Monthly Archives: September 2024

Review – My Eyes Are Up Here, Sarah Keyworth, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 27th September 2024

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What a remarkable ascent up the greasy pole of comedy success Sarah Keyworth has achieved over the last couple of years! It was only last September that we saw them at the Charles Bradlaugh pub in Northampton. Now they are taking their successful Edinburgh show on tour around the country, including a sold-out date at the London Palladium next February! That’s some achievement, and fully deserved for what must be one of the most assured comedians on the scene.

But first, our support act was Louise Atkinson, a bright and boisterous stage presence who grabs our attention from the start. Instantly likeable, she blames her behaviour on the fact that she lives by herself and so needs to talk to people whenever she can. She engaged the services of front row ex-policeman Stuart to alert her when she might trip over her microphone wire or potentially split her trousers; he was to shout Bollock! if it was to happen; she didn’t, but he did. She describes herself as the Yorkshire Shakira – it’s all in the hips – and has some brilliant material about the way people look, and much more besides. She offered us an alternative ending to her show – we opted for a mind blowing way of showing passive aggression in a text. Very funny throughout, we’d look to see her doing a full show if the opportunity arises!

As soon as Sarah Keyworth walks out on stage, you know you’re in for a good time, because they’re just so amazingly reassuring to the audience. They were obviously very well brought up in a very nice family, because their innate politeness just shines through, both in the pre-prepared material and any off-the-cuff interaction with the audience. If they talk to you, it’s always thank you for coming and lovely to meet you and it is a genuinely welcoming feeling; you never get the sense that it’s put on just for the show. That makes their brilliant routine about the pitfalls of managing a lesbian foursome even more hilarious, because you can just imagine them trying to be the perfect host, making sure everyone has all their needs attended to.

At the heart of My Eyes Are Up Here is the story of the elective surgery that Sarah Keyworth had last year to have a double mastectomy. This is never something that anyone would undertake lightly. It seems that ever since they were a child, Sarah has rebelled against anything girly, including wearing the horrible dress that constituted their first school uniform. Their hero – as far as an ideal body look was concerned – was their older brother Tom, and you can tell they are genuinely thrilled to be looking more like him than ever before.

Although there is a serious element to the show, it is also crammed with heaps of fun and the laughs come thick and fast. They have a brilliant positive spin that they put on any negative comments received by online trolls, plus a moment or two to celebrate good men which is nothing if not inclusive, and a wonderful account of inviting a male stripper to a hen do in a Devon caravan. Much of their material reverts to their relationship with their mother, who sounds like a most remarkable woman, and there’s an amazing feelgood ending to the show which makes everyone go home feeling happy.

Sarah Keyworth’s My Eyes Are Up Here UK and Ireland tour continues through till March 2025, but with many venues already sold out; and don’t even think of trying to come to the Palladium.

Review – Waiting for Godot, Theatre Royal Haymarket, London, 25th September 2024

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From today’s viewpoint, it’s hard to imagine the effect of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot on its original 1953 French audience. On those opening performances, many people left at the interval, or jeered it for its nonsense; one evening the audience broke into a fight as those who hated it clashed with those who defended it. And of course the scandal of this outrageous play just made it more attractive to those curious to see what all the fuss was about.

Its 1955 London premiere was equally divisive, with the likes of Harold Hobson and Kenneth Tynan understanding its value whilst all the other critics dismissed it. Seventy years on, the play still has the power to divide and befuddle; a) because on the face of it, it’s  incomprehensible nonsense and b) because it demands that you read interpretations into it that may not necessarily be there. Is Godot God? Beckett said that if he’d meant Godot to represent God, he’d have called him God. When Ralph Richardson asked Beckett to give him a little more about Pozzo’s back story, he replied that everything he knew about Pozzo was in the text – if he’d known more, he’d have written more. Beckett insists that you appreciate the play as he has written it – no need to imbue it with other meanings.

What really offended the theatregoers of the time – in my humble opinion – was the in-your-face recognition of human frailty and disgusting bodily functions. Whilst the works of Coward and Rattigan, for example, may well have dealt with mental frailty, anything lavatorial or for Doctor’s ears only was kept well away from their sensibilities. Beckett’s characters are not so coy. One with stinking feet, one with stinking breath; one with a constant need to urinate, one happy to eat chicken bones off the floor. Fortunately for those easily offended 1950s theatregoers, the censor removed Vladimir’s reference to an erection, and Mrs Gozzo’s suffering from clap was replaced by warts, bless her.

In a nutshell: two men wait by a tree – they’re waiting for Godot. Two other men appear, one controlled by the other by means of rope; after some debate, they depart. At the end of the evening, a boy arrives to tell them that Godot won’t come today, but surely he will tomorrow. Then there’s the interval. And then it all happens again. It sounds like the epitome of stasis, but a lot happens between the two Acts. Overnight, Estragon has been beaten up. The tree has sprouted leaves. Pozzo and Lucky enter the stage from the opposite direction, and Lucky’s rope is shorter. Pozzo has gone blind. Estragon’s boots have moved. Is this progress?

Beckett doesn’t give a stage designer much to go on, but Rae Smith’s set is fantastic. An off-white lunar landscape, full of rises and falls, the kind of rock formation a child would love to clamber over. Starkly, the tree of the same colour stands out. As each Act begins, the set revolves around, just slightly, into place, giving the impression of a Groundhog Day-type time and space reset. Bruno Poet’s lighting design briefly transforms this white barren landscape with a lush warm glow signifying the sunset.

There was much pre-production excitement about the pairing of Lucian Msamati and Ben Whishaw as Estragon and Vladimir, and the expectation that they would be devastatingly good. They do indeed make a very convincing couple of Godot devotees. Mr Msamati’s Gogo is a weary, pain-riddled, sleepy chap who appears to be slow on the uptake. He has a perfect expression for his character; showing little emotion he constantly seems to be processing information in an attempt to understand what’s going on.Mr Whishaw’s Didi, on the other hand, is probing and questioning, tries to take the initiative whenever it’s possible; he’s the alpha male of the two, and leads the conversations with Pozzo and the boy. But the two men are inter-reliant, supporting and irritating each other; lonely when the other is not there, and simply finding ways to pass the time. They execute the famous hat swapping sequence perfectly, in a scene that brings the characters closest to a sense of clowning, but also suggests they’re dissatisfied with their identities. Alternatively, it might just simply be a game to while away a few minutes.

Jonathan Slinger’s Pozzo irradiates (in the first Act at least) wealthy superiority, looking down his nose at everyone and everything, cracking open a bottle of wine as if settling down for a self-indulgent picnic, barely acknowledging his slave Lucky, played with all Tom Edden’s legendary physical comedy – except that it’s not played for laughs. There’s nothing Mr Edden can’t do on stage that calls for some physicality in extremis, and he makes just about as much sense out of Lucky’s long speech that it is possible to do.

It’s fascinating to watch a superb production of this highly significant play. The intensity of the conversations between the two main characters are very demanding on the audience, and you need to concentrate very hard if you want to make some kind of sense out of what’s going on. As a result, at the end of the show and even more so at the beginning of the interval, the audience is stunned into some kind of muted silence. There’s no excited buzz between theatregoers about how much they’re enjoying it (or indeed hating it) – it simply takes all one’s energy away. But it doesn’t leave you empty or feeling short-changed; quite the opposite, in fact. It remains a most remarkable play, and this is a very fine production.

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

The Paul Berna Challenge – A Truckload of Rice (1968)

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In which we return to Puisay, its wise head of Police, Commissioner Sinet, and its most popular family, the Thiriets, whom we met in both The Clue of the Black Cat and The Mule on the Motorway. How can a goldfish in a bowl provide a clue to the identity of the thief who has stolen the money raised by Geoffrey and Lucien Verdier to buy a truckload of rice for people suffering famine in India? If anyone can work it out, it’s Commissioner Sinet; but never underestimate the importance of Bobby Thiriet to help clinch an investigation.

