GYPSY

GYPSY

Little Theatre Company at the Palace Theatre, Southend

09.11.2017

Stripper and author Gypsy Rose Lee was a close contemporary of Westcliff’s historic theatre. Like her, it’s witnessed the death of Variety. So it’s particularly fitting that it should house this superlative production of the show, and get its moment in the spotlight, substituting in the audition scene for T T Grantzinger’s Palace Theatre in New York.

As all fans of the musical theatre will know, there’s been a high-profile, starry revival of this, so expectations must have been high as Essex awaited this production, by Darren Harper for the Little Theatre Company.

Exceeded many times over, I would suggest, with a show that feels professional in every department, from the polished sound of the pit band, conducted by Clare Penfold, to the glossy programme, edited by Gemma Carracher and designed by Bradley Green.

It’s not really about the stripper, of course, but her determined “stage mother” Madame Rose. This force of nature is played by Stephanie Wilson; a marathon performance that never misses a beat. The numbers are impeccably sung; everything is immaculately judged – pinching Pop’s long-service plaque, picking up juvenile talent on the road, willing her daughters on from the wings, upbeat at the end of Act One, broken and defeated at the end of Act Two. We feel for her throughout her journey, so I was relieved she got the relatively happy ending which was also used in Chichester.

This was an extraordinary tour-de-force by an experienced musical theatre performer at the height of her powers. But it was by no means the only outstanding turn.

Alice Fillary, in her first appearance with LTC, is a superbly subtle Louise, evolving from the lumpen “Plug” to the slinky star of burlesque. The shy smile as she retrieves the glove she dropped is the turning point, perhaps. Her duet with “Dainty” June [Eleanor Softly] – If Momma was Married, some of Sondheim’s best lyrics here – is beautifully played.

As the generous, forgiving Herbie, Ian Benson brought a gentle charm and a pleasingly warm vocal tone. A lovely triple from Paul Allwright, including a bemused “have an egg roll” Mr Goldstone and Rose’s father.

Laura Witherall’s choreography includes some fabulously cheesy routines – the Broadway Chorus Boys – and it is good to see a fine dancer [Chris Higginson] in the role of Tulsa, the boy who elopes with Baby June. His sequence with Louise – All I Need is the Girl – is very movingly done.

The casting is strong all the way down the billing to Chowsie the dog. It would be impossible to name-check everyone, but unforgivable to omit the children – Holly Hall, with her Shirley Temple smile, was Baby June when I saw the show – or the raddled strippers – Lianne Larthe doubling Electra and the cynical Miss Crachitt in the traditional fashion.

Only my second experience of Little Theatre Company, I think, and my last “professional” visit to the dear old Palace. Wonderfully memorable on both counts, I’m delighted to report.

BETTY BLUE EYES

BETTY BLUE EYES

LODS at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

04.05.17

for Sardines

On the day the Palace announce the Duke of Edinburgh's retirement from public life, LODS take us back 70 years to the Royal Wedding that began it all.

Based on the Alan Bennett film A Private Function, it's the tale of meat rationing, dodgy dealing and a clandestine pig, named Betty after the young Princess, which is to be slaughtered for a pork dinner in honour of the happy couple.

It's a charming production, directed with a playful sense of period by Sallie Warrington, who has a fine company at her disposal here.

Led by Michael James as a likeable chiropodist, his gentle personality radiating to all corners of the auditorium – he's an accomplished song and dance man, too. His Lady Macbeth of a wife, all ruthless ambition [the Scottish play is referenced quite frequently] is stunningly done by Joanne Halliday, superbly selling her big numbers: the Primrose Ballroom sequence, for instance, beautifully choreographed, with a lovely vocal trio supporting Halliday's assured voice.

Plenty of memorable character work for the rest of the cast to get their teeth into: Helen Sharpe relishes every batty moment as Mother Dear, Andy Stone is the stammering pig-fancier Allardyce [two more LODS regulars, Simon Sharpe and Peter Brown, are his corrupt fellow councillors] and Andrew Seal, in leather trench-coat and tooth-brush moustache, brings a touch of melodrama to the villain of the piece, Wormold from the Ministry. A special mention for the porcine star of the show, the sow herself. She's an endearing puppet, convincingly manipulated by her land-girl handler, Sara Hickling.

It's a strong ensemble show, with beautifully staged production numbers – the Nobody sequence, with showgirls sporting top hats, tails and canes, Another Little Victory with union flags, the hilarious extended Pig, No Pig scene, or the more thoughtful Magic Fingers, with three housewives suffering the aftermath of war. The dénouement is done with another sustained sequence, the Finale Ultimo where everyone confesses their part in the plot.

The setting [Paul Ward and Kevin Ward] is brilliantly simple: a toy-town cut-out Shepardsford, with the Chilvers' parlour folding out. Smoke from the chimneys, too. The vet's motor-car, ingeniously suggested in the tableau that ends Act One, becomes a lovely little model for the pig-napping that starts the second half.

