Tag Archives: Derngate

Review – James Acaster, Represent Tour, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 1st October 2015

Posted on by

Time for yet another comedy gig, and it’s one of those occasions where I’d heard of the comedian before, but knew little of his oeuvre. I’d caught fleeting glimpses of James Acaster on TV and he seemed quite quirky, and good enough to risk £15 (£14 to friends of the theatre) on a ticket. Also, considering he comes under the heading of local boy done good, I thought it was only fair we should support him. The Royal Theatre was pretty much packed, so I guess I wasn’t the only one who felt the same. It was the first night of his tour too, so you had that slight edgy feeling of going where no man had gone before, and wondering whether all his relatively untried and untested material would hit the target.

To the rousing nonsequitur of a full choir intoning the stirring words of To Be A Pilgrim – one of my favourite hymns, especially with the old lyrics, and to which I shamelessly sang along – enter Mr Acaster in a shirt and tie combo that only he could get away with. He’s not your conventional vision of how a traditional comic should sound and appear. For the most part, he’s quite softly spoken and extremely laid back. He will break into a half-hearted jazz hands pose unbecoming of his very unshowbizzy exterior; and that sums up the delicate balance of the evening – treading a fine line between a quiet, frequently surreal, rather rambling conversation and a number of very funny, hard-hitting and extremely original set piece routines that create the laughter of recognition.

You recognise his comic observations even if you’ve never been in that situation before. For example, I’ve never been a member of a courtroom jury but Mr A painted a picture of so many familiar aspects of a bunch of people thrown together in a hotel that I instantly recognised it; the friendly ones, the weird ones, the bully, and so on. He made me realise there is a very evocative smell of cracking open a new cardboard tube of tennis balls – I may have done that just the once as a teenager, but he brought it all back. He is also an expert at planting seeds of a story early on, just for him to return to later in the gig with added gusto. Some stories thread their way through the entire evening; others he just touches upon lightly, and you know there is a whole new avenue he could explore – but he chooses not to go down there; quite a teasing mechanism for structuring a comedy gig.

Despite occasionally seeming quite ponderous, lugubrious almost, with his delivery, he’s also superbly quick witted, seen nowhere better than how he liaises with the audience. Of course, he’s not the only comedian who starts by getting the hang of who’s in the front row, who’s on their own, who’s late, and so on. Jack, 14, with his mum, probably had no idea he would play such a significant part in the proceedings. Towards the end of the show Mr A said something along the lines of “just wrapping up now…” to which someone a few rows back, who presumably hadn’t been enjoying it much, said something like “thank God”; well, let’s just say Mr A heard and dealt with that rejection in a most positive, creative and funny way, whilst absolutely not appearing to take offence, which is a real gift. I doubt whether that person will be that vocal at another comedy gig, however.

There were tons of really enjoyable material – postcode-based Northampton gang warfare (I’m in the NN1 Gang too), the ineptitude and mistiming of amateur massage, the real meaning of Christingle, useless driving and an almost LSD-inspired fable that would Aesop turning in his grave. There’s something strangely subversive in his delivery which wrong-foots and fascinates you, and which here culminates in a rather odd ending to the show, where his previously lovely Feng Shui gets decimated and he tucks into what might symbolically be considered an agnostic’s revenge. It’s a very different kind of ending for a stand-up than I’ve seen before, and the jury’s still out as to whether it works or not – but that’s subversion for you. Anyway, his “Represent” tour carries on till December, playing smallish intimate venues that will really work for his sense of humour. Very enjoyable, slightly weird, go see for yourself!

P. S. No, I don’t know why it’s called “Represent” either.

Review – Hairspray, Derngate, Northampton, 28th September 2015

Posted on by

The prospect of the return of Hairspray the Musical filled Mrs Chrisparkle and me with delight. We loved the original show in 2008 with Michael Ball and Leanne Jones, and remember leaving the theatre energised and upbeat. The original film, too, is a heap of fun, with the amazing Divine as Edna – casting that thereby required all future Ednas to be played by a bloke. One quick check of the creative team for this revival tells you you’re in the safest of hands, with Leicester’s Paul Kerryson directing, top-of-his-game Drew McOnie choreographing, and a cast of huge talent. So it was no surprise that the Derngate was packed to the rafters with an almost full house on Monday night for its first performance in Northampton.

I’m sure you know the story, but in a nutshell: “pleasingly plump” Tracy Turnblad longs to be a TV star but she has neither the figure nor the middle class background to break into the big time. When she tries to audition for Corny Collins’ music and dance show she comes up against the ruthless producer Velma whose sole ambition is to get her pretty but obnoxious daughter Amber into the limelight, primarily by fixing her to win the “Miss Teenage Hairspray” title. But Tracy’s natural vivacity and talent shine through and when Corny sees her perform he insists on her being in the show. We’re talking 1962 Baltimore, and there’s racial segregation everywhere you look. Prim parents, like that of Tracy’s best mate Penny,refer to “race music”, and the prejudiced Velma has an “all-white” policy for the show. One day a month is “Negro day”, when the black performers are allowed to take to the stage – no other time. Tracy tries to use her new influence to break down this barrier by organising a protest march for all the dancers on the show to demand full integration between the races. When the march gets out of hand, the police are called, they’re all arrested, but “the new Elvis”, Link, sneaks into the prison and helps Tracy escape so that she can get back to the studio just in time to win “Miss Teenage Hairspray”. In the end, segregation becomes integration in what turns out to be a very moral story where good wins through and evil is defeated.

There’s so much to enjoy this production, and a good night was had by all despite some technical problems, no doubt related to the fact that this was its first night on tour. Given that it’s Paul Kerryson in charge, perhaps surprisingly the majority of problems are down to the staging. We were in the middle of row F of the stalls – and I spoke to a friend who was in the side stalls in Row K – and we both had the same problem: you can see far too much of what’s going on in the wings. Now, you might expect that if you’re right on the edges of the seating plan; and sometimes a little hint of what’s going on is quite exciting from a stagecraft point of view. But this level of movement was distracting. The problem is that the side drapes don’t hang low enough to mask what’s going on – maybe because of the two platforms that get wheeled on and off at the sides, representing the Turnblads’ house and Motormouth Maybelle’s record shop. The band are also positioned at the back of the set, which means from time to time they are in full view, normally something that would lend an added, exciting dynamic; but during the course of the evening I looked up at them occasionally and when some band members were not playing their instruments, they simply looked bored! So that really didn’t work. I also felt that the scenery representing the prison was distracting, as it flew in and out of position just a bit too often; and I also didn’t realise that the place where Seaweed and his pals hung out was meant to be a record shop; I thought it was just a street.

Hopefully the technical issues will get quickly ironed out – there were, for example, too many moments when actors were performing unlit, and where the pauses between scenes were too long. Fortunately, the cast coped with the problems admirably; particular kudos to Jon Tsouras for deftly switching from hand-held mic to no mic and back again without a flicker of an eyebrow. I must say though this is the first time I’ve ever seen a dancer (no names, no pack drill) come on stage in a pair of trousers at least three sizes too small for him, unzipped and unbuttoned up at the top, do a few moves and then run off, not to reappear for the rest of the scene. What on earth happened there?! Had he put on someone else’s trousers? Despite that, I thought Takis’ costume design for the show was first rate, providing a stage billowing with primary colours and creating some enormously snazzy shirts and jackets of which I was thoroughly jealous.