A Truckload of Rice was first published in 1968 by G. P. Rouge et Or under its original French title Le Commissaire Sinet et le mystère des poissons rouges, which translates literally as Commissioner Sinet and the mystery of the goldfish, with illustrations by Prudence Seward, a watercolourist and etcher born in London in 1926, and believed to be still alive today. As “A Truckload of Rice”, the book was first published in the UK by The Bodley Head in 1968, and translated, as usual, by John Buchanan-Brown. My own copy of the book is the first edition. There are a few copies currently on sale online if you want to buy one!

This is the third and final book in the sequence of novels set in the fictional Parisian suburb of Puisay, following on from the excellent The Clue of the Black Cat and The Mule on the Motorway. Once again the end of the previous book sets the scene for the next book, with the story that shops in Puisay are giving away a free goldfish to every customer. The Clue of the Black Cat remains, in my humble opinion, Berna’s masterpiece, but A Truckload of Rice comes close with an entertaining and unpredictable plot about the theft of the sum of fifteen hundred francs that has been raised by the people of Puisay to go to famine relief in Chandrapur, in India.

Unlike the last book, Berna doesn’t furnish us with a map to locate the various areas of Puisay, but we do know from the rounds made by the tramp Thank-You-Kindly, that Puisay is near Orly, Choisy-le-Roi, Louvigny-Triage, Athis-Mons, Massy-Palaiseau, Antony and Sceaux, all of which are real locations. However, unlike the previous book, the locations in this book only play a relatively minor part; it isn’t necessary for us to have any idea of where the places are in relation to each other. Also, unlike most of Berna’s books, there’s no sense of gang membership. The young journalists who work on the Puisay Students’ News are only briefly mentioned, and we only hear of two of Geoffrey and Lucien’s schoolfriends. This book is much more in the tradition of Magpie Corner and The Mystery of the Cross-Eyed Man, in that there are no more than one or two central young characters with whom Berna’s readership can easily identify.

And once again, it’s a very male-centred story, with very few female characters, all of whom are peripheral except perhaps for Catherine Verdier, Geoffrey and Lucien’s mother. The only girls that appear in the story are a brief mention of Gisèle and Caroline, who both attend the private Institution Garnier and whose only interaction with the story involves them giggling at some very minor flirtatious behaviour from Geoffrey. There’s also a couple of short conversations with Belle, Bobby Thiriet’s sister, but she plays no active part in the story at all.

Commissioner Sinet is still in charge at the local police station, assisted by Monsieur Malin, who appeared in The Mule on the Motorway and Inspector Valentin, a bright officer, but whose abilities and attitudes are occasionally found wanting. Lagneau, Geoffrey’s teacher, is unimpressed with Valentin’s attitude towards the theft: “the pickpocket on the 196 is nothing more than an unenterprising sneak thief. And he didn’t get away with all that much when he robbed the boy.” Lagneau replies: “Geoffrey […] reckons the cost, not in the paper francs in the envelope but in what they meant – the food snatched from the mouths of people dying from hunger […] Self-interest still hasn’t got its hold on those boys and girls and they’re far more giving than we are. The fact that a million and a half human beings suffer from hunger as if it were a disease, that ten thousand people die from this cause every single day of the week, has struck home far deeper with them than with their elders.”

Sinet remains very predisposed to approaches from the local children – much more than from the adults, in fact. There’s a moment when Sinet must pretend that Geoffrey and Lucien are his sons, to make their appearance less obvious when they’re out investigating. Sinet has a fatherly feeling towards the boys as he walks with them down the Voie du Renard. He loves to be associated with the youngsters. “Grown-ups bored him. They always wanted a logical answer […] Whatever their age, children would follow for preference a clue which the police would consider outside the range of their investigations.” I’m sure Berna’s characterisation of Sinet encouraged children everywhere to have greater trust in the police.

In the previous book, the distinction between the haves and have-nots in the town was less because the Thiriets had moved from the Rue Mirandole to the Belloy Estate; a move from poverty to gracious living. With Bobby hobnobbing around the stables and mixing with much more gentrified folk, the bad old days seemed a thing of the past. In this book, the Verdiers are firmly rooted in the Rue Mirandole and it’s clear that money is a problem. When it becomes necessary for Mme Verdier to find fifteen hundred francs unexpectedly out of nowhere, it’s not going to be easy. Nevertheless, Catherine Verdier is upbeat about the prospect, as the most important thing is the honour of the family: “It won’t kill us! We’ll just have to do without one of two luxuries: the holidays will have to be shorter and we’ll have to go to the country and not to the seaside; less pocket-money for you, and fewer treats; you’ll have to wear your old clothes until they are threadbare and I shall have to put off buying a new bed for Lucien.”

There are always individual moments in Berna’s writing which stand out for their impact, or humour, or simply because they combine eloquence with simplicity. A good example of this is in a brief description of Geoffrey, who is a robust, enthusiastic boy who throws himself into everything. There’s a delightfully subtle description of this robustness, when Catherine and Lucien are waiting for Geoffrey to arrive at the flat. “Then there was a half-hearted tinkle of the bell. The two looked at one another and raised their eyebrows: it could not be Geoffrey, for he generally sounded a carillon.”

What comes across most strongly from the story is the sense of urgency to raise money for people who are less well off than themselves; even those with few assets of their own show generosity towards the Chandrapur famine. It’s almost as though the Indians, thousands of miles away, are personal friends of the Puisay people; the drive to raise as much money as possible is a matter of unmitigated honour to them. As a result, there’s no competitiveness between the various teams of fund-raisers; there doesn’t need to be, as they’re purely motivated by the thought of raising as much money as possible: “There was no question of beating anyone else’s record. The money which they had collected up and down the streets went to swell a common fund, provided mainly by the generosity of ordinary people. As each emptied his tin upon the classroom table, he or she had the feeling of adding a little bit more to the lifegiving supplies promised to the starving inhabitants of Chandrapur.”

There’s only one instance of rejection of this kind reaction. Outdated language warning alert: This is spoken by the tramp Thank-You-Kindly, who turns on the boys when they try to get him to donate: “Things have come to a pretty pass when the working-man has the bread taken out of his mouth to feed a bunch of wogs!” Berna also doesn’t shy away from emphasising the full honour of dying from starvation, with a clinically brutal description of the process that seems out of place in a children’s book: “First of all the stomach swells up and then the skin gradually becomes drier and drier until it begins to crack. If malnutrition is not halted at this stage, the hair goes grey in a matter of days and then starts to fall out in handfuls; the eyes go dim and glassy; the person’s mind begins to wander, and then he collapses through sheer physical weakness. He may lie for a time oblivious of his surroundings, but not for long. He soon finds himself trapped in a nightmare. Scarcely aware of the daylight, he takes one, two, three steps even, only to collapse in the blazing sunshine of the street.”

Finally, it’s curious that Berna describes the exotic fish as a guariba – as that is actually the proper name for the brown howler monkey, native to Brazil!

Here’s my chapter by chapter synopsis of the book. If you haven’t read the book yet and don’t want to see any spoilers, here’s where you have to stop reading!

 

Chapter One – The Goldfish. Commissioner Sinet arrives at his desk to discover a goldfish in a bowl. The bowl is small but the goldfish is even smaller. He’s not impressed and demands to know who thought it was funny to leave it there. But Madame Michon, the charwoman, explains that she has given it to him, as it was a free gift with some shopping she did earlier with police funds. It’s a promotional stunt, and about twenty local shops are giving these goldfish away. She assumes that M. Brault, who has opened a new pet-shop, is behind the scheme; everyone who wants to buy fish food, or a larger bowl, or a companion fish, will go to him!

Meanwhile a flag-day is being arranged. The head of the Freedom from Hunger office, and indeed mayor of Puisay, M. Filleul, is on the phone to Sinet to remind him it will take place tomorrow and there’ll be a number of young helpers from the local schools on the streets, rattling tins and encouraging donations for their cause: A Truckload of Rice for Chandrapur. They’ve already raised thirty-five thousand francs through the generosity of local businesses and wealthy individuals. But they’re hoping for at least the same amount to be raised by these young people from the Institution Garnier and the Saint-Maur school.