The music – by George Stiles, to lyrics by Anthony Drewe – is catchy without being memorable [Stiles is no Sondheim]; but it's well served here by a first-rate pit band, conducted by Stuart Woolner. The Musical Director is Rachael Plunkett.

ROCK OF AGES

ROCK OF AGES

Southend Operatic and Dramatic Society at the Palace Theatre Westcliff

18.11.16

for Sardines

An unabashed juke-box musical, showcasing the greatest glam metal merchants of the 80s. Though not, as it turned out, the title number from Def Leppard.

And it brought a diverse crowd to the Palace to have their faces melted at the tea-time matinée: rockers, pensioners, school-kids enthusiastically supporting their mates.

The balance between tribute, parody, humour and love-interest is a delicate one, but SODS serve up their usual very professional production values, and give this slight story a more than decent outing.

The eighties hits are strung out on a thin line of plot. The usual things – dreams of stardom, threat from heartless developers, a naïve girl torn between fame and true love. Taking us back to sexier times ? Well, more sexist, certainly …

The show is driven by the music, excellently done by the on-stage “Arsenal”, with new MD Keeley Wickham on keys. The nature of the unsubtle eighties sound means that dialogue sometimes has to be shouted over the underscore, and the lyrics are occasionally hard to catch. The numbers, or at least the titles, are loosely tied to the narrative, and the colourful chorus sometimes seems to comment on events. There's little conventional choreography [Vicky Wyatt] – the two finales come closest, with ironic jazz hands at the end of Act One – Whitesnake's Here I Go Again. Many of the numbers are given a dramatic twist; all of them are compellingly performed. A trio, later joined by Stacee and the girls, for Styx's Too Much Time On My Hands, a duet for Damn Yankees' High Enough amongst the highlights.

The versatile, talented company take the rock genre in their stride, led by David Watkins and Milli-Mae Cage as the love interest, brought together by a shared taste for slurpees.

Plenty of broad-brush character work from, amongst others, director Ian Gilbert as the villainous Hertz, Ewan Dunlop as his OTT effete offspring, Les Cannon as the club owner, enjoying an Oscar moment – one of the few real speeches in the show – and elevation to the angelic choir at the end. He was also the voice of Ozzy Osbourne before curtain-up.

The preening rock star Jaxx, skin-tight leggings to attract the groupies, is played with evident relish by Nick Bright, and Heather Cooper brings strength of character and a fine voice to city planner turned protest leader Regina. A subtler, but no less effective performance, with no histrionics, from Phie Carlile as Justice Charlier, proprietor of the Venus Club strip joint.

The show is held together by the sound guy/MC/narrator/dramatic conjuror Lonny, brilliantly done by Jonny Buxton in a mullet, guying the genre, working the audience, interfering and generally being annoying, though not as annoying as Russell Brand.

The staging is simple – cut-away wall, the band upstage, the Bourbon Club. An ingenious fold-out platform brings us the men's bathroom, the planner's office …

Not the best of the juke-box musicals, but hard to imagine it better done on the non-professional stage, a good night out for rock aficionados and musical theatre fans alike.

SPAMALOT

SPAMALOT

Leigh Operatic and Dramatic Society at the Palace Theatre Westcliff

20.10.16

for Sardines

A very British blend of Python and panto, it's curious to think that it was born on Broadway.

The show certainly seems very much at home in the lovely old Palace Theatre; good to see one of the stage boxes used briefly.

LODS, directed by Sallie Warrington, give it their all, playing up the silliness, the high camp and the parody in a gloriously enjoyable couple of hours of escapist laughter.

It helps to have a company of consummate musical theatre performers, of course.

The excellent programme lists thirty named characters, so please forgive only a passing mention for Nathan Gray's Nun, Bradley Gull's Monk and Mick Felgate's Sir Not Appearing. Surely some mistake – he sneaks on for at least one other cheeky cameo.

Intellectual high point of the show is Anthony Bristoe's bow-tied historian right at the start; he also gets to play Brother Maynard and a lovely Mrs Galahad, mother to Stuart Woolner's superb knight, “dashingly handsome” with his Cavalier curls. A somewhat less convincing wig for Peter Brown's Sir Robin, clutching his rubber chicken; a great comedy performance, with a chance to relive his Man in Chair triumph for the Broadway number. The fleeting scenery gag is a particular delight.

His unlikely pair is Lewis Sheldrake's Sir Lancelot, transformed for the finale, outed in a disco number, ready for his “still controversial” wedding to David Shipman's Prince Herbert.

Paul Ward makes a perfect Patsy, the Baldricky side-kick to the King of the Britons. His coconuts carefully placed, always in the moment, especially in the Act Two All Alone number.

“Overacting like hell” as the Camelot couple, Neil Lands' flamboyant Arthur King – I never saw Simon Russell Beale in the role, but I imagine it was something after this style – and Helen Sharpe's unforgettable Lady of the Lake, wringing every last drop of gold top out of her big numbers: the Grail Song, the meta-theatrical front-cloth lament and of course The Song That Goes Like This.

