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Review – The Comedy Crate Weekender at the Charles Bradlaugh, The Black Prince and The Lamplighter, Northampton, 12th and 13th July 2025

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It’s July again, which means another annual Comedy Crate Weekender with two days of comedic mayhem, split over three venues in Northampton town centre. Only £40 for two days which means you can see ten class acts for a mere £4 a session; so cheap it ought to be illegal. A very hot weekend was both a help and a hindrance, in that it makes for a generally happy bunch of people all enjoying interval drinkies in the sunshine, and fortunately the aircon in the Bradlaugh is super effective. But even being reduced to a sweaty mess in the other venues (multiple electric fans notwithstanding) was not enough to reduce the spirits of a fully sold out event, which took place without a hitch. Or if there were any hitches, the Comedy Craters kept them a secret, so well done to them.

The idea of the Weekender is that there are 25 acts, out of whom you can see a maximum of 10, all sharpening up their Works in Progress in preparation for either the Edinburgh Fringe, or a national tour, or just generally working up new material. As such you might see a show that’s already pretty darn perfect, or you could see something where the audience are guineapigs for the comics to find out what’s funny and what’s not. Mind you, they’re all ace at their game, so even material that only just fails to meet their exacting standards can still be pretty funny to the rest of us.

Everyone will have had a different experience at the Weekender, depending on which shows they chose to see, so I can only tell you about what we saw. And of course, dealing with 25 acts is potentially a nightmare of its own. If you went to see a show with a cast of 25 you wouldn’t be remotely surprised to have one or two understudies if someone is not feeling well.

And that’s exactly how our Weekender started, with the unexpected attendance of President Obonjo standing in at very last minute for Helen Bauer for the first show at the Lamplighter. Only three or so hours before he was on stage, he was enjoying tea and toast over a leisurely breakfast in his Presidential Palace; but fortunately His Excellency was able to step in and save the day. He’s not taking a show to Edinburgh but just fleshing out some new material, so of all the acts over the weekend his was perhaps the one most in flying by the seat of his pants mode.

Nevertheless, the President is such a joyously inventive comic creation, that it’s always a pleasure to have an audience with him. And his new material comes from a fascinating place; at the risk of sounding like a pensioner so much is wrong with the world today, and so much of that is because you can’t tell fact from fiction – the lies spouted by politicians and influencers, and social media claptrap and all that. Thousands of Tiktokers believe Obonjo is a real president of a real republic somewhere in Africa. And he’s moulding that fact into a rather surreal show that balances the rubbish people are led to believe against what is genuinely the truth. It’s an idea with legs, and I’m sure the President will turn it into a great show.

From one level of preparation to the extreme opposite; our next show was Thor Stenhaug with a preview of his Edinburgh show One Night Stand Baby, and this one is all packaged up and ready to rock. Thor Stenhaug is a new name to us, and, on the strength of this performance, it’s one of those delightful occasions when you can happily announce, a star is born. A hugely affable and friendly presence on stage, Thor explains how he moved to London from Norway, how he got into comedy, and all about his big relationship with Daisy. But it was when Daisy’s parents asked about Thor’s parents, that he had to confess he is the product of a one-night stand; and he’s not the only one in his family who is! Honestly, those Norwegians! His routine is packed with original material, fluidly and confidently delivered, with some wonderful appreciation for English turn of phrase, effortless callbacks, and some surprising use of accents – his Scouse is incredible! I can only predict great things for this young man. One Night Stand Baby is on at the Pleasance Courtyard in Edinburgh from 30 July to 24 August and will be a must-see this Fringe.

Next up for us was Toussaint Douglass, with a preview of his Edinburgh show, Accessible Pigeon Material. We’ve seen Mr Douglass a couple of times now and he is very personable and warm character on stage who builds a great rapport with the audience. His new show is very work in progress and has more surreal material than I’ve seen him use before. I must confess, I didn’t really get the pigeon-based stuff; but he has an excellent routine – that still needs work but will get there – where he uses a member of the audience and a boxing glove puppet to express how difficult it can be to get your father to tell you he loves you. Hoping it all shapes up in time for the Fringe, but he’s a great comic so I’m sure it will. Accessible Pigeon Material will be on at the Pleasance Courtyard from 30 July to 24 August.

Next was someone I’ve wanted to see for a long time, and he didn’t let me down. Charlie Baker, an irrepressibly cheeky chappie, is working up material for a new show next year. He’s one of these innately funny people who could make you laugh just by reading a shopping list. And the basis of his new show is very simple; people he hates. Not named individuals, that would be ridiculous; but categories like Retired People at the Supermarket at Weekends, or People from Surrey. You instantly get it. He fills out each of his categories with wickedly funny material, not only verbal but often physical – he’s terrific at physical comedy, even incorporating a bit of dance and singing into the routines. He has some brilliant ideas – the Devon Rat Pack for example, or my favourite, the Millwall Magician, where he basically intimidates you into agreeing that, yes, that was your card, otherwise you’d get A Visit from the Boys. Not a huge amount of material yet, but what there is, he spins into comedy gold. Fantastically funny.

Our last show of the first day was Tom Rosenthal, with a preview of his Edinburgh show, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I Am. I’ve only seen Mr Rosenthal once before, and that was earlier this year in Chichester’s production of The Government Inspector. I confess I haven’t seen him in Friday Night Dinner or Plebs, because I’m more of a live entertainment kinda guy than a TV watcher. However, unfortunately, quite a lot of the material in his show is based on references to those TV shows, and because I didn’t get the references, I missed out on the laughs. He’s obviously a very quick witted and intelligent fellow, and his delivery is slick and sure-footed. The set was curiously all about him, and I don’t mean that unkindly. Where many comedians take their own experiences and make them relatable so that we can all recognise our own experiences within them, Mr R’s experiences are purely about himself, without inviting us to see how we might be able to share in them. It’s as though he sets up a barrier and all we can do is observe him without feeling what he feels. I’m sure that if I had seen his shows I would have enjoyed it more, and I sense that if you are a Friday Night Dinner fan you’ll love it. Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I Am is on at the Assembly Roxy in Edinburgh from 30 July to 24 August.

