Monthly Archives: August 2015

The Edinburgh Fringe One-Weeker 2015 – The Naked Stand Up

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Our final show this evening is yet another one-man show, except in this case it’s a woman, Burlesque artiste Miss Glory Pearl. Here’s the promotional blurb: “Live and undressed, join London Cabaret Award 2015 nominee Miss Glory Pearl, in her sell-out one-woman show. The Naked Stand-Up is a funny and heartfelt exploration of the body in the 21st century. Join Glory on a journey through legal absurdity, feminist cliché and the impossible beauty standards that leave us all feeling a little bit crappy about ourselves. If you’ve ever looked in the mirror and thought ‘Ugh!’ this show’s for you. She’s frank, she’s funny, and she isn’t wearing any clothes. ‘Funny and genuine … feel-good comedy at its best’ **** (BroadwayBaby.com).”

We’re perfectly attuned to the thought of seeing a naked body as part of a play, but a naked stand-up? I would have thought that was a really tough call. Stand-up comics always strike me as being just one step away from the abyss of vulnerability – at the most – so to put yourself through both types of exposure strikes me as just asking for trouble. So I shall be fascinated to see how Miss Glory Pearl handles herself (sorry.)

My expectation is that this is actually more of a scripted play than a genuine stand-up who might go into a flight of fantasy depending where the audience takes them. I’m hoping that there will be at least some room for deviating from what’s planned because I think that would be a real challenge. Anyway, I’m sure it will be entertaining – and also I think the audience might get put on the spot too, and that might be quite uncomfortable! It’s scheduled to take place at 23:00 in the Spotlites Main Theatre, so check back around midnight to see how we survived. The preview blog for the first of tomorrow’s shows should be online by then too. In the meantime, thanks for following our progress this evening!

Update:

Well Miss Glory Pearl certainly did what she said she would – walked on naked, chatted in a stand-up style for an hour and walked off naked. It wasn’t riotous stand-up, more a cosy chat really, concentrating on the benefits of feeling good about your body rather than being concerned about those bits we’re unhappy with. It was a revealing experience in more ways than one! Not her fault that there were only 15 of us – I think a larger audience would have made it funnier. Enjoyable nonetheless!

The Edinburgh Fringe One-Weeker 2015 – Follow The Faun

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The third of our one-man shows this evening, but I’m expecting this to be a little more free-form. It’s Follow The Faun at the Spotlites Studio theatre, show starting at 21:40. “Think the pied piper… on acid… in heels… A multi-dimensional light-being on a mission of love and pleasure – would like to take you higher than the mortal man can measure. On a seething, soaring, flying, flipping, magic road ahead: He’ll take you on a journey if you’re happy to be led. Fusing mythical storytelling, immersive theatre and ecstatic dance. Follow The Faun on a shamagical journey to another dimension! Guaranteed to move your body, blow your mind, open your heart and tickle your fancy! ‘Ludicrous, giddy and strangely intoxicating’ (Matt Trueman, WhatsOnStage.com).”

“Warnings: The production involves movement and audience participation”. I reckon this is going to be a hippytastic communing-in with Mother Earth which will either be simply extraordinary or fall flat on its face. Let’s hope it’s the former. My guess is that its success could well rely on how well or otherwise the audience play along and let their inhibitions go. I can be (reasonably) uninhibited in the theatre, so I’ll give it my best shot! I don’t know to what extent it’s scripted, but I’m fascinated to find out.

I’ve also discovered this description online: “Each 45-minute performance integrates the spiritual, visceral, theatrical and comical and includes high energy disco, musical theatre ballads, and rousing anthems for a Love Revolution. The audience become the cast as they are taken on an interactive magical dance adventure with The Faun as their guide, narrator and choreographer. Each will experience a joy ride of emotions as they dance their way through a fairytale kingdom of delights. This is choral theatre, meets dance workshop, meets shamanic journey, meets stand-up comedy.” Doesn’t that sound too good to miss?

The Faun himself seems to be the creation of actor/dancer Andy Black, so I’m slightly disappointed to discover he’s not a real faun. But I’m willing to suspend disbelief! Check back sometime after 10.30pm to see if Mrs Chrisparkle and I have been whisked off to pixieland. And the preview blog for our last show tonight should be up and running by then too.

Update:

That is the sweatiest I’ve ever come out of a show! Part work-out part mystical experience, everything you’d expect from a night on LSD but much healthier! Great fun.

