Category Archives: Theatre

Review – Oh What A Lovely War! Curve Theatre, Leicester, 18th April 2015

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The words “Oh What a Lovely War”, “Theatre Royal Stratford East” and “Joan Littlewood” are inextricably linked, and have had almost legendary status within British 20th century drama ever since the show first appeared in 1963. It was originally a radio play by Charles Chilton, which was then developed by Joan Littlewood in conjunction with the whole of the original Theatre Workshop cast, to create this iconic, epic musical, telling the story of World War One through song and dance. The show was another on my bucket list of Still haven’t seen it after all these years and it’s about time I did. There is a film, that I also haven’t seen, directed by Richard Attenborough, that Joan Littlewood, apparently, hated. I’m not surprised – he ruined A Chorus Line too.

The highly stylised production gets as far away from the typical depiction of war as possible – Joan Littlewood didn’t want it to be horrific in any way. Instead the notion of war and the hard facts of fatalities are juxtaposed with a music hall and commedia dell’arte presentation to create its own, telling, anti-war story. Every barrier is broken down in this production. It starts off with the actors mingling with the audience, chatting about the performance they are about to see. Sadly no one mingled with us, but I overheard one performer explaining that he was wearing a pierrot costume as was traditionally worn in early 20th century revue shows, and as was used in the original Stratford East production. I saw another talking to an audience member and pointing out which one he was in the programme. So you’re starting with a great sense of equality between the cast and the audience, a level playing field where we’re all sharing the same experience, no matter whether we be audience member or performer.

There is a main MC who addresses the audience throughout the entire show apart from when he takes on a few different characters. He introduces us to the different songs and sketches as though this were some Edwardian end of the pier show – hence the suitability of the pierrot costumes. He encourages us to sing along with the songs if we know them. The majority of the under-lubricated matinee audience weren’t up for that, apart from the man two to my right who bellowed his way solo throughout much of the afternoon. You would have thought self-consciousness would kick in at some point, wouldn’t you? Cast members rush on and off the stage at odd moments and 90% of the material is extremely light-hearted. Act One takes us to the beginning of the war, with actors assuming the roles of nations having agreements and arguments in the lead-up to the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. It reminded me of a rather trendy history teacher getting the kids up in front of the class to act out war campaigns. I almost expected to see a blackboard rubber representing the Treaty of Versailles. We then see the early stages of the war, and the expectation it would all be over by Christmas. The act culminates in the famous 1914 Christmas trench scene, with the Germans singing Stille Nacht and Tommy and Fritz playing football in No Man’s Land – simply but very effectively staged.

Act Two takes us further into the war, where the innocent pleasure of enjoying light-hearted entertainment is constantly shattered by an electronic newsreel across the back of the stage, recounting the numbers dead or injured on individual days or at particular battlefields. Every so often you take your eyes of the performers just to read the horrendous casualty statistics. They bring the simple lightness of the stagey songs and dances into perspective. The audience questions itself as to how it reacts. How can we fritter away our time whilst they’re dying on the Somme? But there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And, actually, isn’t having fun what life really should be all about? Guilt, resignation, and powerlessness are just some of the emotions that overcome the audience. And, as the MC points out at the end, that this doesn’t only apply to World War One. When will the massacre of innocent people in war end? Will it ever end? Sadly the evidence suggests otherwise. The show is still a really forceful weapon in the argument against war, and Littlewood’s and Theatre Workshop’s left-wing bias stands out (refreshingly, in my opinion).

Ever since the BBC dropped The Good Old Days, you don’t get to hear these old songs as often as we used to – in the good old days, in fact. Songs like It’s A Long Way to Tipperary, Pack Up Your Troubles and Keep the Home Fires Burning remain wartime standards; whilst Hold Your Hand Out Naughty Boy, Sister Susie’s Sewing Shirts and I’ll Make a Man of You recollect the best music-hall traditions. A couple – Here Comes a Whizzbang, and Bells of Hell stop you dead in your tracks with the sheer horror of what they convey, and one, I Don’t Want to Be a Soldier, brings a lump to your throat with the soldier’s simple plea for the return of his old life. On a personal note, it was lovely to hear Roses in Picardy again, as it was a favourite of the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle, and I used to enjoy playing it on the piano when I were a lad.

It’s an excellent cast who work together really well as an ensemble, both as pierrot entertainers and in their individual character sketches. Ian Reddington takes on the role of the MC with a likeable blend of cheek and cheese, plenty of knowing looks to the audience, but also full of portent when it comes to the gloomy prospects for the future. I really enjoyed him in the stupid but very funny sketch about the unintelligible sergeant barking garbled waffle at his troops. Taking the lead female role is Wendi Peters, larger than life and with a belter of a voice. In fact, if anything, her voice was a little too loud in comparison with everyone else. She’s one of these performers who simply doesn’t need amplifying. She brought out all the naughty music hall double entendres in her songs and has a wonderful stage presence. But all the cast are excellent; if you come to see the show, watch out for William Oxborrow struggling with an umbrella as a rifle and Alex Giannini’s hilarious “stage fright” moment.

The show is still to visit Aylesbury, Birmingham, Truro, Hull and Wimbledon on its tour, and I’d recommend it for its emotionally strong anti-war vibe as well as its unusual and entertaining no fourth wall qualities. You come away with a sense of true gratitude and humility for the lives lost in war. Despite the preponderance of WW1 songs and clichés, its message is as relevant today as ever.

Review – The Shakespeare Revue, White Cobra Productions, The Playhouse, Northampton, 16th April 2015

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A Double First for us last night, which is something neither of us can say of our academic careers. Not only was it our first encounter with local drama company White Cobra Productions, it was also our first visit to the charming little Playhouse theatre in Northampton. Tucked away in a quiet corner of The Mounts (or should that be the recently rebranded Boot and Shoe Quarter), this little gem is full of character and atmosphere. Just like nearly every other building in Northampton that has something of a history, it was originally built as a shoe factory in the late 19th century. Since then it’s undergone a number of changes including – allegedly – at one time being a coffin warehouse. Frankly, it’s not the kind of place I’d like to be locked in alone at night.

White Cobra Productions have been going for three years now and The Shakespeare Revue is (I believe) their fourth production. The show is a vivacious assembly of over thirty sketches and songs, originally put together by the RSC for the annual celebrations to mark Shakespeare’s birthday in 1993. Just think, he would have been 429 years old. Not many people get to mark that particular birthday, but being the good egg he was, we just love him, don’t we, us theatregoers, can’t get enough of him. “What a wonderful old chap Shakespeare was, bald but sexy” as Peter Cook once intoned. The sketches and songs themselves date as far back as 1905, and flowed from such gifted pens as those that belonged to Cole Porter, Stephen Sondheim, Victoria Wood, J B Priestley, and many many others.

As you might expect from such a varied collection of writers, some sketches and songs hit the funnybone with a bit more pinpoint accuracy than others, but even if a few of them don’t quite do it for you, another will be along in a minute. I had a number of favourites: there’s a quirky version of the Teddy Bear’s Picnic sung by the Capulets; another song, In Shakespeare’s Day, refers to the challenges in staging some of these shows with modern day performers wondering how on earth they managed it in the 1500s. There’s a pomposity-pricking sketch about the ways you might interpret the word “Time”; and a wonderful sequence when a noble wanderer returns to ask “And How is Hamlet” only to find the play’s entire cast have snuffed it.

