Tag Archives: Derngate

Review – Sweeney Todd, R&D Youth Theatre, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 11th July 2014

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It’s incredible to think that a show as powerful and perennially popular as Stephen Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd only chalked up a four months’ run at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane in its first London showing. I clearly remember accompanying the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle to that show. I loved it; I think some of the gruesomeness of the production brought out her squeamishness, but for decades afterwards she would never fail to delight at the thought that “privates is extra” when it comes to a pie made from a General. The cast was astounding – Denis Quilley, Sheila Hancock, Andrew C Wadsworth, Michael Staniforth all at the top of their game. It’s a show that’s stayed with me all my life since, and I know that Original Cast Soundtrack like the back of my hand. Since 1980, it’s had revival after revival and has also made its way into film. Mrs C and I enjoyed the very different 2004 Watermill production, where the cast all played their own instruments on stage (as has become a Watermill trademark). There’s no end to how this show can keep coming back in different guises – directors’ imaginations are the only limit.

It’s a perfect show for the R&D Youth Theatre to tackle. Very challenging, with some iconic roles and demanding songs, lots of scene changes and comic business. The thought of this being performed by an amateur group would normally bring me out in a cold sweat, and as for Mrs C – well you simply wouldn’t get her out of the house to see it (we’ve seen some stinkers over the years, to be honest). But the Youth Theatre is no ordinary amateur group. In fact, I can’t think of them as amateur, they’re pre-professional. Yes this show was indeed a challenge, but one to which they rose and in many cases exceeded all expectations (and, having seen last year’s astonishingly good Spring Awakening, my expectations were very high indeed).

I’m sure you know the story – ace barber Benjamin Barker returns from Australia after being transported on a trumped-up charge, feeling more than a little resentful about how he’s been treated and how generally vile the world and its inhabitants are. He then re-invents himself as Sweeney Todd to seek revenge on those who caused his misery – Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford in particular – but he also shaves the faces of gentlemen who never thereafter were heard of again. What happens next, well that’s the play, and he wouldn’t want me to give it away. I know, I’m quoting.

As soon as you entered the Royal auditorium, you realised this was a production with top quality standards. Carl Davies’ intriguing set lurked behind a torn backdrop, which split into an upstairs, which could represent Mr Todd’s tonsorial parlour and a downstairs housing the pie shop; but could also suggest the many other locations in the show. The excellent little orchestra under the direction of Fergal O’Mahony were squeezed into the tiny pit at the front of the stage and created a fantastic sound. We were spellbound watching how Joley Cragg darted about the place attending to all the percussion needs.

You need a performer of some magnitude to carry off the role of Todd – and fortunately the Youth Theatre has Brett Mason, astoundingly good in Spring Awakening, and who once again filled the stage with his authoritative presence. Mr Mason’s gift is for acting through singing – give him a song and he will bring its meaning to life, crystal clear and full of emotion. It’s an ability that makes him perfect for this kind of role. I was very impressed with his moving “Barber and his wife”, and even more so with the brilliantly dramatic “Epiphany”. He was superbly matched by Amara Browning as Mrs Lovett, with her superb feel for the spitefulness, tenderness and comedy of the role, and who sang like a dream. Fantastically cheeky and irrepressibly self-confident Ms Browning is surely a star of the future. I was particularly impressed with the way both she and Mr Mason tackled complex songs whilst still acting with props – a skill that’s easy to underestimate. I loved her performance of “The Worst Pies in London”, singing whilst preparing pastry, chasing fleas and wielding her chopper. Similarly, Mr Mason effortlessly sang about Johanna whilst carefully preparing his razor, lathering and shaving his customers and deftly dispatching them, knowing that every pair of eyes in the packed Royal auditorium was going to be glued to that razor, and watching for the spurt of blood. We were not disappointed!

I was genuinely astounded when Michael Ryan, as Anthony, appeared and started singing “No Place Like London”. What a fantastic voice he has, and he gives a performance of such huge confidence and quality that I sensed he stopped the whole audience in their tracks. Surely here’s another performer who ought to have a terrific career ahead of him. He and Miranda Spencer-Pearson as Johanna made a great team, with their duets full of wonderful harmonies and looking absolutely perfect for their roles. I loved how Ms Spencer-Pearson expressed both the sadness and hopefulness of Johanna, the metaphorical caged-bird herself.

Then there was another superb performance by Stephen Bennett as Tobias – proving himself skilled as a showman in “Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir”, convincingly portraying an overworked and rather bewildered waiter in “God that’s Good”, but most of all giving us a very touching and emotional “Not While I’m Around”, showing his love for Mrs L, and his distrust of Todd. Mr Bennett captured Tobias’ extreme innocence whilst never “downgrading” the character to the mere simpleton that the other characters would have you believe he is. Mrs C and I were stunned at how good he was. A very credible interpretation of the role – here’s yet another young man who’s going to do amazing things I’m sure.

As the villainous Judge and Beadle, Matthew Parsons and Ryan McLean cut imposing and disquieting figures. It’s very hard for someone young to represent an old and gruff character like the Judge but I think Mr Parsons did as good a job as I could imagine anyone doing it – creepily lusting after Johanna, merrily pom-pom-pomming as he awaited his Todd-type makeover, and superbly harmonising in his songs. I do think “Pretty Women” is the great underestimated masterpiece of this show; a beautiful melody, clever lyrics and a subtle blend of the loving and the downright lascivious. Ryan McLean’s Beadle seemed a reasonable enough guy at first, until he clinically eliminated the caged bird Anthony had bought for Johanna. Sitting at the harmonium, singing “Parlour Songs”, he was the perfect embodiment of a viper masquerading as a spaniel. Intimidating, wicked and very believable, his is another voice that blended beautifully with the others.