The Edinburgh Fringe One-Weeker 2015 – Thief

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So we have fifty minutes between the end of Belfast Boy and the start of Thief – the 20:00 show tonight Saturday 15th August at the Sweet International 2 Venue on Grassmarket. This is what the official blurb says: “Winner: Brighton Fringe Best Theatrical Performance award 2014. Sailor thrives in the bars, dives and doss-houses of the most squalid ports. Look, you will see him. Sailor lives for robbery, imprisonment and expulsion. Be his victim. Sailor’s virtues are simple: rent, theft, and betrayal. Join him. ‘Great drama has the power to inform, move and make shifts in consciousness. Thief has all this.’ ***** (Sarah Agnew, Brighton Argus). ‘Sensational. Ferocious. Acted with great intensity. A memorable hour of theatre.’ (Joyce McMillan, Scotsman). ‘Tantalisingly layered, cloaked in the dreamy mingling of pain, sex and desire.’ (BroadwayBaby.com).”

What seems most curious about this production is that I understand it’s another one-man play but there are three actors who each take on the role of the sailor. Do they job-share? Do they draw lots as to who will perform on any particular day? Do they take turns? And are you meant to return on a different night to see it performed by a different actor to appreciate the differences in performance? Hard to do that unless you know who is going to perform in advance – so it could be either Matt Robertson, Jack Elliot or Stephen Humpage. Further research reveals that it should have been Stephen Humpage tonight but that he has sustained some head injury (hope he’s ok!) and that it will in fact be Jack Elliot playing the role tonight.

Another show that was a great hit last year (and that we didn’t see then), it’s written by Liam Rudden who is, inter alia, Entertainment Editor at the Edinburgh Evening News, so he ought to know a thing or two about what makes a good play. Inspired by the life of Jean Genet, and having read the reviews of last year’s production, I’m expecting this play to be fairly brutal and shocking; but also to give plenty of opportunities for the actor to take it by the scruff of the neck and make something really memorable out of it. Come back shortly after 9pm to see what I made of it, and by then the next preview blog should be online.

Update:

Wow that was strong. A really bold and passionate performance that laid the character bare and challenged you to side with or against him. A poetic piece too, a testament to survival. Harrowing at times and often uncomfortable but really really good.

The Edinburgh Fringe One-Weeker 2015 – 52 Shows in 8 Days! First Show – Belfast Boy

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This time last year, gentle reader, we discovered the pure joy of the Edinburgh Fringe. I have no idea why it took us so long to discover it. It was a long weekender – 20 shows in 70 hours – and we nearly saw them all. It was absolutely brilliant and now we’re hooked. To prove it, this year we’re back for a full week.

With so many shows to write about, it’s an impossible task to write a full blog post about each one. It just ain’t gonna happen. So I propose to do the same as last year – prepare in advance a preview-type blog for each show, with what I’m hoping and/or expecting from each show, and then add my instant reactions in the few minutes I have afterwards, between shows. It’s a big task, but I’m going to try my hardest! Each blog will be up about an hour or two before each show, so please keep checking back to see what we’re up to.

So our first show is Belfast Boy, at the Spotlites Main Theatre, at 18:10 on Saturday 15th. Here’s the official promotional blurb: “Martin Hall is having trouble sleeping. Since fleeing from Belfast, his brothers have fallen in and out with the law, his mother has had her heart broken, and he’s struggled with his sexuality. Now he must relive it with a psychologist over one unforgettable hour. Purple Penguin Productions return with their sell-out show to the Edinburgh Fringe from their acclaimed tour of Northern Ireland, London and Finland. Critically acclaimed and winner of both the FringeReview.co.uk Award for Outstanding Theatre, and the Stage Award For Acting Excellence, Belfast Boy is a powerful piece of storytelling based on true events.”

Sounds pretty good. It’s a one-man show, performed last year by Declan Perring, whose photo you see here, but I understand this year it is performed by Greg Fossard. It received loads of five star ratings in 2014 so I’ve got high expectations! I’m expecting a well-written, thoughtful and insightful piece, and I’m hoping for a lively and engaging performance. With any luck this will be one of those shows you come out of as a different person from the one you went in as, if you follow my clumsy grammar. Check back after 7.30pm to see how it went, and by then the next preview blog should be available to read too.

And if you’re up in Edinburgh, have a brilliant Fringe!

Very hard hitting and beautiful piece of writing, and a very sad story of a young man’s life struggling with all sorts of abuse. Very well performed, but there was something about it that didn’t *quite* move me. But It was extremely good, no doubt about that!

The Agatha Christie Challenge – The ABC Murders (1936)

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STOP PRESS: The Agatha Christie Challenge is now available as a book in two revised volumes – details at the end of this blog post!

In which Hercule Poirot is challenged by a serial murderer to solve apparently random killings in an alphabetical sequence, the only clue being that an ABC railway guide is always found near the body. And, like before, don’t worry, you can read this without finding out whodunit!