Sunday started with a preview of Glenn Moore’s new Edinburgh show, Please Sir, Glenn I Have Some Moore? and is another work in progress where pretty much all the progress has already been made. Glenn Moore has one of the fastest brains in comedy and this is another of his intricately plotted, extraordinarily creative and extremely funny hours of stand-up. His premise here is to explore why he’s not the most assertive or people, illustrated by comparing himself to his go-getting cousins, Benji the stripper and silent Ursula. The centrepiece of the show is a car journey driving to Death Valley which gets more and more panicky as it progresses, but en route Mr Moore brings in so many side jokes, some of which have a delicate subtlety that fill you with pleasure when they finally make sense. A total master of the art of callback, neither a word nor a gesture is wasted in this show and it’s a joy from start to finish. Please Sir, Glenn I Have Some Moore? is on at the Pleasance Courtyard from 30 July to 24 August.

Next up, and someone we haven’t seen in ten years, was Tiff Stevenson, with a preview of her new Edinburgh show Post-Coital. This was another work in progress performance and consisted of a sequence of only lightly connected observations, some of which were very funny, and some of which weren’t – no criticism, that’s what a WIP is all about, after all. The basis of this show is the relationship between sexism and class and where feminism falls in the balance. She has some excellent material about umarells – a term I hadn’t come across before – which describes old retired Italian men lurking at building sites and offering unwanted advice to the workers. Niche, do you think? Maybe, but also very recognisable and funny. Of all the Edinburgh previews we saw, I think this needs the most work to be done, but Tiff Stevenson is a very safe pair of hands and I’m sure it will all come together in time. Post-Coital is on at Monkey Barrel Comedy (The Hive) from 30 July to 24 August.

Our next act was Hal Cruttenden, with a preview of his new Edinburgh show, Hal Cruttenden: Can Dish It Out But Can’t Take It, and is, as he freely admits, the second show he’s created out of the ashes of his divorce. But whereas his previous show It’s Best You Hear It From Me was clearly a mix of comedy and therapy, you sense now he’s truly moved on and is mining genuine comedy nuggets from how he’s been coping as a singleton. He has such an engaging and natural style on stage that you cling onto his every word – which is fortunate, because every word is hilarious. He assesses the audience for possible future divorces, and honed in on me as being the token old man in the audience having fun because you might as well because you haven’t got long. He does offer some serious observations about the way the world is going in this Trumpian era, and he’s darn right with them all. Exceptionally funny and quick to react to everything the audience might choose to throw at him, the show ends with a lovely speech by the Prime Minister that so cleverly assembles a plethora of callbacks. The only thing left for him to “get right” before Edinburgh is choosing which bits to omit, but it’s all tip-top quality. Hal Cruttenden: Can Dish It Out But Can’t Take It is on at the Pleasance Courtyard from 30 July to 24 August.

We chose to stay in the same location for the rest of the day, so our next act was Matt Richardson, with a work in progress of a new show, Brash, that will tour the UK this autumn. We’d seen Mr Richardson quite recently, so that much of his material was not new to us but it is still incredibly funny. It’s an informal and relaxed hour of observations of village and domestic life, gang activity in an Oxfordshire village, how growing up doesn’t necessarily mean you can decide on your own bedtime and a frantically funny routine about massage that turns into what I can only describe as a wankfest. Mr R sets up a terrific rapport with the audience, tells his stories with an engaging cheekiness, and the show is filled with loads of laugh out loud sequences. A very funny chap. Brash continues with a few more WIP performances around the country and the tour starts in earnest in Glasgow on 22nd September through to Milton Keynes on 26th November.

Last show of the day, but certainly not the least, was Rosie Jones, with a preview of her work in progress Edinburgh show, I Can’t Tell What She’s Saying. As she says at the beginning of her show, if you don’t know who she is, she feels sorry for you, because you obviously can’t afford a television. Rosie gives us the lowdown on her life so far, starting off as a seven-year-old pervert – her words, not mine – and taking us through all the benefits of being both gay and disabled. She knows the importance of a perfectly constructed and worded sentence and uses her unique delivery style to accentuate the well-placed pause for maximum comic effect, and it works very well. Supremely confident and effortlessly cheeky, it’s a fun hour that will only improve with more preparation, and that is, of course, what it’s all about. I Can’t Tell What She’s Saying enjoys a week’s worth of WIPs at the Pleasance Courtyard from 11th to 17th August.

A great Weekender completed, thanks to all the comedians and the Comedy Crate maestros who keep the thing moving so well. Recommendations for Edinburgh must be for Thor Stenhaug, Glenn Moore and Hal Cruttenden, and both Charlie Baker and Matt Richardson will be must-sees on tour. In the meantime, there are still a few more Comedy Crate preview shows on sale before Edinburgh starts in a couple of weeks’ time. Snap them up before they sell out!

Review – The Comedy Crate Edinburgh Previews – Josh Pugh and Jessica Fostekew, The Lamplighter, Northampton, 7th July 2025

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It’s exciting that July has come around again so we enter the world of Edinburgh Previews at the Comedy Crate! Monday night saw a terrific full house welcome two comedians getting their comedic ducks in a row so that they can quack with confidence when the time comes.

First up was Jessica Fostekew, whom we haven’t seen for a criminally long time, with a work-in-progress set in preparation for her Edinburgh show, Iconic Breath; an unusual title that stems from the fact that her son hasn’t quite mastered the niceties of the English language yet. Jessica Fostekew cuts an engaging, confiding persona on stage; she starts off trying to work out whether we’re her kind of people – a few subtle assessments confirms we are, to much relief on all sides.

Ms F takes us on an enjoyable amble through her family experiences. Her son is growing up to be King of the Lads, despite her best efforts to encourage his sensitive side; fortunately, he has yet to learn the finer art of swearing and exactly what makes a hand gesture offensive. She gives us some brilliant general observations about family life, such as how marriage is managing always to stand exactly where your other half wants to stand (so true!) And who appreciated the power of a bum to efficiently regulate the administration of a WhatsApp group? There’s also a hilarious impersonation of a ghastly nasal American podcast woman, and an extraordinary account of a security incident at Zurich Airport that very nearly had an untoward consequence.