The music – and the essential slapstick sound effects – are excellently done; the MD is Rachael Plunkett, with Clare Penfold waving the stick in the Palace pit. Amateur productions have the edge in the chorus numbers, fielding a stage-full of song-and-dance people: the lovely, hard-working Laker Girls, plus assorted peasants, nobles and Knights of Ni.

The scenery, and the shrubbery, are [deliberately?] uninspired – the code set in stone, for instance – and I find the camel gag works best with a gap, and the E at the end. But the Wooden Rabbit is impressive, and the Black Knight the best I've seen. And the show has so many clever, delightful touches: the entry of the Knights stage left, Fantine amongst the French extras, the slapping of the fish echoed by the head-banging Friars ...

production photograph: Gareth Poxon

MADE IN DAGENHAM

MADE IN DAGENHAM

Leigh Operatic and Dramatic Society at the Palace Theatre Westcliff

04.05.16

for Sardines

The Essex première for Made in Dagenham, the Musical. And haven't LODS done the county proud! High production values, from the design to the orchestra to the professional-looking programme.

It's the uplifting tale of the archetypal Essex girls who take on the might of Ford America and the MCPs of the TUC to win their battle for equal pay. Following in the footsteps of Billy Elliot and The Full Monty, it's an unsubtle, manipulative show, redeemed by Richard Bean's engaging book and Richard Thomas's witty lyrics. And here, by an energetic, polished production on the Palace stage.

Helen Sharpe gets some wonderful performances from a strong cast, especially of course the women of the sewing machine room at Ford's.

Laura Hurrell is a wonderful Rita O'Grady, the strong, if initially reluctant, spokeswoman for the group. We see her domestic life almost wrecked by the strike; Hurrell manages to convince both as an ordinary working-class woman and a heroine of the industrial relations struggle for equality. Not to mention selling some of the best numbers in David Arnold's patchy score. Amongst the other broad-brush characters are Kathy Ward's inarticulate Clare [her “Wossname” number is a delight] and Emma Elliot's dolly bird Sandra. Sarah Gallucci brings pathos as well as personality to union convenor Connie, and Jo Whitnell is excellent value as big Beryl, potty-mouthed and incorrigibly outspoken.

Anthony Bristoe is a sympathetically conflicted husband, a New Man in the making, perhaps.

The men have to do a good deal of doubling in this show, so Monty, the Union Man, is convincingly done by Simon Sharpe, who's also the gross club comic Chubby Chuff. Barry Jones has three roles, including a slightly camp Harold Wilson, superb in his number with the trio of Civil Servants. Hard-hearted, hard-nosed US boss Tooley is powerfully played by Lewis Sheldrake, who's also the boy Barry, target of some fruity banter from the women. And Peter Brown works hard in multiple roles, including Latin teacher Mr Buckton, part of a plot device which brings together Rita and Zoe Berry's Lisa, middle-class feminist wife of Ford UK boss Hopkins [Neil Lands]. It involves a protest against corporal punishment in school. Unthinkable now, of course. If only equality had been so thoroughly won.

1968, year of revolution, is compellingly recalled. In the musical idiom of some of the better numbers - “This Is What We Want” for example - and in the settings – the Social Club and the Berni Inn.

Paul Ward's set is minimal – impressive sewing machines, less impressive Cortina – I liked the way the O'Grady's home was set before the overture: kitchen sink, ironing board, lunchbox, Weetabix. Outstanding digital graphics by Andrew Seal – the orange domestic décor, the Dagenham plant – make the many changes of scene simple and dynamic.

Stunning staging of some of the big numbers - choreography by Michelle Taylor – the title song, and the rousing anthems that end each act: Everybody Out and Stand Up.

Rachael Plunkett is the Musical Director, and she's part of the great pit band under the baton of Stuart Woolner.

HELLO DOLLY !

HELLO DOLLY !

Southend Operatic and Dramatic Society at the Palace Theatre Westcliff

14.04.16

for Sardines

Always a pleasure to welcome back to the stage Mrs Dolly Levi, née Gallagher, meddler and matchmaker, especially in the lovely old Palace Theatre.

A commanding presence in the title role from Suzanne Walters, in a succession of arresting outfits. She belts out the big numbers, but finds time for a little tenderness, too. In the title song she has a staircase to descend, of course, possibly the steepest, narrowest steps I've seen, but she is equally effective alone against the lovely sepia streetscape in Before the Parade Passes By – the understated procession itself materialising magically in the background.

One of the last of the great old-fashioned musicals, it's given an old-fashioned production by Jonny Buxton, making his début as director with SODS. Sometimes a little slow, sometimes a little static [the waiters' galop more of a canter, though most impressively done], with the occasional hiatus, it is nonetheless crammed with great performances from a talented company. La Walters apart, the most successful at engaging a lethargic matinée audience are Les Cannon as grumpy old Vandergelder and Rachael Farrow as the milliner's assistant Minnie. She's the one who pairs up with young Barnaby Tucker – a bright, breezy performance from Ewan Dunlop, looking as if he's just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell illustration.