Doctor and Mrs Kasterin have brought an elderly gentleman to Puisay, Durga Chandar, from his native Rajputana to emphasise the poverty plight that they are trying to address with their fund raising. M. Loetzen, the charity organiser, had suggested that Puisay should be twinned with Chandrapur, to give an extra spur to the effort; an idea that the Town Council agreed unanimously. The different areas of the town are to be divided up between different collectors; there should be no problem in the rich areas like the Avenue de Paris, but there might be some resistance in the poorer areas, like the Rue Mirandole or the Rue Général-Thuboeuf. But M. Lagneau of the boys’ school is convinced his hard-working collectors will do well. They have already worked out their targets: number one on their list is the tax collector in the Rue Mirandole!

Chapter Two – The Flag-Day. Geoffrey and Lucien Verdier can’t wait for the day to come; Geoffrey was out of bed at 7am making hot chocolate for his brother, his mother and himself. They plan to spend the whole day selling flags, so they need a good breakfast. Their mother, Catherine, is proud of her boys and is the first to donate; just five francs, but it deserves a flag. Inspired, Geoffrey and Lucien decide to donate that fortnight’s pocket money to the cause; giving their time alone somehow seems insufficient, when children are starving in India. Even Mme Hubert, the building’s caretaker, is happy to make a donation – having already been forewarned that she should by Mme Verdier.

As previously decided, their first port of call was to be the tax collector’s office. They go up the stairs to the main office where M. Chalus, the tax collector, is loudly complaining to those local citizens who were behind with their payments. Geoffrey is firm with M. Chalus, but Chalus is adamant; he will not give any money to the fund. Eventually though, they shame him into donating, on the understanding that the boys would tell everyone else how generous M. Chalus had been. They had hoped he might donate fifty francs, but he surprises them with a donation of one hundred francs. “They went downstairs with heads held high and in quick succession fleeced the Chief Clerk, the cashier and his underlings with a briskness that cheered the discontented citizens queuing at the counter.”

Chapter Three – Thank You Kindly. Thank-You-Kindly, the tramp, so called because he always uses that phrase to wheedle money out of unsuspecting passersby, is targeting the streets of Puisay for people to give him a few francs. He spots the rich and posh Mme Aubineau, whose dog he likes to flatter in order to get her to give him some money. She gives him a franc, just to get rid of him. Geoffrey and Lucien spot him and are outraged that he should be targeting the same people as them, but for a much lesser cause – he only drinks his money away. They bound up to him and shame him into giving them Mme Aubineau’s franc. Then they advise him to leave town, because with two hundred or so collectors on the go, he’s not going to secure any cash from his begging. Naturally they then turn their attention to Mme Aubineau herself, who flat out refuses to donate at first. It takes a combination of Geoffrey telling her exactly what happens when you die of starvation, and recounting the generosity of M. Chalus, to get her to part with ten francs.

It’s only 9.30 am but they already have a tin full of cash and not many flags left over, so the boys head to the school where teachers M. Lagneau and Mlle Collet are working hard, managing the counting of money and the distribution of flags. Geoffrey and Lucien have collected three hundred francs so far; the other collectors, Gisèle and Caroline, Big Bob and Prosper, have brought in about the same amount. Lagneau’s suggestion of sandwiches and lemonade is replaced by a very welcome celebratory steak and chips, and at 2.00pm the collectors all go out again to continue their good work.

Chapter Four – The Blind Man Shows His Hand. Towards the end of their round, Geoffrey and Lucien pay a call on M. Léonard’s grocery store on the Boulevard de Rungis. He’s happy to donate and gives them a fifty franc note. Geoffrey gives him all the details about how the collection is being handled and tells him about M. Loetzen, Doctor Kasterin and Durga Chandar. Meanwhile, Lucien is intrigued by the row of goldfish bowls in M. Léonard’s shop. The storekeeper offers him one, but Lucien declines as it simply wouldn’t be practical to try to pin flags on lapels whilst holding a goldfish bowl.

Back at the count, the boys are just twenty centimes short of one thousand five hundred francs – an extraordinarily successful day. It’s agreed that Geoffrey will accompany M. Lagneau back to M. Léonard’s in the hope that he will exchange all the small change for big notes. The grocer is happy to oblige and gives them three five hundred franc notes in exchange for their cash. Geoffrey chooses a goldfish to give to Lucien, but decides not to take it at that moment, saying he will come back for it. Instead, Geoffrey has the honour of taking the money to the Town Hall, and giving it Mme Filleul. Lagneau tells Geoffrey which bus to take, and then walks on to the Belloy Estate.

The bus is very full. Just before he’s due to get off, a blind man asks Geoffrey’s help to get off and walk with him a little of the way. Geoffrey of course is as helpful as he can be. Eventually the man walks off once he knows where he is. However – Geoffrey discovers that his jacket has been slit open with a razor and the money has been stolen. All that effort and generosity wasted; what a disaster – and will people believe him?

Chapter Five – A Costly Sense of Humour.  Lucien is buzzing with excitement when he gets home and can tell his mother all about their day’s adventures. But when Geoffrey appears, he confesses that he had been standing outside their apartment for the last five minutes: “I heard you laughing and I didn’t dare ring.” Geoffrey tells them both about the theft of the money, the damage to his new jacket and that it was the apparently blind man who did it. Geoffrey goes on to say that he feels he can’t tell anyone, because they’ll all think he stole it.

Catherine takes control of the situation by deciding that they’ll have to pay the fifteen hundred francs out of their own pocket. It will mean borrowing from the neighbours, asking her employer for an advance on her salary and cutting their expenses generally. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to tighten our belts… like the Indians in Chandrapur.” Geoffrey is relieved that she isn’t cross with him and believes him. Lucien is furious but understands.

Geoffrey takes the borrowed money – fifteen one hundred franc notes – to the Town Hall and hands it to the disagreeable and unfriendly clerks, who take his envelope and dismiss him without thanks. Thinking back on the day’s events, Geoffrey feels wretched. ““I shan’t ever get involved in working for charity again.”” But when Lagneau witnesses the envelope of cash being opened, he realises that something has happened – it’s a different envelope, and there are fifteen notes rather than three. Concerned, he decides to visit the Verdiers. He arrives as they are just settling down for dinner and can tell instantly that Geoffrey has a frightened look on his face. He explains that he saw the envelope and the bank notes had changed: “the only possible explanation which occurred to me on the way here is as melodramatic as you could wish and the look on your face isn’t exactly encouraging… Own up, now, you lost the envelope, didn’t you?” Geoffrey tells him what happened and shows him his ripped jacket. Lagneau tells him he should have come straight to him and it could all have been settled easily – but having done what they have done, it will be very difficult to return the money to the Verdiers? Catherine emphasises that she doesn’t want her children to be under suspicion. Lagneau understands – but is appalled at the personal sacrifice the family has had to make.

Chapter Six – The Man on the Bus.  Lagneau wastes no time in coming to see Commissioner Sinet with Geoffrey. With great efficiency, Sinet’s backroom staff have all the facts about the numbers of blind people in Puisay. When they eliminate all the obviously inappropriate suspects, they quickly decide the culprit must be M. Rougier, “a disabled soldier […] Very respectable gentleman.” When they pay him a visit, it is Rougier himself who answers the door; and Geoffrey is in no doubt that he was the man whom he helped off the bus. Sinet questions him further; and it emerges that there was a fat man standing next to both Rougier and Geoffrey, who rudely bustled past Rougier – and with his limited vision Rougier could identify the fat man also had a white stick. One more clue: Rougier felt that the man had a cardboard flag in his buttonhole.

Geoffrey realises only a few people could possibly have witnessed Lagneau giving him the sealed envelope and is determined to pursue his own investigations into who it might have been. But Sinet quickly discovers that there were at least fifty people in the street who could have seen the money being handed over. He’s determined to get to the bottom of the crime.