Carrying off a difficult role with great aplomb, I very much enjoyed Bethaney Coulson’s performance as the Beggar Woman, bringing out the pathos and sadness in her collecting alms from Anthony and the short shrift she receives from Todd and Mrs L, as well as the rather tragic desperation of her side-line as a wannabe whore. Nathan Stroud was a very entertaining mountebank Pirelli, preening and pontificating to great effect, and I loved the innovative introduction of his two groupie girls, beating each other up in order to get the best profile shots as they pose with their star. The whole ensemble were terrific, venomously telling “the tale of Sweeney Todd” as they eyeballed us on the steps either side of the stage, brilliantly throwing themselves into being the rowdy and pie-smearing customers in Mrs Lovett’s shop, or incarcerated in Fogg’s asylum. The whole “City on Fire” sequence was fantastic.

So – another Youth Theatre triumph. I am in complete awe of these people. They act and sing amazingly well. And it’s wonderful that the Royal and Derngate give them support and resources so that they can have the thrill of giving performances like that at such an atmospheric venue as the Royal. The company goes from strength to strength. If you haven’t seen them before, you’re missing an absolute treat.

Review – Story Hunt, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 29th June 2014

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A few years ago Mrs Chrisparkle and I went on a walk about Northampton entitled Town My Town, where a group of us, led by the R&D’s Storyteller Jo Blake Cave, encountered historical townspeople and learned about the area’s hidden past by means of a very clever narrative and the subtle introduction of additional characters as we walked around. I neglected to blog it at the time, which I regret now, because it was a very fine example of how you can take theatre outdoors and literally walk around with it. I shall never forget the shock when the man Jo sat next to on the church bench suddenly started to address us out of the blue. A veritable coup de theatre!

So, naturally, I wondered if Story Hunt would be more of the same – and indeed if any of the content in Town My Town would be repeated. It sounds a bit obvious just to say that they were “similar but different”, but in fact that’s just what they were. We wandered round the town, treading some paths less frequently trod – indeed we discovered two expanses of green in the town centre that we’d never stumbled upon before, during almost six years of living here – and heard some fascinating stories from the town’s history and about its notable inhabitants, and with some intriguing conjecture about the future too. Unlike Town My Town, there were no surprise meetings with people like a wild John Clare, the ubiquitous girl sitting in a Subway café or the avuncular barman at The Bantam pub. Instead there was greater interactivity between us the inquisitive locals, and our host, guide and storyteller Daniel Bye.

Any crossover in content between Story Hunt and Town My Town would be accidental, as the stories had been collected by Daniel and his director/partner in crime Sarah Punshon a few weeks previously, when they had set up a stall in the Market Square and asked passers-by to give their recollections of recent history and to relate any major incidents or stories of notable characters in the town’s past that they knew about. Daniel and Sarah went away and did further research, and came up with this unique collection of reminiscences. Even so, there were some elements that made both shows – the fire that swept through the town in 1675, the poet John Clare, and the wartime aircraft that ended up in Gold Street. But they’re all fascinating anyway, and the presentation was completely different, so it was good to be reminded of these people and events.

We met Daniel in the theatre as he strode over to meet our little group for the 5.30pm slot on Sunday – the last, in fact, of the scheduled twelve town walks. Daniel is an instantly likeable chap with a spring in his step and a boundless enthusiasm for his subject, and a voice as big as his personality. With his red trousers, blue trilby and colourful Icelandic cardy he’d stand out in any crowd – perfect credentials for someone who’s going to lead you through some busy streets. If in doubt – follow the hat. Within a few minutes of meeting him, he had already got our imaginations working and we were back in the 1950s, as the Derngate bus station was about to be demolished; and back in the 1920s too, wishing a determined wannabe beau ask out a young lady for the third time – this time with success. That would be typical of the little personal touches we would encounter all over town.

In many of the scenes we got personally involved as characters, which helped us to get closer to the action. I was to be Mr Graham, co-creator of a rather unsuccessful hot air balloon that came to a somewhat dismal end in the Market Square; and Mr Fowler, a political rival to Charles Bradlaugh at the (I believe) 1874 General Election. Mrs C became famous local MP Margaret Bondfield, elected in 1923 and the first ever woman Cabinet member. Naturally I was very proud of her; she was very modest at her success. I think we all took turns to be someone famous from the town at some point. As a result, you strike up conversations with your fellow walkers, so that, unlike a traditional theatrical play experience, where you sit down quietly, absorbing what happens on stage and not breathing a word until the interval, here you’re encouraged to respond and participate, exchange views with strangers and make joint discoveries as you wander around.

Playing with time is another method by which this entertainment took on a life of its own. We would stand at one location and within a few minutes would be transported maybe as far back as the fourteenth century, or to the Elizabethan or Victorian era, then right back to today and perhaps into the future too, as we considered the future for our imaginary eight year old girl companion, Sarah, as she made her way through the town, and her life, and considered her position in respect to the past; a very thoughtful, personal and yet tangential way of looking at our environment.