There were two sketches that I appreciated the most. Richard Jordan took the Julie Walters’ role in Victoria Wood’s sketch Giving Notes, where he is the director taking his cast to task for not giving us their funniest of Hamlets. I remember that sketch so clearly, having re-watched the series Victoria Wood As Seen on TV dozens of times in the 1980s. A masterstroke to have it performed by a man – Mr Jordan treading a fine line between luvvie and tyrant – which gave it its own unique identity. The other really inventive sketch was the superbly written Othello in Earnest, where Othello is grilled by Lady Brabantio as to his suitability for marrying Desdemona – just as Wilde’s Lady Bracknell grills Jack overher dear Gwendolen. This gives rise to some fabulous cross-over puns, for example “to lose both sounds like hairlessness” and “the lion is immaterial”. Kate Billingham was a marvellously haughty Lady B and Fraser Haines a quite modest and genteel Moor of Venice – as superbly unlike your average Othello as is possible to imagine.

Just as each sketch or song has its own charm, each of the six performers brings their own style and character to the show too. They all worked together very well as an ensemble – not getting in each other’s way on such a small stage is no mean feat, particularly with the incorporation of choreography! The cast have a nice sense of the ridiculous,perhaps nowhere seen better than in The English Lesson where Kate Billingham and Kimberley Vaughan take on the roles of Henry V’s intended bride Katharine and her partner in Franglais, Alice. Like all the best pantos, we had a song sheet (which was, literally, a sheet) and a competition to see which section of the auditorium could sing the loudest – an interesting concept in a theatre that seats 84 max. No finer sound than a happy audience knowingly (or unknowingly) singing along to a list of double entendres.

But these are just a few highlights of a very entertaining and upbeat show performed by a talented and likeable cast. It’s only on for a brief run at the Playhouse, but there is an additional performance scheduled for July 4th in Pitsford. Catch it if you can!

Review – Arcadia, Oxford Playhouse, 14th April 2015

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Tom Stoppard. A dramatist for whom I have immense respect. As a teenager who used to devour play texts like nobody’s business I did my best to keep up to date with all his works. I read Albert’s Bridge, and If You’re Glad I’ll Be Frank; After Magritte and Artist Descending a Staircase. I hooted with laughter at the production in my brain of The Real Inspector Hound. At school, we read (for fun, because our teacher loved him) Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead with its amazing off-stage existence – we were also taken to see the National’s production at the Duke of York’s. We also went on school trips to see Jumpers at the National (a philosophical fantasy) and Dirty Linen at the Arts (where I sat next to our other English teacher whom we all called Andy, later to become more famous as the writer and broadcaster A. N. Wilson). I read Travesties, even though I hadn’t a clue who Tristan Tzara was. I took a prospective girlfriend to see Every Good Boy Deserves Favour (no chance). I saw the original productions of Night and Day, The Real Thing and On The Razzle and found them riveting. I took the newlywed Mrs Chrisparkle to see Hapgood and we loved it. Then, for some reason, I don’t think we saw any new Stoppards again – only revivals.

It didn’t take long for Stoppard’s reputation as a master dramatist to take hold. Certainly when I was reading English at Oxford (not known for its fondness for the avantgarde) Stoppard was a featured author if you took drama as a specialised subject – and that was way back in 1980. Today there are student crib notes and study guides for many of his works. It seems to me that he is as studied as he is performed or watched on stage.

Normally, at about this point in a review, I would give you a quick run-down of the plot. However, this time I don’t think I can give the plot justice. There’s so much in there, so much to understand, so much that you need to be able to recognise from your own knowledge; and I confess, especially as a non-scientist, there were considerable areas of it that I just didn’t understand at all. Stoppard assumes a level of intelligence and education in his audience, and, frankly, although I am no dimwit (honestly), I don’t think I came up to the mark. What I can tell you is that events in the early 1800s and events today are mirrored and juxtaposed in a clever and telling way. I can tell you that the 19th century plot contains a tutor who enjoys sexual congress with married women, a wronged husband/poet, a precocious student, and an ambitious plan to create a landscaped garden. The 20th century plot contains rival academics with their own theories to prove about the same wronged poet and same garden. And those academics get it wrong.

There are some particularly enjoyable aspects. We both really appreciated the central notion that modern day academics will misinterpret events in the past to suit their own ideas. Much sweat is shed over the identity of the secret hermit (an invention in a schoolgirl prank) or whether Byron shot the missing poet (no he didn’t). The facts as they are actually known get reassembled, and the gaps filled with hope and guesswork, by the academics to create a lie. As you can imagine that idea went down very well with an Oxford audience. As Christopher Hampton wrote in his excellent 1970 play “The Philanthropist”: it’s much more important for a theory to be shapely than for it to be true.

Arcadia comes top of many people’s lists as one of the best plays of the 20th century and as Stoppard’s finest hour. I can see why. As I’ve indicated earlier, it encompasses a vast array of thought. It’s extraordinarily inventive, has plenty of witty Stoppardisms, and even features a tortoise (just like Jumpers). It pits chaos theory against determinism, 19th century against 20th century, academic motivation against sexual motivation. It ties up all its loose ends into a very satisfactory whole. I bet it’s magnificent to read.

And that’s really at the heart of the problem, as I see it. I think this could have been the most gripping and rewarding comic novel, giving you the time to come to understand concepts you don’t come across on a day by day basis, and to get to grips with characters and their peccadilloes. However, as a reasonably fast-paced play, it lost me. It sacrificed emotion and action on the altar of theory and cleverness. We both found it very heavy going, very wordy, very static, lacking any real sense of drama and really quite dull to watch. I liked the general setup that we were watching the same room two hundred years apart, and that it constantly went backward and forward telling separate stories – but when the two eras merged in the final scene I found the clever-cleverness of Stoppard’s device rather smug. It doesn’t help that it’s almost entirely populated with difficult, spiky or rude characters. I found that I didn’t have any personal empathy with any of them – except perhaps for Septimus, the 19th century tutor, because he’s a roué, a cad and a bounder which sets him apart from the rest of the characters, having something of a personality.

It was a weirdly strength-sapping experience. As people around us regained their seats for the second act, we heard comments such as “he’s not coming back” and “they hated it”. One man said “why is it always dark outside when the action is taking place during the day?” (good question) ; another said “the table on the stage is just too big. It takes up all the space and you can’t see what’s happening behind it”. I agree. The table is a constant presence in both the 19th century and 20th century elements of the play and gives it continuity. But percentage-wise it really does take up a lot of the acting space, and when characters sit in front of it, they block the characters or events that take place behind it. Another comment I heard was that people just couldn’t hear what was being said. To be honest, I don’t think there was much wrong with the actors’ enunciations or projections; I just think that some of the words and concepts are so alien to get your head around quickly that your concentration lapses in occasional troughs of despair and as a result you find yourself not paying attention to what’s being said.

As I didn’t warm to the characters, I can’t say that I particularly warmed to any of the performances. That’s not to say they weren’t good. Flora Montgomery as Hannah was very good as the modern, hard-nosed, essentially selfish and rude academic who always has to have her own way. I liked Wilf Scolding as the untrustworthy Septimus, considering his next move as though he were deep in chess. Dakota Blue Richards kept her Thomasina, the 19th century student, on the right side of being an irritating know-all. But really, on the whole, I didn’t care.