Chapter Seven – A Drop of the Right Stuff. Next day Sinet decides to follow up on the evidence so far and identifies the only blind man in the area who is fat. However, this is a dead end, as this M. Mancheron is also bed-ridden and completely incapable of committing the crime. Meanwhile, at school, life goes on as normal for Geoffrey and Lucien. Lagneau is convinced Geoffrey is completely innocent but appreciates that his mother did exactly the right thing. Geoffrey tells Lagneau that there was something suspicious that happened the day before – but he can’t quite put his finger on it. M. Léonard, too, is perplexed;  he notices another five hundred franc note in his till, but he was certain he had given them all to Geoffrey and Lagneau the day before. Why was there another note in the till? It even has a memorable serial number: 12345.

Léonard goes to the Welfare Offices, where he meets Lagneau. He explains the curious situation regarding the notes. Lagneau has a solution: someone has since returned to the shop and used it to pay for their goods, or to exchange it for smaller notes. Together they seek out Sinet. They decide to return to the shop to question Mme Léonard. She remembers someone about 7.00 pm, coming in to buy a bottle of brandy and used the five hundred franc note to pay for it. She remembers him being “cheery, fat, with a hat pulled down over his face and dark glasses. He looked rather like a clown in mufti.”

Geoffrey and Lucien are also at the shop. Geoffrey says they have come to collect the goldfish that M. Léonard had put aside for Lucien. However, Mme Léonard apologises and explains that it has been given to someone else – the man who paid for his brandy with the five hundred franc note. “Geoffrey laid his right hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “And the two of us, “ he said to the amusement of all, “are going to follow the clue of the goldfish.””

Chapter Eight – The Clue of the Guariba.  Geoffrey and Lucien pay a call at the exotic fish store recently opened by M. Brault. He tells them that a few of the free fish he gave away were more than just mere goldfish; and Geoffrey’s description of the fish he chose for Lucien leads Brault to deduce it is a guariba. Its water mustn’t drop below 22 degrees Celsius and it lives on green water weeds and plants with tender leaves. Clearly, all Geoffrey and Lucien need to do to find the money is find the guariba!

Meanwhile, one of Sinet’s men has tracked down a man who was shamming blindness, and is conning people into buying his door-to-door wares. He knows he’s not really blind, as the officer saw him get into a car and drive off. His name is Alfred Peignon; but as soon as Sinet sees him, he realises it’s not the same man who bought the brandy – his description is completely different. However, Sinet continues to question him and discovers that Peignon knows another sham blind man; a man who parked a car, a grey DS with a white roof, put on dark glasses a hat and took out his white stick, and got the same bus that Geoffrey and Rougier did. Sinet insists that Geoffrey takes a look at Peignon to find out if he saw him on the bus – but Geoffrey doesn’t recognise him.

Lucien explains the whole story about the guariba to Sinet. They are, in fact, looking for nine guaribas, not ten; as Sinet himself also has one swimming about on his desk. And Geoffrey drops a bombshell to the extent that he just has a slight suspicion that the truckload of rice bound for Chandrapur won’t reach its destination. Lagneau is annoyed at the accusation, but Geoffrey can’t explain why he feels it.

Chapter Nine – The Trap is Set. It’s Saturday, and business is brisk at M. Brault’s exotic fish store. Sinet – alongside Geoffrey and Lucien – wants a list of all those people who have made themselves known to him as being lucky winners of a guariba. One is Madame Deuzy, and we know she’ll have nothing to do with the crime, as she was so helpful in the cases of the Black Cat and the Mule. Another is the esteemed M. de Saint-Véran, a local VIP well known to Sinet as a bank director and business executive. Yet another is Mme Aubineau, from whom the boys struggled to obtain a donation of ten francs; she wouldn’t be seen dead on a bus. Then there was M. Samson, from Voie du Renard, “a district with a bad name […] A big, middle-aged man. Drove a 2 CV” and he paid with a five hundred franc note.

Sinet and the boys arrive at Voie du Renard, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, just like a father taking his sons out for a walk. Stopping outside M. Samson’s house, they engage him in conversation, mentioning that M. Brault had said M. Samson was an expert in tropical fish and that the boy had just taken possession of a guariba. Samson takes them to see his aquarium; he has already bought a companion guariba for his free one. Sinet establishes that the second fish cost fifty francs, but Lucien gives the game away that they are investigating a theft and Samson recognises that Sinet is the Commissioner of Police. On further questioning, Samson reveals that the five hundred franc note he used to buy the fish with was given to him as part of his retirement pension. He also discloses that he is  a retired police officer, and he and Sinet reconcile over their mutual professions. Back at the station, Sinet’s men have got the numbers of all the grey DS’s with white roofs in Puisay – there are ten of them, just like the guaribas.

Chapter Ten – Bobby Takes a Hand. Inspector Valentin explains that the owners of these cars are very unlikely to be involved in the case, as they are all respectable, employed people. One of them is M. de Saint-Véran, but Sinet finds it impossible to believe he can be wrapped up in this crime. Another is notable local doctor, Doctor Lavalette. There’s a M. Milard, a butcher who makes ten thousand francs a day from his shop, so he’s unlikely to need the money; another belongs to the wealthiest chemist in town and the sixth to Mlle Amandine, who runs the new fashion shop in Belloy. Then there’s M. Potter, whose car has no wheels, and M. Gourel, a disabled ex-serviceman. The other two belong to M. Filleul, the mayor and Doctor Kasterin of the Freedom from Hunger campaign!

Back at M. Brault’s shop, the seventh guariba-owner emerges as a young lady comes in announcing she’s going to keep her free fish. Sinet sends Valentin to trail her once she has left the shop; he finds out that she lives with her mother on the Belloy Estate and was given the fish by the man that runs the leather shop in the arcade. Annoyed by his approach, either the young lady or the mother gave him a good smack around the face. Later an elderly couple returned their guariba saying it was impossible for them to look after. But then another man appeared, looking for a companion to his guariba; he instantly arouses the suspicion of Sinet and Lagneau. He does not leave a name, and they decide to follow him. This leaves Lucien alone, observing another boy around his own age in the shop; he was from the lycée and wore one of the charity flags. It turns out that the boy owns the tenth and final guariba. He’s come in to buy a cheap aquarium, he can’t afford anything better. His name: Bobby Thiriet.

Meanwhile, Sinet and Lagneau are still following the owner of guariba number nine. He turns on them and demands to know why they are following him. Refusing to help them, he refers them to the caretaker and slams the door on them. The caretaker names him as M. Vibert, an architect. His car is in a scrapyard as he hasn’t driven since his wife became semi-paralysed in a car crash. He confirms that Vibert has fifty or so fish in his aquarium.

Back at M. Brault’s shop Sinet is delighted to discover that Bobby Thiriet owns the final guariba and that Lucien has gone off following him. “Bobby will lead us straight to your thief, simply by getting a confession out of that goldfish everyone around us has been laughing at for the last couple of days.”

Chapter Eleven – The Accusing Goldfish. Bobby knows Lucien is following him and eventually confronts him about it. After they realise that they both know the poverty stricken area in which Lucien lives, and where Bobby lived, the ice is broken between them. Lucien wants to see Bobby’s goldfish – and Bobby doesn’t understand Lucien’s interest. But he’s curious now, especially since it was the clue of the black cat that had stimulated Bobby’s attention a few months back. He invites Lucien in to see it, but Bobby’s sister Belle has bad news: the cat has upturned the glass bowl, and eaten the fish. Lucien explains his interest and Bobby is fascinated. “Your goldfish could convict a man, at least in a rather roundabout way. It’s a terrific story! I’ll tell Charlie Baron about it! He’s chief editor of the Puisay Students’ News. We’ll run it as a 25-part serial.” Lucien’s story reminds Bobby and Belle of how their own family had been tricked out of money.