Daniel’s narrative style is very expressive and entertaining. He’s a bit like that very rare beast – a history teacher to whom you can relate. When he tells a story that involves personal tragedy, you feel that tragedy yourself; as when we tried to get under the skin of the man who, with his wife and son were plunged into water to prove whether or not they were witches – if they drowned, they were innocent, if they survived they were guilty. It was straight out of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, except that Daniel didn’t make it funny. He made it horrific; a very eerie and creepy tale that ice-cubed its way up my spine. This man survived the drowning, as he supposed, by praying hard to be saved and to be given a purpose in life by God. His family also survived the drowning, but they just confessed to a feeling of fear and horror when they were submerged; and therefore he concluded that his wife and son were indeed guilty of witchcraft because they didn’t pray. Earlier, outside the courtroom, we had heard another personal story, the tale of Elizabeth Pinckard, found guilty of the murder of her mother-in-law, despite the valiant efforts of one Dr Mash to prevent her being hanged by his somewhat incredible suggestions that the mother-in-law died by her own hand. It was presented in quite a light-hearted way, yet you were left to ponder the motivation of the good doctor for his whimsical notions.

In many of these scenarios, Daniel would take you to the edge of the story ending and then leave you dangling to draw your own conclusions. Then before you realise it, with his words hanging in the air, he’s moved on to the next location and you’re left trying to catch up with his waving hat before you lose sight of him. This really kept the whole thing moving and dynamic. It felt like an outdoors promenade theatrical performance – always a good thing in my book. And when it ends, and you eventually return to the theatre, and everyone says their goodbyes and disperses back out in different directions into the streets from which you’ve just arrived, it’s like a tidal wave of local awareness has come to a head at the theatre doors and then just slowly dissipates back into the environment.

An extremely enjoyable experience, and it’s great that the R&D continue to support smaller, more informal activities such as this as part of its remit. An excellent way to spend a Sunday afternoon, and if a Story Hunt comes your way, don’t hesitate to get on board!

Review – John Bishop, Work in Progress, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 27th June 2014

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I didn’t know much about John Bishop before going to see this curious little gig in Northampton’s Royal Theatre – yes the Royal, that charming Victorian powerhouse of culture and tradition, that seats a fraction of the larger Derngate auditorium – apart from the fact that he’s from Liverpool, has only relatively recently turned to comedy as a career, and has an accent the spitting image (if you can apply that phrase to sound as well as vision) of my late father-in-law’s. We’ve seen him a couple of times on telly and he seemed a good laugh, and I was very intrigued and excited by the fact that the gig would be so up close and personal, as he tries out new material for his arena tour later in the year. I associate “arena” with the performer being miles away so that you can only see them on the thoughtfully provided TV screens scattered about the place. But in the Royal, we would be in Row C of the stalls and he would be a mere few feet away. That’s what I call live entertainment.

Shows in the Royal always – ALWAYS – start at 7.45pm. It’s a tradition. If there’s anything on at the Derngate it will begin at 7.30 or 8.00; and the same goes for the Underground unless it’s the Screaming Blue Murder, which always starts at 8.15. It’s a timing system that runs like clockwork. So I was really surprised to see that John Bishop was due to start at 8pm. Half believing it was a printing error on the tickets, we arrived in good time just in case it really was a 7.45 kick-off. The bar was very busy – unsurprisingly, as every seat in the Royal had been sold, which I believe is a first since we’ve been going there. If we wanted to sit down with our pre-comedy Cab Sav (which we did), the only choice was to sit on the plastic children’s chairs at the bottom of the stairs, that are about a foot high and wide enough for one buttock. We weren’t alone. I expect a number of people had bad backs on Saturday morning.

Then came the tannoy announcement – apologies, but John Bishop is running late. Late? Unthinkable! He’d already had a quarter of an hour’s grace by being on at 8 and not 7.45. But no, late he would be, and rather like waiting at some busy arrivals’ terminal, we were told that he was now due to land at 8.45pm. The announcement came a few times, and every time, just like at an airport, the conversation would all suddenly hush as we listened for the longed-for confirmation that our flight had finally arrived. Maybe fog at Gatwick was to blame; cue for another Cab Sav anyway. By the time Mr Bishop would eventually come on stage, sweating with apologies and panting with embarrassment, we’d all had a skinful. That’s not a bad thing – sometimes comedy can use a bit of extra help if it’s not that great in the first place. Of course, Mr Bishop needs no such help.

A downside though is that some people can get a little out of hand with the extra lubrication. No sooner had Mr B come on stage and started his apologies then the people in front of me, whose jawlines were firmly set in that “I’m not going to laugh at him” mode, started having a go at him about something he said last time he visited Northampton. “Are you still mad that Northampton Town beat Liverpool in the Carling Cup in 2010”, one guy challenged him, to a loud intake of breath and an “oooh” from everyone else. Mr B looked as though he couldn’t believe his ears. “To be honest, I’ve moved on” was his wonderfully deflating reply. But the group in front kept on trying to have little digs at him, which was, in all fairness, bloody rude and downright annoying.

As Mr B said, usually the format is that he comes on and does an hour or so’s worth of material and then there’d be some questions and answers at the end. However, a number of people in the audience wouldn’t let him get on with his act until they’d got some questions in and their presence acknowledged. Most popular was for him to tell us about his attitude to the England Football Team’s “performance” (as I suppose you might call it) in the World Cup. Mr B knew that he had lost the upper hand – being late put him at a slight disadvantage there – so he gave in and answered some questions. Thus we had a comedy sandwich, with Q&A’s as the bit of bread either side.