To get the best out of this play you really have to be match-fit. Don’t go after a hard day at work, or after a meal or a drink; take vitamin supplements and whatever substances you require to make you as alert as possible. Wear light clothing because your brain will overheat. Alternatively, make sure you read it in advance, then you’ll have a heads-up on what the actors are going to say and you can look a lot of the terms up in a dictionary first. And if that makes it more of a scholastic exercise than a play, ay there’s the rub. This is the final week of the English Touring Theatre/ Theatre Royal Brighton co-production. I’d love to see them perform something a little more accessible.

Review – The Simon and Garfunkel Story, Derngate, Northampton, 9th April 2015

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Ah, Simon and Garfunkel. How the very words take me back. Back to my teenage years, where part of my nightly ritual was to play at least one of three particular albums as a reward for having got through the homework and to prepare myself mentally for the humiliations and torture that would doubtless befall me the next day. One of those three albums was Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits. After that nightly soothing of fourteen amazing tracks I felt strengthened and more confident. Funny how music can do that to you.

As my young teens progressed into my older teens, I felt the need to discover more of their work, so saved up and bought all their albums. The Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle bought me Paul Simon’s Greatest Hits Etc for Christmas in 1976 (I think), and I also started exploring Art Garfunkel’s solo work. At university my friend the Lord Liverpool showed me how much more satisfying was the acoustic version of I Am A Rock rather than the fully orchestrated version with which I was familiar. Then when I went to London University as a postgradI became great mates with a first year undergrad, the Prefect of Pontardulais, who was a massive fan of Paul Simon. He never rated Garfunkel though; memorably describing him as simply a w***er. In the summer of 1982 he and I went to see Simon and Garfunkel perform at Wembley Stadium, getting there as early as we could so that we could get as near the stage as possible. It was a fantastic concert. I never dreamed I would see S&G live; a memory to cherish.

As the years progress, new musical favourites take the place of old favourites, but even if you only play those old songs occasionally, when you hear them again it’s like they never went away. So a show like The Simon and Garfunkel Story is a wonderful way of reliving old memories and wallowing in nostalgia. It’s a very simple show, but none the worst for that. Dean Elliott plays Paul Simon and David Tudor is Art Garfunkel, in front of a three piece band and a simple projection screen that constantly reminds us of S&G’s old albums, tracks and photos. They start off with the classic The Sound of Silence and the moving He Was My Brother and then go back to the very early Tom and Jerry days and work their way through their opus album by album. On the way they fill in little nuggets about how Simon and Garfunkel met, how their friendship developed and how it eventually fell apart. It’s enough background information to contextualise each song or album, without ever becoming too factual or biographic. What you’ve really come to the theatre for is to listen to those incredible songs again, and the five of them really put on an excellent act.

When we saw the Beatles’ show Let It Be, I was particularly impressed with how the four musical actors accurately recreated the recorded sound of all those Beatles tracks. In the S&G Story, Messrs Elliott and Tudor don’t aim to give you the same sound as the old records. They perform as S&G would have done in live concert, so it’s got an appropriate amount of rough edges and musical variation. That said, David Tudor absolutely nails Garfunkel’s exceptionally pure and clean voice, especially in those earlier tracks. When he sang For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her it literally brought a tear to my eye through its complete perfection. I also liked the way he sat impassively, almost hiding from attention, whenever he wasn’t singing – that’s just how I imagine Art Garfunkel to have been, eclipsed by his partner’s more showmanlike behaviour. As Paul Simon, I thought Dean Elliott gave a great performance, really bringing back all of Simon’s sincerity and stage presence, even if he slightly over-stressed (IMHO) the nasal tone of those earlier recordings. It took this show to make me realise that S&G really do have very distinctive voices and it’s a big ask to impersonate them.

Over the course of the evening, they perform about thirty of the duo’s finest songs – all the standards of course – Homeward Bound, I Am A Rock (the non-acoustic version), Scarborough Fair (“remember me to all and sundry”, as Mrs Chrisparkle regularly re-interprets the lyrics), Mrs Robinson, Cecilia, Bridge Over Troubled Water, and ending up with The Boxer as the final encore. There are a few of my personal favourite “B” sides in there as well, the immaculate Leaves That Are Green, the harsh Hazy Shade of Winter and the joyous Baby Driver, which I was still singing, fairly badly, by the time we got home. They recreate the excitement of the Concert in Central Park (which was the same as the concert the Prefect and I saw in Wembley) with really stunning performances of Late In The Evening and Slip Sliding Away. And it was with much relief that they included my all-time favourite S&G song, America, that ultimate chasm between hope and reality; such a beautiful song that never fails to move me.

The Simon and Garfunkel story ends with the split – there are a few musical and visual pointers to the guys’ solo careers, but none of those latter songs are actually performed fully on stage. Probably wise – at 2 hours 20 minutes it’s just the perfect length for a really enjoyable look back at their careers and to relive those incredible songs, the majority of which remain timeless classics. If you like a bit of S&G you’ll really enjoy this show. They’re touring all over the place all year as you can see here, and they’re definitely worth catching. The mainly slightly more senior audience really enjoyed it and it received a very warm ovation. Recommended!

Review – Cyrano de Bergerac, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 8th April 2015

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I’m not sure, gentle reader, how I’ve reached the grand old age of (insert grand old age here) and still be ignorant of Cyrano de Bergerac. I’d never seen the play, or any of the film adaptations, never even read anything about him. All I knew of him was that he was French and had a big nose. So I was delighted to see that Anthony Burgess’ translation of Rostand’s 1897 play was to be part of this year’s Made in Northampton season at the Royal and Derngate; finally, a chance to fill in that particular knowledge gap.

Then last Friday I saw some worrying comments on social media, following the production’s first preview. Incredibly long, people said; very boring. People not only left at the interval, they left before the interval (a very bad sign). “Take your pyjamas” someone suggested. I broke the news to Mrs Chrisparkle that we were due for a bumpy evening. She fixed me with that “oh great, I work hard all day and then you subject me to a tedious night at the theatre as a reward” look. But I had managed to convince her not to leave at the interval of The Secret Adversary recently, on the basis that she could simply nod off during the second act if she wanted. Relationships are all about compromise, aren’t they?

So, if like me, you are an Ignoramus de Bergerac, let me outline the story. Cyrano is a noble soldier, a brave fighter, a sweet-talker, a poetic muse and morally ever so decent. All the things that would suggest a fantastically lucky life were it not for his nose. It’s a nose that knows no bounds. A conqueror of a conk. I’m not being nose-ist, Cyrano himself looks his nose straight in the face and tells it like it is. You could attempt to butter him up with flattery about his appearance and he’ll knock you down saying he has a proboscis as big as a mosque is. (Yes, be prepared for a lot of verse or worse as well). With that ugly protuberance he lacks the confidence to settle down with the lady of his dreams, the lovely Roxane (a distant cousin but they seemed to do that sort of thing in those days). But she comes to him and expresses her love – and he can’t believe his luck. Rightly so, because it’s not for him but for an eye-catching lad called Christian, a new recruit in Cyrano’s company.Roxane asks her old pal to look after him, to which Cyrano, being the decent chap he is, and also unable to do anything to upset Roxane, agrees. Christian though, is all trousers and no mouth. He hasn’t a poetic voice or eloquent tone in his brain or body, so when he has to write words of love to Roxane, he hasn’t a clue how to go about it. So Cyrano writes Christian’s letters to Roxane with all the flowery eloquence she seeks; thereby both strengthening her relationship with his rival in love, whilst at the same time providing an outlet for Cyrano’s own passion. Cyrano even engineers a situation whereby Roxane and Christian can marry; but then Cyrano, Christian and the rest of the troop are called to war. Will love, or indeed any of them, survive? I’ve already told you too much.