Lots of matches made in this feel-good plot: Widow Molloy – an elegant Emma Tout, giving us a beautiful Ribbons Down My Back – with Nick Bright's charming Cornelius, and struggling artist Ambrose [the excellent Declan Wright] with Ermengarde, Horace's lachrymose niece [Sacha Jonas].

Nice comedy turns from Keeley Wickham as the frightful Ernestina Money [“Her mother was a Cash, you know.”] and Ian Scoging as Rudolph, maître d' at the Harmonia Gardens, drilling his waiters with a shrill whistle and ringing up an invisible curtain on the action.

The production has some stylish moments: the parasols against the black cloth, the It Takes A Woman trio from Horace and the boys, the Dancing sequence – choreography by Cassie Estall and Becki Wendes. I liked the way Dolly remains on stage [tucking in to her turkey] as the scene changes around her, and Horace does something similar as he makes the journey back to Yonkers without moving from the spot.

Jerry Herman's famous score – Put on Your Sunday Clothes, It Only Takes a Moment and the rest – is in the capable hands of MD Elizabeth Dunlop; there's a very polished pit band hidden beneath the stage.

A believable turn-of-the-century setting, broad Broadway comedy and a succession of toe-tapping tunes make for a delightful, if undemanding, outing for this classic of the genre.

SWEENEY TODD

SWEENEY TODD

SODS

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

11.11.15

for Sardines

“What did they do to you?” asks an appalled Mrs Lovett. Benjamin Barker has returned incognito from Botany Bay, and we share her concern. Les Cannon's Sweeney stares impassively from craggy, emotionless features. “His face was pale and his eye was odd ...”

He's not alone. The chorus stand in weird lighting – belting out the opening number rigidly looking straight ahead. Only their eyes turn to Sweeney.

Moments like these – the Bedlam scene is another – stand out in SODS' ambitious production of the Sondheim classic, directed by Ian Gilbert.

It's a show that asks a lot of everyone – soloists, chorus, orchestra, techies. And audience, still in their seats three hours after that opening chorale.

The score is demandingly operatic – it's often done by proper opera companies, in fact – and SODS' twenty-strong chorus, a few fluffs apart, does a remarkably professional job. Musical Direction by Elizabeth Dunlop.

Partners in crime Todd and Lovett are compellingly played by Les Cannon and Ashley-Marie Stone. His granite determination, her slatternly guile make an effective pair. His powerful Epiphany [chorus boldly placed to face upstage] is followed by the deliciously tasteless A Little Priest, both performed with flair and gruesome gusto.

Joining them in the dangerous streets of Victorian London is a fine company of singing actors: Scott Roche as the Beadle – superb at the harmonium – Declan Wright as the fresh-faced matelot, Maddy Lahna in excellent voice as his Johanna, Paul Alton mortifying the flesh as the evil Judge and Oliver Mills making a most promising SODS début as young Tobias – his Not While I'm Around with Lovett very touchingly put over, and an athletic turn in the Miracle Elixir sequence.

Occasionally we might wish for a better range, more sustained tone, but vocal shortcomings are usually made up for by the dramatic delivery, and the stunning staging.

The lofty set, with its staircases and its upper room, works well. After the interval, Mrs Lovett's new-found commercial success brings her a makeover, the signage is changed, and the new barber's chair is delivered. It looks damned awkward to manipulate, and the stunt razors don't always do as bloody a job as they might. But there are plenty of magnificent moments – Barker's wife in flashback, the Beggar Woman [Laura Mann] recognizing the room and remembering her baby girl, the pile of corpses, the bodies down the pit.

The sound design is bright, meaning that almost every word is audible, though at the expense of some light and shade. The lighting too, though brilliantly effective, could have been more subtle, with more gloomy corners to match the mood of the melodrama.

Despite one or two longueurs, this assured production is a Sweeney Todd to relish, for Sondheim's haunting score, the tale's black humour, and the brooding, burning presence of the Demon Barber.

GHOST

GHOST

LODS

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

22.10.15

for Sardines

Screen to stage is a much tougher transition than stage to screen. In the case of this classic weepie, the technical challenges are considerable, and the score, though serviceable, is never going to match the spectre of Unchained Melody, attractively referenced and recycled in the show.

LODS have done wonders with the staging. What look like king-size bedsheets, with phone-pictures of Sam and Molly growing up, fly out to reveal the apartment, with its “statement” fridge. There's much use of back-projection – busy monochrome New York, with smudged shades of passers-by, a wonderful Brooklyn streetscape. The supernatural is slickly done, too – walking through the door, shape-shifting, out-of-body deaths. Particularly impressive are the ghost in the subway sequence, and the Blithe Spirit moment with the poltergeist in Carl's office.