Lucien finds out that it was Colonel Brousse, the owner of the Saint-Just Riding Club, and who has offered shelter to Quicksilver in The Mule on the Motorway, who gave him the fish. Bobby is keen to confront him about it. They leave for the Riding Club, just before Sinet arrives at their flat and Belle tells him they have gone to see Brousse. Sinet instantly follows and arrives just in time to see Bobby and Lucien ask the colonel about where he got the goldfish. He explains that it was given to him by his son, Joel. In turn, he had been given it by a fat man in a grey DS with a white roof. Joel says that they had seen him before – “Wednesday evening at Doctor Kasterin’s lecture… he was sitting on the platform, next to that old Indian with the beard.”

He was describing Monsieur Loetzen.

Chapter Twelve – In the Bag. Geoffrey had suspected something was wrong all along but couldn’t say anything for definite. He recollects something about M. Loetzen in conversation with M. Lagneau: “On the evening of the flag-day, when you’d finished adding up the takings. His enthusiasm was just as insincere as congratulations. You don’t thank boys of fifteen by patting them on the cheek. Bob and his mate Prosper were just as embarrassed as I was. I’ve thought pretty hard about that little scene.” Sinet has deduced that Loetzen is “just a sneak-thief after easy money.” But what about the Kasterins and Durga Chandar? Could they be implicated in the crime too?

It turns out that Loetzen has been using the Kasterins’ car ever since the appeal opened. After further questioning, Geoffrey agrees that he did recognise the blind man – it was when they met Rougier without his glasses on, and he remembered how different the two men looked. “I was appalled when I realised he reminded me of Monsieur Loetzen. You see I couldn’t imagine that a crook could be as treacherous as that or prepared to rob such a respectable charity as the appeal.”

Sinet confronts M. Filleul with these suspicions. He confirms that it was Loetzen who “put himself forward for the job [of publicising the appeal] saying it was in line with what he did for the Red Cross.” He also advises that Loetzen had asked “for two large cheques to be made out in favour of the firms who are to supply the aid.” Sinet tells him to delay the cheques at all costs. He advises the boys to go home, have a good sleep, and return to the Town Hall in the morning. “But this was not enough to appease Geoffrey’s thirst for revenge. What is more, the good Commissioner was wrong to overlook the fifteen hundred francs replaced by Catherine Verdier.” Sinet gives Lucien his guariba, as though it were a consolation prize.

Geoffrey leaves Lucien halfway home; determined to get his revenge, he decides to catch a 196 bus in the hope of trapping the thief. And there on the bus is Loetzen, with dark glasses and white stick, sitting behind the conductor. Geoffrey doesn’t know how he’s going to catch him but catch him he will. He watches a woman laden with parcels stand next to him, with her handbag dangling right in front of Loetzen’s view. Temptation beyond endurance for Loetzen; and it’s at the very moment when Loetzen has his hand in her handbag that Geoffrey grips his hand to drag him off the bus and straight to the police station.

Chapter Thirteen – Durga Chandar. Sinet reveals to Loetzen that it was Peignon who confirmed his involvement. The cut-throat razor, that Loetzen used to cut through jackets or handbags, lay on the table – full of excuses, Loetzen dismisses it as his bunion remover. Mme Léonard appears and confirms he was the man who bought the brandy and used the five hundred franc note; then Joel Brousse appears and confirms he was the man who gave him the goldfish. Geoffrey demands the return of his mother’s fifteen hundred francs; then Lucien demands eighty francs to mend Geoffrey’s jacket. On return of the cash, they let the felon leave the police station – but outside he walks into a trap, as two officers are there to take him to the police headquarters on a couple of dozen more charges.

The next day Geoffrey and Lucien head off to the Town Hall. Loetzen’s place on the Committee has been taken by M. Chalus, the tax inspector. The ceremony was dull with endless speeches, and the old Indian, Durga Chandar, seemed unimpressed by it all. There was the usual chatter; Brousse offers Geoffrey the chance to ride Quicksilver at the stables for nothing and Mme Kasterin has reserved a place for Mme Verdier with her sons at the banquet. But no one was talking to Durga Chandar – except Lucien, who realised what the problem was. In all the debate about Indian famine, no one had remembered to offer the old man anything to eat! It only took the offer of some chocolate to melt the ice.

To sum up; A beautifully written and constructed book that brings all the goodness and charity (literally) out of its main characters and stresses the importance of honesty and decency. The story is told briskly, taking place only over a matter of four days or so. It’s also a very successful children’s whodunit! Sadly, this would be the last time we would meet the Thiriet or the Verdier families. If you’ve read the book – or are re-reading it now, I’d love to know what you think about it, so please add a comment below. Next up in the Paul Berna Challenge is a completely different scenario, with no associations with any of his previous works, L’Épave de la Bérénice, translated into English as The Secret of the Missing Boat. I look forward to re-reading it and sharing my thoughts about it in a few weeks.

Review – Romeo and Juliet, Northern Ballet at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 19th September 2024

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Ballet at the RSC? Surely not Dame Judi and Sir Ian gracing us with their pas de deux? Although I understand Sir Derek Jacobi’s entrechats are to die for. No! I’m kidding. Northern Ballet’s Romeo and Juliet, a mainstay of their programming over the last thirty years, has been rescued from the disaster that occurred in 2015 when the costumes and sets were ruined by flood damage. Painstaking work by gifted people has restored and renewed them so that once again Massimo Moricone and the late Christopher Gable’s work can be enjoyed by fresh generations.

R&J at the RSCTheir first port of call on their autumn tour is at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and it’s an inspired choice of venue. Unlike most theatres likely to host ballet companies, the RST has a thrust stage, so it basically has less width but more depth; and for ballet that gives the opportunity for the dancers to perform deeper into the auditorium and share their grace and skill more closely with the audience. The result is that, although the Royal Shakespeare is a large, grand theatre, the performance can take on a surprisingly intimate form; and that’s perfect for a project such as Northern Ballet’s Romeo and Juliet with its stunning choreography and its timeless, tragic love story.

Juliet and ParisLez Brotherston’s sets look good as new, with their suggestion of the Romanesque grandeur of Verona; a central piazza with overlooking balconies and historic ruins yielding a usefully large bare area to fill with dancers. Those restored costumes are literally a sight to behold; the Capulets in black but still brash with colour, the villagers in their drab greys and browns, and the masked partygoers inspired by commedia dell’arte. In contrast, the pale, light simplicity of Romeo and Juliet’s costumes stand out, reflecting their innocence and youth.

TybaltMoricone’s choreography blends perfectly with Prokofiev’s score. It pulls no punches with the brutality of the Capulet regime but also allows the tenderness of the star-cross’d pair, whose love was doomed to fail, to come through; both in their ecstatic love dance that concludes Act I and their morning bedroom scene that opens Act III. It also gives Mercutio many opportunities to show off and play the joker, it has a star comedic moment for Juliet’s nurse in the letter-delivery scene, and a sadly funny portrayal of Juliet rejecting the marriage proposal of Paris. Twice. It also tells the story with absolute clarity, and you can’t always say that about ballet. The simple reconciliation at the end between the Lords Montague and Capulet confirms the pointlessness and devastation caused by their stupid family enmities.

Romeo and JulietThere is an elephant in the room; or rather, it’s not in the room, it’s absent. For the first time Northern Ballet are using recorded music rather than a live orchestra. There’s no doubt it’s an excellent recording; but nothing beats the real thing. A live orchestra has one big practical advantage over a recording – it gives flexibility to the stage performance, allowing the conductor to pause for the audience’s reaction to a scene’s climax before continuing. This is especially important with classical ballet as you never know if a star turn is going to produce an unexpected thunderous round of applause. The last thing you want is for the dancers to be forced to continue before the audience is ready. With Prokofiev’s outstanding, sumptuous themes – not just the famous Montagues and Capulets march but his fragile motifs for Juliet, his Gavotte borrowed from his Classical Symphony, and so much more – a live performance of the music would have been the icing on the cake. However, I don’t need to tell you how underfunded the Arts are. Touring with an orchestra is not an inexpensive option; but music and ballet are inextricably linked. It takes a wiser person than me to balance this financial/artistic dilemma.