Talking of dancing, and dancers, this is one area in which this production absolutely excels. Drew McOnie’s choreography is sparky and funny, and reaches out to the audience with a huge pair of open arms and welcomes us in. He creates dances that manage to tell a story, even within the context of a big show number, in a way that other choreographers would just create something that looks pretty. It was his choreography for the song “Run and Tell That” that was so instantly captivating and that matched perfectly the creativity of his dancers, that made you feel you were watching something really special. The whole dance ensemble are fantastic, but amongst them there is one Layton Williams, whom we saw in Lord of the Flies, who is just an amazing dancer, and for whom I predict Really Great Things.

Of course the role of Edna is really larger-than-life, and Tony Maudsley has some very big shoes to fill when you consider other performers who have taken the role before him. When he first appeared on stage, I was completely thrown as he was the spitting image of my Nan in the 1970s. Even their gravelly voices were similar. He plays Edna more demurely than I would have expected; very respectful of her maternal role, and not remotely playing up the drag aspect. I was unsure of this interpretation at first, but it worked particularly well with the show-stopping “You’re Timeless to Me”, as his surprisingly refined and elegant Edna provides a great contrast with Peter Duncan’s cheeky-chappie portrayal of Wilbur. With Mr Duncan cutting a diminutive figure in comparison to Mr Maudsley’s statuesque Edna, it was a bit like Tigger romancing Winnie-the-Pooh’s granny. I didn’t expect to have to say this, but I still think he could brighten up (maybe even camp up) his more glamorous appearances; in particular his final entrance didn’t quite have a sufficiently outrageous wow factor for me. Mr Duncan is, however, pitch-perfect throughout, conveying just the right mix of parental kindliness and general facetiousness that you would expect a joke shop proprietor-father to have.

Freya Sutton is a great Tracy; full of teenager enthusiasm, hopelessly infatuated with pop stars and delightfully open-minded and unprejudiced. She sings with great strength and charm and can turn in some wicked dance moves too. There’s a cracking performance from Brenda Edwards as Motormouth Maybelle, putting all her heart and soul (and then some more) into that big rousing number; and a funny yet very strong musical performance from Monique Young as Tracy’s dorky friend Penny, who graduates from Ugly Duckling to Beautiful Swan in front of our eyes. Jon Tsouras cuts a charismatic dash as Corny Collins, nicely massaging away the fixed grin from his face whenever the camera is turned off, and there’s excellent support from both Adam Price and Tracey Penn as the two “authority figures”. Lauren Stroud is a splendidly smart-arsey Amber, the perfect representation of what you become when you’re spoilt rotten as a child. I thought Ashley Gilmour rather underplayed the role of Link Larkin; I’m not sure I could see him as the next Elvis, to be honest, and you couldn’t really tell when he was being a louse and when a hero. There was an unintentionally hilarious moment when he came through the audience to rescue Tracy from prison. Waving his torch in all directions he called out “where are you?” to which an audience member replied “here!” and we all had to stifle our giggles.

I always love it when I see A Star Is Born performance – and this show has one in the form of Dex Lee as Seaweed. We’ve already seen him once in the incredible Scottsboro Boys but in Hairspray he absolutely shines and confirms he is a brilliant song and dance man. His voice, his dancing and his enormously likeable stage presence make for a winning combination; and he and Monique Young made a really charming young couple together. There were also brilliant contributions from the three Dynamite girls, Vanessa Fisher, Aiesha Pease and Bobbie Little. They looked gorgeous, sang like a dream and danced their little socks off.

Of course the show has lots of amazingly entertaining moments, none more exhilarating than its brilliant finale – You Can’t Stop the Beat – which, as Mrs C pointed out, is worth the ticket fee alone, and which guarantees you leave the theatre in the bounciest of moods. It also has some hard-hitting and poignant moments where it exposes the racial segregation system of the time, and its occasional uncomfortable scenes stand out as moments of telling dramatic tension. Once it’s taken a couple of days to bed in this is going to be a really slick show – fingers crossed for no more technical failures! It’s on a pretty massive UK tour right round to next May, so if you’re local to Malvern, Liverpool, Hull, Manchester, Wimbledon, Bradford, Southampton, Ipswich, Brighton, Birmingham, Newcastle, Aberdeen, Sheffield, Cambridge, Edinburgh, Inverness, Bristol, Woking, Cardiff, Norwich, Milton Keynes, Canterbury or Stoke, I’m sure you’ll have a great time!

Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Underground at the Derngate, Northampton, 11th September 2015

Posted on by

As we wave a sad farewell to summer (such as it was), and the days start to get a little shorter, and the leaves that are green turn to brown, the great news is that we can welcome back the return of the Screaming Blue Murder comedy nights at the Royal and Derngate. This season has five jam-packed nights of stand up between September and November, four of which we are able to attend.

It was also a welcome return to our genial host Dan Evans; same suit, new gags, which is just how we like it. The first two rows on the left were taken by a big party from the school, regular attendees out of whom Dan has already taken most of the available mick, but fortunately, when he starts asking them questions, we find there’s always room for more. The rest of the front row was promisingly made up of a guy and his harem, so it was quite a surprise to discover they worked in protecting at risk kids; not a lot of humour to be derived from that then.

Our first act was new to us, the excellent Zoe Lyons. Great material, a funny, approachable persona, and a perfectly paced act – confident enough to wallow a while in the build up to a story, sharing the enjoyment of the moment with us. I loved all her observations on the daftness of life – stress-relieving shampoo, daily cleansing routines; and the utter stupidity of the notion of the “one lady owner” when it comes to buying cars. We were in hysterics. Would love to see her do a longer slot!

Next up was Andrew Watts, whom we have seen before – and whose well-received Edinburgh show I deliberately didn’t see because we knew he’d be coming here. He is a really funny chap, with his gentlemanly cricketing analogies and his way of handling those crises every man faces when clothes shopping with his woman. His material was probably 90% the same as we saw three years ago, but it’s funny enough to enjoy a re-listen. His strength is in that marvellous juxtaposition between respectable exterior and a rather sinful brain. Anyone who can get an audience member to consider necrophilia has got to be a good bet!

Our headline act was Carey Marx, again new to us, although he’s been doing this kind of stuff for a while now – and it shows, in a good way! Supremely confident, wonderfully relaxed, seemingly effortlessly pulling material out of thin air, although I’m sure it’s all well planned and performed with military precision. Reflections on manbags, the etiquette of hugging, how to refer to people of restricted growth without causing offence, and gays creating tornados all played a part. A total crowd-pleaser, with a constant high level of laughter from the start that hardly ever died down.

An amazing return for Screaming Blue, one of those delightful occasions when all four performers were on the top of their game. Can’t wait for two weeks’ time. You should come too!

Review – Brave New World, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 9th September 2015

Posted on by

I can’t believe I’ve got to the grand old age of [insert grand old age here] and have not yet read Brave New World, nor seen a film, nor a TV adaptation of it. And me an English student. It’s a disgrace. I do remember school friends devouring it, saying it was the best thing since sliced bread, but at the time I was too into my drama to lower myself to the level of mere novels. How wrong was I?

So I was very excited at the prospect of seeing James Dacre’s production at the Royal and Derngate, because I was going to fill in a major gap in my general knowledge. I also suspected it would be stunningly good. Mrs Chrisparkle had also never read the book, so like a pair of innocents we settled down in the front stalls of the Royal. There was a noticeable buzz about the place – people were clearly very curious to see how this dramatisation would work.