He says he needs these try-out shows to see if the material he’s got milling around inside his head is funny or not. I suppose that must be true, otherwise why would he break away from a family weekend at Glastonbury, allowing insufficient time to get to Northampton (he believed the Sat Nav, apparently – schoolboy error), offer to buy everyone in the audience a drink after the show to apologise for being late, and then drive all the way back to Glastonbury, just to do an hour or so’s comedy to a maximum of 500 people at just £15 a ticket. It’s hardly a cash cow, is it?

Well, just to let both you and him know, every scenario he discussed, every mental picture he painted, every joke he told (actually there was just the one) was comedy gold. Flights featured quite a lot in his material – both travelling in the Ryanair learjet to do a gig in Ireland, and his experiences of travelling First Class on Emirates. He considers the reasons why people might vote UKIP (if you voted UKIP you might be asked to explain yourself) and confesses to why he too might vote the same way. He ponders on the delights of having teenage sons, and how sharing a friendly tequila with a mate got out of hand. And then there was his joke – which involved a taxi and a Geordie lass. Can’t remember laughing harder or louder at a simple joke, ever.

Mr B has a wonderfully relaxed, gentle style of delivery that reassures you with his confidence but that can also snap into quite an aggressive punch line if needed. A naturally funny, charismatic performer, we’d both happily see him again any time. He’s coming back to the R&D in September for another try-out show, and you might sneak a last minute seat if you’re lucky. Superbly funny.

P.S. According to the Northampton Chronicle, the bar bill for the free post-show drinks came in at around £1000. To be honest, Mrs Chrisparkle and I couldn’t bring ourselves to take advantage of his kindness – he’d already paid us back handsomely in comedy currency. Still, shows what a nice guy he is.

Review – Dawn French, Thirty Million Minutes, Derngate, Northampton, 11th June 2014

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When I saw that Dawn French was going to tour a solo show I knew instantly that I had to see it. Locally it was first scheduled to be on at the Milton Keynes Theatre, so I went to book it and I saw that the tickets were… £60! Really? Can I justify spending £120 for both of us to see a stand-up? I’ve never spent more than the high 30s for a comedian and they were Very Big Names Indeed. So I made a momentous decision – I didn’t book, based on a Value For Money judgment (just like I didn’t book for Kate Bush).

Then some weeks later it was announced that Miss French would be on at the Royal and Derngate. I wondered if good old “Bargain Northampton” would welcome her at slightly reduced prices. I quivered as I made my way to the Box Office Counter. “How much are you charging for Dawn French tickets?” The lady there was slightly bemused as she’s seen me there many times before and I’ve never asked such a thing. “£39.50. With your friends’ discount, £38.50.” Sold to the gentleman with the avid credit card. And people ask us why we love Northampton.

Thirty Million Minutes is roughly the time that Dawn French has been around on this planet, hence the name of the show, and I kind of guessed that’s what the title would refer to. However, I wasn’t at all expecting the content of the show. I can’t say that it was an unexpected delight, or an unexpected disappointment – it was just completely unexpected! I thought it would be “just another” stand-up comedy show; even though I can’t remember her ever just telling jokes or doing a stand-up type routine, I still imagined this would be the timbre of the evening.

Wrong. Thirty Million Minutes is like a live autobiography. 100% scripted, to the accompaniment of a video wall and sound plot, this is 2 hours 5 minutes (including interval) of soliloquised confessional. Initially I was disappointed, because I like my comedians to be loose enough to engage with the audience and go in different directions if that’s how the wind blows. When you’re chained to a running picture and sound commentary (as in Dave Gorman’s Powerpoint Presentation) there’s only one direction in which you can progress, and you just have to hope it’s what your audience wants. Well, that was one thing Dawn French need have no worry about. It was certainly one of the warmest and friendliest receptions for a performer I have seen for a long time. The audience (maybe 80% female?) was completely on her side from the start and constantly gave her encouraging laughs, sighs, murmurs, groans and supportive rounds of applause as the show went on, pretty much irrelevant as to whether the material actually warranted it. Because it was such a personal show, all the material was very female-centric, which felt slightly odd to me (maybe because Mrs Chrisparkle wasn’t with me that night, she was wheeling and dealing with the top brass in the USA, so I couldn’t tune in to her first-hand female appreciation). I also felt at times, particularly in the first part of the show, that it was a little over-sentimental, with several “aaaaahhh”’s for cute photos of little Dawn and her brother, with their mum and dad, and an affectionate round of applause for a photo of Eric Morecambe.

But you have to hand it to her, she was able to create a family feeling to the whole show, and by the time we were into the second half, it was like listening to a much loved but only rarely seen cousin, going through old photos and reminiscing together about what great times we used to have. A few drinks, a few laughs, and it’s like we never lost contact. There’s a very nice balance too, between the complete sincerity of what she shares of her private life, and the fact that she still doesn’t take herself too seriously, and happily points out her (not quite hourglass) figure, and the fact that she’s got man’s legs and no neck. And she can’t hold back from doing some ridiculous (but perfectly genuine) disco dancing – as indeed none of us can when the mood takes us.