All the way through, she keeps up a wonderfully wry performance, constantly shifting the pace and tone of her delivery which keeps it very lively and unpredictable. Extremely funny, and almost the finished product which will be great by the time the Edinburgh Fringe starts. Jessica Fostekew’s Iconic Breath will be on at Monkey Barrel Comedy (3) in Blair Street every day from 11th to 24th August.

Headlining the evening was the irrepressible Josh Pugh, who doesn’t have an Edinburgh show this year but is nevertheless honing new material into shape for future use. Josh Pugh loves to take recognisable, simple ideas and twist them so that you look at them from a new direction. As he says, stand-up is an odd profession. You think you’ve got something funny to say but instead of sharing it with your nearest and dearest, or joking with the lads down the pub, you hire a mic and a room and invite a ton of strangers; what could possibly go wrong?

Josh’s new material is rooted in his experience of marriage and having young kids, and the ridiculousness of modern life. He has terrific material about what happens when you have two completely separate friendship groups of people from very different backgrounds and interests, and what happens when they collide; and the usefulness or otherwise of using an airfryer as part of a suicide attempt. But it’s family life that most concerns him at the moment, including how spending the day with a three year old isn’t bonding but boring; how the childbirth was so relaxed that they were able to take in an Amazon delivery at the same time – cue a fantastic wordplay callback moment – and what happened when he couldn’t find the squeezable comb designed to distract his wife’s attention from the pain of childbirth.

An hour in Mr P’s company is a guarantee of constantly new and refreshing material, delivered at a fast and intense pace, extremely funny and, you sense, also extremely honest. And whatever you do, don’t mention Twycross Zoo to him. A great night of comedy, much appreciated by all. And now it’s only a day or two before the Big Comedy Crate Weekender, which will be a hoot – or in fact, ten hoots, as that’s the number of shows we intend to see!

Review – Evita, London Palladium, 3rd July 2025

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This is our first Jamie Lloyd production for a few years – we last saw his work directing some of those Pinters at the Pinter in 2018/19, and jolly good they were too. He has always had an eye for the showier aspects of a text, but I think it’s fair to say he’s come a long way since then. I’m sure we missed a treat with his Sunset Boulevard, but as it’s one of the few shows that Mrs Chrisparkle detests, it never reached the diary. So I was very keen to see what Mr Lloyd would do to a show that was a formative influence in my teenage years. This is the fourth production of Evita I’ve seen and, to be honest, I’m not sure it’s ever truly been staged as well as its material deserves – the illustrious Ms Elaine Paige notwithstanding.

Here’s some honest advice if you’re going to see this production as an Evita virgin, if I can put it like that. Do a bit of research about her life and run your eyes over the libretto online. It will all make much more sense. Whilst the best of Tim Rice’s lyrics in the show are immaculately chosen words that truly get under the skin of the characters, without an additional book to link the songs together, you need to pay very close attention to the lyrics, and, with the best will in the world, they’re not always crystal clear.

Additionally, Soutra Gilmour’s set and costumes, whilst completely perfect for this vision of the show, don’t offer much in the way of visual clues as to where we are or who’s talking, which also doesn’t help the narrative. All we see is a series of terraces leading up to the top of the stage where hangs a huge, illuminated EVITA sign. And whilst the basic black rock concert outfits of most of the ensemble is great for suggesting the masses, other costume variation is minimal, with various shades of grey for everyone else except a few splashes of muted colour for Magaldi, gold for the middle classes, and radiant white for when Eva is “on show”.

That said, this is an Evita unlike any other and sets a standard for the future that I think will be hard to replicate. There is a dynamism, a power, a thrill bursting through every scene and every song, performed by an exquisitely well cast company who boldly go where no dictator, first lady, mistress or everyman have ever gone before. For example, Lloyd has Peron’s ex-mistress – Bella Brown taking every advantage offered with this fantastic song – lamenting her lot in Another Suitcase, Another Hall on the steps as though she’s just been chucked out of a mansion, whilst Eva and Peron toast each other with self-congratulatory champers at the top. In past productions, this has been staged to highlight the isolation of the mistress, facing a lonely and hopeless future. But here, when the song is over, she is comforted by a group of similarly dressed exes, and we realise that she is just one of a sequence of girls who clearly have a support system in place. There is also a beautiful callback towards the end of the show where Peron goes up and snogs another similarly dressed girl whilst Eva is singing through her dying breaths. She won’t be the last. A brilliant insight.

Previous productions of Evita, I have always thought, have played down the ruthlessness of the Peronist regime, turning the marching men into smartly dressed clockwork toy soldiers, like fashionable automata. Inherent in that has been the presentation of Peron himself as a much older, hardnosed, experienced autocrat who will brook neither nonsense nor disobedience. Here he is played by James Olivas, a much younger actor than usual, whose Peron exudes that arrogance of youth that makes him an even more terrifying prospect – you feel this Peron has a lifetime of evil and corruption ahead of him. It’s much easier to imagine why this charismatic Peron would have had success at the election.

Another transformed characterisation is Aaron Lee Lambert’s Magaldi, who’s normally seen just as a cipher, the first step on Eva’s ladder to success. Here the character is filled out with real emotion and personality, and his flourishing rendition of On This Night of a Thousand Stars, a pure pastiche of a dated, hackneyed showtune, turns it into a real song and a star vehicle. And there’s a delightful change to Santa Evita where we no longer have adorable innocent children looking to Eva for support but a junior cynical Eva, dressed like the first lady, extorting cash in the manner of her heroine – a fantastically knowing turn from young Ffion Rosalie Williams at our performance.

The whole show is backed by the most versatile and hard-working ensemble of singers and dancers who perform Fabian Aloise’s gripping choreography with maximum effort; this is unquestionably one very fit group of people. Their movements almost blur with the speed of delivery and create waves of engaging patterns across the stage, but if you settle your eye on any one individual and follow them for any length of time you realise both how demanding the choreography is, and how it’s performed with pinpoint precision.

Che – the everyman narrator of the show who, despite his name doesn’t have to be associated with the famous freedom fighter/terrorist (you choose) – is given a tremendous performance by Diego Andres Rodriguez; vocally superb, amusingly cynical, and thoroughly dramatic. He spends the last half an hour or so of the show covered in blue, white and red paint, which I assume symbolises his (and the people’s) death at the hands of the Argentine flag; a visually stunning effect, although it doesn’t quite explain his continued ability to revive himself sufficiently to sing along with the final broadcast, montage and lament.

