CIRCUS OF HORRORS

at the Civic Theatre

08.03.11

Fifteen years ago someone had the notion that circus, conjuring tricks and sideshows could be enhanced by stadium-strength rock music, strong language, fake blood and random obscenity.

After that trail-blazing Glasto gig there's been no stopping the Circus of Horrors, and last week, with their scary front man Dr Haze, they made their second visit to the Civic, playing to a packed house of fans who bought the tee-shirts and joined in with the gestures.

After some half-hearted humiliation of the audience, the warm-up man was shot, and we were into the freak show …

We were warned that chavs and cissies should stay away - I might add anyone uncomfortable with sexism and racism.

Chap next to me reckoned this show was much improved over the one they brought five years ago. He'd brought his field glasses, but hardly used them this time – sometimes, apparently, things happening on the periphery are just as interesting as the main attraction – the only example I spotted was a trio stage right sawing away at their wrists with violin bows while the contortionist was doing her act.

The lighting was powerful but poorly designed, so that we were often distracted by performers, and not just the hard-working band, wandering about behind the action. Worse still, the three black acrobats [crow-barred into the plot as “Aztec Indians”] had their first act ruined by the clown mugging behind them in a silly sombrero.

As my mentor pointed out, it's a mixture of classic magic, circus skills and elementary physics [fun with electricity]. And there was much to admire. So if you didn't care for the pierced punk sword swallower you could enjoy the juggler, or the girl swinging by her hair, or the limbo-dancer [the ever-popular flaming bar] or the “Aztec” acrobats.

But by the time we reached the fire-eating finale, the relentless attack, sometimes literally in-your-face, had begun to pall a little. This tour calls itself Four Chapters from Hell. I wouldn't argue. You can call me old-fashioned, but I'm not convinced civilization is enhanced by the freedom to watch a midget attach a bowling ball or a hoover to his penis ...

KING LEAR

Artisans Drama Society at Brentwood Theatre

01.03.11

Nicola Stacey's bold interpretation of Shakespeare's tragedy tried very hard to be interesting. The programme – an excellent guide to the play and the production – explains the style and the focus on dementia and decline.

I liked the bare stage, the armorial banners, the original music [Mike Coy]. The grey costumes worked well, and the opening scene, with the ten actors ceremonially donning the details that define their characters, was impressive.

Doubling Fool and Cordelia is strongly suggested in the text, and Alice Stacey brought a youthful freshness to both, though her performances needed to be bigger to match the style of the rest. Her sisters [Bernadette Rodgers and Emma Feeney] were suitably evil, but a little more steel and stillness would have made them stronger. I was less sure about the three Lears. The idea was to show the descent into madness, but all three men [Matt Jones, who had the lion's share, Neil Gray and Darren Matthews] were powerful actors who were better at the king's rage than his weakness. But the moments when all three shared the role – the storm, the death of Cordelia – were chillingly moving.

Some things should have been axed during rehearsal. The eyeballs – although I was genuinely shocked by the red stiletto – and the heartbeats in the background.

But there was much to admire in this flawed exploration of the infirmity of age, and I would always support innovation and risk, as we strive to “take upon us the mystery of things” …

FAURE REQUIEM 

AND THE ROMANTIC TRADITION

The Stondon Singers at St Laurence Blackmore

05.03.11

Christopher Tinker and his admirable singers, with Michael Frith at organ and piano, brought us familiar Fauré and a supporting programme of works from all corners of the Romantic legacy.

The Requiem began with an effectively deliberate Introit, and ended with the exquisite In Paradisum, beautifully sung by the sopranos and altos. The tenors and basses sometimes seemed underpowered for this repertoire, but the climaxes for the whole choir were often impressive - “Exaudi!” for example, or the robust Hosannas. I also admired the transition from the Agnus Dei to the Lux Aeterna. The Pie Jesu was sung, as Fauré intended, by a treble: Brendan Chung of the Brentwood Cathedral choir. A nicely controlled solo, his delivery of “sempiternam” making the prospect of life eternal very seductive.

Brendan also contributed briefly to the challenging Finzi in the first half. We heard four exquisite Bruckner motets: the Locus Iste from the west end, with a beautifully sustained ending. The Singers surrounded us on three sides for the Ave Maria – an interesting, if unbalanced, experience, exposing some individual voices. There was also a charming Berger Alleluia, and, new to me, American composer William Hawley's eight-part unaccompanied My River Runs To Thee, a tender, magical setting of Emily Dickinson, proving that Romantic music is still alive and well – Hawley is younger than most of us in the appreciative audience at the Priory Church.