The family recollections became deeper and more moving as the evening went on – with very enjoyable stories about the two grannies, the very sad account of her father’s death, her unswerving love for her brother and her mum, the very honest memories of marriage with Lenny Henry, her immense love for and pride in for her daughter, and her “wow-factor” for her new husband. Go back twenty years and imagine Michael Parkinson on his BBC show; these are the kind of private memories he could teased out of one of his best ever Saturday night interviewees. By the end you really feel that you’ve got to know the inner Dawn extremely well – you can share secrets with her, ask if she needs anything from the shops and maybe even your and her family could go on holiday together for a week or so. That’s the kind of relationship you now have. With all the supportive women fans in the audience, I’m surprised they didn’t all accompany Dawn to the Ladies’ Loo in the interval – that’s what girls do, right?

So whilst I was slightly uncertain of how much I was enjoying the show at the interval, and part of me still wanted her to be able to break off and engage one-to-one with a few of us, I really liked it by the end. But I can tell you the majority of the audience absolutely loved it all the way through. Well worth £38.50!

Review – John Williams performs Rodrigo’s Guitar Concerto de Aranjuez, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Derngate, Northampton, 8th June 2014

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Put a big name on the bill, playing a show stopping piece of music, and the crowds come a-flocking. There was barely room for a standing piccolo in the Derngate, so many bums on seats were there, which is great news for everyone. I’m not surprised. I love Spanish guitar music – and Rodrigo’s Guitar Concerto is up there with the best. During the concert, I was reminded of the time when Mrs Chrisparkle and I were strolling through the late night alleyways of Madrid back in 1999, when we stumbled upon the Plaza Major at around midnight, to discover a guitarring busker sat in a corner playing Rodrigo’s Guitar Concerto with great feeling and charm. He beckoned us over to listen closer. For a few minutes we were in awe of his wonderful playing in a magical setting. It was just one of those perfect moments that will stay with us all our lives.

It’s always a pleasure to greet the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra to our beloved local theatre, and they were on cracking form as usual. Our conductor was Alexander Shelley, who we first saw last year, and he’s an enthusiastic and benign influence, as he mounts the podium (so to speak) beaming with pleasure at the prospect of the performance, and very carefully communicating with the orchestra, indicating clearly what he wants from each musician as he proceeds.

First up was Elgar’s In The South. “Two harps!” Mrs C had exclaimed as we entered the auditorium. There were indeed two harps for this piece, which seems a little excessive in these days of austerity. They were whisked away at the end of the Elgar and never seen again, so I hope everyone involved thought it worth the effort. I’m sure it was, as it was a superb rendition of this elegant and beautiful piece, renowned for its solo viola theme which was movingly performed by Abigail Fenna. A very rewarding to start to the evening’s programme.

In preparation for the Rodrigo, all the violinists moved back a yard or so to make way for our soloist, whose appearance was presaged by an orchestra gofer, carefully placing a short microphone stand and a footrest in front of John Williams’ chair. Enter Mr Williams, a very serene looking man, delighted by his welcoming applause and greeting individual orchestra members like old friends (which I’m sure they are). He took one look at the microphone stand and footrest and, with a miniscule snort, repositioned them as far as possible from their original location, much to the amusement of Mr Shelley. Once Mr Williams’ props were sorted, he then performed a lengthy tuning up session, to which he added little horrified glances every time a string was out of key, or a thankful look of relief every time the tuning was spot on. These things are important, of course; but that tiny procedure really added to the occasion’s sense of theatre, a building up of expectation and tension.

The Guitar Concerto is a stunning piece of music and Mr Williams played it with a classic, clean interpretation, gently nudging all the beauty out of its structure. That first allegro movement, that strikes me as the epitome of Spanishness – pure sunshine on a Seville orange, got a round of applause by itself (much to Mrs C’s approval, see earlier); further retuning after that movement slightly broke the spell, but then took us into the romantic yet melancholic adagio – no hint of a bland Manuel and the Music of the Mountains in this performance, it was sheer emotion – and then straight into the triumphantly jolly final allegro. It was all fantastic, supported beautifully by the orchestra, and I thought Tim Gill’s cello in the first movement was sensational.

But that wasn’t to be our entire John Williams fix for the night. After our interval Cab Sav, we returned to see Mr Williams again as the soloist in Stephen Goss’ Guitar Concerto, which we’d seen at its debut performance two years ago. I think it’s fair to say that on that first performance we were a little underwhelmed by it, but this time round I warmed to it much more – although I still don’t think Mrs C quite gets its appeal. Last time I found the “Homage to Elgar” second movement rather derivative of the Great Man, but this time it felt to me much more individual. Full of drama and light and shade, the concerto gives the soloist a real chance to shine – not that Mr Williams needs any assistance. It received very generous applause in the hall, and it was a delight to see Mr Goss modestly taking the plaudits as well. John Williams has now recorded this piece with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, so I expect it will become a regular feature in their repertoire.

A considerable change to the evening’s Spanish guitar theme for the last treat, Gershwin’s An American in Paris. We were suddenly transported into the jazz age, with a colourful hotch-potch of tunes and sound effects blended together perfectly by the woodwind, and of course it’s a riot of fun for the percussionists who can quirk it up to their hearts’ content. Where Rhapsody in Blue is pure New York from start to finish, American in Paris gave Gershwin the chance to mix and match his influences which really adds to its natural energy. It was played with real gusto and entertainment, and I continually realised I was breaking into uncontrollable smiles throughout the performance, which is always a good sign. Just as I hadn’t realised that Rodrigo lived to the grand old age of 97 (thank you, programme notes), Gershwin only got as far as 38. One wonders what fabulous pieces of music lurked in the recesses of his brain that he never got to write.