Rachel Zegler gives a monumental performance as Eva. She has a glorious singing voice, full of personality and expression, and can create all the extraordinary moods that the character embodies. Much has been made about the staging of Don’t Cry for me Argentina on the balcony overlooking Argyle Street; before the show I was cynical about the effectiveness of that decision, especially as it must inevitably deprive the paying audience of the privilege of seeing it. But no; it’s a brilliant innovation. The camera work is outstanding – as is the audio relay – so the audience loses none of the clarity and beauty of the performance; but the sights of the crowds outside, the crying onlookers, Eva berating the cameraman, the subtle looks and private moments, all come together to make it a much more dramatic and insightful scene. Yes, it is perhaps odd that Eva should be singing to a bunch of people outside a branch of Pret, but you can forgive that. As Che himself says at one point, “as a mere observer of this tasteless phenomenon, you have to admire the stage management”, whilst Eva retreats to the sumptuous upper lounges of the Palladium cosseting a well-deserved champagne. And the use of video continues, to observing Eva in her dressing room, removing her wig, briefly breaking down whilst she comes to terms with what she has done, then resolving herself to return to the stage; which is all done so seamlessly and with technical wizardry. It’s a masterstroke.

Number after number enraptures the audience: Buenos Aires, Goodnight and Thank You, A New Argentina, Rainbow High, Rainbow Tour, And the Money Kept Rolling In… the show is packed with great songs, and this production serves them all terrifically. A New Argentina sends us into the interval covered with more streamers and confetti than I’ve ever seen. As one wag was heard to remark on the way out at the end, I hope they’ve got a Shark. Perhaps the brashness of the production reveals the show’s weakest spot – which is that, much as Eva’s health did, it rather dwindles out at the end. But it’s a landmark production and truly invigorating – a 100% instant standing ovation at the Palladium is a thrill for everyone.

Five Alive Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Constant Wife, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 1st July 2025

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Are we seeing a resurgence in the influence of Somerset Maugham? After Theatre Royal Bath’s blissful revival of The Circle last year, now comes Laura Wade’s invigorating version of The Constant Wife, his 1926 sparkler about infidelity and how to handle it. Give me a revival of the 1976 musical Liza of Lambeth next and I’ll be very happy. Maugham’s original play tells the story of the relationship between John, a Harley Street doctor married to Constance, and Marie-Louise, a spoilt and vacuous pretty little thing, married to Mortimer. Both Constance’s mother and sister are fully aware of the affair and differ as to whether she should be told about it. But Constance has known about it all along and has been biding her time to work it to her best advantage.

ConstanceWhere Maugham tells the story as a simple, linear narrative, Laura Wade’s deft re-ordering puts the affair out in the open right from the start and then goes back in time so that we can see how Constance discovered the affair a year earlier. There’s nothing Laura Wade likes more than to play with time as she did very effectively in both The Watsons and Home I’m Darling – and The Constant Wife is no exception. Both HID and TCW feature a strong central female backed by a purposefully resilient mother, but where Judy in HID revels in the lifestyle of a meek 50s housewife, much to her mother’s consternation, Constance embodies feminism by knowing precisely what she wants and how to get it, while her mother is the type who feels that if a man plays away from home it’s entirely the woman’s fault. One of the best lines of the play is when Constance tells her mother why she always knew that Bernard wasn’t the man for her: “he was a trifle too much inclined to lie down on the floor and let me walk over him”. It’s a line that gives you an instant insight into her character.

John and Marie-LouiseThey say that knowledge is power; by concealing the fact that she knew about the affair, Constance starts to create a new financially independent life for herself hidden in plain sight. If this were an episode of The Traitors it would be like winning a shield and not telling anyone. However, neither Maugham’s Constance nor Wade’s updated version ever puts a foot out of character, retaining her dignity and total faithfulness to her class and her status. Indeed, the whole production’s adherence to its original 1920s setting and atmosphere is one of its greatest virtues; the occasional – and extremely funny – double entendre notwithstanding.

CastMy only quibble here is that Jamie Cullum’s jazz-oriented incidental music, whilst doubtless of the age, feels a little out of balance with the rest of the production. There’s no sense of the Jazz Age in the text or the characterisations – Marie-Louise could easily have been portrayed as a flapper but she decidedly isn’t – so the music didn’t work for me. That aside, the other creative aspects are excellent. Ryan Day’s subtle lighting suggests the world outside the Harley Street drawing room, Anna Fleischle and Cat Fuller’s costumes reflect the characterisations perfectly; even the fabrics and objets d’art that Martha sells in her shop are spot-on – that “lovely” lamp is hideous by the way, but that’s all part of the fun.

Bernard and JohnAs well as reshaping the sequences of the plotline, Laura Wade’s script takes all the best Maugham scenes and many of his brilliant killer lines and smartly updates the scenario with the removal of an unnecessary character (Barbara), enhancement of the character of Bentley, the butler, and some lovely meta moments, currently very en vogue. I particularly liked the whole notion of the play that Constance and Bernard are going to see and how sometimes you need a refresher after the interval. Tamara Harvey’s direction is clear and delightfully lacking in gimmickry, although there were a few scenes where our view from Row F of the Ground (stalls) was blocked – four actors positioned in a diagonal line across the stage so that only the nearest could be seen; I know from ecstatic laughter around me that we missed some obvious gems of physical comedy, which is a shame.

Constance and Mrs CulverThe cast are uniformly superb, each giving terrific performances. Raj Bajaj is brilliant as Bernard, perpetually uncomfortable with himself and on the brink of exploding with love for Constance. Amy Morgan brings out all the comedy of sibling exasperation as sister Martha, and Luke Norris as John gives an intelligent portrayal of a husband caught out but not prepared to take all the blame. Emma McDonald’s Marie-Louise wheedles her way out of an awkward situation beautifully, cleverly showing us how unclever her character really is.

ConstanceKate Burton is pitch-perfect as Mrs Culver, Constance’s mother, delivering her fantastic lines with knowing authority and impish fun; and there’s great support from Daniel Millar’s perplexed and easily fooled Mortimer and Mark Meadows as the super-reliable Bentley. But it is Rose Leslie who takes centre stage throughout with a thoroughly believable, smart and witty portrayal of Constance, handling all her inner circle with various degrees of manipulativeness, apart from her only truly honest relationship, with Bentley, Bentleywhere she can completely be herself.