Musically, they do what they can with some pretty anodyne pop numbers – backing chorus and dancers to match. Most successful are the proper trios, dramatically significant, like the Act One finale, Molly's moving With You, and the rappy Focus from the Subway Ghost. Are You A Believer is a nice Gospel number from Oda Mae and her acolytes, but simply serves to slow the action.

Director Peter Brown has a fine cast to work with. Stuart Woolner and Jenny Peoples make believable lovers, with superb stage presence and a confident approach to the score. Outstanding character work from Lawrence Harp as the angry, paranoid Subway Ghost, and from Helen Sharpe as the “storefront psychic”, whose quirky character does much to cut through the sentimentality, a memorable “closing the account” routine a comedy highlight. Lewis Sheldrake is the treacherous Carl, Neil Lands the nasty Lopez.

The ensemble – commuters, tourists in Oda Mae's fantasy – are kept busy with stylised choreography by Gemma Cohen. But the show would work just as well as a chamber piece, without the production number padding. Though the umbrellas at the end of the first act and the rain at the start of the second make for good continuity. The closing scene, with Sam, invisible at first, finally re-united with Molly, and sharing one last dance, thanks to the medium, is touchingly done. I liked Carl being dragged down to hell like Don Giovanni, and the curtain call, with the lovers left alone together at the end.

Excellent work from the orchestra – Paul Day the Musical Director – soulful strings underscoring the emotional moments, bright guitars and reeds elsewhere.

In the West End, the projections were accused of upstaging the passion. The balance in the Palace seems about right, though a better score [and lyrics] would help make a more worthy musical of this iconic celluloid fantasy.

INTO THE WOODS

INTO THE WOODS

Little Theatre Company

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

15.10.15

for Sardines

Photo: © GP Photography

“Children will listen,” sings the Witch in the finale of Sondheim's twisted fairy-tale. And, at the Thursday matinée, the stalls are full of listening children, drawn by the Disney movie perhaps.

Their attention is skilfully held by an accomplished company; the production looks and sounds impressively professional.

The set starts out as a triptych on trucks, disappearing to reveal a deep wood – cut cloths and two-dimensional trees that look very at home on these hundred-year-old boards. But it's left to sound and lighting to create most of the magic – the Giantess's demise, the Witch's transformation. The scene in Granny's cottage is appealingly if underwhelmingly done in shadow-play.

Sondheim's tricky score makes huge demands on the singers – without exception they rise to the challenge, and manage to make rounded characters from the story-book figures.

Sarah Pettican is a superb Witch, with and without her hooked nose and chin; she has great presence and a real understanding of the idiom. The two Princes – straight out of Viennese operetta – are a constant delight, too, guying the dialogue just enough, and relishing the Agony. Chris Lidgard is suitor to Rapunzel [Hannah Allwright]; Louisa Strachan's excellent Cinderella is wooed by Simon Bristoe, who also makes the most of the big, bad, sexy Wolf.

The boy Jack - “sunny but vague” - is played by Tobias Smith; his mother a lovely warm characterization from Carla Cater. Sally Lightfoot juggles three roles, including an endearing Granny and a formidable, if faceless, Giantess. And an outstanding Little Red Ridinghood – though not especially “pink and plump” - from Rebecca Perry-Gamble.

The Baker and his Wife – whose longing for a child is the motor for the convoluted plot – are played to perfection by Jamie Redgate and Victoria Tewes – her “Moments in the Woods” is one of many musical highlights.

The genial, suited Narrator, and the melodramatic Mystery Man in beard and tatters, are, maybe meaningfully, doubled by Julian Cottee.

In part two – an ironical happy-ever-after – the story is less Disney, more Grimm. There's infidelity, forgiveness, a morass of moral issues. The Baker's Wife's lusty romps behind a handy tree providing much-needed light relief for the Upper Juniors in the audience.

But some of the best operatic moments are kept for this second act: the “Your Fault” quintet and the “No One Is Alone” quartet both impeccably done.

Rachael Plunkett is Musical Director, with Clare Penfold conducting a fine pit orchestra.

So much to enjoy in Dave Lobley's carefully crafted production of a piece that seems to offer more every time I see it. The bird mobile on the end of a fishing rod, with a careless stage hand on the other end, the country dancing at the close, the Uglies in their undies, the radio-controlled Hen, the Cow on wheels. And there must be a mention for the splendid programme booklet, with excellently atmospheric photographs by Jeff Hooker.

CAROUSEL

CAROUSEL

SODS at the Palace Westcliff

15.04.15

for Sardines

It's fifty years since I first encountered Carousel. Seen dozens since, good, bad, and indifferent. But I never thought I'd enjoy it so much, and be as moved by the classic combination of story, words and music as I was at the opening of SODS' wonderful production.