JulietThe dancers change roles regularly throughout the run, so you may see a different cast. However, at our performance the main role of Juliet was danced by leading soloist Saeka Shirai and she is exquisite. Her expressions, her enthusiasm, her grace, and her amazing pointe work are all just a joy to watch. She’s one of those performers who, when she’s on stage, in the words of Emily Dickinson, saturates sight; you forget to look at everyone else. Her Romeo was Harris Beattie who performs with effortless physical strength and superb technique.

MercutioJun Ishii was Mercutio and Filippo Di Vilio was Benvolio, and the three of them performed some terrific trios, embodying a surprisingly convincing laddish bromance. Mr Ishii threw himself wholeheartedly into Mercutio’s cheeky insolence with a superbly crowd pleasing performance; surely he’s ready for promotion to junior soloist after this run. George Liang was a marvellously surly and acrobatic Tybalt, and Helen Bogatch stood out as a remarkably dour-faced Lady Capulet; there’s one matriarch you wouldn’t want to cross. And Dominique Larose gave us a wonderfully fussy and bustling Nurse, sweetly waddling around the stage and endearing herself to everyone.

Lady CapuletGreat to see this production again – I last saw it in High Wycombe in 1998! It continues at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre until 28th September, before it travels on to Southampton, Canterbury and Newcastle. Northern Ballet’s other current productions, A Christmas Carol, Jane Eyre and Hansel and Gretel, begin touring in November. Will there be any more collaborations between Northern Ballet and the Royal Shakespeare Theatre? Let’s hope so – it’s the perfect staging for grand, yet intimate dance.

Production photos by Emily Nuttall

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

The Points of View Challenge – The Prison – Bernard Malamud

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Bernard Malamud (1914 – 1986)

American novelist and short story writer, best known for his novels The Natural and The Fixer.

The Prison was first published in Commentary magazine in September 1950 and then in the collection The Magic Barrel in 1958.

Available to read online here.

This is the third of eight stories in the volume Points of View to be given the style classification by Moffett and McElheny of Biography, or Anonymous Narration – Single Character Point of View. Their introduction continues: “A point of view, naturally, is both a physical vantage point and a personal way of perceiving events, What we mean by “single character point of view” is that the author takes us only where a certain character goes and permits to know only what that character is thinking and feeling.”

Spoiler alert – if you haven’t read the story yet and want to before you read the summary of it below, stop now!

 

The Prison

#Tommy Castelli is in prison; a prison of his own making and in accord with his environment. At least, that’s what it feels like, every day having to work in the candy shop that his father-in-law paid for to keep him on the straight and narrow. He runs it with his wife Rosa; they don’t love each other but they muddle through. Tommy had a bad start in life, holding up a liquor store; he escaped justice but allowed himself to be bought into the marriage and running the store – sixteen hours a day of sheer boredom and frustration. He even consented to becoming Tommy, whilst his real name is Tony.

Recently a young girl has started coming into the store and buying tissue paper for her mother, who apparently encourages other children to make toys and dolls out of it. One day he realises that whilst his back is turned, she steals two candy bars. His initial reaction is to challenge her, but he also feels sorry for her, seeing something of himself in her behaviour. It also reminds him of his Uncle Dom, who is in prison, and whom he misses. Still, he can’t let her keep on stealing from him, so he devises various plans of catching her out, making her realise that he knows what she’s doing, and encouraging her to stop before the habit gets out of hand. But nothing he does seems to prevent her regular thefts.

It’s not until Rosa catches her thieving that things escalate quickly. She grabs the girl and shakes her within an inch of her life; identifying more with the girl than his wife, Tommy slaps Rosa across the face until he draws blood. The girl’s mother arrives, and when she discovers what her daughter has been doing, she too administers corporal punishment on the girl. But in a moment of total defiance, the girl still finds time to poke her tongue out at Tommy as her mother manhandles her away.

This claustrophobic, depressing yet simple little tale takes the notion of imprisonment and applies it both to the reality of what Tommy escaped in his youth, but it has been replaced by a virtual prison; and what could become the future for the girl if she doesn’t change her ways. There’s an overwhelming sense of regret in the story; regret for the “dreams and schemes” he never achieved, regret for the loss of freedom, regret that he married the “plain and lank” Rosa, regret that the girl’s future could become the same as his, even regret that he changed his name. There’s also regret that Tommy didn’t prevent the girl from stealing in the first place, as his virtuous attempts to shame her into decency are thrown back in his face.

It’s tightly, darkly written; a sparse combination of sentences that make for one of the shortest stories in this collection. It paints a severe picture of down-at-heel life amongst the poorest in society and how crime and violence are an inevitable consequence of the poverty. “Time rotted in him, and all he could think of the whole morning, was going to sleep in the afternoon.” The story does not offer any possibility that life will change for the better; as such, it comes across as a negative, pessimistic piece.

The next story in the anthology is the fourth to be classified by Moffett and McElheny as Biography, or Anonymous Narration – Single Character Point of View, The Stone Boy by Gina Berriault.

Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Screen 2 at the Filmhouse, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 15th September 2024

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Forgive me Father, it’s been four months since my last Screaming Blue Murder. And haven’t things changed since then? Sadly, not all for the best (frankly, not at all for the best), but more of that later. One aspect that remains as constant as the Northern Star, is the presence of MC Dan Evans, the host with the most; indeed, one sometimes wonders where we would be without him. As always, Dan got to grips with discovering the ins-and-outs of the audience members, including the young man who worked in the warehouse and his other half who worked in The Artichoke (don’t know it, but it sounds posh), and the man from Rugby who accidentally arrived a week early for a show in the Royal, but thought he’d take his chance with a spot of comedy instead.

Our first act was Becky Umbers, a diminutive New Zealander with a bright personality and a gurgly voice. I’m not being rude here – Ms Umbers devotes at least 30% of her act to various observations about her vocal tones; she readily admits even other New Zealanders can’t understand her sometimes. She has a nicely confiding style and some unique stories, all of which, you sense, are probably pretty much true. It’s with a certain degree of shame that she tells us of the road trip where – basically – she knocks down a kiwi; no, not one of her fellow citizens but a real kiwi, which is probably a worse crime as they’re endangered. Delivered with confidence and an endearing personality, it was slightly low on laughter, but that was probably due to the size of the audience (clue: it wasn’t a big audience.)

Next up we had Gbemi Oladipo, a lively Nigerian in a jumper almost as loud as him. He bursts forth on the stage with no holds barred and delivers a serious of sharply comic observations with attack and a huge sense of fun. He plays off the audience with ease and is quick to pick up on any verbal (or even visual) reactions anyone might have to his stories. I loved his material about the ignominy of dying on a Ryanair flight, and why, at his age, he’s decided it’s time for him to start drinking. He has a very engaging stage persona and we’d be very happy to see him again.

Our final act was… no, there was no final act. Since Screaming Blue Murder has transferred to the Filmhouse – temporarily we hope, whilst the Underground space is finally made safe from all that RAAC – it’s bucked the trend of most other comedy nights and gone from three to two comedians (but for no reduction in ticket price, I notice). To be fair, although Screen 2 is not the ideal venue for a comedy night, needs must and it has enabled Screaming Blue and other comedy performers to continue to come to the Royal and Derngate throughout this period; keeping the brand alive, so to speak.

But there are other signs that standards are declining. Nothing to do with Mr Evans or the acts who are appearing; but simple things like a confusion over when the show should start (7.30pm on the ticket, 8.00pm on the website), the music playing as you enter the auditorium was extracts from Madame Butterfly (we had that at my mum’s funeral – not very conducive to loosening one’s chuckle muscles), moving from Friday night (carefree) to Sunday night (a school night) and scheduling SBMs so that they clash with big names next door in the main theatre – Milton Jones had a full house in the Derngate at the same time. The audience at last night’s Screaming Blue numbered about 22, which is frankly pitiful; what’s worse is that it was probably the largest audience in there since the move to the Filmhouse.