An excellent production of a timeless play, brought smartly to life by a neat adaptation. Don’t underestimate Maugham – he’s better than you think he is.

 

Production photos by Johan Persson

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Underground at the Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 7th June 2025

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It’s been two years since we last saw a Screaming Blue Murder in its natural home – Underground at the Derngate – as that blessed RAAC issue meant the theatre had to close and then slowly reopen bit by bit; the Underground being the last to emerge into the post-apocalyptic daylight. Since then, Screaming Blue has been in the Royal (where it worked pretty well), Lola’s Bar (which was small but not bad) and the deathly hallows of Filmhouse Screen 2 which just kills live comedy stone dead. However, last night’s show was the second to be held in the newly refreshed Underground (and they’ve done a good job of that) and with a very full audience! I can officially confirm that Northampton’s Screaming Blue Murder is back back back and it’s great news.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Screaming Blue without the cheeky delivery and shiny head of our genial host, Dan Evans, finding out all about the more prominent audience members. There was the Trade Union official from the GMB, which sadly has few boilermakers amongst its membership anymore, taciturn David from Glasgow, Alex the Ping Pong king who supplies both Bangkok and the Olympics – all aspects of its usage covered – and the party who met through the Simon de Senlis school. What a knight. Great work from Dan, and I trust he had a sound sleep at the Dunstable Travelodge.

First up, and in a change from the advertised programme, was the manic unpredictability of Paul Pirie, someone who’s graced the Screaming Blue stage many times before. In a comparison that’s both complimentary and alarming, he does remind me of the late Robin Williams, not only in appearance, but also in his tendency to go off on weird tangents peppered with sound effects. He also has Williams’ ability to be both ecstatically funny and perilously teetering on the edge of a mental crisis. He didn’t limit himself to the stage either, at one point wandering all around the audience. His material does occasionally veer close to where angels fear to tread, but for the most part it worked well!

Our next act was the excellent Wendy Wason, who delivers recognisable Mum material straight from the heart, with some hilarious domestic observations resulting from having three kids. There were painful memories of home schooling during the pandemic, and reflections on how sobriety wasn’t big in those days; I loved the idea that rosé is a “driving wine”. She also has some excellent material about her rather caring son finding out about periods. Always terrifically entertaining.

Our headliner was Matt Green, who always comes across as someone inherently polite, charming and thoughtful but with a naughty sting to his tail. He regaled us with stories of family life, including the dangers of subscribing to TikTok; but he was particularly good with his assessment of Trump as a toddler, and how brilliantly Keir Starmer played him in that terrifying Oval Office scenario. After the high energy of the two previous acts, Mr Green has a much more measured and conversational approach, but it fits well with his material and appearance, and he ended the evening on a high for everyone.

That was the last Screaming Blue of the Spring season – hopefully now it’s back in the Underground it will go from strength to strength when it returns in the autumn!

Review – Viggo Venn: British Comedian, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 4th June 2025

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Delayed by a few months due to his broken foot – and with all that malarkey scampering around the theatre no wonder he broke it – Viggo Venn finally hits the stage running at the Royal and Derngate with his touring show British Comedian – a beautifully apt title as he’s neither British nor – if truth be told – a comedian. Unlike most of the other Viggistas in the audience, I didn’t see his Britain’s Got Talent appearances, but I have happy memories of being assaulted by him on a couple of Edinburgh Fringe stages over the past ten years and was excited to discover what perilously anarchical fun he had in store for us.

In many respects this was a theatre experience unlike others. First and foremost, the audience all seemed to be in on all the gags throughout the entire show – I felt like I was one of a handful of people who hadn’t read the script. Audience members of all ages constantly called out from the stalls (yes, no, shut up, go away, do it, don’t do it, and of course One More Time, etc). And it wasn’t like panto or stand-up, where there’s always a certain embarrassment at being picked on; here, if Viggo approached you, you leapt up and down and joined in as if you were being saved by Billy Graham. Very amusing indeed – but also fairly peculiar!

Viggo Venn is a master clown; of that there is no question. This is a totally anarchic, high energy performance of outrageous inventiveness and brilliant interaction with the audience. And Mr Venn cuts a truly engaging persona, with a most mischievous and expressive face topped off with hair that looks like he’s pushed his finger in the electric socket. A true Scandinavian, he only uses language when it is absolutely necessary; most of his comedy comes simply from his physical presence. Running around the stage whirling off Hi-Vis jackets to the tune of Daft Punk’s One More Time like there’s no tomorrow, tumbling off into the audience and insisting people at the front catch him next time (his pratfalls are extraordinary); constantly getting poor front row Paul to help him back onto the stage, which didn’t do Paul’s personal dignity any good. There really is no limit to what he might do.

During the course of the show – a little under an hour and a half without a break – Viggo becomes part of a wedding ceremony for two members of the audience, he helps save a drowning audience member on stage, he imitates audience members’ cars and his finale act is to blow up an enormous balloon and then get inside it. Nor is he alone; he is irregularly joined by a Vampire who revels in all things spooky (Steffen Hånes on deliciously stupid form) including becoming the least convincing bat in the history of stage puppetry (don’t look at me, look at the bat), because, well, why not?

For me the most enjoyable sequence was his homage to Eminem’s My Name Is… where members of the crowd speak their name into a microphone and Viggo gives a running commentary on that person’s character and behaviour. Doesn’t sound like much, but it works incredibly well.

If you don’t get this kind of humour, you simply don’t get it – and that’s that. I saw a few stony faced people in the audience, and I get where they’re coming from. The nature of the show means it’s very – and I mean very – repetitive, and my personal view is that I probably admire his act more than I enjoy it. But the vast majority of the audience were ecstatic, and my guess is that, from the length of the queue at the end to buy a Hi-Vis jacket and have him sign it, he’s doing exactly what his fan base want (and hopefully making a fortune from the merch.) There are just a few more dates in this delayed part of his UK tour, but I very much doubt Viggo Venn is going away any time soon!