I’m sure you know the story, but I’ll give you a quick rundown. Set some time in the future, mankind has been streamed into five castes – alpha to epsilon – and people are no longer simply born, they are created in laboratories, hatched and decanted, then subjected to conditioning education in order to achieve a sort of mindless positivity about well-ordered life. There are no families, no close relationships – people have sex willy-nilly with whoever they want, as much as possible, because everyone belongs to everyone. Alphas take the best jobs, betas support them; gammas, deltas and epsilons are left to do the menial work, but they’re all perfectly content with their lot as they have been programmed to do so. No books, no religion, no creative thought; they’ve all been banned. Instead, you work, you take soma (a hallucinogenic drug), you go on dates. One such date is the holiday that Bernard Marx, an alpha scientist who doesn’t seem quite as alpha as he could be, takes Lenina, a beta nurse at the London Hatchery, to a Savage Reservation. These are parts of the world where this perfect order hasn’t reached, and where savages that live there lead impoverished, blighted lives. There they meet Linda, an older woman who once worked at the Hatchery, but who got left behind on a visit to the Reservation, and John, her literary-minded son. Bernard takes them back to London for research purposes, but their return leads to disaster all round. And if you want to know how it all develops and resolves itself, you’ll just have to see the play.

Aldous Huxley wrote the book in the early 1930s but its dystopian vision is still enormously relevant today. Within a few minutes of the play starting, Mrs C was guffawing at the Brave New Worldisms that she could recognise in the modern day business environment. Its portrayal of two life-systems that are at complete odds with each other can be translated into present day political, philosophical or moral systems; in fact almost any situation where you have rivalries and where people are confronted with the opposite behavioural patterns. Brave New World beautifully highlights individual hypocrisies of the people who attain high rank – very much like the works of George Orwell with whom Huxley is frequently compared – and the petty arguments between those who are clambering up the ladder to supposed greatness. But its most telling element is the growing, contrasting relationship between the creative, poetic savage John, whose ability to speak is cloaked in his knowledge of Shakespeare, and the artless, conformist Lenina, for whom the meaningless shag is the epitome of recreational achievement.

Naomi Dawson’s comfortless sets emphasise the spiritual emptiness of this new World order, with powerful use of video screens and artificial colour to create a fake sense of life and excitement. Colour is just one of the conditioning tools; the alpha men always wear grey and white whilst the beta women are always in purple and puce. The original music is by These New Puritans, an Essex band whose music, according to the programme, “ranges from the intimate to the expansive, from industrial to orchestral”. However you categorise it, their music is highly impactful, both uplifting and eerie, and really adds to the atmosphere of the production. Not having read the book, I can’t tell how faithful Dawn King’s adaptation to the original is, but it’s a compelling script that had us riveted from the start. Wryly amusing, sometimes horrifying, frequently uncomfortable, I loved how it didn’t shy away from showing us the grim horror of the aversion therapy techniques for those whose conditioning hasn’t quite succeeded; and how it took the subject of erotic play amongst children as being something to be encouraged, in order better to fit them for a subsequent life of promiscuity. In our world, where paedophilia seems to play a part in almost daily news coverage, this may feel quite a challenge to the audience.

The cast of ten form a superb ensemble – there are some wonderful group scenes where conversations take place intermittently whilst the non-participants stand frozen in time – but each cast member also shines individually in their own roles. Gruffudd Glyn is excellent as Bernard, the picked-on misfit alpha, struggling to fit in with the social norms required of him, but nevertheless keen to succeed despite his ineptitude. With his rise in celebrity status through his association with John comes increased self-confidence which Mr Glyn conveys with a real sense of joy. Yet when it ebbs away, as John refuses to play the celebrity game, and with the constant threat of being exiled to an island, Mr Glyn depicts the character’s knife-edge existence with barely concealed fear and emotional rawness. Olivia Morgan as Lenina absolutely gets the character’s beta status – enthusiastic, compliant, intent on her own ambitions and pleasure, selfish, and essentially one-dimensional. It’s a very clever performance. I really liked James Howard as Thomas the Director, full of apparent alpha leadership charisma, the corporate lame duck who reels off the right words but who will eventually be hoist by his own petard, even though that phrase would be banned in the new World order – a nice mixture of bully and sham. Sophie Ward gives a classy, authoritative performance as Controller Margaret Mond – the character is Mustapha in the original I understand, but making the Big Boss a woman is very 21st century and gives it extra bite. Dressed in grey like the men, and giving the impression of caring and enabling her team to do well, she is essentially a manipulating hypocrite who glories in the power she wields, and Ms Ward conveys this with icy assurance.

Abigail McKern is superb, as always, as Linda, the much-maligned and helpless mother in a world that dare not speak that name, providing a recognisable trace of the humanity of real life, rather than the warped one of the new World order. David Burnett is excellent as the bright and bumptious Henry, alpha through and through, embodying the new values of this valueless society. Scott Karim plays Bernard’s friend Helmholtz, subtly expressing his anxiety at also not fitting in; when he declaims his self-written poem there’s a light-bulb moment where you can see his sudden, moving, self-realisation that this is what life ought to be like. Samantha Pearl is great as Lenina’s friend and confidante Polly, and I also really liked her as the Headmistress of Eton – haven’t times changed. Theo Ogundipe as Benito is another stalwart of the new order, he’s obviously going to be next in command under Henry; and I also enjoyed his characterisation of the “guardian” of the Reservation, giving travel tips and inoculations to Bernard and Lenina as if he were some kind of Huxleyesque Club 18-30 rep.

But it is the character of John the Savage, and the performance of William Postlethwaite that shines. The character stands out as a beacon of moral decency and goodness, partly because he belongs to a world that we recognise and want to cling on to, and partly because of his firm reliance on the Bard to say the right thing. The Shakespearean quotes are an absolute joy, showing a determination to hang on to a world where love and creativity are seen as positive contributions. John is an idealistic figure, but very human too; willing to learn and to improve but unwilling to give up the things he holds dear as truth. Mr Postlethwaite is totally convincing throughout as the noble fish out of water, a lost Everyman character, and, with a great stage presence, I’m sure he’s going to be One To Watch.

Both Mrs C and I were gripped from the opening scene, spent the interval in open mouthed appreciation of what we’d already seen, and walked home at the end dumbstruck with enjoyment. A riveting story, crackingly well told, superbly acted, vividly depicted. Its run at the Royal and Derngate lasts until September 26th, but afterwards you can catch it at Edinburgh, Oxford, Nottingham, Cheltenham, Wolverhampton, Darlington, Blackpool and Bradford up until December 5th. It’s certainly inspired me to read the book, and a copy is already winging its way to me courtesy of those tax-dodgers at Amazon. And you can discover much more about the production at the TheatreCloud website. A co-production with Touring Consortium Theatre, this is, quite simply, one of the best productions I’ve ever seen.

Independent Traders of Northampton – Independence Day Fair at the Guildhall – The Cultural Quarter

Posted on by

With 4th July looming, I was thinking about the nature of independence. Yes, I know it’s not like me to be that deep, gentle reader, but bear with me. Generally speaking, I can see there may be two stages of independence – the first, breaking away from a position where you are dependent – like a grown-up child leaving home, or the United States no longer being one of our little colonies; the second, maintaining and generally being independent, like that grown-up child taking the responsibility for his own life (and any who become dependent on him), and the United States growing into the most significant country in the world. Or at least until it was taken over by China.