It’s a long story, it’s an epic story. Rostand goes into incredible detail about many side issues that have very little bearing on the main events, although they do enhance the characterisations and give extra background to the meat of the plot. The Burgess translation came out in the early 70s, and I’m wondering if long plays were a thing of the time. I remember seeing (with enormous excitement) Albert Finney’s Hamlet at the National in 1976, notable for the fact that they acted out the entire text. Not one interjection was cut. It started at 7pm and ended sometime after 11pm. In comparison, the three hours ten minutes spent in the audience for this production of Cyrano de Bergerac (co-produced with Northern Stage, based in Newcastle) is lightweight. However, tastes change; we live in busier and more immediate times; and with advancing years, the ability to sit for that length of time without one’s buttocks crying out for mercy declines. Or, maybe it’s a Northern Stage thing. The only other production I’ve seen by them is last year’s Catch-22, almost exactly the same length, and equally trying on the brain and the body, for the same reasons.

It’s a tricky one. You really do feel, as an audience member, that the whole thing is simply too long, and that surely they could have made a few more cuts to bring things to a head a bit more quickly. However, I sympathise with the production team. When you consider what parts you might exclude you do run the risk of removing essential elements from the play. The opening scene contains the most waffle – all that scene setting in the theatre is largely irrelevant to the rest of the play, and I think you could lose a lot of it without a problem. I can also think of a couple of scenes where long speeches could have been made shorter and we’d still have got the gist – but we would have lost some beautifully manicured language as a result. I don’t know if this current version already has some cuts. But what is one to do? Few people flinch (indeed, most are grateful) when modern productions of Shakespeare make generous excisions from the original text. Perhaps it’s because Cyrano is less frequently performed than your average Shakespeare that we feel the need to experience it in its Full Monty completeness. I genuinely don’t know the answer! But it really is, and feels like, a long play.

It’s written in verse too, which has its own challenges for the viewer. Again, comparing with Shakespeare, we’re used to the rhythms of poetry in drama, but it’s only in some of the comic plays that his rhymes actually rhyme. Here we have a lot of rhyming in a story that’s essentially tragic. If rhyming couplets are the kind of thing that do not make your heart go ping, you’ll find the play will quickly pall and lose the desire to see it all.We did have some non-returners after the interval last night. I thought some people wouldn’t be back, for the second act of Cyrano de Bergerac. That’s a shame because the second half, makes you cry and laugh, more than the first does, if you get my drift, cuz. Watch those rhymes that don’t end, a sentence – they can send, your brain into meltdown anticipating, the next word. Right? (That’s enough berating).

For the most part the language is actually very beautiful. It’s thoughtful, sensuous, inventive, and exquisitely constructed. Like Shakespeare to Othello, Rostand/Burgess gives all the best lines to Cyrano, and Nigel Barrett’s voice coats them with honey whilst still injecting them with superb sense and emphasis, not merely wallowing in lavish recital. His voice makes a great contrast with the Tyneside accents of the ensemble, setting him apart from the rabble and underlining his nobility. As a Northamptonite, it did strike me a bit odd at first that all these people sounded like Geordies, but actually, as the soldiers are mainly Gascons, adrift in another part of France, it’s absolutely appropriate that they should share a recognisably different accent.

There is a bizarre, unexpected twist to the language at the end of Act One, where Cyrano suddenly shifts into Carry On mode, with a heap of double entendres and sexual mimework – a Kenneth Williams-style “ooh Matron” would not have been out of place. But then this is a production of surprises. It starts, not with a bang, but with a warm but modest “hello”; it is interspersed with occasional rap numbers. Not the kind of professional rap that would win you a MOBO award, more the kind of thing I might embarrass myself with after a heavy night on the Shiraz. That cheeky mixture of the modern with the archaic gives it a somewhat eccentric style, which we both rather appreciated. The setting is a gymnasium, and when you enter the auditorium you witness various fencers practising their lunges and parry-ripostes.I rather liked the unusual staging, although I didn’t so much care for the brown fabric dummies that constantly littered the stage – with its stylised language and setting I thought the play deserved something more stylish than that. I also enjoyed the occasional overspill of the action into the stalls; a device maybe, but it really does help the audience and the play to integrate. As the play progresses, the extraneous setting, surprise gimmicks and additional characters seem to get fewer and fewer, focussing your attention on the true nub of the play – the unorthodox threesome between Cyrano, Roxane and Christian. The final resolution was incredibly moving and I absolutely believed in everything these characters did – I almost forgot it was a play.

There was some damn good acting going on out there too. We both really enjoyed the technically excellent performance of George Potts as both the vain and manipulative De Guiche and the open-hearted Ragueneau – two very different characters with contrasting bearing and voices, and for whom Mr Potts frequently had to quick-change as they appear in rapid succession. John Paul Connolly nicely captures the excesses of Lignière and loyalty of Le Bret in roles that don’t otherwise have a huge amount of individuality in them. Chris Jared is impressive as Christian, nicely mucking up Cyrano’s attempts to woo Roxane vicariously by clamouring for a kiss and credibly conveying his sense of dismay that he isn’t a more refined suitor. Mrs C particularly enjoyed his realisation that he didn’t want Roxane to love him as an imitation-Cyrano, he wanted her to love him for the numbskull he genuinely is. Think of the problems Joey Essex would have courting Victoria Coren, and you can see how relevant this story still is today.

I really liked Cath Whitefield’s performance as Roxane, a delicate balance between the prim and the earthy; there’s a beautiful scene where she’s wide-eyed with excitement at telling Cyrano she has fallen in love with Christian. She really conveyed that sense of dangerous thrill and emotional satisfaction you get when you realise you’ve met The One. She’s also incredibly moving in the later scenes, frittering away her hours in recollection and coming to the final realisation of the truth about Christian’s letters. The ensemble, which features performers from the North scheme at Northern Stage, give very good support and play dozens of smaller roles. I particularly liked Kylie Ann Ford’s portrayal of Roxane’s chaperon, a busybody who is remarkably easily sidetracked; and Matt Howdon makes a terrific fop.

For a production of Cyrano to work, you have to have someone awe-inspiring as the lead actor. This production has it in droves, with a spell-binding performance by Nigel Barrett as Cyrano. Given the extent of his experience in his programme bio, I’m surprised we haven’t seen him before; but I’m delighted that we have now. He bestrides the stage like a Colossus, as someone once said; he’s one of those performers you just can’t take your eyes off – and not only because of the splendid way in which he sports his nose (I do hope it isn’t real.) He conveys absolutely Cyrano’s dichotomy of being fearless in war and vulnerable in love, and expresses all the elements of tragic heroism you could possibly wish for – one of the best performances by an actor we’ve seen in a long time. As we were walking home, I said that I’d really like to see Mr Barrett play Macbeth – I reckon he’d be perfect for the part. Mrs C said she’d like to see him as Lear – just one tragic insight into daughters and she said she’d be in floods of tears (although, to be fair, she always cries at King Lear anyway).

So, a production not without its cons, but also with some fantastic pros to balance it out. If only they could find a way of shortening it without losing its logical plot progression and elegant language it would be a 5 star show, no question. As it is, there’s still plenty to enjoy and get your teeth into. Clearly it’s a Marmite production; but if you go accepting that you will have to concentrate hard and long, and get a fidgety bottom into the bargain, then my guess is that you’ll have a great time. After it’s spent its three weeks in Northampton, the production goes to its other home in Newcastle until 16th May. A fascinating and thought-provoking start to the season!