Screaming Blue Murder has such a fine tradition of providing excellent value, top quality comedy shows that it’s a real shame that it’s suffering in this way. The one thing that would improve the experience would be for more people to attend, so come on, people of Northampton, Your Screaming Blue Needs You! But a return to three comedians would also be an improvement – it’s a standard structure for a comedy show with proven success. Get the basics right, and happy comedy nights will follow! Having said all that, we can’t come to the next show on 13 October, which is a shame because it features the superb Markus Birdman and Jenny Collier, so it will be a riot. But you should!

Review – Comedy Crate at the Charles Bradlaugh, Northampton, 12th September 2024

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Good to be back at the Bradlaugh for a sold out show with a top line-up. Our host for the evening was Jason Stampe, a jovial chap who kept things moving smartly and mined some great laughs out of the modestly drinking 24-year-olds and the Amazon Van Man and family in the front row. During the course of the evening we also heard about his experiences as a comedian on cruise ships – having seen many such shows on cruises, my heart went out to him –and his battles for supremacy at home with his son. An MC who has loads of good material as well as interaction with the audience? Jason Stampe’s your man.

Our first act was Paddy Young, who had garnered lots of splendid reviews at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. Delightfully self-deprecating, Paddy Young delivers his material as though he knows he’s going to go down badly, but that’s far from the truth. He has some very clever ideas about the showers at the gym, the differences between landlords and landladies, and a cheap alternative to heating one’s flat.His opening material about Huel went over the heads of 90% of the audience (ours included) – but when we got it, we got it. His interactions with the crowd were sharp with a slight air of danger, but his overall stage persona is very funny and engaging. He’s clearly going places!

Next up was Chin Wang, born in China, now a Brit, with some beautiful comic observations on the vagaries of the English language, to which she returns regularly throughout her set. She has excellent material on the cultural differences between the two countries, including the desirability to get tanned (or not) and how welcoming the nations are to immigrants (or not). Full of funny and intelligent observations, she went down extremely well with the audience.

Our headliner was Paul Sinha – no stranger to Northampton, and always a welcome return guest. His set was largely an account of his life-story, from before he was born, through training to be a GP, finally getting a boyfriend in his forties, to where he is today. Having battled with a number of health problems over the past few years – all of which play a part in his routine – the Sinhaman was on blistering form with hilarious punchline after punchline, getting brilliant humour out of the darkest of places, and having a good laugh at his own situation in the process. I think it’s fair to say that the audience were ecstatic in their appreciation! A blissful end to a great night.

Unfortunately, we can’t go to the next few Bradlaugh nights – but I trust that you will, because there are some great names ahead!

Review – Pericles, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 10th September 2024

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There aren’t many Shakespearean plays that one misses out on during a lifetime of theatregoing, but Pericles is likely to be one. I’d never seen this play before, and, indeed hadn’t looked at the text for at least 45 years. But there’s no doubt this is a fascinating play – rarely can the old phrase “from the sublime to the ridiculous” be so appropriate concerning the pen of our Beloved Bard.

Alfred EnochWith more episodes and locations than your average picaresque novel, we follow the fortunes of Pericles as he leaves Tyre (where he is Prince) to sail to Antioch, where he hopes to marry the unnamed Princess of that city state. To win her hand, he must answer a riddle; failure to answer it results in death. Pericles solves it in an instant, but making the solution public also results in death – bit of a Catch-22 there, probably a riddle worth avoiding. Therefore he flees Antioch before he can be murdered. Next, he reaches Tarsus, stopping by to offer food to the famine-stricken city; shipwrecked on leaving Tarsus, he lands in Pentapolis, where King Simonides is allowing the winner of a jousting contest to marry his daughter Thaisa. Naturally our hero wins the contest, and Thaisa’s hand. But all is not well; sailing back to Tyre, they are shipwrecked (again) and Thaisa dies giving birth to a daughter, Marina. Following tradition, Thaisa’s body is placed in a coffin and cast off into the waters, never to be seen again. Or is she…?

AntiochusThat’s enough storytelling to fill a book and we’ve only just reached the interval. Pericles must be the direct opposite of Waiting for Godot, where, famously, nothing happens. Here, everything that could possibly happen, happens. However, the early scenes of the play – up till Pericles’ arrival in Pentapolis – are (there’s no point beating about the bush) absolutely awful. Not, I hasten to add, because of the RSC’s production, Tamara Harvey’s direction or the company’s acting; it’s simply the words with which they have to grapple.

Pericles aloftIt is largely believed that the play is a collaboration between Shakespeare and An Other Writer; Shakespeare wrote the good bits and AOW did the rest. The mystery man is likely to be George Wilkins, an innkeeper, criminal and pamphleteer, and an associate of the King’s Men acting company, hence his familiarity with Shakespeare and his work. The language in those opening scenes is flat but garbled; intractably impersonating the florid style of the silver poets who had gone before, but falling far short of the standard required. Fortunately, the use of judicious cuts combined with the happy circumstance that Pericles is one of Shakespeare’s shortest works, means we can get on with the decent meat of the play after about half an hour or so.

SimonidesThe average Collected Shakespeare will list the play as one of the comedies. But there is some tough material here: incest, kidnapping to be sold into prostitution, death during childbirth; frankly, not a lot to laugh at. However, these elements are balanced with some truly engaging scenes and performances, resulting in many feelgood moments and comic sequences. The highlight of the production is King Simonides’ not-so-secret machinations to engineer a marriage between Thaisa and Pericles, a blissfully funny performance by Christian Patterson. All the scenes set in the brothel prickle with danger and corruption; and if you love a happy ending, I can’t think of a bigger jump from despair to elation than that experienced by Pericles in Act Five.

The ropes that bindJonathan Fensom’s simple set is dominated by ropes, suspended and intertwining; a perfect choice for a play where so many scenes are set at sea. Claire van Kampen’s evocative music is delicately and moving played by Elinor Peregrin’s team of five musicians, strong on woodwind and percussion. The text has been smartly cut and revised so that what remains of Gower’s chorus-type introductions to each act have been given to Marina, even before the audience realises it is she who is speaking. There’s only one directorial decision that jars; the artificial and showy use of hands aloft by the background ensemble. Perhaps it’s meant to recreate the dumbshows of the original text; whatever, it just looks silly. Stop it.

Rachelle DiedericksAlfred Enoch gives a compelling performance as Pericles; a truly noble character who rises above all his misfortunes to remain magnanimous, honest and beneficent. Mr Enoch embodies these virtues throughout the play with his clarity of interpretation, physical agility and the sheer emotion of that final scene. As his long lost Marina, the ever-reliable Rachelle Diedericks is a chip off the old block, conveying the essence of purity and decency, pleading her case for survival with lucid clarity. There are also excellent performances from Philip Bird as the super-reasonable Helicanus, Christian Patterson as the excitable Simonides, Leah Haile as the modest Thaisa, Kel Matsena as the noble Lysimachus and Alfred EnochJacqueline Boatswain as the kindly Cerimon and a truly villainous Bawd, matched with an equally vicious Pander played by Felix Hayes.

An excellent opportunity to see a rarely performed Shakespeare; not exactly a masterpiece but containing some of his best characterisations and individual scenes. After Pericles leaves Stratford on 21 September, it transfers to the Chicago Shakespeare Theater from 20 October.

Production Photos by Johan Persson

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Pretty Woman, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 9th September 2024

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I admit, gentle reader, that I had low hopes of this touring production of Pretty Woman The Musical. I have vague memories of seeing the film over thirty years ago, and it was enjoyable but, for me, not remotely memorable. Then when it was announced a few years ago that the film would be turned into a stage musical, once more I despaired at the lack of originality in writing new musicals; must they always be rehashes of movies? Doesn’t the world have enough recycled juke box musicals?

CompanyBut that was the theatre snob in me talking. With no prior knowledge of anything to do with the stage show, I was surprised – and delighted – to discover this is not a juke box musical at all. All the songs (except Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman, more of which later) are original and written by that highly successful singer/songwriter Bryan Adams and his regular co-writer, Jim Vallance.