A highly enjoyable programme of mixed styles and virtuosity, which delighted the packed audience, and the Royal Philharmonic did us proud. One more concert this season – the Last Night of the Proms next month – which will no doubt be a bundle of fun as usual!

Review – Dealer’s Choice, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 6th June 2014

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Poker. Perhaps the ultimate experience in taking a game of complete chance and creating one of extreme skill. From my later teenager years into my twenties, I would host poker nights with my school friends in our public bar (you knew the Dowager Mrs Chrisparkle ran a pub, gentle reader?) John used to pretend to be Edward G Robinson (he’d have the hat to prove it); at the beginning of every game, as we were putting in our starter five pences (or whatever it was, this was a long time ago!) Craig would – without fail – say “you’ve got to be in it to win it”; if he had a good hand Gerry would always giggle uncontrollably; whenever the dealer chose five card stud we’d all say “man’s game”;we’d play Spit in the Ocean with the wild card being the one dealt the first time any of us said “spit” – which would always be Paul, and always on the first card; and nine times out of ten we’d play Baseball – threes and nines are wild, fours get you an extra card, a three up meant you had to match the pot before continuing, and a second three up meant you were automatically out. Another man’s game. It was all an elaborate routine. We knew these ridiculous rules like the backs of our hands; and we would start around midnight and go on until sunrise. Free beer on tap – jukebox on if we wanted – and the Dowager Mrs C would prepare us loads of cheese and ham toasties before she went to bed. Big kids playing at being tough adults. Great days.

Patrick Marber’s engrossing and somewhat disturbing play first hit our stages in 1995 at a time when Mrs C and I didn’t see many plays; and its (relatively) recent revival at the Menier Chocolate Factory took place just before we discovered that marvellous little venue, so this play was new to us. The scene is a rather downmarket little restaurant, run by Stephen, who’s more addicted to poker than catering. Not always a winner but not often a loser, he always has plenty of readies put by to draw on if necessary. His chef, Sweeney, and his waiters and general staff, Frankie and Mugsy, are regulars at his weekly poker nights, as is his son Carl, always on the scrounge for a paternal hand-out due to his excessive gambling. Add to this mix the mysterious Ash, a diner who won’t leave at the end of the evening, and you have six assorted guys assembled for a poker match in the second act. I won’t give away what happens which is partly very surprising and partly quite predictable, so you’ll have to watch the poker game to find out.

Patrick Marber really knows his poker players. I could recognise each of his six characters in my school chums who used to attend our regular nights. The brash, confident one who did ok; the one who seemed sensible then lost big time on ridiculously dangerous decisions; the loud, rather stupid one who continually got away with it; the quiet, reserved one who you never knew how well he was doing; the one whom all the others respected as the main player whether he won or not; and the nervous, difficult one, who was never satisfied. The running commentaries of the games that Mr Marber has his characters providing are virtually identical to the kinds of things we used to say, and reminded me so strongly of the nonsense we used to spout.

He also knows his characters outside of the poker game. The text is full of great insights lightly observed; hidden depths about the characters are exposed in throwaway conversation, like the slightly antagonistic relationship between Sweeney and Frankie, under strain due to their currently living together (probably not in the Biblical sense), or their treatment of Mugsy, part pal, part victim, part stooge. The interplay between Stephen and Carl gives you clues about the behaviour of the third party in that relationship, the unseen wife/mother; and Ash’s intense pressure on both Carl and Stephen not only reveals his own bullying brutality but also Carl’s flimsy flakiness and Stephen’s inner weakness. So even if the plot isn’t that extensive or dynamic, the characterisation is fantastic, and you really get to know them warts and all.

It’s a great production, with evocative sets by Helen Goddard depicting the barren kitchen, lurid but comfortless office and featureless restaurant. The set for the basement poker game is dominated by the centre table where the game is played, the only escape being the narrow brick-walled stairway upwards. The atmosphere of a series of fast-moving, high-stakes games is created by an almost cinematographic rapid mime of the various stages of a game – it reminded me in part of Guys and Dolls’ Crap Shooters Ballet, albeit mainly seated. In the first act there’s also an unnerving sound and lighting plot; when characters move between the kitchen and the office it’s sometimes matched with a loud click and stark lighting changes. But above all, a character-driven play needs a great cast, and that’s certainly what we have here.

Cary Crankson is a brilliant Mugsy. He’s a kind of Everyman figure, downtrodden but trying hard to make the best of himself, with the limited resources he’s got – both financially and intellectually. Irredeemably positive, bobbing back up to the water level no matter how much he’s drowning, it’s a really funny performance, but also emotionally vulnerable. There’s a moment towards the end of the play when you think another of the characters is going to tell him something that will really damage him; the woman to my left must have felt so protective towards Mugsy that she actually said out loud “oh no, please don’t”. You know a drama is working when the audience can’t keep their reactions to themselves. Throughout the whole play, Mr Crankson’s vocal ticks and physical demeanour combine to paint a very vivid picture of this underdog, and it’s a wonderful, memorable performance; and it helps that Mr Marber gives him all the best comic lines.