Review – The Secret Adversary, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 25th March 2015

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I’ve always been a huge fan of Agatha Christie. As a child, she was my next step up the reading curve after Enid Blyton. I used to swap Christies with a rather attractive and well-developed girl at my school called Julia, and it was a splendidly sneaky way of engineering a conversation her. The Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle took me to see The Mousetrap when it was only in its 17th year (work that back) and the creepy tension in it scared me to death. However, since then, we’ve only seen a few Christies on stage and on the whole, don’t think they work that well; and certainly the kindest thing you can say about The Mousetrap now is that it’s a creaky old historical artefact (but you just have to see it once, to prove you’re alive).

The Secret Adversary was only Christie’s second novel and introduces us to Tommy and Tuppence, a game pair of young scamps – well they were in 1922 – full of derring-do and no aptitude for a 9-5 job, who become “Young Adventurers”. They dreamed of hiring themselves out to anyone who needs an escapade performed but doesn’t have the sheer lack of a sense of self-preservation to do it themselves. They’re among Christie’s less well-known detectives, but they’re good fun and full of character, cheek and bravery; seemingly innocent and naïve but with nerves of steel. There was a terrific TV series in the 80s – Partners in Crime – where they were played by Francesca Annis and James Warwick; sophisticated, methodical, good taste and keen as mustard. And I still carry the mental image of those two whenever I think of the characters.

And so to this production, from the Watermill Theatre; I probably should have noticed that before I booked, as it would almost certainly mean an adaptation of an Agatha Christie mystery involving actors playing their own instruments. They love a bit of that down there in Newbury. Miss Marple on the harp? Poirot on a tuba? Fortunately those characters don’t play a part in this tale of our heroic couple searching for a mystery woman with secret papers that would compromise the government, which search in turn leads on to another search, of the mystery man who’s masterminding the whole skulduggery. Tommy and Tuppence get into various scrapes all across London but manage to come up with the solution and even get engaged on the last page. It’s a good story, rather far-fetched and full of coincidences but an enjoyable escapist read all the same.

The adaptation by Sarah Punshon and Johann Hari has very cleverly taken the majority of the elements of the original book and stitched them back together in different sequences and in different locations, which works well as an exercise in itself but for me made the play largely unrecognisable from the original book. The play is mainly set in a nightclub. I’ve had a very good flick through the book today and can’t find any reference to it in Christie’s original – that’s not to say it’s not there, but even if it is, it doesn’t form the central location on which to base the story. The mystery woman has undergone a name change, presumably to support a visual gag in one of the early scenes where a fish lands on a dessert (also not in the original). There’s a medley of songs involving the word “Money” (I’m pretty sure Christie never heard the Flying Lizards), and I surprised myself by realising how much of a Christie Purist Snob I had become.

It’s a shame because there were many elements to the production that were very inventive, very funny and very effective. We both laughed a lot at the primitive PowerPoint presentation of the sinking of the Lusitania; there was an amusingly clever representation of what Tommy saw through the keyhole; there was some magic – always like a bit of magic, I do; and there were moments where the cast addressed the audience, much to our surprise. I loved the clever staging of the scene where the villains are meeting at a table, jutting up from the stage at an angle of 135 degrees with Tommy staring down at them from the grille above their heads. All these elements were performed with a nice sense of fun and an appreciation of the ridiculous.

But we both felt that the whole show was so overwhelmingly tongue-in-cheek, so completely camped up and over the top, that it lost any serious pretence to actually tell the story, or to present characters that weren’t caricatures (I thought only the character of Tuppence herself came close to having any real identity). When the audience returns for the second act, one of the characters asks us if we’re enjoying ourselves and are we following the plot (with a facial expression that implies it’s a pretty tough plot to follow). If the show is doing its job properly, there should be no difficulty in understanding what’s going on. It’s as though the whole thing has been sacrificed on the altar of The 39 Steps but, regrettably, few things are that funny.

We did enjoy the performances on the whole. I liked Morgan Philpott’s rather supercilious array of waiters, MC’s and villains – and I did enjoy his spots of magic. One of the cast members referred to him as “Philpott” during the show – couldn’t work out if that was an intentional “out of character” moment or an epicfail. Emerald O’Hanrahan played Tuppence with a sense of spirit and cuteness which was rather charming. I’ve seen Garmon Rhys before – he was an excellent Wilfred Owen in Regeneration last year – so I know he’s a terrific actor, but I’m afraid I found his Tommy rather one-dimensional. I enjoyed Elizabeth Marsh’s very stagey Rita (straight out of Sunset Boulevard) but sighed with dismay when she donned a beard to play Kramenin – just not enough respect for the original work, I felt.

I think the show went down pretty well with the majority of the audience, but it just wasn’t for us. It wasn’t the show I was expecting to see, and my flexibility biorhythm must have been at a low ebb. I was expecting a classic whodunit; instead we got a 1920s semi-musical end-of-the-pier-show of a whodunit. Purists beware; others may well enjoy. The tour continues to Eastbourne, Ipswich, Derby, Coventry and Kingston, up to May.

P.S. When the interval came we agreed that we were bored by it all; Mrs Chrisparkle proposed taking our coats with us when we went for our interval drinks so that we didn’t have to go back in to the auditorium if we didn’t want to. That was code for I want to go home. However, I didn’t think it quite warranted half-time abandonment, on the grounds that there were some amusing moments and some proficient performances, and I normally only give up on a show after the interval when a play is so bad that it’s not funny. This wasn’t that bad. So we compromised. We went back in, and Mrs C decided to sleep through the majority of the second half. Fair do’s.

Review – The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Derngate, Northampton, 24th March 2015

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Just as Curious Incident (the book) became a must-read on its publication in 2003, Curious Incident (the play) became a must-see after its rave reviews at the National Theatre in 2012. Mrs Chrisparkle and I both read the book and enjoyed it, although we couldn’t recollect much of the story. I’m like that – I can never remember the stories of novels, just the characters. It means I can re-read whodunits dozens of times over and still be surprised at the dénouement; at least I get good value out of a paperback. Late to the party, we finally got round to seeing the stage version last night at the Royal and Derngate, as part of its major 2015 UK and Ireland tour.

When we originally booked, the show was due to run six nights, Monday to Saturday, and we had booked for the first night. A few months ago I received a call from the Box Office saying that the Monday night show had been cancelled as the production team felt they needed longer to get the set in place. Must be some set, I thought. And my word was I right. From the moment you walk into the auditorium to be greeted by Mrs Shears’ German Shepherd with a garden fork plunged through its heart, looking for all the world like some hors d’oeuvres for a Pantomime Giant, it’s hard to imagine a more inventive, contemporary, artistic and indeed scientific set than Bunny Christie’s mind-blowing grid of circuitry and cupboards that constantly comes to life with its own lighting and projections. Even the props that continually emerge from the walls are indivisible from the set as well. Every so often in the first act our hero Christopher would magically produce from inside the walls of the set another handful of toy train tracks and start laying them down on the floor, together with all the attributes of a great train set – stations, passengers, flower beds, signal boxes – even Big Ben and the London Eye. The way they all come together at the end of the first act is simply a joy to behold. A seamless bond between set and props – true stagecraft.