For the most part – not exclusively, because life isn’t like that – it strikes me that independent people, countries, businesses, institutions, and so on, thrive through being independent, rather than following someone else’s rules, making someone else richer, or living out someone else’s dream rather than one’s own. We all like to have our own identity, to create our own space, to apply our own intelligence to our own lives, to make the world a better place. Otherwise we might as well set up shop in Pyongyang.

There’s going to be a Love Northampton Fair at the Guildhall in the town centre on Saturday July 4th, (Independence Day – appropriately enough) to celebrate and promote the town’s independent businesses and traders. One might think this just means shops, or cafés and restaurants, or bars. And of course, such places play a huge role in creating the individual sculpture that is our beloved town, and I shall be thinking about some of those places in another blog in a day or two’s time. However, there is more to it than that. In the middle of Northampton you find the classily demarcated zone of the “Cultural Quarter”, an area where many of the arts come together to form a solid heart in what would otherwise be a commercial centre. For example, here you will find the amazing museum with its massive collection of boots and shoes – a testament to Northampton’s shoemaking heritage – and NN, the Northampton Contemporary Art Space at 9 Guildhall Road, the home of the Northampton Art Collective, moved on from its now non-existent previous premises in the Fishmarket, which just goes to show you can’t simply demolish the arts. We actually popped into the NN Café upstairs last Saturday lunchtime for a glass of Pimm’s and a light bite – hurrah to them for providing top quality gluten-free paninis!

However, in the local arts scene, you won’t find a finer example of independent trailblazing than with the Royal and Derngate Theatres and their fantastic sidekick, the Errol Flynn Filmhouse. Comparing with our neighbour Milton Keynes, there they have a wonderful big theatre, but everything that runs there comes through the Ambassador Theatre Group chain – an assembly of big shows that tour the entire country. So what you see in Milton Keynes can also be seen in Birmingham, Woking, Wimbledon, Bromley, Richmond, Aylesbury, or Glasgow – and plenty more places besides. It’s good business for the theatre industry and I’m not knocking it. But it does lack a certain individuality.

Of course the Royal and Derngate will take some of those shows too, but more interestingly they also create their own home-grown productions. The annual Made in Northampton season is always a remarkable achievement, with six or more plays that make the best of local staging; and that challenge both the creative teams and their audiences with a season that does not shy away from taking on major projects and carrying them out magnificently. In the six years or so that I’ve been closely following the R&D’s output, they’ve created dozens of independent productions including transfers to the West End and Broadway (End of the Rainbow) and Shakespeare’s Globe (King John). Their productions have toured to Oxford, Leicester, Liverpool, Wolverhampton, Edinburgh and many other venues. They’ve been delightfully experimental too. The audience has joined the performers on the stage (Private Fears in Public Places, Town) or in the Rehearsal Room (Midsummer Bacchanalia), at the Holy Sepulchre (King John), in the Mailcoach pub (Honest), in Beckets Park (Decky Does a Bronco) or in the Chronicle and Echo Print Works (The Bacchae). Now that’s what I call inventiveness!

And of course there’s also the Underground, a venue with its own tricks up its sleeve, where Mrs C and I have spent many an uproarious night with the Screaming Blue Murder comedy nights, but which can also lend itself for very experimental theatre experiences. The Actors’ Company performed Ayckbourn’s Revengers’ Comedies there in 2009, with the audience seated around the walls in a complete rectangle. Only a couple of weeks ago we saw the Young Company create their spellbinding Kontakt experience in a murky mist of incense and school desks. And I’ll never forget the extraordinary intimate staging of The Body of an American in 2014.

In addition, for the last couple of years, we’ve had the Errol Flynn Filmhouse, an oasis of celluloid culture where the cinema actually treats you like an adult. Reclining leather chairs, a state of the art sound system, films you actually want to see, decent food and drink including several lines from local producers, and above all you get the feeling it’s a place that wants to show you a film rather than a place that wants to sell you a vat of popcorn and chuck a movie into the bargain. It constantly rates highly as one of the Northamptonshire’s most popular attractions on Trip Advisor, and it certainly encouraged us to go back to the cinema after a long estrangement from that genre.

Just across the road is somewhere I regret that I still haven’t visited but I have heard great things about – and that’s the Looking Glass Theatre. They have a theatre school for 8 – 18 year olds and regularly present children’s shows and pantomimes, as well as having a major costume hire service. Further down Derngate you come across the extraordinary house at No 78, the only house designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh in England. This is now an independent tourist attraction, welcoming visitors from all over the world who are attracted by Mackintosh’s unique style. Not only can you learn about the history of this fascinating building but it also has a fantastic restaurant, The Dining Room, which offers so much more than your usual museum café.

So wedged within this small cultural enclave are a wide variety of attractions, and we are very lucky to have them. We all know of shops, restaurants, pubs that have closed down due to lack of customers. Don’t let that happen to our wonderful arts spaces. Use them or lose them – they’re far too good to lose! Why not show your support for our independent artistic adventurers in the Cultural Quarter by visiting the Independence Day Fair at the Guildhall on Saturday. It’s free to get in and you might discover something new to enjoy!

Review – Kontakt, Royal and Derngate Young Company Immerse, Underground at the Derngate, Northampton, 21st June 2015

Posted on by

You don’t need me to tell you, gentle reader, that with a bit of ingenuity and some thinking outside the box you can make theatre out of anything. I love experimental theatre. I love to be challenged, to be shocked, to be made uncomfortable. I want to come out of a show a changed person from the one I was when I went in. I want the cast to speak to me in a new way, for us to develop a relationship together, and to have a shared experience with the rest of the audience that you can talk about and reflect on long into the future. This is a big ask, and you don’t often get it. But Kontakt is one of those theatrical experiences that really offers something different, and has certainly led to more thoughtful and questioning post-show discussions than many a standard drama. For one thing, although Mrs Chrisparkle and I went along together, we had completely different experiences, and being able to compare and contrast our own reactions and recollections of what went on was fascinating in itself.

You have some basic information about the show in advance, but not enough to reach any substantial conclusions about what’s in store. “One table, two chairs, an actor and you. If a young person could ask an adult anything, what would it be?” When I first read that, I found it (naturally) intriguing, but I had a vision of a small audience sitting in a circle around an actor performing a fully scripted monologue involving a not inconsiderable amount of soul-searching. Well, how wrong was I?

I’m going to tell you my own experience with this show, which will be different from anyone else’s. If you’re about to see a production then I suggest you don’t read any more. The element of surprise is vital for its success, and you won’t thank me for spilling the majority of the beans. Still with me? Great! There is a constantly changing dynamic within this show that continuously wrongfoots the audience member. You’re forever swapping a sense of self-confidence for one of doubt and mystery. No sooner do you get accustomed to the current mood then you get whacked into a different one.

Let’s start at the beginning. You choose a number at random (I chose 6 because it’s my lucky number), receive a (rather antiquated) mobile phone and then you stand in a square drawn on the floor, awaiting….something. You’re not sure what, but let’s call it Kontakt. You’re on display, your usual props of self-protection are removed from you, and apart from maybe a couple of nervous chats with other people in other boxes you feel surprisingly alone. From the corner of your eye you notice a line of young people walk into an upstairs foyer, stand at the railing, and look directly down on you. They say nothing. They betray no thoughts. Do you look at them? Do you look away? I did both. They disappear silently.