If you’ve read my earlier Agatha Christie blogs, gentle reader, you will be aware that this was the third Christie I read as a kid and the first of those to feature Hercule Poirot. I don’t think at that time I’d seen any film or TV adaptation of a Poirot book so had absolutely no preconceptions as to how he’d look or behave. What you quickly pick up reading the book is his vanity regarding his hair colour and his moustaches (always moustaches with Poirot, never just one moustache) – his love of symmetry, symptomatic of clarity of thought I suspect, and the fact that he is fully aware of all his idiosyncrasies: “I am like the prima donna!” he says in Chapter One. Re-reading The ABC Murders I was struck by the difference of approach of Christie’s two major sleuths. Miss Marple (as seen in A Pocket Full of Rye and At Bertram’s Hotel) is very quiet. She listens, she considers, she assembles thoughts in her mind but rarely thinks out loud. By the time she comes out with some devastatingly accurate dissection of a crime, it’s already fully formed and reasoned in her brain.

Poirot, on the other hand, thinks out loud all the time. He hardly does anything silently. He experiments with his suspects by splashing out wayward accusations to see how they react. He exercises his famous little grey cells in open banter with his friend and narrator, Captain Hastings, whom he teases for the latter’s partiality to a pretty girl with auburn hair. Poirot can’t resist the occasional portentous pronouncement. Chapter One ends: “You are in error, my friend. You do not understand my meaning. A robbery would be a relief since it would dispossess my mind of the fear of something else.” “Of what?” “Murder”, said Hercule Poirot.” And whereas you feel Miss Marple offers her sleuthing advice out of an altruistic sense of justice, Poirot and Hastings are in it for the challenge, almost for the craic. “If you could order a crime as one orders a dinner” asks Poirot, “what would you choose?” “Let’s review the menu” replies Hastings. “Robbery? Forgery? No, I think not. Rather too vegetarian. It must be murder, red-blooded murder, with trimmings, of course.” The last line of the book reads: “So, Hastings – we went hunting once more, did we not? Vive le sport”. It’s no coincidence that Poirot’s main gripe with the murderer appears to be that the crimes committed were “not sporting”.

In 1936 Christie was absolutely at the top of her game. She was 46 years old, this was her 18th full length novel and the 11th to feature Poirot. This is a highly inventive story, with the apparent identity of its murderer seemingly obvious right from the start (you suspect that this could be like Christie’s version of a Columbo TV film, knowing the identity of the murderer and then working back to see how Columbo solved the crime) but it’s only at the end that you realise that both the apparent murderer and the reader have both been led up the garden path. Structurally too, it’s inventive, with its two different narrators – not just Hastings, but also several chapters entitled “(Not from Capt Hastings’ personal narrative)”. There’s a vast amount of smoke and mirrors, much obfuscation from the criminal mind, committing murders for no reason than to obscure the truth, and it’s written with a great sense of pace and excitement, as you wonder just how far down the alphabet you’re going to get before Poirot works it all out.

Class issues play a major part in this book, with Hastings proving himself to be a complete snob – I’m not sure Hastings comes out of this book as all that decent a chap, actually. There’s much condescension about cheapness and commonness (of things and people) and a huge amount of xenophobia too. There are also many references to Christie’s favourite blanket theme that murderers are mad, with one of the suspects confessing that they had dreamed that they had committed the crimes. The Assistant Commissioner has no qualms about confronting the issue of mental incapacity: “In my day if a man was mad he was mad and we didn’t look about for scientific terms to soften it down”.

It’s definitely a book of its time in other ways – in that there are a number of words and phrases that are frankly meaningless today. One of the witnesses at the murder in Andover is a platelayer – a term that I have managed to go my entire life without having come across – that is, a person employed in laying, repairing and renewing plates on a tramway or railway (according to my OED). Dr. Thompson, who provides psychological insight into the criminal mind, is described as an alienist, a term that I am sure was already on its way out by the time this book was published (my OED suggests mid-19th century for that one). Miss Merrion of the Ginger Cat café is described as wearing “various fichus”, of which the OED says “a triangular piece of muslin, lace or the like, worn by women around the neck and shoulders, and formerly also over the head (mid-18th century). I guess she is an old-fashioned sort of character. Betty Barnard’s parents are proud of their snuggery – I’d heard of a snug but never a snuggery – it’s largely the same thing. Paranoia was referred to as paranoea – an early 18th century spelling; and who on earth today uses the word dugout to describe (OED again) “a person of outdated appearance or ideas, specifically a retired officer recalled to service” (19th century slang). I can’t believe that the young me sat reading this around 1970 with my dictionary by my side. I must have been thoroughly confused.