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Here We Are, Lyttelton Theatre at the National Theatre, London, 21st May 2025

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Sometimes creativity flows like an unstoppable stream; sometimes it sputters and falters like an airlock in a hosepipe. Such was the journey that the late great Stephen Sondheim’s final work, Here We Are, took on its forty year trek from inspiration to performance. Inspired by two Luis Buñuel films, its first act is based on 1972’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, and the second on 1962’s Exterminating Angel. Separate films, but Sondheim’s music and lyrics, together with David Ives’ book, merge the two with the same set of characters creating one story.

A ruthless hedge fund manager and his superficial wife (together with her activist sister) meet with their besties, a plastic surgeon and a showbiz agent, plus the ambassador of the dubious fictional state of Miranda, to go on the hunt for brunch or lunch or whatever they can get to feed their faces. Three of those people operate a drugs cartel and another is helping plan the end of the world, but, hey, you gotta eat, right? En route they find a café with no food or drink, a bistro with a dead chef, and a brasserie with fake food. And having finally found a place to eat – at the Mirandan embassy – they find they are physically unable to leave and end up suffering agonising deprivation until some kind of cathartic sacrifice is made. Just a normal day in New York really.

Halfway through the first act I realised that the show is either total genius or utter drivel; the truth is, as is often the case, a blend of the two. There is a message peeping through, that one must live for today because, after all, here we are. Marianne, for example, spends the entire show trying to remember what it was that she was meant to do today but she can’t recall it until the end when she says she won’t say what it was, but she’ll just do it anyway. In other words: don’t talk about it; do it – a bit clumsy, but we take her point. Her understanding is helped by a conversation with a bishop (silly me, I didn’t mention the bishop – or the military personnel) trying to fathom what being alive means; clearly, she’s never seen Bobby’s conclusion in Company.

There are all sorts of threads here within a hair’s breadth of coming together but they don’t quite make it. Of course, Sondheim died four years ago and so was unable to apply his magic touch to the final product. After his death, Ives and director Joe Mantello made no changes to any of his music but continued to work on the book to adapt it to the raw materials that needed refinement.

The Sondheim element to the show remains unmistakably Sondheim. It’s light on songs – if you’re expecting a “list of musical numbers” in the programme, think again – but the first act has plenty of his trademark recitative passages which especially bring Into The Woods to mind. And there are many witty sequences, such as the Waiter’s Song lamenting his plight that he can only disappoint his customers through lack of fare, although it ends with a surprisingly bleak conclusion.

Perhaps one of the reasons the show doesn’t really work is that Sondheim and Ives try to stick too closely to the various surreal elements of the films. The endless walking, the bear and the sheep, the bishop, the catastrophic childhood of an incidental character, and so on; integrating all these elements requires a true lightness of touch which the show doesn’t really manage. We’re not so much talking inspiration, more homage, where every possible reference to the earlier works must be crammed in. Where the Buñuel originals succeed through the sheer style and surrealism of his immense cinematic art, these elements just seem faintly ridiculous on a brutally exposed stage. Few of the characters are likeable, and even the others are so lightly sketched in that we neither identify with them nor care about their plight. The ambassador, Raffael Santello di Santicci, is pure pantomime funny foreigner; a committed performance by Paulo Szot, but, surely, we should have left that kind of stuff in the 70s.

What Sondheim achieves so astoundingly in so many of his works – that insight into the human condition, how we form and sustain relationships, how we live with disappointment and failure – is disappointingly lacking here. Yes, there are characters with wasted lives, but that comes as no surprise to them. They realise it and don’t care about it – so why should we?

That said, it’s pretty much impossible to imagine a better production of this show. David Zinn’s amazing set mixes glass and chrome sterility with the comfort of a lavish embassy; individual faux-restaurants are suggested by lighting changes and fashionable fonts. Nigel Lilley’s gorgeous sounding orchestra has less to do than in most Sondheim shows but does it immaculately.

The production is overflowing with fantastic actors who make the show immensely watchable despite so much of its content. Rory Kinnear sets just the right level of privilege as Leo Brink, knowing that it won’t matter that they haven’t booked a table and that he’s still in his loungewear because he’s Leo Brink. Jane Krakowski’s Marianne is a brilliant study of a beautiful but inane wife, never changing out of her peignoir, celebrating her love of the superficial in one of the show’s most successful songs, Shine.

Jesse Tyler Ferguson has a whale of a time as plastic surgeon Paul, viciously air-kissing Martha Plimpton’s wonderfully excessively demanding Claudia. Chumisa Dornford-May has one of the best singing voices in the company and gives us a delightfully sullen Fritz, quietly but amusingly ineptly working to overthrow capitalism; she is matched by the always superb Richard Fleeshman as the Soldier, the epitome of romanticism and the only character who seems to have true emotions. His “Soldier’s Dream” is a mischievously constructed piece that delights in breaking the fourth wall and is an undoubted highlight of the show.

Cameron Johnson is a decent Colonel Martin and Harry Hadden-Paton very entertaining as the wavering, people-pleasing Bishop. Tracie Bennett brings terrific humour as well as her astounding voice to the character of “Woman” – basically, all the incidental female roles in the show – and at our performance, Edward Baker-Duly was an excellent understudy as “Man”, including that alarmingly regretful waiter and the sinister butler Windsor. Together the whole cast are a formidable team who don’t put a foot wrong, and bring a feelgood factor to a show that otherwise lacks a feelgood factor.

There are some entertaining moments and flashes of classic Sondheim, but overall the show is a draining experience. It’s a curiosity and completes one’s own private Sondheim Collection, but it doesn’t enhance the great man’s reputation; and the very heavy, unmusical second act is, frankly, an endurance test. But it is a great production, and Sondheim aficionados will want to see it under any circumstances. I can only suggest that you see it for yourself.

3-starsThree-sy Does It!

Review – The Government Inspector, Festival Theatre, Chichester, 10th May 2025

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Back in those boring Covid pandemic days, I realised that I’d never read any Gogol, and decided that was a situation that needed rectifying. So I downloaded his short stories onto my Kindle for free, and spent many a happy hour laughing my head off at his hilarious, thoroughly rude observations, pricking the pomposity of the pretentious, and noting how, two hundred years on, his truths live on and nothing much has changed.