Your phone rings. It’s not your phone, it’s the one they gave you, and, if you’re like me, you struggle to work out which button to push to receive the call. I guessed right. “Hello?” “Hello, my name’s Sam. What’s your name? “Hi Sam, my name is Chris”. Seven other people are having more or less the same conversation and you find it hard to hear the person talking directly to you. “How was your journey?” “Fine thanks, we only live a short walk away”. Another question, but I couldn’t hear it properly. “Sorry, can you repeat that?” He repeated it, but I still only half-heard, and answered the question I thought he asked. There was a pause. I must have answered the wrong question. I surprised myself by how much I wanted to make a positive impression. He’s going to think I’m an utter idiot, I thought. Sam sounded upbeat though. He directed me which way to go. “When you come in, I’m sitting at the desk nearest the entrance door, on the right”. “Well, I will be the last person in the queue to walk in”. Assignation made.

I walked in, to the space I know well as the Underground, where we regularly see the Screaming Blue Murder comedy nights, and a few other experimental productions. But with dim lighting and a vaguely smoky atmosphere of burning incense, it could have been another world. In front of me, a number of identical looking school desks, and audience members individually greeting their Kontakts. Sam gets up and looks expectantly. “You must be Sam,” I say, shaking his hand. He courteously offers me the chair in front of his desk, and invites me to stow the phone in the pocket attached to the back of the chair. I sit down, and he sits down. He starts to converse. At the same time, all the other Kontakts start to converse, each saying precisely the same words. The consonants of eight actors echo and clatter in the eerie atmosphere. It’s a private conversation, but it’s shared too. It feels unique – but seven other people are having the same experience, so it can’t be unique. It’s already breaking so many rules.

Sam lifts up the desk lid to create an instant barrier between us. It had all been so friendly up to this point, but this one action disconcerts and stops you from saying anything. From behind the desk he slowly, silently, and incredibly threateningly, starts putting on a pair of surgical latex gloves. Your brain says “WTF?” but your mouth stays silent. It brought to mind the terrifying Act Four nurses in Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, strumming their gloved fingers with potential abuse, as if by some devious manner Sam was about to lobotomise me without my consent. It’s a Verfremdungseffekt that would have Brecht curling his toes in ecstasy. “I’m hoping you’re hungry” says Sam suddenly, as he puts the desk lid down and reveals a picnic. A Tupperware box with two slices of bread and a rather sweaty looking slice of cheese; some bags of crisps, some strawberry jam, some Nutella. A big tub of Utterly Butterly. This is not the toolkit of a lobotomist. I’d not actually eaten anything since breakfast, so was pleased to opt for a cheese and crisp sandwich. The latex gloves came into their own as he deftly unwrapped the Kraft Cheese Slice and plonked it hygienically onto the bread. He carefully positioned crisps on top of said slice and delicately placed the other slice of bread on top. In this alien atmosphere it’s amazing how much you notice the slightest detail of what’s going on in front of you. It’s as though your brain is telling you to be on heightened alert because you don’t know what’s coming next. It could be fight or flight. “Triangle or square?” I chose triangle. He cut it diagonally and we shared a convivial cheese and crisp sandwich as Sam reflected that no one had chosen to mix jam and crisps, to some disappointment on his part.

And so it goes on. Light hearted conversation as we do a maths puzzle together; a game of Jenga where each piece has a number that refers to a question we ask each other; a game of noughts and crosses which he kindly lost; an exchange of top tips for life; discussions about our fears, irrational and otherwise; an unexpected group participation dancing to Aqua’s Barbie Girl and ending with a card trick that neatly brought the whole event full circle. That all sounds rather jolly and genial, doesn’t it? And indeed it was. But it’s not natural. It’s not organic. It’s fully controlled – or should that be kontrolled? Separating every seemingly genuine conversation, there’s a detached, non-sequitur-like, disquieting sequence. At one stage, a disembodied American voice starts giving advice on how to get the most out of life – and you notice your Kontakt is silently saying the same words, miming along precisely with the same rhythm and expression. I watch Sam’s lips intently as he intones the anonymous advice, like he has been possessed by some spirit. I appreciate the anomaly of someone young enough to be waiting for his GCSE results to come through, giving me, who has already started to draw down his pension, advice on how to lead a good life. But you find yourself responding, silently, to the points he is making. When you really agree with him, you mouth “absolutely!” or nod profoundly, and I discovered, to my surprise, that I was actively giving advice back without actually saying a word. And that’s when it was that I realised I had connected – or should that be konnected – with Sam. I gained a sense of confidence with him. I realised I was on his side. Later on, there was a sequence where all the Kontakts talked about the things in life that annoyed them. One person stood up to give one example, then another, then another. It was like a competition between them to out-declaim the others. I realised that I wanted Sam to “win” this game – to give the best examples of things that annoy, and to deliver them in the most telling or humorous way. And, of course, naturally, because I was on his side, he did. I was Team Sam.

We discovered – or should that be diskovered? – that we shared the same irrational fear of flying insects. I dismayed him by the fact that I actually like Barbie Girl and could embarrass him with my Ken impersonation. I gave him a congratulatory handshake for his excellent card trick that I still don’t know how he managed. A few times he hooted with barely suppressed laughter. I couldn’t tell if that was genuine, scripted, or somewhere in between. We drew a picture of each other, despite both of us having no artistic skills whatsoever. This was a surprisingly personal thing to do – and I felt rather embarrassed at how horrified he looked at the image of him that I was creating with my pencil. There was another sequence – I can’t quite remember how it fitted in to everything else that took place – where nothing was said, or done, except that he was trying to outstare me. I stared back. He took the liberty of repositioning my pen on the desk. Well, I wasn’t having that. I swivelled his noughts and crosses paper from portrait to landscape. He looked affronted. I started to smile. I felt mischievous. I looked up at the dangling light bulb above our heads. He looked startled. Still staring at him, I slowly raised my arm toward the light bulb. He appeared transfixed at what I might do next. Eventually I gave the light bulb the tiniest tap with my finger so that it wobbled fractionally. “Beat that” said my eyes. The sequence ended at that point, so I won that one.

At the end, I asked him why it was called Kontakt and not Contact. He wasn’t sure. He thought it was something to do with the original developer of the show back in 2008, but before we could discuss it further, came the signal that it was all over. The lights went down. We all knew that when they came back up again, we’d be alone at our desks. And, sure enough, when we could see again, we were, like a modern day debit card, contactless. Or should that be kontaktless. But I know why it’s Kontakt. A genuine meeting between two people, where you just chatted and organically shared experiences would have been a contact. But this is not that. It’s similar; it sounds the same, but it looks different. The actor calls the shots. For you at times it feels like it’s interrogation, a test, an interview, an assessment. You are powerless to steer the course of these 45-60 minutes. It feels like the actor decides when each segment ends. He decides when a genuinely heartfelt and concerned conversation about how we deal with ISIS, changes into a surreal scripted monologue, or a stare-athon. And of course it’s the same for all the actors; their rules, their mood-swings, their agenda, their control; their Kontakt. Even after the show was over, I was at a disadvantage. We all received texts from our Kontakts, thanking us for participating. My instant reaction was to text back, but my ham-fistedness on an unfamiliar phone meant that I couldn’t even formulate the word “thank” – it became “thigh”, which wasn’t an entirely suitable response. So I ended up not replying, which felt thoroughly ungrateful.