As far as matching the murderer’s personality with the murders is concerned, Mrs Christie does give us some genuinely good clues along the way, almost bending over backwards to show how someone with a penchant for doing A, would be the kind of person to commit these crimes. “We are confronted here by an unknown personage” says Poirot. “He is in the dark and seeks to remain in the dark. But in the very nature of things he cannot help throwing light upon himself”. Mrs Christie hides the culprit in plain sight, yet I’m pretty sure that for the most part the identity of the murderer comes as a surprise. I can’t remember if I guessed it when I was young – I don’t think I did. This time round, I had already remembered who the murderer was before I started reading, so it’s hard for me to judge.

Just as Chief Inspector Davy in At Bertram’s Hotel was partial to an old song from the musicals, Poirot gives us another musical quotation: “some of the time I love a blonde who comes from Eden by way of Sweden”. It’s from the song “Some Sort of Somebody” from Kern and Janis’ 1915 musical Very Good Eddie, not something that most people would have at the forefront of their minds nowadays. But not only does Mrs Christie make reference to such popular songs, she even refers to her own books. When Poirot and Hastings are discussing what makes the perfect crime, Poirot outlines a case where four people sit down to play bridge, and by the end of the evening the man by the fire is found dead – precisely the scenario for Cards on The Table, which would be published a few months later. Even further into the future, Japp teases Poirot that he will end up investigating his own death – have you read Curtain yet? No matter, that comes later on in the oeuvre!

So here’s my at-a-glance summary for The ABC Murders:

Publication Details: 1936. My copy is a third impression of the Fontana publication, from October 1967.

How many pages until the first death: 11. And they keep on coming at regular intervals.

Funny lines out of context:
A conversation between Poirot and Hastings where Poirot describes how choosy he is now over which crimes to investigate: “For Hercule Poirot nowadays, only the cream of crime.” “Has there been much cream about?”
“Is there anything – queer going on, sir?” “Yes my child. There is – something queer going on”.
“I hastily presented the strawberries to a small boy who seemed highly astonished and faintly suspicious. Poirot added the lettuce, thus setting the seal on the child’s bewilderment.”
“A man in drink can be like a ravening wolf.”
“In those hot dog days even his moustaches drooped”.
Hundreds of stories from imaginative people who had “seen a man looking very queer and rolling his eyes”.

Memorable characters: Well, not every book is lucky enough to have its own Alexander Bonaparte Cust. Not only is it a name to conjure with, but his odd presence cropping up throughout the book as the obvious murderer makes him stand out. It’s the juxtaposition between his grandiose name and his insignificant character that makes him interesting. Whilst Mrs Christie is happy to brandish the word “madman” around liberally throughout the book, Cust really does appear to be mad at times; although his final breakdown is said to be due to an epileptic fit.

Christie the Poison expert: No poison here. It’s all bumpings-off and knifings.

Class/social issues of the time:
Hastings thinks that everything about Mrs Ascher is beneath him. “The murder of an old woman who kept a little tobacco shop seemed, somehow, sordid and uninteresting”. He is further dismissive of the case: “This sordid murder of an old woman in a back street shop was so like the usual type of crime reported in the newspapers that it failed to strike a significant note.” When Poirot intimates that “she must have been beautiful once”, Hastings’ reaction is: “Really? I murmured incredulously”. Of her neighbours, Hastings observes: “There were a certain number of small shops interspersed between private houses of the poorer class. I judged that ordinarily there would be a fair number of people passing up and down – mostly people of the poorer classes”. He is dismissive of her possessions: “A couple of old worn blankets on the bed – a little stock of well-darned underwear in a drawer – cookery recipes in another – a paper-backed novel entitled The Green Oasis – a pair of new stockings – pathetic in their cheap shininess – a couple of china ornaments – a Dresden shepherd much broken, and a blue and yellow spotted dog – a black raincoat and a woolly jumper hanging on pegs – such were the worldly possessions of the late Alice Ascher.”

Despite Hastings’ pomposity about the Aschers, they themselves have their own class and social mores issues. Mr. Ascher was a bully and a cad in his treatment of his wife, frequently threatening violence. But could divorce have been an option? ““Your aunt never thought of freeing herself by legal means from this persecution?” “Well you see, he was her husband, sir, and you couldn’t get away from that.” The girl spoke simply but with finality.”

Christie was quick to equate cheapness with class and/or quality issues. Of the photograph of Betty: “Her hair had evidently recently been permed, it stood out from her head in a mass of rather frizzy curls. The smile was arch and artificial. It was certainly not a face that you could call beautiful, but it had an obvious and cheap prettiness”. But Betty too had issues: “Is she likely to have confided in any one? The girl at the café, for instance?” “I don’t think that’s likely. Betty couldn’t bear the Higley girl. She thought her common.”