COMIC POTENTIAL

Writtle Cards at the Village Hall

03.03.09

Well, I would never have guessed it was by Ayckbourn. Miles outside his comfort zone, it's a dark philosophical , romantic comedy which attracted some great reviews a decade ago in the West End and on Broadway.

We're asked to imagine a future when robots [aka actoids] churn out daytime soaps. An idealistic young writer [Ben Fraser], nephew of the studio's owner, is smitten by one such drone [Elaine Reynolds, consistently charming in a huge role], teaches her the double-take and the custard pie, and grooms her for stardom.

The whole thing needs a deal of style to overcome gaps in logic; the second act, despite the frequent scene changes, was more enjoyably farcical.

The most believable character here was the over-the-hill movie director, nicely played by Neil Smith. He was too young for the part, but his rambling reminiscence of his glory days was beautifully done. I liked the two “shrews” who seemed to be the only crew [Sharon Goodwin and Clare Williams], and there were accomplished cameos from Jean Speller as an older actoid and a trollope, and from the talented, always watchable Daniel Curley as waiter, desk clerk and the mute Uncle, with an elegant Michele Moody as his mouthpiece. Andy Millward was an amusing faulty actoid, Shelley Goodwin did what she could with an injured actoid and the boutique assistant, and Liz Curley got the custard pie as man-hungry executive Carla Pepperbloom.

More care could have been taken with the music and the programme, but I liked the pin-ups around the auditorium: Buster Keaton, C3PO, Wall-E …

Overlong, not as confident or snappy as it needed to be, but still an interesting revival of a rare Ayckbourn. It was directed by Sarah Wilson, and produced by Nick Caton.

THE RIVALS

A Mercury Theatre Company Production at the Mercury, Colchester

till Saturday 12 March

for The Public Reviews

Why not treat Sheridan to what Shakespeare has been accustomed to for years, now ? A director-led, concept-driven production to point up the play's relevance to our times.

So this was Gari Jones's Rivals, done as in-your-face Burlesque, with hints of the circus and the catwalk. “Garish, gaudy, cheap and obscene,” as poor Fag sings from the Tiger Lillies' songbook at the top of the show.

Amy Yardley's design was a striking blend of glitzy glamour and almost industrial grimness: the black walls, floor, chairs, setting off the colourful costumes, which were a stylish gallimaufry of cabaret, punk, New Romantic, and, of course Eighteenth Century Bath.

The production boasted a first-rate cast, including many familiar repertory faces. The two major character roles were played by Christine Absalom, as a vulgar but vulnerable Mrs Malaprop, and Ignatius Anthony as a barnstorming, bluff and ruddy Sir Anthony. Both brilliantly characterized, not missing a nuance in this comedy of manners. Marshall Griffin was a fiery Sir Lucius, and I particularly enjoyed Graeme Brookes's Brummy Bob Acres, a cowardly country boy out of his depth in society. Clare Humphrey played a lippy Lucy the maid, with a voice like a foghorn.

Lydia Languish, longing for a romantic elopement, was beautifully done by Katherine Manners, like a delicate doll in her palest pink dress; her Captain Jack was Will Norris – his energetic performance kept the intrigue moving. The other pair of lovers were Nadia Morgan's Julia and her Faulkland, played with subtle comedy and some pathos by David Tarkenter.

Roger Delves-Broughton caught the style nicely as the servant Fag – almost an Auguste in this circus.

Hard to describe the overall effect of the production. A Fellini dream, maybe, with more than a little Luhrmann. I wasn't entirely persuaded by the programme note. The songs – Avarice, Send in the Clowns [!] - were often a distraction, and of course made a long show even longer. Though I did think the two numbers either side of the interval – Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart, and Evelyn Evelyn's pastiche Have You Seen My Sister – worked real show-business magic.

I felt somewhat battered by the end – the bright lights, the top—of-the-voice delivery. And it was noticeable that most of the laughs came in the more traditional moments when Sheridan was left to speak for himself.

But nobody walked out, much less threw apples. The applause at the end was enthusiastic. This is a young man's piece, after all, and I hope audiences of all ages will find it a refreshing re-working of an old favourite. We are fortunate to have a regional stage ready to take risks with a production which, like it or not, makes superb use of limited resources, and showcases the best of this enterprising company.


this piece first appeared on The Public Reviews