A winning blend of staging, casting and tradition makes the production the triumph it is. We are welcomed with a sky cloth, the title sky-written across it. Like all the backdrops, it is a subtly done digital image. As the familiar overture kicks in, fairground signs fold out and the punters flock in to pay their pennies for a turn on Mullin's merry-go-round, CGI again, with one “real” horse for Billy and Julie to ride.

Ian Gilbert brings captivating rough-diamond charm to the troubled barker; terrific stage presence and a confident way with the songs - My Boy Bill superbly handled. A stunning Julie from Maddy Robinson, combining schoolgirl innocence - “little kid face” - with the sort of mature musical theatre voice I thought was a thing of the past. She also skilfully brings out the deeper drama – the death of Billy particularly touching.

Impressively strong casting in the many rewarding roles this show offers: my favourite was Jonny Buxton's Enoch Snow, dreaming of sardines and offspring, loveable despite his boater and his irritating laugh. But best supporting Tonys, surely, to Heather Cooper's bubbly Carrie - a perfect foil to Julie - Les Cannon's evil wharf-rat Jigger, Ann Barber's magnificent Mrs Mullin, Laura Gilbert's strong Heavenly Friend and Annette McGibbon's caring Aunt Nettie.

The younger generation makes an impact, too, with Declan Wright's lithe Carnival Boy and a lovely Louise from Charlotte Cox, very much Billy's girl with her feisty way with Enoch Jnr [Harry Neal].

Suzanne Walters, with the choreographer Vicky Wyatt, makes the show fresh and engaging, whilst respecting the elements that make this a classic Rodgers and Hammerstein – the Clam Bake at the top of Act Two, for instance, is refreshingly gimmick-free. Lots of delightful detail – the Spa girls superbly choreographed, the eavesdropping with the brooms which later form the wedding arch. The chorus boys have their share of fancy dancing, too, notably in the macho matelot sequence.

The music is in the capable hands of Elizabeth Dunlop; the multiplex-strength sound system took some getting used to, though.

This super show kicks off SODS' 125^th anniversary season, which continues in November with another timeless classic, Sondheim's Sweeney Todd.

SISTER ACT

SISTER ACT

SODS

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

14.11.14

for Sardines

The stage show was slow to follow the family favourite film, coming at last to Broadway by way of the London Palladium. SODS have secured the regional premiere, and Ian Gilbert's production is a stunning success, bringing the distinctive blend of gospel and gangsters to vibrant life.

The show is spectacularly lit; the frocks are spot on, from the awful 70s threads to the lamé and sequins on those Act Two habits. But the staging is necessarily simple, with a spaghetti curtain on which are projected stained glass and mirror ball, Last Supper and dart board.

Not the greatest show – succeeding on the movie's coat-tails and the Goldberg effect. Only one memorable number, though Alan Menken's score does have some enjoyable pastiches, and wonderful opportunities for the singers. The plot is clunky, the story coarser than on celluloid. But, by heaven, you certainly feel entertained by the end of it, especially when the cast is as talented, the staging as assured as it is at the Palace this week.

Sharon Rose has been singing professionally since childhood, but Deloris van Cartier is her first dramatic role. She takes to the stage like a duck to water – she has a warm, sparky presence, and handles the dialogue as convincingly as the singing and the dancing, of which she has plenty. A stand-out, star performance; let's hope it won't be the last time she's cajoled onto the boards. Ben Huish is a fresh-faced Sweaty Eddy, a match in charm and star quality for his “wayward woman”.

There's lots of fun to be had with the gangland buffoons [Jon Buxton's confident Curtis their boss], with especially compelling comedy from Declan Wright as TJ. Great character work, too, from those game sisters, notably Liz Green as Mary Lazarus and Charlotte Cox as the confused young postulant: her Life I Never Had a thoughtful triumph.

SODS stalwarts – well over a hundred roles between them - take the key characters of the Mother Superior [Ann Barber, in fine voice, making the most of the outrage] and Monsignor O'Hara, an early and shamelessly enthusiastic convert to the new order [Dick Davies, cavorting in his colourful cassock].

The ensemble work is impressive [choreography by Vicky Wyatt] – all those “celibate nuns shaking their buns” - and there are lots of ingenious ideas – the turn-and-change transformation at the end of Act One, the ghostly nuns in their pyjamas, the chase sequences, the camp choirboys [are these the bachelor antique dealers?] who get to ascend to the circle boxes, the kitsch fantasy dancers for Fabulous, Baby!.

Ashton Moore conducts with a keen sense of the seventies style that permeates this show.

THE WHO'S TOMMY

THE WHO'S TOMMY

LODS at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

08.05.2014

Like Bach's Passions, this is an iconic musical work, long thought to be unstageable.

It's twenty years now since the Broadway run, and despite the many challenges, the album makes a satisfyingly dramatic stage show.

Mark Valencia's exciting, inventive production for LODS wisely lets the music speak – MD Ashton Moore heads a youthful stage band, fronted by two excellent guitarists. They're a constant presence, of course, but come to the fore in I'm Free, and in the Underture at the top of Act Two: a real rock concert moment, this, with banks of stage lights sprayed all over the Edwardian interior.