We’d seen Oliver Coopersmith before in the Sheffield Crucible’s excellent production of The History Boys where he was brilliant as the difficult loner Posner; and once again he’s superb in this production as Carl, the nervy, obsessive gambler who blames everything and everyone else for his own inadequacies. He really does do ungratefully awkward very well. Richard Hawley absolutely captures Stephen’s almost-but-not-quite authoritative nature, compromised by his own personal and financial involvement with his staff as a result of the poker games, a hard man to some extent, but irrationally foolish when pushed. Ian Burfield makes for a very unsettling Ash, civil only to a point, professionally cool until his own financial dire straits turn him into a professional menace. I really enjoyed the performance of Carl Prekopp as Sweeney, deftly doing the food prep for the evening shift at the restaurant whilst agonising over his decision to miss the poker game so that he will have some money left to take his daughter out the next day; and Tom Canton is an excellent Frankie, with just the right blend of vanity and jack-the-laddishness to make you almost believe his own fantasy of cleaning up at the poker tables in Vegas.

A riveting production with some stellar performances, and another excellent addition to the “Made in Northampton” file. It has one more week at the Royal, and then will be playing at the Oxford Playhouse until 21st June. Definitely worth seeing.

P. S. I booked this show at the beginning of the year before its title had even been announced. In poker terms, that’s like staking £30 on the first deal in a five card stud. Such is my faith in the Royal and Derngate! And, as usual, they didn’t let me down!

Review – Let It Be, Derngate, Northampton, 29th May 2014

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Ah, the Beatles! Eight glorious years of recording hit after hit, all of it long lasting, top quality, innovative, memorable music. They were at the right place at the right time, with a worldwide appeal, amazing creativity and the ability to excel at an extraordinary range of styles. As Mrs Chrisparkle and I often reflect, no one else we can think of can create an album which might contain rock, ballad, pop, lullaby, 1920s pastiche, or orchestral sounds – and with lyrics that might be inward looking, soul-searching and spiritual, or full of imaginary, lively characters, with their own stories to tell. As a very small child I was hooked. The first record I can actually remember the process of buying was “I Feel Fine”. The first film I ever saw at the cinema was “A Hard Day’s Night”. The word “Beatles” was the first long word I could spell – and I wrote it everywhere. Any spare scrap of paper, books, walls, curtains, furniture…. I spared nothing from the indelible “Beatles” mark. My parents must have been so proud.

If you’re expecting a musical based on Beatles songs which depicts the progression of the group’s career, then you might be a tad disappointed. Lady Duncansby and her butler William saw the show on its first night in Northampton and, expecting to see a Beatles version of Jersey Boys, felt a little cheated. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But basically this is a staged Beatles concert, set at different times chronologically advancing through the group’s oeuvre. We see them in the Cavern, raw and enthusiastic, in the Please Please Me era. They’re at the Royal Variety Performance doing She Loves You and Twist and Shout. We’re transported to the Shea Stadium for Can’t Buy Me Love and Ticket to Ride. They appear as Sgt Pepper’s band; in the “Our World” TV studio; and at Abbey Road. All in all, the cast play 42 Beatles songs over a good two and a half hours.

What makes this different from, say, going to see a tribute act like The Bootleg Beatles? Good question. Primarily, it’s the production values. This is a superbly presented show and technically a masterpiece in many ways. What bowled me over right from the start was the extraordinary accuracy of the re-enaction of the original arrangements. The four gifted musicians (together with additional instruments courtesy of the very talented Steve Geere in the performance we saw) recreate the richness and excitement of those guitar performances and the brash confidence of the drums and percussion. Later on, the reflective beauty of the piano work in Let it Be and Hey Jude feels like magic. Every nuance you can remember from playing your old Beatles records you will hear on that stage. It’s an incredible achievement.

There’s also fantastic scenic, lighting, sound and video design which incorporates live action from the stage and mixes it with contemporary film footage; supremely effective in the Shea Stadium scene, where you really felt like you were there. Jack Galloway’s costumes are 100% faithful to the various stages of the group’s career, with the early 60s sharp suits, the Shea Stadium safari jackets, the Pepper outfits, and the Indian-influenced hippy garb. And of course four tremendous performances. Unusually, the cast changed at least once during the course of the week. We saw a different cast from the night Lady D attended – and I discovered that, on the Friday, our cast were doing the Late Late Show on RTE in Dublin, so presumably the first cast was back on stage.

I was really happy that we got to see one of my favourite performers, James Fox, playing Paul McCartney. I’ve been a fan ever since he did Eurovision for the UK in 2004, and indeed Mrs C and I helped do a radio interview with him on a stairwell in Jury’s Inn at the Eurovision convention in Birmingham five years ago. But more than that, he was superb on stage when we saw him in Jesus Christ Superstar and Chess; and now, in Let it Be, he continues to have a fantastic stage presence as well as great vocals and guitar skills. Our John Lennon was Michael Gagliano, who really captured John’s cheekiness and love for entertaining. John Brosnan was a superbly taciturn George, just quietly getting on with his job of providing lead guitar, occasionally coming forward to sing – most memorably in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”, so pleased that they found space for that one. Ben Cullingworth was our Ringo, showing great mastery of the drums and chipping in with typical Ringo spark through the course of the evening.