And there’s a massive wave of distrust of foreigners. Riddell’s response to Poirot’s questioning: “Told it to the blarsted police, I ‘ave, and now I’ve got to spit it all out again to a couple of blarsted foreigners”. When Poirot asks Inspector Crome whether Betty was a pretty girl he mistakes his motivation for asking. “As to that I’ve no information,” said Inspector Crome with a hint of withdrawal. His manner said: “Really – these foreigners! All the same!” Even Poirot himself seems to understand the distrust. When thinking out loud about why ABC is committing these crimes, he wonders: “Is his motive direct personal hatred of me, of Hercule Poirot? Does he challenge me in public because I have (unknown to myself) vanquished him somewhere in the course of my career? Or is his animosity impersonal – directed against a foreigner?” When Cust is overhearing the to-ings and fro-ings of the public in Princess Gardens, Torquay, someone suggests “awful…do you think it was anything to do with the Chinese? Wasn’t the waitress in a Chinese café…” One of the traits Poirot sees in the person he accuses of being the murderer is “the partiality for England that had showed itself very faintly in the jeer at foreigners”. And indeed Poirot does get branded the rather splendid insult: “you unutterable little jackanapes of a foreigner!”

Two other observations about the class/social issues in this book; when Lily and Tom are discussing the policing of the case, he remarks that Inspector Crome is “a bit quiet and ladida – not my idea of a detective”. “That’s Lord Trenchard’s new kind” said Lily, with respect. “Some of them are ever so grand.” Trenchard had been the Metropolitan Police Commissioner from 1931 to 1935, and amongst his reforms had been greater education and training for police officers.

And we get to find out about Poirot’s opinion of foxhunting in a conversation between him and Hastings. “It is very terrible that, Hastings.” He was silent a minute. “You hunt the fox here?” “I don’t. I’ve never been able to afford to hunt. And I don’t think there’s much hunting in this part of the world.” “I meant in England generally. A strange sport. The waiting at the covert side – then they sound the tally-ho, do they not? – and the run begins – across the country – over the hedges and ditches – and the fox he runs – and sometimes he doubles back – but the dogs – “ “Hounds!” “- hounds are on his trail, and at last they catch him and he dies – quickly and horribly.” “I suppose it does sound cruel, but really – “ “The fox enjoys it? Do not say les bêtises, my friend.” Possibly Christie sets this up as a strong example of just how much a foreigner Poirot is, by not sharing in the simple harmless English pastime of foxhunting. (I’m being ironic here). Interesting Hastings only doesn’t hunt because he can’t afford it. You sense otherwise he’d throw himself into it with ruthless abandon.

Classic denouement: Absolutely! A really exciting read. All the suspects are gathered together, and Poirot makes a long and intentionally misleading speech so that we suspect a number of people of doing the deed. When the truth is revealed, the accused lashes out and attempts suicide but Poirot foils it. We even discover that Poirot tells a couple of porkies just to get the accused to confess. Great stuff.

Happy ending? Yes! The much-wronged Mr Cust has an improved social status, income and finally starts to enjoy life. And romance blossoms between two of the other suspects.

Did the story ring true? Although it’s highly far-fetched it really does ring true. You could easily imagine how someone with a lot of chutzpah and a deeply flawed personality could set up a similar crime.

Overall satisfaction rating: 10/10 – can’t see any reason to award it fewer points. A classic!

I hope you enjoyed this little rundown of The ABC Murders, and if you’ve read it too, I’d love to know your thoughts about it. Please just add a comment – but don’t give the whodunit game away please! From now on in the Agatha Christie Challenge, we’re going back to the books in chronological order. So the next on the list is Christie’s first Hercule Poirot book – and indeed her first book of all – The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Please feel free to catch up on that one, and I’ll be blogging my thoughts about it in a few weeks’ time. Thanks for reading, and happy sleuthing!

If you enjoy my Agatha Christie Challenge, did you know it is now available as a book? In two revised volumes, it contains all my observations about Christie’s books and short stories, and also includes all her plays! The perfect birthday or Christmas gift, you can buy it from Amazon – the links are here and here!

Review – What’s It All About? Bacharach Reimagined, Menier Chocolate Factory, 2nd August 2015

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Everyone knows the songs of Burt Bacharach. They are as much the standards of classy twentieth century popular music as are those of Lennon and McCartney. Unlike that latter couple though, Bacharach’s songs are drawn from many sources – with some from stage shows and films as well as those simply written for the top recording artists of the day. Plenty of performers continue to cover Lennon/McCartney songs but rarely do they capture that classic, original sweet and sour Beatles sound. Bacharach’s songs, on the other hand, lend themselves splendidly to wider re-interpretation, as What’s It All About? so deftly shows.