The stage boxes are cunningly used, too, in a Brechtian breach of the fourth wall.

The design is strong but simple – bold graphics and brilliant projection. Technology has now made this an effective weapon in the designer's arsenal, embraced by the Royal Ballet amongst many others. The WWII montage, parachutes behind Mrs Walker's pregnancy, the smashed mirror, the 3D animation for the arcade machine. Only the handheld videocam underwhelmed – a lot of cable for not much impact.

Stylistically the show is omnivorous. Was it the gold jacket that reminded me of Lloyd Webber, especially in the first Tommys duet. And a hint of Godspell in Welcome - “Come to this house ...” Musically too – the carol singers were pure Glass, I thought. And none the worse for that.

The narrative – more logical, less anarchic than the album – is clear and uncluttered. Simple mime scenes carry the story forward, at the beginning, in particular, where it's vital to know who's who and what's happening.

And the show is packed with bright ideas – Cousin Kevin cubed [three superbly physical performances], matched by a trio of Local Lasses. A floppy puppet [Gemma Crofts] for the older child, making Uncle Ernie's fiddling even more chilling. The three lads air-guitaring the big number the first time it's heard. The chorus holding flashing lights for the pinball bumpers. The sleepers awakened and looking up to the heavens in the finale. And a strange blue hood to represent Tommy's isolation from the world of the senses.

The older Tommy is an impressive Glenn Sanderson – active and introspective by turns, with a versatile singing voice. The sight of him twitching and trembling – part of the machine – makes a viscerally impactful ending to the first act.

Supported by a committed cast of characters – Sarah Kelleway touching as Tommy's mum, Helen Sharpe outstanding as the Acid Queen, Steve Wilding a shameless Uncle Ernie, and when I saw the show, Freddie Sharpe a confident little Tommy.

We are promised “gunfire and occasional swearing”. Not to mention catatonia, child abuse and a courtroom full of zombies. And yet this trailblazing rock opera from the Sixties somehow makes a musical to appeal to all generations, whilst still preserving Townshend's raw, passionate iconoclasm. And those timeless tunes …

LA CAGE AUX FOLLES

LA CAGE AUX FOLLES

S.O.D.S. at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

05.04.14

for Sardines Magazine

That bijou club in St Tropez is proud to present its 15^th production – more feathers, sequins and drag queens than the far right could shake a stick at.

SODS, on another coast, can boast a much longer heritage: La Cage Aux Folles is their 219^th production, and their history predates even this charming Edwardian theatre. They're back here after a period in the less atmospheric Cliffs Pavilion, and this ambitious choice is a fine way to welcome back their loyal audience.

It's a huge challenge for any non-professional company. SODS have gone for an equal-opportunities troupe of show-”girls”, four boys and five girls make up the nine Cagelles. It's a high-risk strategy, of course. Will the lads end up looking like Dick Emery against the glamorous young ladies ? Any such doubts are soon dispelled in the routines for the opening “We Are What We Are”, and the troupe are never less than impressive, whether in the statuesque stillness of the Act One finale or the colourful, incredibly athletic, Can-Can.

Lovely character work, too, notably from Suzanne Walters as Mme Dindon and Ian Gilbert milking every moment as the stage-struck butler/bonne Jacob.

The couple at the heart of this touchingly old-fashioned story of love, loyalty, family and sharing are Georges and Albin, twenty years a couple and thrown into disarray by their son, young Jean-Michel, announcing his engagement to the daughter of the bigoted Deputé Dindon [Dick Davies, who gets his own moment in drag at the end].

Declan Wright makes an excellent job of the boy, with his romantic song and dance of the old school; Hannah Dunlop is his delightful young Anne.

SODS stalwart Les Cannon is a wonderful Georges, tired and cynical sometimes, but proud of his club, his partner and his son. His handling of the sentimental songs is faultless; a strong anchor at the centre of this whirlwind world of burlesque and farce.

But most of the weight of expectation here falls on the shoulders of Mark Evans-Leigh, playing Albin, George's other half and, as Zaza, the established star turn at La Cage. Evans-Leigh is too young for the role, making something of a cradle-snatcher of poor Georges, but he does bring a superb sense of style to the showpiece numbers, as well as to the more introspective Mascara and the iconic anthem that ends Act One with him rushing out into the St Tropez street. A compelling characterization, combining boyish charm, innocence, bling and vulnerability.

David Street's polished production uses a large cast – the red-blooded chorus number for “Uncle Al” for example – and gets the most out of his dancing girls. The Dishes number was well sung, but lacked farcical fluency. But I admired the swift scene change to Chez Jacqueline, and the poignant moment after the walk-down when the gorgeous gowns go back in the skip, revealing the actor beneath.

Costumes on show here, I understand, from the original Palladium production, when Dennis Quilley played Georges.