But I’m ahead of myself. I’m sure you know what The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is all about, but here’s a quick summary. Fifteen year old Christopher has unspecified behavioural problems most closely related to Asperger Syndrome. This makes it very hard for him to understand the meanings behind what people say as he takes everything very literally. For example, if he was simply told to “stop talking”, he would never know when it would be acceptable for him to start talking again, because that vital information wasn’t provided. He cannot bear to be touched; he cannot cope with large amounts of visual information coming at him from all angles; he has a tendency towards incontinence under stress and won’t use a stranger’s toilet. He’s also an incredibly gifted mathematician and he finds it impossible to tell a lie. His behavioural problems get him into occasional trouble with the police due to his tendency to lash out when they’re asking him questions. But Christopheris a highly moral young chap, and so when he discovers that Mrs Shears’ dog has been murdered, he sets about finding out whodunit, and writing it up in the form of a novel – the novel entitled The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time in fact. By sleuth and sneakiness he discovers that his mother did not die in hospital of a heart attack, as his father had previously told him, but had in fact run off with Mr Shears and was living in Willesden Green. He can’t bear his father’s lies, so heads off to find his mother. But this is biting off way more than he can chew (which is a phrase Christopher simply wouldn’t understand, as he’s not biting or chewing anything). How far will he get?

Simon Stephens’ adaptation of the novel for the stage rises to the challenge of how to turn a quirky novel into a quirky play. Just as Mark Haddon’s original book had, as its premise, the fact that the book was actually written by Christopher himself, so Mr Stephens’ play also is assumed to be written by Christopher, which gives rise to a few “play within a play” moments, when some of the characters come out of context and deal with its authorship. Nowhere is this more amusingly realised than with the epilogue, which is definitely worth waiting thirty seconds or so in your seat after what appears to be the end of the show. Actually it astounded me by revealing how much geometry and algebra I genuinely remember from school! If all this sounds teasing and tantalising, there are so many moments of visual delight and inventiveness in the entire show that I don’t want to spoil them for you. This is like a multimedia experience – there are so many different ways to enjoy it.

t the heart of this production is a simply superb performance by Joshua Jenkins as Christopher. There aren’t many roles that require you to run the gamut from A-Z as the old saying goes, but this is one. His abrupt mood and tone changes throughout the show, for example going from self-assured detective to bawling infant in a split second, take place with consummate ease. His struggle to cope with his train ride to Willesden is painful to watch as he fights off all the visual and oral stimuli that are hurled at him. One minute he’s sullen and moody, and the next he’s gawping with pleasure at the arrival of an Andrex puppy (as indeed are the entire audience). You never feel like he’s an actor playing a role; you really feel he is Christopher, coping with the world in the best way he can. Totally credible throughout; an amazing performance.

There’s a moving and sensitive performance by Stuart Laing as Ed, his father, supportive of his son but driven to distraction by him too; his attempts at discipline are usually not worth the fight and he’s clearly reticent about making bad situations worse. There are a few very tender moments when he just watches Christopher in awed silence, not quite believing that he could have a son this remarkable. As a balance, there’s a lovely spirited performance by Gina Isaac as Judy, Christopher’s mother, something of what the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle would have called “a good-time girl”, but also deeply caring for her son, and the semi-reconciliation that occurs between the two parents is heart-warming to observe. Geraldine Alexander gives a lovely performance as Siobhan, Christopher’s school teacher and mentor, with the perfect mixture of friendliness and professionalism that you would have to maintain in order to do that job correctly.

The rest of the cast form an ensemble around the character of Christopher, and give great support; to pick out a few, I really liked Clare Perkins as the Headmistress who always repeats the sentences that Siobhan has previously narrated – a very funny running joke; Roberta Kerr as the elderly neighbour Mrs Alexander who really wants to befriend Christopher except that he won’t let her in; John McAndrew as the “too old” Reverend Peters; and Lucas Hare as the wretched Roger Shears who hopes Judy ditches her rediscovered son as quickly as possible. The ensemble work is powerful and thought-provoking; I loved the balletic, physical theatre-type moves between the actors and Christopher as he floats and bounces off them in various dream sequences; members of the ensemble even take on the roles of doors, latches, windows, and so on in order to accentuate the physical achievement of Christopher successfully negotiating an ordinary day. There’s a great moment when Christopher is lifted on his side so that he can walk along the sides of the walls – not seen anything like that since Bert did his gravity-defying dancing in Mary Poppins. The whole thing is magic to watch.

Despite the large numbers of children in the audience – this is now a set text in schools – this is far from being a “children’s play”. There’s an appropriate amount of bad language in it, considering the level of stress that some of the characters face, and it deals with some difficult subjects like broken relationships, lies, and challenging behaviour. But it’s extremely funny and creates a fantastic dramatic environment where we see the world through the eyes of one unique individual. A memorable theatrical experience that ought to be compulsory viewing for everyone! The tour continues throughout the UK and Ireland till November.

Review – Buyer and Cellar, Menier Chocolate Factory, 22nd March 2015

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For the second time in six months, Mrs Chrisparkle and I attended the Menier Chocolate Factory to see a one-man one-act (no interval) American comedy play about a chap working in an unusual environment. Fully Committed centred on the guy who handled the reservations for an upmarket restaurant, and whilst it was a splendid performance by Kevin Bishop, at the end of the day, the play itself was a little bit of candy-floss lasting 70 minutes, which you’d largely forgotten about by the time you got on the tube home. Buyer and Cellar, however, lasts a full hour and three quarters, and has plenty to make you think about the nature of friendship, the value of celebrity, human eccentricity, loyalty, and the Games People Play.

Alex More gets offered a rather wacky job. In the basement of her Los Angeles home, Barbra Streisand has recreated a real-life shopping mall. Not the type with massive chain stores (I doubt you’ll find a Poundland or a Primark there) but with individual boutiques, doll shops, stationers, gift shops, and – more importantly – olde worlde gifte shoppes. She owns all the stock of course, because she had the mall built to showcase all her collectables. The trouble with having shops though is that you need a retail manager to look after them and serve the customers. Customer. Thus Alex is recruited to man the tills, operate the frozen yogurt stand and generally keep everything squeaky clean, and fit for VIP celebrity visits.

This is not a documentary. This is pure fantasy. Yes, Miss Streisand has indeed built a shopping mall under her home. We know that, because she wrote all about it in her book My Passion for Design. But whether it’s got a retail manager, and whether she goes shopping there, and whether there are any fiscal transactions taking place, that’s all in the imagination of the writer Jonathan Tolins. This is made clear in a very warmly written and performed personal introduction at the beginning of the play, where you can’t tell if the actor (Michael Urie), hovering at the side of the stage, is addressing us as himself or if it’s part of the play per se. Indeed, I suspect it is both, as the one almost imperceptibly drifts into the other. Mr Urie reads from the book, shows us some of the pictures, and tells us that, as far as he is aware, Miss Streisand has never seen the play, and perhaps hardly knows anything about it. You sense that he and Mr Tolins are probably quite happy with that arrangement.

For this production the Menier has shrunk its stage area to a very small and shallow proscenium arch. When you enter the auditorium all you see on stage is some very minimalist furniture. What you don’t expect is that the back wall of the stage will become the focus of very effective projections, suggesting the various locations at which the story takes place. Simple, and it works incredibly well. The whole story plays on your imagination anyway, so keeping the props to a minimum is fine. This would actually work very well as a radio play or an audiobook.