Edward and VivianIt’s a fairly faithful adaptation of the original film: rich executive Edward Lewis stumbles into a relationship with sassy but hard-up sex worker Vivian Ward because a gearstick in a car is just too much for him to cope with, and she knows how to work one. He pays for her to stay with him for a week at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, he buys her some top quality outfits, she accompanies him to a few social events (where business deals are closed, of course) and all seems to be going well between them. But then he admits to his lawyer, Philip Stuckey, that she’s neither corporate spy nor business wild child, but a prostitute whom he picked up on Hollywood Boulevard. Stuckey’s no gentleman and instantly reveals to Vivian that he knows all about her. Betrayed, Vivian determines to return to her usual work and lifestyle; but surely it has a happy ending?

Mr ThompsonDavid Rockwell’s design creates a sense of Beverly Wilshire elegance with just some simple scenery set against vivid primary colour backgrounds, beautifully lit (or indeed, deliberately not lit) by Kenneth Posner and Philip S Rosenberg’s lighting design which creates atmospheric silhouettes of the performers to contrast with those luscious warm colours. True, the palm trees seem a little wobbly at times, but, you know, that’s the magic of theatre. Jerry Mitchell’s original choreography is fresh and quirky; elegant for the posh hotel setting and streetwise for the down-at-heel Hollywood Boulevard scenes. Tom Rogers’ costume design gives Vivian some outfits to die for – that red opera dress is surely a keeper – and Griff Johnson’s musical direction beefs out the songs with rocky pizzazz and a lightly humorous touch.

Happy Man and CompanyThe score has a few forgettable songs but plenty of others that both light up the stage and linger in the mind: Vivian’s opening song Anywhere But Here, and Edward’s Something About Her both set up the story beautifully; Edward’s Freedom is a glorious piece of music, and the finale number Together Forever provides a great finish. Bizarrely, given all the original music that precedes it, the use of Pretty Woman as the post-curtain call number seems strangely anachronistic and out of place – and doesn’t come across with the same level of energy as the rest of the score. But I guess the title of the show means it’s compulsory! I must include a word here about the sound quality; sometimes in these big shows there’s some over-amplification and undesired reverb, so that you can’t hear the words. Not a bit of it in Pretty Woman – it’s as clear as a bell, performed at a perfect volume and a delight to listen to.

Happy ManThere’s a refreshing element of fourth wall breaking, primarily relating to the presence of Strictly Come Dancing alumnus Ore Oduba, who’s required to put in a lot of pretty nifty dancing; he gives a tremendous performance as the Happy Man (a kind of Hollywood Everyman character) and Mr Thompson, the Hotel Manager, regularly recognising that the audience has come to see a show and that they’re the ones performing it. There’s a very funny start to Act Two when one of the ensemble comes on stage to start a rousing performance of the song Pretty Woman, much to the crowd’s delight, only for Mr Oduba to intercede and put a stop to it. If you’re going to create artifice, you might as well revel in it.

Kit and GiulioAmber Davies is superb as Vivian; funny, cheeky, unpredictable and streetwise – yet, when the moment requires it, supremely elegant and classy. She has a terrific stage presence, and her voice is stunning. There’s an excellent chemistry between her and Oliver Savile, as Edward; again, he has a fantastic voice, and they harmonise perfectly. Natalie Paris brings power and comedy to the role of Kit, and there’s great support from Ben Darcy as a surprisingly evil Philip Stuckey, FinaleLila Falce-Bass (on her professional debut) who gives us a crowd-pleasing opera-singing Violetta, and Noah Harrison, whose impish bellboy Giulio steals every scene.

The tour started almost a year ago, and after this week in Northampton, has just a couple more dates now, in Leicester and Sheffield, finishing at the end of September. Great commitment and performances from the ensemble and all the cast make this a thoroughly entertaining treat night out.

Production photos by Marc Brenner

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

The Points of View Challenge – Horses – One Dash – Stephen Crane

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Stephen Crane (1871 – 1900)

American poet, novelist, and short story writer, best known for his Civil War novel The Red Badge of Courage.

Horses – One Dash, written in 1895, first published in a newspaper in 1896 and then in the collection The Open Boat and Other Stories in 1898. Also known as One Dash – Horses or simply Horses.

Available to read online here.

This is the second of eight stories in the volume Points of View to be given the style classification by Moffett and McElheny of Biography, or Anonymous Narration – Single Character Point of View. Their introduction continues: “Some authors comment openly on the characters and the action, perhaps even correcting the perspective of the characters; others make their point only through selection, arrangement, and phrasing.”

Spoiler alert – if you haven’t read the story yet and want to before you read the summary of it below, stop now!

 

Horses – One Dash

 

Richardson, a New Yorker, and his servant, José, ride their horses through the mesquite-strewn hills of Mexico. Needing somewhere to shelter for the night, José arranges for them to stay at a house in a remote village. All is peaceful until the noise of rowdy, drunken men outside the house wakes them in the middle of the night. It quickly becomes clear the men plan to break in, steal their goods and doubtless murder them in the process. Both men are terrified, but Richardson maintains an outward show of calm. Fortunately the men are diverted by the arrival of a group of women, and they turn their attention to singing, dancing, drinking and fraternising with the women.

The next morning Richardson and José make their escape. José is keen to rush ahead as quickly as possible, but Richardson holds back, much to his servant’s fury and frustration. They can see figures on the horizon behind them, and they know they are being pursued by the men from the night before. Fortunately, José heads down a hill to discover a group of rurales, a Mexican army cavalry corps policing the plain; José convinces them that Richardson is an influential and rich American, so the rurales are determined to protect him. When the marauding men start hurtling down the hill in pursuit of Richardson, the last thing they expect is to be met by the cavalry.

This fascinating little tale recounts the activities of maybe no more than twelve hours, but which have a profound effect on everyone involved; Richardson and José, the marauders, the rurales, even their horses. Crane makes it clear that, despite his outward show of calm, Richardson is wholly scared by the men and the danger in which he finds himself; whilst José never conceals that fact. The reader can never predict how the story will resolve itself; and its sudden ending emphasises its lack of sentimentality or indeed any future interest in the two main characters.

Crane’s writing style is fluid and full; each sentence holds your attention with its unexpected observations and delicious descriptions. Even from the very start, Crane loves to concentrate on colour and sensuousness. For example, the first paragraph includes references to crimson, blue and green, painting, and the notion of sun-shot water, a memorable description of what one sees when sun beats down on a river. He emphasises the blackness of the blanket and of José’s horse, a lemon-coloured patch of sky, red spears of fire, the greenness of the fat Mexican’s face. This all paints a very vivid picture for the reader’s imagination. Elsewhere he shows his mastery of alliteration; consider the use of d, f, w, and s in this sentence: “José rolled and shuddered in his saddle, persistently disturbing the stride of the black horse, fretting and worrying him until the white foam flew and the great shoulders shone like satin from the sweat.”

This is an excellent example of the type of narration described in the introduction by Moffett and McElheny, where the narrator comments on the action and the characters. Crane breaks away from his narration to address the reader directly: “My friend, take my advice, and never be executed by a hangman who doesn’t talk the English language”; or “the man who said that spurs jingled was insane”, a good example of Crane’s occasionally unexpected flashes of humour in a deadly situation. Others are “José’s moans and cries amounted to a university course in theology” and “if toboggans half-way down a hill should suddenly make up their minds to turn round and go back, there would be an effect something like that produced by the drunken horsemen.”

And, of course, Crane asks the most direct question about his main character, a question posed via the thoughts of his horse, and which is never truly resolved: “At the approach of their menacing company, why did not this American cry out and turn pale, or run, or pray them mercy? The animal merely sat still, and stared, and waited for them to begin. Well, evidently he was a great fighter! Or perhaps he was an idiot? Indeed, this was an embarrassing situation, for who was going forward to discover whether he was a great fighter or an idiot?”

A gripping narrative and exquisite use of language; Horses – One Dash is one of the highlights of the Points of View collection.

The next story in the anthology is the third to be classified by Moffett and McElheny as Biography, or Anonymous Narration – Single Character Point of View, The Prison by Bernard Malamud.