So what’s What’s It All About about I hear you ask? The clue is in the subtitle – Bacharach Reimagined. The programme tells us how five years ago Kyle Riabko met Burt Bacharach in a Santa Monica recording studio to sing some demos of new Bacharach material. What happened to the new material isn’t stated, but what definitely did happen was that on a second meeting, Riabko and friends performed some of Bacharach’s classics in front of the man himself, but rearranged in a way that the songs had never been publicly heard before. Rocked up; pared back; songs usually sung by a man sung by a woman, and vice versa. After months of trying different styles and songs, Bacharach and his late lyricist partner Hal David approved Riabko’s venture and a year and a half ago What’s It All About opened at the New York Theatre Workshop, chalking up a significant Off-Broadway success.

And there’s nowhere better for an Off-Broadway success to hit the UK than the Menier Chocolate Factory, and the new production of the show is a revelation in so many ways. As always with the Menier, when you enter the auditorium, you never know how they will have configured the seating and the staging. From memory, it’s most similar to how they staged Candide, with a wide but relatively shallow bank of seats in front of the stage, and some seating to the sides. Amusingly, a few of the audience sit in armchairs and sofas actually on the stage, at the side, which I would imagine would give them a very vivid sensation of being part of the action. Mrs Chrisparkle and I were perfectly happy with our regular middle of Row A slot.

The stage is a mess – but a brilliant one. Christine Jones and Brett J Banakis have created a melange of musical instruments and scattered them on every available surface; up walls, on shelves, up pillars, suspended in the air. The floor is bedecked with a pattern of mismatched rugs, cleverly assembled together so as not to get in the way of the very effective revolving stage effects – not only a centre stage revolves, but an outer one too – you may need sea-sickness tablets at times. Above all, the stage is littered with lamps. Big standard lamps, little bulbs and all manner of individual lighting in between.It looks absolutely magical. There are even two sofas suspended against the back wall, high in the air, which at first Mrs C and I thought were where some of the more intrepid audience members were perched (particularly as their occupants were sneakily taking a look at the programme before the show started). But no, it’s all part of the performance. The whole effect is to give you a really dynamic staging that suggests the intimacy of your own living room as well as the showbizzyness of a live stage with live musicians, and a range of instruments and microphone stands. It really draws you in. I was already enjoying the show immensely even before it started.

Kyle Riabko has assembled a group of seven relatively unknown musicians (including himself) to sing the songs of Burt Bacharach. No story; no narrative thread. This is not one of those shows where the music accompanies a lookback at the artist’s career; it’s the nearest thing I’ve seen as a musical that is like a traditional concert. This is not Side by Side by Bacharach; if anything, it’s more Burt Bacharach is Alive and Well and Living in New York, except that there is no attempt to act out the meanings of any of his songs, other than the sheer vocal interpretation of the performers.

One does have a tendency to associate Bacharach songs with their original artistes. This Guy’s in Love with You is inextricably linked to Herb Alpert. I Say a Little Prayer is distinctively Aretha Franklin. What’s New Pussycat couldn’t be anyone other than Tom Jones. And to be fair, those three crowd-pleasers were performed not too unlike those original well-loved recordings. Virtually everything else they did, however, was completely reinvented. You know how irritating it is when musicians cover a favourite song of yours and they hardly change the original – what’s the point of that? None of that here – these reinterpretations will really get you reconsidering the meanings of these old songs. Moreover, you won’t find any of that “cover version and it’s nothing like as good as the original” syndrome (yes, Madonna, I’m looking at you [American Pie] and you can’t afford to be smug either Westlife [Father and Son]). These new arrangments really wake you up and shake you up.

It was a poignant coincidence that we saw this show on the same day that Cilla Black died. In the UK Cilla is unbreakably linked with Anyone Who Had a Heart (in the US I believe it’s linked with Dionne Warwick). For us, those are the standard performances of that song and anything else is just a pretender. Cue Kyle Riabko, opening the show with a stunning version – high on drama, minimalistic on instrumentation, and, above all, sung by a man. The rest of the cast all join in, creating an astonishing and heartfelt start to the show. Later on, Mr Riabko again takes on Cilla with Alfie, another quiet, deliberately under-orchestrated, incredibly plaintive version, that stops you in your tracks and makes you think again about what the song means; indeed, what’s it all about.