I wonder if it’s lonely being in a one-man show. You’re not going to have the camaraderie of a bigger cast or backstage company in your dressing room. Neither is there the buzz of working off what your colleagues say to you on stage. I guess you must get all your adrenaline from the audience reaction. Certainly Michael Urie has a brilliant relationship with the audience. He appears charming, witty and self-deprecating both as himself and as Alex; he knows he is performing in a play with a preposterous premise and tells us as much, which all increases a sense of honesty about the performance. If we, the audience, are his co-performers in this experience, then I hope we came up to scratch for him (I think we probably did).

You might get more out of this play if a) you are a devotee of Barbra Streisand or b) if you’ve been to Los Angeles. Neither Mrs C nor I fall into either of these categories. All I know about Barbra Streisand is that she was in Yentl and she recorded The Way We Were (which gets nicely deconstructed early on). Oh, and Second Hand Rose. There are a number of references about her career, and LA life in general, which went sailing over the top of our heads; but it didn’t bother us too much. Occasionally some members of the audience would react with recognition to one of the references, and Mr Urie took time to look very pleased to see that his comment had hit home.

In a splendid performance, Mr Urie takes us into this imaginary/real world, where Alex has to park his filthy Jetta away from the other posh cars, engages in mock bartering with the customer when she wants to knock down his prices (they’re clearly non-negotiable, much to her annoyance), has difficulty ascertaining where he is in the pecking order of the household (quite low), stays late so that he can serve a fro-yo to James Brolin, gets ridiculed by his boyfriend Barry for believing that he and Barb are friends, and things come to a conclusion when he is finally invited in to the Main House. For an hour and three quarters Mr Urie doesn’t put a foot wrong, absolutely convincing you that he is wandering around that empty mall, playing at shops, side-stepping the watchful eye of Household Manager Sharon, encouraging Barbra to star in a new production of Gypsy (his idea). His characterisations are excellent, and whilst he admits he’s no impressionist, you get a very good impression, not only of Miss Streisand, but also of the other characters that inhabit this story. Both the play and his performance are very funny and surprisingly moving. And yes, I came out of this play with a stronger impression of what Miss Streisand might be like in real life, and also how you can basically Never Trust A Celebrity. This is an excellent opportunity to see both an Off-Broadway award-winning show and award-winning actor; it’s on until 2nd May, and I recommend it whole-heartedly!

P.S. We forgot the golden rule, never arrive late at the Menier. By the time we arrived, nearly everyone else had taken their seats which meant that some middle aged ladies had spread themselves out very comfortably at the end of our bench (Row B) so that our two seats really only had enough space for one buttock each. Fortunately Mrs C is a mere slip of a thing; I, however, am a different kettle of fish. We found a solution – her right shoulder and the left shoulder of the lady to my right both nestled beneath my two shoulders so that my upper torso spent an hour and three quarters bent forward, adrift from the soft furnishings. Judging by the number of tut-tuts arising from the middle-aged-lady party, we don’t think they appreciated much of the humour. If a play is offending someone, it must be doing its job right.

Review – The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 ¾ The Musical, Curve Theatre Leicester, 21st March 2015

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I don’t think there can be many lives who haven’t been affected by the character of Adrian Mole in one way or another. I can remember when the original book came out, and the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle bought it for me as part of my Christmas Present Package. I thought it was brilliant, and over the subsequent years bought and read all of young Mr Mole’s diarised works. The TV series with Julie Walters and Stephen Moore was great too. Moley was one of the author Sue Townsend’s greatest creations, and definitely her most successful. Sue Townsend herself was from Leicester, as is Adrian Mole, and she based his school environment and council estate home on the places where she was educated and lived. So it’s entirely appropriate that The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 ¾ The Musical should start life at the Curve in Leicester. Young Adrian would have been so impressed by the artistic and cultural hub that is the Curve.

The original book runs from New Year’s Day 1981 to April 1982 (Mole’s 15th birthday), but the show just takes the full year from New Year’s Eve to New Year’s Eve. In that time Adrian charts a painful course as an adolescent falling in love with the blessed Pandora, watching his parents’ marriage fall apart and coping with their new loves, visiting and being used as a slave by old Bert Baxter, getting on with some schoolmates and being bullied by others, habitually writing to the BBC and generally being a typical, angst-ridden teenager. But this isn’t a simple dramatization of the novel – it’s a musical, with book and lyrics by Jake Brunger and music and lyrics by Pippa Cleary, two Bristol University graduates who are starting to carve out a career in the genre. Director Luke Sheppard has brought together a talented team to tell the story of Moley’s early adolescence, and the result is a bright and breezy show with many enjoyable aspects, plenty of drama and some extremely humorous scenes.

Tom Rogers has designed a wonderful set, full of quirky corners and jagged angles, with pencils that pierce the sky like chimneys and with ink blots all over the floor. Tantalising glimpses of Adrian’s diary pages frame the stage and everything appears bright in satisfyingly child-like primary colours. Congratulations, by the way, to the props department for sourcing all those old Skol cans and the Woolworth’s carrier bag. It’s effectively staged with the Moles’ kitchen at the front and their living area/bedroom to the side – that area also doubles up as Bert’s Stalinist living room and the school room is towards the back of the stage. There’s plenty of useful space for acting as well as singing and dancing. A small thing, but I really enjoyed the way the child actors opened the side doors for the rest of the cast to come out on stage for their curtain calls. It looked very stylish and showed that the kids were in charge.

I’d been looking forward to this show for ages, as I was really curious to see whether this story would actually work as a musical. The answer is Almost. The songs do fit very neatly into the plot and they’re tuneful and entertaining if not over-memorable. In the schoolroom scenes, I liked the way the adult actors joined forces with the child actors to create a whole classroom of the little blighters, which gave rise to some very amusing moments where age was juxtaposed with behaviour. The climax scene – so to speak – when Adrian and the other kids stage an alternative School Nativity play, was full of bravado, delightfully outrageous and very funny.

But there was something about the whole show that just didn’t quite click for me. It didn’t really engage me. I didn’t feel much sympathy for many of the characters, which never helps when you’re trying to identify with a show. It hadn’t properly occurred to me before just how unpleasant a character Adrian’s mum Pauline is. I thought Kirsty Hoiles showed just the right amount of sentimental detachment and lack of empathy to make the character of Pauline very credible. As Adrian’s dad George, Neil Ditt turned in a nicely downtrodden and “victim” performance, and I thought his scenes with Adrian, the two guys home alone, were often quite moving. I really enjoyed Cameron Blakely’s creepy seduction techniques as the slimy Mr Lucas from next door, and his scenes where he’s wooing Pauline with his Latin moves were hilarious. You just don’t expect that kind of thing in Leicester.

So it wasn’t the performances (for the most part) that caused (for me) the show not to soar. I think the main problem is that in order to condense the book into a two and a half hour show – with songs – they had to omit so much that you only have the barebones of the story to work with and not a lot of depth of character. Doubling up roles also caused its own problems. Amy Booth-Steel is excellent as Miss Elf and Mrs Lucas, but as Doreen Slater she presents a completely different character from that in the book. Miss Booth-Steel is a fine comely woman, but Adrian always referred to Doreen as “stick-insect” in his diaries, and, with the best will in the world, Miss Booth-Steel is never going to achieve that epithet. There’s also no Queenie for Bert to settle down with, no Singh family, no parents for Pandora, and the story stops before Argentina invades the Falklands.