I’d seen a production of his The Government Inspector in 2011, and although it was something of a critical success, I wasn’t overly impressed. It was a sloppy show that went for cheap laughs and camped it up over the top, even though it thought itself to be a true smartypants of a production. Surely, Chichester, with a new version directed by Gregory Doran, will do a slicker job of it. I assumed.

This production has gone – largely – for a traditional approach, with a truly 1830s setting, costumes and music. The opening scene shows much promise, with all the officials of the town in a panic because a government inspector is in their midst and they all fear he will root out their corruption, bribe taking and inefficiency, thereby ruining their lovely lives. In true Gogol style, no time is wasted getting to the heart of the play, and it’s performed with urgency and commitment. Good start.

However, then everything just grinds to a complete halt. Whilst the audience is now ready to see this government inspector for themselves, Gogol instead introduces us to the mayor’s wife and daughter, bickering petulantly and tediously about nothing much. And the pace that had been built up in the first scene instantly collapses. It’s not a very funny conversation and it doesn’t get many laughs. By the time the scene is over and we go on to the inn where the Inspector (it isn’t the inspector by the way – it’s a joke of mistaken identity) and his man are staying with no intention of paying for their board and lodging, it’s amazing how little we care about any of them. As the play progresses, we realise how completely unlikeable every character in the story is, and no amount of pomposity-pricking is going to do anything to improve it.

The staging doesn’t help; the opening scene ranges widely over the huge Festival Theatre stage, using every inch available; but the second scene is very static and just takes place on two chairs at the front, and the third scene is crammed into a tiny part of the stage, which literally prevents its characters from breathing. You feel you want to somehow release them from their confinement.

A fool and his money are soon parted, goes the saying, and that is at the heart of the play. Each town officer does his best to bribe Khlestakov, the (non-) inspector, and as that wretch realises what is going on, his requests for money get bigger and bigger. At the end, the entire town has made an idiot of itself, and our anti-hero has sped off, cash in hand, looking for some other sad saps to dupe. It’s a very credible cautionary tale. But this production is most definitely not the sum of its parts. Too much shouting, inadequate use of the stage, some roles bizarrely underplayed whilst others are overplayed, it feels very unbalanced. There’s not enough light and shade, and despite their best efforts you never really get an understanding of the peril that the townspeople face. Individual rounds of applause are reserved for the three musicians who pop up during scene changes, and for an amusing but hardly original design trick of having a little carriage dart all around the stage, depicting the escape of the villainous clerk Khlestakov and his servant Osip. I saw that done in On The Twentieth Century in 1978 – it was mildly amusing then and it’s mildly amusing now.

True to Gogol, the play ends with a final tableau for what feels like at least a minute, daring individual audience members to start the final applause, whilst most of us just sit uncertain and uncomfortable at what we’re seeing. Whilst I admire this faithfulness to the original text, it does put the audience through an ocean of odd reactions and emotions, and you just want to look away!

There are some successful performances – Lloyd Hutchinson is good as the Mayor, a fiery mass of anxiety and overconfidence, and Miltos Yerolemou and Paul Rider work together excellently as Bobchinsky and Dobchinsky, the two minor officials who are almost two parts of the same body. Nick Haverson gives the best performance of all as Osip, the servant, ruthlessly and viciously putting his own interests first, no matter what his master wants.

Sylvestra le Touzel and Laurie Ogden play the mother and daughter looking and sounding like Mrs Slocombe and Liz Truss, which is an alarming visual prospect; for me, their performances never felt credible or, sadly, entertaining. Tom Rosenthal’s Khlestakov is a competent performance but neither larger than life enough to convince us of his importance, nor measly enough to convey truthfully that he is a smalltown clerk.

I’ve never seen a Saturday night Festival theatre audience so empty, and I’m afraid it was even emptier after the interval. The comedy gets lost in the franticness, and this production simply doesn’t work.

 

Two Disappointing For More!

Review – The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Minerva Theatre, Chichester, 10th May 2025

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Our summer Chichester season for 2025 kicked off with a new musical based on Rachel Joyce’s book, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, with music and lyrics by Passenger and the book by Joyce herself. I’m not familiar with the original novel, which was longlisted for the 2012 Man Booker Prize, nor the film of 2023 starring Jim Broadbent, nor the musical back-catalogue of Passenger, so I approached the show with no expectations or preconceptions whatsoever – often a good thing.

A deceptively simple story, it tells the tale of the retired Harold Fry who, having received a letter out of the blue from an old friend and work colleague, Queenie, saying that she’s now living in a hospice in Berwick upon Tweed, decides, on a whim, to walk all the way from Devon to Berwick to visit her. On his way, he meets various people whose lives he enriches by his kindness and simple determination, and who in turn affect him and his view of the world. His influence grows and he becomes so inspirational that he’s an unintentional Insta sensation! Initially it infuriates his wife, Maureen. Their marriage had become stale and grumpy because of a breakdown in communication, but eventually both come to terms with a re-evaluation of their lives.

Samuel Wyer’s design for the show is also simple and straightforward; a bare stage, but with tables, chairs, shop fronts, front doors, and so on all rapidly wheeled on and off to suggest the various locations of the story. Katy Rudd’s ensemble of actors all work their socks off to get the settings into position, bringing props on and off the stage with impressive dexterity; and there are some terrifically unexpected costume changes, such as when “Garage Girl” sheds her shop assistant’s uniform to reveal a shiny, glitzy blue tasselled outfit worthy of Diana Ross and the Supremes.

It’s a very charming, emotional, show; closer to The Hired Man than 42nd Street, but you probably guessed that already. All the characters in the story go on a journey, not just Harold and his big trek, but all the people he meets en route; and it’s not just a physical journey. All those aspects of ourselves that we never have the time or opportunity in everyday life to consider, those abilities or talents, those hidden passions, those secret truths, all come out along the way. It’s always rewarding when, at the end of a play, a book or film, you’ve been taken to a different place from where you went in, and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry does that with great success.

The music truly helps us all on the journey, with delightful songs that move the story forward. Three such gems are Walk Upon the Water, which encourages Harold to have the courage of his convictions, Shout it From the Rooftops when the Silver Haired Gentleman is convinced that it’s finally time for him to be honest about his sexuality, and Such is Life, sung by the Farmer’s Wife, which is one of the most positive statements I’ve ever heard about coming to terms with childlessness. The style of music also heavily suggests countryside, not just bucolic bliss, but nature red in tooth and claw too. There’s nothing romantic or tranquil about the state of Harold’s feet after walking that far. And there are lessons to be learned about the power of thought too.