But there really is so much to enjoy in this show. Parts of songs get chopped and changed around; lyrics from one song might appear in another, the chorus of one song gets integrated into another, all bringing a smile to your face and genuine laughter as you realise what they’re doing and how effectively it all works together. And then you have that absolute pleasure of hearing an old favourite, maybe for the first time in a while, out of context and totally shaken up. Like Message to Michael (which I always think of as Adam Faith’s Message to Martha) performed as a real hard rock anthem, or two guys together singing I’ll Never Fall in Love Again, musically consoling each other regarding their bad luck with women.

And the performers are really fantastic. Kyle Riabko is definitely at the heart of it all; a tall, imposing, likeable, rocky guy who welcomes us all in to the show and encourages us to enjoy it in whatever way we want. And boy, does he love a guitar solo! There is a brilliant drummer and percussionist in the form of James Williams, creating momentous rhythms out of old wooden boxes and other ephemera, just as much as from proper instruments. Greg Coulson is another guitarist who exudes enjoyment and virtuosity, and really feeds off the audience reaction. Anastacia McCleskey has a fantastic voice and great stage presence, bringing both power and delicacy to her performance, and Stephanie McKeon also has stunning vocals with something of the young Stevie Nicks about her. There was great “bad boy” guitar work from Daniel Bailen and fantastic contributions from keyboard whizzkid Renato Paris who seemed to be loving every minute. I thought his Trains and Boats and Planes was almost painfully exquisite.

This is a show that makes you think twice on so many levels. Not only about the songs of Bacharach and David, of course, but also about what further possibilities there are in the genre of musical theatre. Not only about how you can form a group of lesser known musicians and create a sensational sound, but also about how you can devise a show without a narrative that nevertheless keeps you on tenterhooks for the next section. I’ll be honest with you, gentle reader; when I heard that this was to be the Menier’s summer offering, I pretty much decided to give it a miss. Something about it didn’t appeal. It was only the excited tweets that appeared after its first preview that made me change my mind. I’m so glad I did.

A word of warning though. If you were thinking of taking your elderly granny to see it – as she might well be of the generation that were amongst the original Bacharach fans – make sure she’s the type that doesn’t mind a bit of raucous rock too. There were some elderly ladies leaving the theatre after it was all over who were complaining that it really wasn’t their cup of tea – they were obviously hoping for a more refined and genteel experience. This show isn’t genteel or refined. It’s raw, it’s heartfelt, it’s emotional. It has rough edges. It strips back earlier, prettier versions of these songs and exposes their vulnerable core. If you’re up for that challenge, you’ll love it.

Review – Twelfth Night, Oxford Shakespeare Company at Wadham College, Oxford, 1st August 2015

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What a crowd descended on Oxford last Saturday night! Mrs Chrisparkle and I were joined by not only Lady Duncansby and Sir William (her butler), and the Duchess of Dallington, but also Lady Lichfield and her daughter the ex-Duchess of Dudley who’s relinquished her title due to the fact that she has ideas above her station (apparently her station is Knightsbridge, not Smethwick Galton Bridge). Even our nieces Secret Agent Code November and Special Agent Code Sierra together with their Mum and Dad were there. Where’s Hello magazine paparazzi when you need them?

I’m beginning to lose track of the number of Twelfth Nights we’ve seen recently. There was the English Repertory Theatre at Oxford Castle last year, where all the cast were sick and Sir Andrew Aguecheek had only been in the role for a day and so read from the book; there was Filter Theatre’s Rock concert version, 90 minutes and no interval; and there was the RSC’s more traditional production with Richard Wilson immaculately cross-garter’d and a genuinely funny Feste. Even the Oxford Shakespeare Company, whose Twelfth Night we were watching (hope you’re keeping up) had previously presented the play in 2008, in a very funny and camp production where Malvolio (James Lavender in the same role that he plays in this production) ended up wearing little more than a thong.

For some reason, this current production, directed by Nicholas Green, seems to be played a little less for laughs, and a little more on the brooding side. Maybe it’s the gypsy folk music that is scattered throughout the play that somehow – for me, at least – brings the energy of the show down a bit. Orsino’s requirement that the food of love keeps on playing is an invitation to the cast to let loose on a very moody concoction of instruments that never, to my relatively ignorant ears, quite seem to be properly in tune. I enjoyed the melody and structure of “the rain it raineth every day”, but I felt the other songs were a little, well, drab. It was almost as though the jollity allowance had been rationed in some kind of arts funding governmental austerity measure.