Adrian himself, in the book, as far as I can remember, wavers between nervous enfant terrible and neurotic sidekick. He’s hypochondriac, hyper-sensitive, self-deludingly confident about his own intellect; he’s patronising, he’s hideously class-oriented; basically, he’s an insufferable little prig. But we recognise our own adolescence in him, so forgive him and laugh along at his mistakes, his foibles and anxieties, as we know that life will iron them all out in the fullness of time. The Brunger and Cleary version of Adrian struck me as being simply far too nice. That’s no criticism of Sebastian Croft, who played Adrian in our performance, who’s an amazing little song and dance man, has wonderful stage presence for someone so young, who enunciated beautifully (it’s a skill, and one to be appreciated), fitted in to the rest of the cast like a dream, and absolutely deserved his very enthusiastic curtain call.

His Pandora was played by Lulu-Mae Pears, splendidly mature compared to Adrian, delicately fluttering into his world and very credibly being the target of the Optimum Girlfriend Award. I’d say Adrian was boxing way above his weight here. The rest of the cast all give very good support; although, unfortunately, there was one actor who, for whatever reason, was considerably below par for our performance. Maybe they weren’t feeling well or maybe they were under-rehearsed; but it’s probably not very fair to make further comment.

So, for some reason, for me this all added up to something less than the sum of its parts. However, the audience enjoyed it and gave it a very good reception, and there was certainly something for everyone to enjoy. Maybe not for purist aficionados of the book, but if you want to see teenage angst set to music, this is a good place to start!

P.S. There’s been a creeping trend (and I don’t mind it) that the programme on sale to accompany the show of your choice is basically the printed text of the play but with some biographical details of the cast. Now I like reading plays, and giving you the text to take home with you can only add to your knowledge and appreciation of what you have seen; plus it works as an excellent memory aid should you wish to revisit it in sometime in the future. However, I did think it was a bit cheeky that the programme for this show is an adapted version – not of the book/libretto of the show as such, but of Sue Townsend’s original novel. I wouldn’t be surprised if at least half the households whose families come to see this show already have a copy. I know that at £5 it’s not an unreasonable price, but I think if you’re going to combine the programme and text into one book, it should at least contain the words of the show you’re seeing!

Review – Margaret Thatcher Queen of Soho, Leicester Square Theatre, 19th March 2015

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On our first foray to the Edinburgh fringe last summer we saw some spellbinding productions. Riveting drama, glamorous revue, exciting dance – but nothing funnier than Margaret Thatcher Queen of Soho, late at night under a circus big top. So when the Divine Diva got resurrected for another hoorah week at the Leicester Square Theatre, we couldn’t resist re-dipping our toes into the seedy world of 1980s Soho. We also knew that our friends my Lord Liverpool and the Countess of Cockfosters would find it irresistible, as they have been leftie agitators since they were connected to the placenta. Thus it was that the four of us snuck downstairs into that vibrant little arty hub that is the Leicester Square Theatre to see a slightly extended version of the show that won this year’s Chrisparkle Award for Best Entertainment – Edinburgh (I know, catchy category.)

The time – the late 80s, the place – Westminster. The Beloved Margaret is hanging on to her third term as PM but trouble’s brewing. What can she do to firm up her flagging popularity? She’s already closed the mines; she’s already sunk the Belgrano. Options are running out. Enter Jill Knight (boo, hiss) with her nose deftly sniffing out dirt like a truffle-hunting pig as she exposes the book “Jenny lives with Eric and Martin”, a hideous piece of homosexual propaganda designed to deprave and corrupt children everywhere (this is me being satirical, by the way). With the threat of a revolt from her back benchers, Maggie sees it is right and just to support Section 28 of the Local Government Act and therefore make it illegal for such filth to be liberally promoted in our schools. But this causes the homosexuals to be revolting too, and she cannot decide what to do. She turns to the spirit of Winston Churchill only to discover that even he has turned into a raving queen. Desperate, on the streets, in search of solace and enlightenment, she finds herself in deepest darkest Soho, where a couple of friendly chaps entice her into a gay bar where she finally sees the light. Section 28 is no more, she happily hands over the reins of the country to that nice Mr Kinnock and she devotes her life to disco. And it’s all, comme on dit, Absolutely Fabulous.

The show is an unashamed riot from start to finish. The humour comes from so many sources, all hitting you at the same time that you hardly have time to take stock of each situation. Firstly, you have to suspend disbelief that the Ballsy Baroness is still with us (and that daughter Carol is operating the lights). Then you have to accept the preposterous suggestion that the Iron Lady could actually immerse herself in camp, and give herself over to the decadence of the gay Soho scene. There’s enormous fun spotting the many clever Thatcherite references throughout (like the milk moment); it plays with time – Ian McKellen’s Gandalf’s surprise intervention being a good example; it re-writes all our childhoods with a gay episode of Grange Hill and redefines other real-life characters (turning Peter Tatchell into a cross between Johnny Rotten and Bob Hoskins). To add to the cabaret element, it incorporates many of the favourite disco and New Romantic hits of the era, and the Blessed Margaret treats us to her version of each of the songs, giving it some wellie in her delivery. John Brittain and Matt Tedford’s script is sardined with ludicrous wit and genuine heart, and the fourth wall is broken so many times you’d think Miley Cyrus had got to it first with her wrecking ball. And, above all, you have one of the most delightful parody characterisations of a female Prime Minister you could imagine.

Matt Tedford assumes so many of Thatcher’s idiosyncrasies so accurately and indeed subtly – for what is in no way a subtle show – contributing enormously to what I think is of the best comic performances I’ve ever seen. The stoop, the condescending manner, the patronising voice, the manipulative use of pauses – not to mention the evil glare – are all done to perfection. It’s not a traditional impersonation in the Rory Bremner/Mike Yarwood tradition (in fact wasn’t it Janet Brown who got closest to the traditional who do you do of Thatcher?) because Mr Tedford is way too young (and frankly too jovial) to achieve that, but more of an askance suggestion of what the Conniving Chemist could have been like if only she’d been born with a silver glitterball in her mouth. Mr Tedford’s Maggie sings like she’s delivering a speech (“Don’t you want me, baby?” “You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal”, “good authors too who once knew better words now only use four-letter words” – as she opens a book with the word “TITS” emblazoned on the middle pages – I told you it wasn’t subtle).

He’s also exceptional in his handling of the audience (ooh matron), swiftly putting down any “contributions” with a scornful look. Early on in last night’s show someone in the front row made a comment which didn’t get many laughs (I didn’t quite hear it myself) which he squished viciously. Near the end of the show, Maggie proclaims “there’s only one place for me now” at which someone shouted “in the cemetery!” to much hilarity from the audience; which prompted Mrs (or should that be Mr) T to return to that first heckler with a patronising “you see, that’s the way you do it, dear”. Mr Tedford has the rare ability to engage the audience completely and take us along with a sheer flight of fantasy, and it’s great to see a master at work. To add to the downright fun of it all, he’s gamely assisted by Nico Lennon and Ed Yelland as his supporting company, playing something like 25 roles between them, totally over-the-top in their characterisations and throwing themselves into very athletic and physical comedy, as well as embodying the moustachioed gay equivalent of Pan’s People for the disco numbers.

The audience absolutely loved it, reacting enthusiastically, almost panto-like, during many sequences and giving a much deserved standing ovation at the end. There are only two more nights for this show at the Leicester Square Theatre, but surely this is not the end of Maggie Queen of Soho. It was definitely the right decision to see it again, and I only hope she continues to grace our stages in the near future. Anarchic fantasy at its best!

P.S. Can I recommend Maggie’s youtube video of Top Ten Tips to being a Prime Minister? It’s a hoot!