The production boasts some terrific performances. Jack Wolfe, just about the only good thing about the RSC’s ghastly Magician’s Elephant a few years ago, here plays “The Balladeer”, a kind of spirit character who both encourages and influences Harold on his journey as well as narrating the story. He has a fragile, ethereal stage presence perfect for the role and a brilliant voice to boot. His significance develops as the tale unfolds, but I’m not going to spoil that revelation for you.

Sharon Rose is also superb in the roles of Garage Girl and Kate, a powerful, comedically gifted performer with a great voice and presence. Tarinn Callender excels in many roles but particularly as Wilf, Fry’s number one Pilgrim. And there’s fantastic support from Amy Booth-Steel as the Farmer’s Wife, Queenie and other roles, Don Gallagher as the Silver Haired Gentleman and the dreadful Mr Napier, Madeleine Worrall as Sister Philomena at the hospice, and knock-out puppetry from Timo Tatzber who brings “Dog” to life with such character and lovability.

The always tremendous Jenna Russell is on top form as Maureen, although it is a shame that she has so few singing opportunities; and Mark Addy is excellent as Harold, the pivotal character to whom things happen rather than his making them happen. His is a curious character in many regards, perhaps more notable for what he is not than what he is; but Mr A commands the stage with natural authority.

It tells its story clearly and packed with emotion – there’s a desperate rush for the Handy Andies at the end, so be warned. A very clever combination of the powerful and the gentle which makes you feel just that little bit more hopeful for mankind at the end.

P. S. Neighbour Rex traces Fry halfway around the country and meets up with him so that Maureen can Facetime him; Harold left in such a hurry he forgot to take his mobile with him. But why the heck doesn’t Rex bring Harold’s phone, to give him? It makes no sense! That blip in the logic of the piece really annoyed me!

P. P. S. I humbly suggest they could do with changing the title of the song, You’re Fucked. Not through any sense of prudishness, but they ought to take a leaf out of A Chorus Line’s book. In that show’s early try-outs, people would look at the programme before the show, see that there was a song called Tits ‘n’ Ass, have a good chuckle about it, and then not laugh much when it appeared during the show. They then decided to rename it Dance Ten Looks Three so that the surprise could be hidden until the last moment. Similarly, the audience for Harold Fry has a good chuckle when they see there’s a song called You’re Fucked; as a result, that means it has less of an impact during the show. Just call it The Doctor’s Song instead!

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows

 

Review – The Comedy About Spies, Noel Coward Theatre, London, 13th May 2025

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London 1961. MI6 and the CIA are competing to stop the KGB from gaining the secret weapon that could put an end to the USA – so, quite an important mission, then. Le Carré? Fleming? No – it’s the return of Mischief Theatre and their new madcap comedy about spies, innovatively entitled The Comedy About Spies.

Henry Lewis’ and Henry Shields’ brilliant new show creates ridiculously fanciful situations and manages to cram in every conceivable joke along the way whilst always maintaining a tiny foothold on reality and a genuine sense of peril, vital ingredients for successful farce. So when the unwitting hopeless romantic Bernard Wright accidentally parachutes himself into a sea of espionage by surprising his girlfriend Rosemary at her bankers’ conference (clue: it isn’t a bankers’ conference), there’s never any doubt that his life is in danger from all the double and triple-crossing, nor is there any doubt that he will nevertheless win the day.

The comedy standard is established from the very beginning with a marvellously silly MI6 scene of multiple confusion over Codename letters which works so well because the characters take it seriously even though it’s outrageously barmy. The laughter never lets up with a combination of superb physical comedy – Dave Hearn’s super keen CIA agent Lance Buchanan does some amazing stunts; beautifully funny characterisations – Henry Lewis’ vain actor Douglas Woodbead stands out; and terrifically ludicrous wordplay. One of my favourite moments was the question Have you seen Rosemary? to which the perplexed answer is the lady or the herb?

Perhaps the most surprising aspect to The Comedy About Spies is that, despite its profound silliness and extraordinary plot twists, it makes sense as a thriller, and the denouement (for want of a better word) genuinely creates some gasps of amazement from the already thrilled audience.

David Farley’s superb set also helps the comedy go with a swing, with a charmingly convincing foyer of the Hotel Piccadilly, but perhaps best with the brilliant dolls’ house effect creation of four hotel bedrooms in a colour coded box, which amplifies the out of one door and into another aspect of the farce, and includes wonderful comic pratfalls involving a hole in the floor/ceiling, phone wires extending in and out of different rooms and a seagull in the wardrobe (obvs). There’s also an excellent representation of the lift shaft that Bernard bravely navigates, enhanced by Johanna Town’s subtle and clever lighting. And there’s a couple of chest-hurtingly hilarious moments featuring projectile dummies and immaculate comic timing.

The cast are uniformly superb, acting as a terrific ensemble as well as bringing fantastic characterisations to every role. Henry Lewis is one of those actors who can make you laugh with the glint of an eye, and his robust thespian Woodbead is a brilliant creation, whether constantly getting his tuxedo Shiraz’d, or playing out a hopeless audition as the next James Bond to the wrong audience; and I loved the running joke of his being either an actor or a cricketer.Dave Hearn excels with his physical comedy, Charlie Russell and Chris Leask are hilarious as the Soviet spies, she all hard-nosed ruthlessness and he all trying to understand the backstory of his cover persona. Nancy Zamit is great as the CIA agent’s mom, encouraging her son to be the best spy he can be – or is she???Greg Tannahill is a delight as the hotel manager going out of his way to gain five stars for his establishment, andAdele James is fantastic as the long suffering Rosemary, fighting off the advances of Bernard whilst trying to forward her own agenda. And Henry Shields’ Bernard is a hilarious characterisation of an innocent abroad, doing his best to make sense of all the spying whilst he’s only comfortable in the world of baked goods.

A riot from start to finish, minutely planned, plotted and executed, with blisteringly good performances and every opportunity taken to make you laugh. Outstanding!

 

 

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!