The success, or otherwise, of this experience, depends on a number of things. The audience member has to play the game. I could imagine that if you were unco-operative, or somehow destructive, or spoke inappropriately, it could be a disastrous experience all round. There’s a huge amount of trust and respect at stake here. I liked the fact that, although the allocation of Kontakt to audience member appeared to be random, each couple was either male/male or female/female, primarily because this increased the opportunities for shared experiences and opinions or advice, and reduced the potential for true embarrassment.

For someone like me, who actively enjoys the process of making new friends, this was a fascinating and eye-opening way to spend an hour with a stranger. Frustrating too, as you realise afterwards the possible/ probable artificiality of what felt like a genuine meeting. How much of that person opposite me was the real Sam? A lot, I think, but it’s impossible to be certain. Mrs C (who had got on thoroughly well with her interlocutor, Heidi) and I agreed that to carry off this sequence of Kontakts over a number of performances was brilliant training for these young people. If nothing else comes of it, they will be so much more confident in interview situations in the future, and will have developed some superb social skills. I also hope they met some nice people! Obviously, I can only speak for Sam but I thought he gave a brilliant performance – if it was a performance. The show raises many questions about public and private identity, reality and fiction, individuality and herd behaviour. I was totally wowed by it! And I want to know how Sam does in his GCSEs!

Review – The Hook, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 10th June 2015

Posted on by

Every so often our wonderful local theatre makes the news. One such occasion was a couple of days ago, when I got an excited phone call from Mrs Chrisparkle on her morning drive to work (hands free, naturally – the phone that is, not the steering wheel) saying “Turn Radio 4 on!” And there was the redoubtable Jim Naughtie talking about the World Premiere of an Arthur Miller play in little old Northampton. Certainly a contender for the greatest American playwright of the 20th century (Arthur Miller that is, not Jim Naughtie) – maybe even in the world – this joint production between the Royal and Derngate and the Liverpool Everyman and Playhouse is a major theatrical event. Who even knew Miller had written something that hadn’t yet been performed?

The programme (which I really recommend) has two very helpful articles about how the production came into existence and about Miller’s background and association with the longshoremen of New York. Miller had originally written The Hook as a screenplay and offered it to Hollywood, but they wouldn’t touch it with the proverbial bargepole unless Miller rewrote the characters to make the union members into communists. Miller refused to back down; Hollywood refused to take it – On The Waterfront appeared instead; and thus it sat, mouldering in a drawer somewhere, unloved and unproduced. Director James Dacre and designer Patrick Connellan have done extensive research over a number of years, discovering all Miller’s drafts (I’m sure that’s a euphemism for drinking Canadian beer), collating as much raw material as possible for playwright Ron Hutchinson to come up with a theatre adaptation that’s intense, hard-hitting, with a few meaty roles, and that tells a story from the heart.

That story concerns one Marty Ferrara, a decent, honourable man who works as a longshoreman in New York and who fights against what he sees as the rotten, corrupt nature of the union and the employers, who turn a blind eye to the dangerous conditions in which the men have to work, pay lip service to their rights, and are happy to rip off the men at every opportunity. Marty’s wife Terry wants him to be happy and to be true to his own integrity, but at the same time she needs him to earn money as otherwise the whole family will be destitute. Marty’s angry struggle takes him through some very bad times, including attempts made on his life, and culminates in his standing for Union president in a rigged election of which Kim Jong-un would be proud.

Why The Hook? Well it takes place in Red Hook, Brooklyn – where Miller was born, and each of the men working on the piers has his own hook tool which he uses to help lift and move the containers they are unloading. But other hooks are also at hand. Each man is hooked, so to speak, to the docks as his only means of income, and if anything threatens that dependency, like electing a new, agitating union leader, that hook just gets stronger. In the end, Marty is rewarded with a union post, thereby masking the corruption of the election, and getting the union leader off the hook. Am I taking this too far?

In the course of the play Miller addresses themes of loyalty, corruption, reward and democracy, creates some memorable dramatic moments and a credible story line. However, if I’m honest, I don’t think the character of Marty is invested with anything like the tragic hero potential of Willy Loman, Eddie Carbone or John Proctor. For one thing, he lives! He survives the play and presumably goes on to have some kind of life in the future – what kind, is up to the audience to decide. For that reason I felt it had an upbeat (if extremely sudden and slightly unrewarding) ending. Mrs C took a different view – she thought that Marty’s future would be spent achieving nothing, and therefore found the end profoundly pessimistic. Maybe that’s an observation about our own differing levels of cynicism. Or maybe it’s a neat Miller trick to confound his audience at the end.

The production looks and sounds stunning. Patrick Connellan’s set is extraordinary and constantly reveals new capabilities through the course of the evening. It converts from office to pier to the Ferraras’ home with effortless ease. The sharp black pinstripes of the union leader and the businessman contrast perfectly with the thin and well-worn work clothes of the stevedores. The sound design by Tom Mills is amazing; tiny effects like placing a glass on a table or ominous footsteps reverberate and echo with portentous doom to create a really claustrophobic atmosphere. Isobel Waller-Bridge’s incidental music is disconcerting and brooding.

But I have to confess to experiencing some confusion with the plot. Attuning to the accents meant that quite a lot of the early dialogue hit my ears but never quite reached my brain (not helped by two chatterbox young ladies to my right) and identifying and understanding some of the characters and story twists happened more in retrospect than at the time. Mrs C noted that at least two of the tables in the bar during the interval had people explaining to their friends who was who and what was happening. I think that was the trouble with the chatterboxes, as they were explaining to each other what was going on. Even today in discussion Mrs C and I realised that we still hadn’t quite worked out the relationship between some of the characters and what their actual jobs were. Some of the performances in the first act were also a little on the shouty side – one of Mrs C’s pet hates – although to be fair many of the characters had plenty to shout about.

The central character of Marty is given a forceful and characterful performance by Jamie Sives, promoting the workers’ causes, a natural leader, genuinely resistant to all the pressures of corruption that surround him. There’s a particularly moving scene when one of the men is writing in the dust on the floor, adding up a sum of how much money the union has cheated from them. Marty is so infuriated with it that he physically hurls himself into the dust to erase the offending calculation. It’s an extraordinary visual depiction of his deep need to eradicate the injustice against his fellow men, and to his willingness to degrade himself if necessary to achieve it.

At the other end of the societal scale there’s a splendidly villainous turn from Joe Alessi as Louis, the self-aggrandising, pocket-lining, cigar-smoking, superiority-obsessed union leader whose choices in life depend entirely on to what extent they benefit himself. Today he would be in charge of FIFA. It’s an excellent portrayal of corrupted power. There’s an electric scene between him and Sean Murray as Rocky, where the two powerful men stalk each other mentally, looking for gaps in each other’s defence, like a boxing match disguised as a business meeting. Mr Murray nicely conveys an element of decency lacking in his opponent’s character elsewhere in the play – there’s a memorable scene at the beginning where Rocky’s henchman Farragut (a suitably weaselly performance by Jem Wall) dismissively tosses a spare coin to the floor so that the men who didn’t get work that day can scrabble undignified on the pavement for it – and Rocky cuts him down to size as a reward.