Rachael Plunkett is the musical director, with Stuart Woolner conducting in the pit, and a sound mix [Rob Gulston] of West End quality.

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

THE DROWSY CHAPERONE

Leigh Operatic and Dramatic Society

at the Palace Theatre, Westcliff

11.05.13

for Sardines Magazine

We begin with a prayer offered in the darkness. "Oh dear God, let it be a good show; and let it be short …"

The hundred-year-old darkness of the Palace was a superb starting point for LODS' Drowsy Chaperone, which was both very good, and quite short. It's a musical within a comedy, a hymn of praise to Broadway's Golden Years, hosted by the nerdy, knowledgeable Man in the Chair. He doesn't get out much, is clearly widely read [Salman Rushdie and The Greek Myths on his bookshelf] but his pride and joy is his collection of original cast LPs. And tonight he has picked out a treat – Gable and Stein's The Drowsy Chaperone of 1928.

As he lowers his stylus, the crackly static is replaced by the excellent pit band [Stuart Woolmer conducting], and his little apartment fills with that original cast of stock characters, pouring in from the wings and his Tardis kitchen cupboards.

Not a weak performance, or a dull moment, in an impressive staging of this cult show, which started life at a stag night in Canada in 1997. David Shipman is Robert Martin, with his wooden acting, his roller-skates and his All-Brite smile, whose wedding to Oops Girl Janet van de Graaff [Kathy Clarke], with her priceless Show-Off encore, is at the heart of the cheesy plot. Both excellently done, as is Samantha Gourley's Chaperone of the title, belting out her rousing anthem and rootling for bootleg in her ample corsage. Youngsters Matthew Ford and Lily-May Byfield are outstanding as the Best Man [a stunning tap routine with Shipman] and the Aviatrix ["what we now call a lesbian..."], a brilliantly bold and brassy performance. And I mustn't forget LODS' chairman, Andrew Seal, "chewing the scenery" as Latin Lothario Adolpho.

And then there's The Man In The Chair. Anonymous, agoraphobic, living every moment of his favourite musical, torn between sharing trivia, footnotes and tittle-tattle and retaining the integrity of the work, his intermission limited to a power bar and a quick pee. A memorable character from Peter Brown; a genial companion in his cardigan and carpet slippers, he can't resist joining in the production numbers, crashing his sauce-pan-lid cymbals after a reviving drink …

The dance routines, choreographed by Sarah Robb, are polished and touchingly true to the spirit of the show, and Helen Sharpe's direction, with Rachael Plunkett as her MD, ensures a slick, professional feel to this unique entertainment. I shall long remember the big I Do In The Sky number at the end, with Trix's biplane assembled before our eyes from the white goods in the kitchen.

The production values are spectacularly high: cloche hats and loads of authentic-looking frocks, detailed props – even The Enchanted Nightingale has its own LP sleeve – and the glossy programme boasts not only a plethora of professional production shots but even a pull-out facsimile of the programme from the Morosco première.

Let's leave the last word to the Man in the Chair: "So, that was the Drowsy Chaperone. Oh, I love it so much! I know it is not a perfect show, the spit-take scene is lame and the monkey motif is laboured... but it does what a musical is supposed to do! It takes you to another world and it gives you a little tune to carry in your head for when you're feeling blue, you know? As we stumble along on life's funny journey. As we stumble along into the blue..."

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST

Lindisfarne at the Dixon Studio, 

the Palace Theatre Westcliff

for Remote Goat

23.10.10

Period furniture, several aspidistras, Lane [an unbending Simon Dunn] listening to Algernon's pianoforte practice.

An auspicious start to Lindisfarne's “Importance” in the Dixon Studio. “Style, not sincerity, is the vital thing”, as Oscar says.

The two bachelors, neither named Ernest, coped manfully with Wilde's precious language, and at least were the right age. The “ostentatiously eligible” Algernon was Nathan Spence; his friend Jack was Rory Joscelyne. They interacted well, though a crisper delivery, and better posture, might have improved their characterization.

I was impressed by Lizzie Smith's Cecily – a touch of the jolly hockey sticks and a hint of wickedness made for a memorable performance. She could also manage the accent - “little” the shibboleth here – and got most of what few laughs were going from a staid matinée audience. Her duel with Gwendoline [Kim Tobin] was very amusing; the weapons sugar tongs, cake slice and engagement rings. The overbearing Lady Bracknell, heralded by a very Wagnerian ring at the door, was Elaine Roberts. She looked and sounded like one raised in “the purple of commerce” - in Act Two she was done up like a Lemon Fancy – but she bristled effectively; I liked the way her hat's feathers trembled with indignation, her pince-nez and her use of the sal volatile before “the line is immaterial”.

Carol Hayes was a pert, almost pretty, Prism, but she was a convincing academic, thrilled by German grammar, and had some nice moments with Ian Morton's eager Chasuble.

The Gilbertian dénouement was briskly handled, and the couples joined in a decorous dance to round off the piece.

production promo video from the Lindisfarne Players