much here to trouble the academics.

It is enormous fun, though, put across with style and infectious enthusiasm in Sallie Warrington's bold, energetic production.

A lively ensemble show, the big numbers filling the stripped-back set with jiving blue suede shoes: the love tangles nicely suggested by the Act One finale – Can't Help Falling In Love.

The wedding walk-down brings all of the couples together, even the problematic pairing of roustabout Chad – Simon Bristoe, with quiff, swivelling hips and curling lip, bringing a knowing narcissism to the role – and tomboy grease monkey Natalie, who assumes boyish attire to win her man. She's played with engaging naivety – and a great singing voice – by Tamara Anderson.

Amongst the other star-crossed couples are youngsters Dean and Lorraine, Dannii Carr and Charlotte Broad, geeky Dennis [Oli Budino] finding happiness at last with Cassie Estall's starchy Miss Sandra, who shares his love for the Bard. Excellent character work from David Slater as Natalie's widowed father and Robyn Gowers as the wisecracking, worldly Sylvia, who runs the local Honky-Tonk. And from Debra Sparshott as the killjoy Mayor, who finally finds a spectacular sense of fun, with Philip Spurgeon as her side-kick “not now” Earl.

Clare Penfold is the Musical Director, bringing those familiar numbers to vibrant life in their dramatic context. The sound favours decibels over depth, but there are some lovely melodic moments, such as the sobbing sax for Sylvia's big sing, There's Always Me.

The first night audience were on their feet for the rousing C'mon Everybody finale; by Saturday night it'll be hard to stop them invading the stage and bopping along with Chad and this cracking All Shook Up company.

production photograph: Brad Wendes

LA BOHEME

LA BOHEME

Barefoot Opera at St Leonard's, Shoreditch

23.09.2017

Gloomy, Palladian St Leonard's. If any artist were roaming its shadows, it should surely be Mario Cavaradossi. But here it's Marcello and his student chums, bringing bohemian Paris to vibrant life in Barefoot Opera's lovely chamber version of Puccini's earlier hit.

It's not an obvious venue for opera. Hard pews, poor sight-lines, and an ecclesiastical acoustic, in which the band and the women fared best, leaving the men to struggle to make their words clear in the muddying wash. But the space is well used dramatically in Jenny Miller's intimate new production: the nave becomes the street, the Café Momus blends into the audience, a simple scaffold gives height, with a banner backdrop which also screens the surtitles. Umbrellas provide a sense of place, and lighting; they make a wonderfully atmospheric start to Act III.

A very small chorus – and no gamins; I liked the way that actors portrayed the wind, the garret parrot and even the moon. Lesley Anne Sammons directed a tiny band from the piano – the use of the accordion [Milos Milosovic] was inspired, and seemed so right for the Latin Quarter. Another stroke of genius was to have the Musician, Shaunard [Andrew Sparling], flit between stage and pit, contributing some superb clarinet solos.

Mimi was beautifully sung by Lucy Ashton – a bright, rich soprano voice. Her “pink bonnet” aria in Act III, and the duet which followed, were musical highlights of the evening. Andrew McGowan, in red baseball cap and black lipstick, was a very modern Rodolfo. Perhaps because of the acoustic, his tenor sometimes seemed underpowered, but he had some fine moments, notably the “Addio” quartet at the end of Act III. The other couple, whose tiff provides dramatic counterpoint to Mimi's reconciliation with her poet, were the strongly sung – and colourfully characterized - Marcello of Oscar Castellino, and Kayleigh McEvoy's impressive Musetta, the scarlet party-girl who leaves Alcindoro [Tim Patrick] for Marcello. Her big number, the seductive Waltz song, was delivered in a very animated style, modelling hats, stripping on a table, kicking assiettes, and never missing a note or an inflection.

The philosopher student, Colline, [Matthew Thistleton] cut a much more traditional figure than the poet, the painter or the musician. A classic profile, and a burnished baritone for his “Vecchia zimarra”, where he bids farewell to his favourite overcoat.

This intimate production, uniquely bringing a fresh, youthful perspective to the classic opera, ends its tour in Cheltenham on October 28 – their next show, in Hastings, will be very different: Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione di Poppea.

OLD TYME MUSIC HALL

OLD TYME MUSIC HALL

Trinity Methodist Music and Drama

22.09.17

Chelmsford's answer to the City Varieties, an enjoyable compendium of songs I'd last encountered as shellac on my aunt's ancient Victrola, or sheet music in the dusty depths of our old piano stool.

Here's Roses of Picardie and I Wouldn't Leave My Little Wooden Hut. And the Tin Gee-Gee, beautifully delivered by David Rayner, who also introduced us to the more familiar Polly Perkins. Two military numbers from Tom Whelan, backed by the girls for his Galloping Major, and by the Ain't Half Hot men on the Road to Mandalay.

But for the most part it was a succession of glamorous ladies, in gorgeous frocks, delivering their numbers – sometimes one verse too long - and graciously acknowledging their applause. Outstanding among them, Pat Hollingsworth bravely showing her Popsy Wopsy, and giving a stupendous I Want to Sing in Opera. And “Dame” Janet Moore with The Bells of St Mary's and, less authentically, I'll Walk Beside You.

Patsy Page, who directed the show, gave a spirited revival of a patriotic recruiting song from 1914, and our orotund chairman, Michael Wilson, who introduced each act with a winning blend of eloquence and double entendre, favoured us with a melodic rendering of Stanley Holloway's Brahn Boots.

Since this was Trinity, there were some welcome helpings of operetta – the Gendarmes' Duet, Maxim's and the Chocolate Soldier. Plus a couple of all-too-brief extracts from The Arcadians and Floradora, both hugely popular with Operatic Societies in their day. Time for a revival, perhaps ?

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