There’s also a sterling performance from Susie Trayling as Marty’s wife Theresa, downtrodden yet supportive, a voice of domestic reason, but still too insignificant to him to influence his driven need to represent the working man. I also enjoyed Paul Rattray’s earnest and eloquent performance as Enzo, Marty’s most loyal comrade (not that they’re communists, see paragraph 2) and Ewart James Walters as Darkeyes, trying to make a measly living selling trinkets and taking bets; a modern Tiresias, the blind man who sees the truth. Miller loved a bit of Greek Tragedy in his plays, you know. The ensemble is augmented by members of the local community theatre who do a grand job of creating a sense of busy crowds and a wider society. I particularly liked the way a whole bunch of men suddenly appeared out of nowhere whenever the daily work was to be allocated by the bosses.

So, all in all a significant new work given a very good production, although if you’re hoping to see A View From The Bridge Mark#2 you might be a little disappointed. In the year that celebrates Arthur Miller’s centenary, this is a very welcome addition to his repertoire. After it finishes its run in Northampton on 27th June, it visits the Liverpool Everyman until 25th July. If you’re interested in the works of Miller, this is a must-see.

Review – UB40, Derngate, Northampton, 3rd June 2015

Posted on by

You know, gentle reader, Mrs Chrisparkle and I are extremely lucky to go to all sorts of shows as often as we do and I do try hard not to take that privilege for granted; nevertheless, occasionally, something is ooked and we think, “ok, I suppose we’d better go”, after a hard day, when secretly we’d prefer to vegetate in front of the telly. We’re only human. However, from the moment I heard that UB40 were going to play the R&D, and that they were going to take out all the stalls seats so that it would be largely standing, my excitement antennae went into quivering overdrive. I haven’t genuinely looked forward to seeing a show so much in ages.

Admittedly, over the last twenty years or so, I’ve probably only given UB40 the occasional glimpse of attention, as more modern performers (not to mention real life) get in the way of one’s more youthful musical heroes. But ask anyone who knew me back in 1983/84 and they will tell you I was hopelessly addicted to UB40, especially Labour of Love and the remarkable half-hour video that accompanied it. It showed Ali Campbell falling in love, getting jilted, and being in with a generally bad crowd of petty criminals and beaters-up of cops (not that the police did themselves any favours in the story, but that’s another matter), involving betrayal and revenge. All shot in a very atmospheric black and white. The highlight for me was the fantastic Johnny Too Bad, filmed along a canal towpath with Ali, Brian Travers and Norman Hassan, arrogant and aggressive, in trouble but they don’t care because they’re all mates together. It really appealed to the streetwise part of me that I never had. Johnny you’re too bad, woy, woy!

The Derngate auditorium underwent a transformation for this show. The only other time I’ve seen it denuded of seats was for the very different but nevertheless brilliant Flathampton. How do they do it? Where do they store all the seats? Is there some magical industrial sized spindle that turns around 180 degrees so that all the seats hang upside down, subterranean? Probably not. Whatever, the space that remains works amazingly well for a concert like this. Pretty good sight lines abound unless you find yourself standing behind The Tall Man, there’s plenty of space to move around and be comfortable whilst still enjoying great atmosphere and there’s easy access to the bar which delightfully remained open throughout the show. At one stage I moved away from The Noisy Chatty People and ended up behind The Tall Man, but fortunately he was also thin so was easy to look around. My guess is that the best view is probably from the circle boxes – note to self for next time.

The tickets said the show would start at 8pm so we wandered into the auditorium at 7.45pm to find a DJ on stage whacking out some reggae hits. It felt pretty funky to old-timers like us, I wondered if that was what the Young People Of Today like to get up to on the average Wednesday night out. He was certainly getting everyone moving. I recognised most of the songs too. Bob Marley’s Jammin’, (no “g”), Janet Kay’s Silly Games, Ken Boothe’s Everything I Own; he even played Musical Youth’s Pass The Dutchie, investing it with more credibility than I ever imagined it possessed. I was hoping for Susan Cadogan’s Hurt So Good – no luck – and I knew deep down he would never play Carl Malcolm’s Hey Fattie Bum Bum, but hope springs eternal.

I had no idea the DJ would go on as long as he did though. By the time we’d gone past half-eight I thought this was stretching the credulity of a warm-up act. I get the idea of the celebrity DJ but he was hardly Boy George. Really it was just a geezer playing his favourite records. Then he asked “are you ready for UB40? I said, are you ready for UB40??” Yes we were, in fact we’d told him twice. Then, with sundry reggae sounds still coming through the speakers, he slowly dismantled all his equipment, winding up cables, shutting down laptops, packed it all into his rucksack and toodled off. Cue for UB40, you might have thought. But no, there was still bags of time to go back to the crowded bar for Emergency Shiraz and it wasn’t until about 9.10pm that the UB40 chaps finally appeared.

What an extraordinary back catalogue the group have given us over the years. Loads of old favourites – not only the aforementioned Johnny Too Bad, but also Many Rivers To Cross, If It Happens Again, The Earth Dies Screaming, Don’t Break My Heart, and there’s a Rat In Me Kitchen (what am I gonna do?) Yep, you guessed it, they didn’t play any of them. Isn’t it always the way? However, they did play lots of familiar stuff – One in Ten, Cherry Oh Baby, Sing our own Song, Food for Thought, plus those other great versions that I always associate with other performers – Can’t Help Falling in Love with You and Homely Girl. Red Red Wine got a massive reception – Kingston Town maybe even more. Some of the guys look terrific for their age, some a little less so – but, hey, let he who is without sin, etc. The group is now fronted by Duncan Campbell, as Ali and the others got involved in legal fisticuffs resulting in the fact that there are now two versions of the group touring. Who would have guessed UB40 and Bucks Fizz would have so much in common?

They are instrumentalists supreme. I had forgotten to what extent the group’s sound relies on their brass section and Brian Travers, not looking a day over 25, is a master of the sax. It was great to see him still brimming with confidence and attitude, and loving every minute of it. Jimmy Brown on the drums, Norman Hassan on percussion and trombone, Earl Falconer and Robin Campbell on guitars, plus new recruits Laurence Parry, Martin Meredith and Tony Mullings work together to create an amazing sound – a wall of reggae – and it was fantastic to witness it. The concert also looked great – with very effective lighting, and just a simple presentation with no stupid gimmicks to get in the way. However, as Mrs C pointed out, when you hear a lot of their songs together, particularly the ones you don’t know (and there were plenty of those), quite a lot of their output does sound rather samey. And while Duncan Campbell’s voice almost spookily resembles little brother Ali’s in tone and atmosphere, there’s definitely a lack-of-diction clarity issue here. In some of the songs he could have been singing a shopping list for all we could make out.

Despite these issues it was a very enjoyable night and I am really pleased to have finally seen this group for whom I held such reverence in my younger days. They have a few more dates in their UK tour between now and early July before blitzing the theatres and arenas of the land throughout October. A great blend of nostalgia with contemporary. What’s not to like?

Review – Natalie Clein Performs Dvořák, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Derngate, Northampton, 31st May 2015

Posted on by

Always a pleasure to welcome the Royal Philharmonic to Northampton, this time for a varied programme of classical delights featuring cellist supreme, Natalie Clein. This is not the first time Miss Clein has been the soloist in an RPO concert here. In fact, five years ago, she played the self-same Cello Concerto in B Minor for us in her own inimitable style. So, either she only knows how to play the one song (probably unlikely) or she knows what the public wants and how to keep with a winning streak.