We also found the play a little harder to follow than usual. Two or three of us, at least, didn’t understand the initial situation of the shipwreck and the apparent loss of Viola’s brother at sea; therefore an awful lot of the first half of the play made precious little sense to them at all. I was explaining to Secret Agent Code November in the interval that Viola was talking about the shipwreck with the sea captain in her first scene. “Oh, he was a sea captain,” she exclaimed, as I could visually imagine plot elements finally falling into place before her very eyes. For all its rough edges, last year’s Oxford Castle version did at least make the shipwreck very clear (by use of a paddling pool and lots of immersion). This OSC production is strictly dry land only.

There was another unfortunate element of confusion – of which I think Code November fell foul – in that the aformentioned James Lavender (playing Malvolio and assorted sea captains) and Robert Madeley (playing Feste and an officer) physically resemble each other, even to the extent of having the same coloured beard. In a production like this you expect cast members to double up roles anyway, but that made it doubly difficult to follow at first. Mrs C told me later she was able to work out which was which because one had a close-cropped beard, and the other was more free-flowing. But it wasn’t very helpful to have this confusion early on. It definitely resulted in some sacrifice of clarity in getting the story across.

It sounds as though I didn’t really enjoy it, doesn’t it? But I assure you I did. It’s always a delight to be sat in the gardens of Wadham College, with friends and family, post-picnic, enjoying open-air Shakespeare. It’s one of life’s little luxuries. And there were plenty of entertaining scenes and performances to relish. James Lavender’s Malvolio is a very believable study in pompous officialdom, primly checking his laptop, suffering no fools (how ironic is that), but swiftly losing his inhibitions when he believes Olivia fancies him. In this production, Malvolio’s “letter scene” is a superb piece of comedy, with Feste, Belch and Aguecheek by turns hiding and observing behind the gypsy caravan with great physical comic timing. Malvolio’s suppliers of cross-garters turned out to be from the S&M department at Ann Summers; who knew? I’m always struck just how cruel the characters are to Malvolio – yes, he’s a silly ass and probably deserves taking down a peg or two,but his humiliation is abject and complete, and then to be chucked in prison for further deprivation really is cruelty piled on cruelty. By the way, the prison scenes were staged brilliantly, with Mr Lavender’s mouth simply appearing through holes in anonymous black plastic sheeting – it reminded me of the opening sequence of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, or Samuel Beckett’s Not I. Credit to Mr Lavender, he held the commitment to Malvolio’s character all the way through, and his final protestations to Olivia and rancour against his taunters were full of dignity and quiet revenge. I’m completely on Malvolio’s side on this one. The others seem to get away with it scot-free. Mr Lavender gives an enormous boost to any open air Shakespeare. We saw him four years ago in the OSC’s Comedy of Errors and he stole every scene.

I really liked Alice Coles as Viola; for the most part in Twelfth Night you only see her as Cesario, and a most impishly fetching young knave she made – definitely the prototype for Blackadder II’s Bob. Great acting with her eyes when she suspects she’s going to be found out; and her loving relief at having met Sebastian again was really quite touching. That was the other stand-out scene; at the end where all the true identities are revealed and the relationships that have developed just need a little re-focussing to get back to where they were before. The Secret Agent was hooting in delight at that scene. Molly Roberts was also excellent as Olivia, imperiously out of humour should anyone dare to knock at her door but subsequently girlishly excited at falling in love with Cesario. And I also really enjoyed the performance of Marie Fortune in a number of roles but primarily as Maria, where she really got to grips with the character’s earthy humour and sexually forward behaviour.

Some of the men’s roles were played in a style very different from how they are normally portrayed. For instance, George Haynes was entertaining as a slightly less-foppish-than-usual Aguecheek, but still nicely conveying his timidity in conflict and ineffectuality in everything else. Similarly, William Findley’s Sir Toby was less gross than usual, coming across as a rather friendly drunk with a touch of Irish charm rather than the larger-than-life grotesque that you sometimes see on stage. Orsino is traditionally quite noble and courtly, whereas OSC favourite David Alwyn (third year in a row for him here) portrayed him as something of a hippy wanderer, his bare chest besmirched by the elements in a way not usually seen in Illyria. I know his appearance encouraged at least two female members of our party to try to read the tattoo only just concealed by his waistband. Feste can be played either jokily or sombrely and Robert Madeley went for the darker end of the spectrum. As a result you might equate him more like Lear’s wise fool that sees the truth than a traditional court jester. Mr Madeley’s voice was sometimes a little soft in comparison to the rest of the cast, and, as the lead singer whenever they did group numbers, it meant that his voice tended to become outshone by the instruments.

So it was a good production from the OSC but perhaps not one of their greatest. Nevertheless, everyone had a wonderful time and we’re always happy to keep coming back. Memories of their spooky Macbeth, petulantly mannered Earnest, and simply hilarious Merry Wives (2005 version) guarantee our annual return!