Our conductor for this performance was Rory Macdonald. We’ve not seen Mr Macdonald before and it’s always fascinating to observe different conductors’ styles and approaches to their work. Either Mr Macdonald has a picture mouldering in an attic, or he is incredibly young. He reminded me of what Harry Potter’s younger brother might look like. I’ve checked – he’s 34. I bet he gets asked for ID in pubs all the time. He’s an enthusiastic but elegant conductor – when he gets into the vibe he gains extra emphasis by going up on tippy-toes, rather like the Eurovision cartoon conductor of 1992, only more soberly dressed.

Our starter for ten on this concert was to go straight into the Dvořák. Both Mrs Chrisparkle and I felt that, with such an impactful, dominant and significant piece, we could have perhaps done with starting with a light overture, some kind of warm up piece to get our juices flowing and our ears attuned to the magic of the orchestra alone. Starting with the Dvořák was like going straight into a Chateaubriand without having a little smoked salmon first.

There’s no denying Natalie Clein’s complete mastery of her instrument. Centre stage, she looks unassuming, but as soon as she gets going it’s like she takes on a new existence. Every fibre of her body gets wrapped up in the cello; watching them together it’s like a high octane marriage. They can be loving and sensitive together some of the time, at other moments it’s stormy and tempestuous. The immense depth of sound she gets out of her “Simpson” Guadagnini cello (dating from 1777 would you believe) is extraordinary. Dvořák’s Cello Concerto is a most invigorating piece, with plenty of opportunities for the orchestra to shine as well as the soloist, and we all went into the interval happy in the knowledge that we’d witnessed something special.

After our halftime Shiraz’s, we ventured back for Ravel’s Mother Goose Suite. This is a charming little collection of five short pieces, each representing a different aspect of the world of fairy tales – almost like a miniature classical version of Into The Woods. I’m not sure I’ve heard the Mother Goose suite as a whole before, but I definitely recognised a theme from Ravel’s Pavane pour une infante défunte in that opening section about Sleeping Beauty. I know the pavane wellbecause it was on my 1970s album of Ravel’s Bolero, which, as you can see from the cover, was all about the music, ahem; can’t think what drove the eleven year old me to buy it. What’s especially rewarding about this suite, along with its light-hearted effervescence and tuneful variety, is that it seems to use every conceivable instrument in the orchestra, so you get to enjoy such esoteric delights as the harp and the celeste as well as the usual brass and strings.

That piece acted as a palate cleansing sorbet before the final item – Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. This allowed Mr Macdonald to get thoroughly swept off his feet again as he cajoled the orchestra through its lively sections (especially the Infernal dance of King Kashchei) before culminating in its grand finale. The version performed was the second suite dating from 1919, but the original version, from 1910, marked Stravinsky’s first collaboration with Diaghilev at the Ballets Russes, which made the composer an overnight sensation and international celebrity. The Stravinsky of that era was just perfect for combining dramatic accompaniment to fine dance with musical quality in its own right. The RPO gave this a magnificent, rousing performance which went down hugely with the appreciative audience.

It was all over by 9.15pm so there was a slight feeling of being short-changed time-wise, particularly as the first half really called out for a short introductory piece before the Dvořák, which would not only have got us warmed up for Natalie Clein but also extended the evening by just ten minutes or so. There are plenty of wonderful overtures out there – and that’s precisely what they’re meant to do – open the evening. Nevertheless it was still a marvellously rewarding concert, with a great soloist and the RPO on fine form. Look forward to the next one!

Review – Alan Carr, Yap Yap Yap, Derngate, Northampton, 29th May 2015

Posted on by

There were two good reasons for us to book to see Alan Carr’s new stand up show, and one poor one. The good ones were that a) we’ve never seen him live and I do like to see for myself how “big names” perform on stage; and b) that he’s a local lad done good, so I thought that not only might that bring an extra spice to his act, but also one should give him the local respect due. As for the poor one – well that’s the fact that whenever I catch him on TV (not often) I feel a need to run from the room as quickly as possible. I find his TV persona a bit grating – I feel that I want to like him, but to be honest, I just find his TV appearances irritating. So we turned up at the R&D on Friday night for his Yap Yap Yap show with little expectation.

Boy, were we surprised. What a funny man! Two and a half hours jam-packed with clever observations, ridiculing pomposity, railing against injustice, and full of camp nonsense, all embodied in a nicely self-deprecating, likeable and engaging personality. It’s true – as he is a local lad, his local observations were all the more credible and funny. You always know when a comic swans into town and mentions a couple of iffy local areas which he picked up on in the local newspaper half an hour earlier. Mr Carr knows Northampton inside out and can share reminiscences of old characters, shops, pubs, events and so on. He was shocked that we had a Waitrose though. We’re not that Neanderthal anymore.

His presentation style, as you might expect from his TV appearances, is reasonably manic, with a lot of pacing up and down the stage, quite a bit of fidgeting, and occasionally breaking into a bit of dancing or skipping when the material calls for it. But it’s not distracting or false like some comics, rather it all helps knit together his stage persona, enhancing his performance rather than detracting from it. Some comics flit from topic to topic barely touching the subject, whilst others go in depth and explore an idea to its nth degree. Mr Carr is towards the flitting end of the scale, going through a considerable number of ideas during the course of the show, deftly fishing the best humour out of them without going into much depth, then moving on. It keeps the show lively and you certainly never get bored. When he gets animated he also has an unfortunate habit of gobbing on the people in the front row. He does, at least, always apologise, and suggests he should issue the front row with those see-through ponchos that are popular with pensioners.

Because he is known for his TV chat show I feared a lot of the material would involve celebrity-namedropping, which would mean nothing to us as we probably wouldn’t know whom he was talking about. Not so. Any mention of celebrities actually only came from his spinning off the reactions from the audience. Apparently that Philip Schofield is a bit of a lad, and can drink Alan Carr under the table. Who knew? But the vast majority of his material came from well planned, rumbustiously executed routines about the ridiculousness of everyday life and those observations are something we can all share in.

One story that particularly hit home with us was his account of how, now his new “other half” has moved in, he’s no longer allowed to stack the dishwasher – because if he does, he’s likely to “f*ck it up” – you should probably be aware that there are quite a lot of F words in an evening with Alan Carr. It’s the very same situation chez-nous; Mrs Chrisparkle, for all her useful attributes and ability to slay dragons at work, can’t stack a dishwasher for toffee. I have to rush in to the kitchen and neatly sideswipe her out of the way if there’s to be any sense of order. That observation was part of a great sequence of “what you find out about your other half when they move in” – which I would guess (hope?) is part based on truth and part on fantasy. Fortunately I’m pleased to say that Mrs C never tried to install Nazi memorabilia like Mr Carr’s other half (allegedly). The whole evening continued with great energy and high laughter count as he discussed, inter alia, sexy food (recounting the miseries of cooking a risotto), taking his mum on safari, witnessing a psychic do her stuff when she’d got caught in the rain, and the mistaken delight of his father when, as a foetus, the young Alan kicked him on the sofa. And I haven’t even mentioned his interaction with the audience!

Now I’ve seen him do his thing, I understand why Mr Carr is so popular. A hugely entertaining evening, and we’d definitely see him again next time he tours. You can catch him too, as he is taking this show around the UK and Ireland throughout the rest of the year. A great night!