It would, of course, be impossible for them to play all the Beatles hits, but I was a little disappointed at a couple of sins of omission – most particularly I had hoped for Lady Madonna, and Hello Goodbye would also have added to the general happiness of the evening. There’s no Paperback Writer or Yellow Submarine; no She’s Leaving Home or Ballad of John and Yoko. Lady D was unhappy with the accents – despite her posh title she’s a scouser at heart – and, as I touched on earlier, there’s no attempt to tell the story of the Beatles. You don’t get a sense of the breakdown in the relationships – John and Paul are as happy together in the final scenes as they are at the beginning. Having said that, there’s no lack of drama, because the songs themselves are of such high quality that each one brings with it its own sense of drama. The urban effervescence of Penny Lane, the life-assertion In My Life, the quiet tragedy of Eleanor Rigby, the weird one night stand of Norwegian Wood, inter alia, all capture your attention and remind you of what a sensational legacy the Fab Four left behind.

Personally, I really loved the show, and felt I could easily see it again the next night. With that attention to detail, the engaging performances and the wonderful songs – who could ask for more? After a few more weeks’ touring, the show is returning – again – to the West End, keeping the spirit of Beatlemania alive. If you like the Beatles – and especially if you never saw them – here’s your chance.

The production photographs are by Paul Coltas and are from letitbelondon.com

Review – Jon Richardson, Nidiot, Derngate, Northampton, 18th May 2014

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I’ve only ever briefly seen Jon Richardson on television, as a guest on Have I Got News For You, when I’ve always found him very funny. We’ve never watched 8 Out of 10 Cats, so I’ve no idea what he’s like on that. But his stage persona of being a grumpy young man – like the Youth Division at Jack Dee Ltd – was new to me, I’d never realised that was his comic Modus Operandi. He’s obviously extremely popular on his TV shows as the Derngate was packed to the rafters with mainly young beery guys and cheeky girls on all boys’ or all girls’ nights out. Mrs Chrisparkle and I probably stood out like proverbial sore thumbs.

It’s unusual for a comic to give his tour a name – this is the “Nidiot” tour – without actually referring to it as part of the material. I wondered if I was missing out on a new generic word so I consulted Urban Dictionary for help – and there’s all sorts of explanations for it there. To me it’s simply an elegant example of metanalysis – one of fourteen ways of making a new word in English without borrowing from a foreign word – where the last letter of the word before moves over to join with the first letter of the next word – thus an idiot becomes a nidiot. It can work backwards too; the Old English for that native snake of ours was a “naedre”, but the “n” went back the other way and it became an “adder”. I can talk about this for hours, particularly when I’ve had a few. Just ask Mrs C. On second thoughts don’t. But there was no particular reason for this show title. It might just as well have been called “Ninny” – which is metanalysis of “an inny” (short for “innocent”). I know. I’ll stop now.

I’m digressing; and that’s on purpose because I find I don’t actually have a lot to say about Jon Richardson’s stand up act. It’s not often that Mrs C differ on our attitudes to individual stand-up comics – we usually like the same kind of thing – but this was one of those occasions. To be fair – we didn’t differ widely, we differed somewhat. We both found him generally entertaining and engaging, but whereas he held my attention for the entirety of the show – 2 hours 20 minutes including an interval, overrunning by half an hour – Mrs C slept for the last twenty minutes. But I can kind of see why she lost interest. His material, funny as it is, is very self-orientated. It’s all about how he doesn’t fit in with the other guys on stag nights; or how he doesn’t want to get married like all his mates; how he’s happier being a Lake District lad than a Londoner; how he didn’t get on well in a “Real Man” reality TV show, mixing with other “real man” wannabes. He’s basically a bit of a loner.

There’s also a certain lack of light and shade to his material – one could be unkind and say it’s all “me, me, me” but in a sense it is; you don’t get much impression of the other people who weave their way in and out of his life, whereas most other comics blend in funny material about their mates, their wives and girlfriends, their children, and so on. Even their dog. I also found his material very hard to recollect the day after. That’s not to say it wasn’t enjoyable; but I don’t think he tackled any major issues and made you think differently about them as a result. The only specific sequence I can remember with any real certainty was his regretting that he’d never masturbated outside in the open air when he was younger. He’s decided it’s too late to start now. The fact that I remember that probably says more about me than him.

There’s also a slight credibility issue (for me) in that I don’t think he looks like a grumpy young man. He smiles a lot – he seems to be having a good time up there on the stage, and, swear words notwithstanding, he’s very polite in his attitude to us. He’s keen to please; he wants us to have a good time. This is not symptomatic of a grumpy young man. I think Mrs C believed in his grumpiness more than I did. He was also one of those pacey comedians – by which I don’t mean that he kept it all going at a super pace (although in that sense it was all paced just fine) – but he paced from side to side the whole night long. He actually only paced across the central area, not from wings to wings, and he did it quite fast; so he really did give the impression of the legendary caged tiger. It did make me feel a little anxious, if I’m honest.

However, once all that criticism is out of the way, what you’ve got left to appraise is, is he funny? Yes, he is; I laughed a lot. Mrs C laughed too – though not quite as much as me; and certainly not during the last twenty minutes, when she simply decided she’d had enough; she’d enjoyed what she’d listened to, but she didn’t feel as though continuing to listen to his material would substantially add to the enjoyment of the evening. She can be quite a harsh critic, can Mrs C. In fact, what she said was: “he was like comedy Enya – very nice, but it all just went on in the background”.

Review – Screaming Blue Murder, Underground at the Derngate, Northampton, 16th May 2014

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It’s always sad when we reach the final Screaming Blue Murder of the season, but at least the people of Northampton gave it a good send-off with another packed house last Friday night. Our MC for this show was Martin Coyote, who we’ve seen before doing his usual act but not as compere. He was superb – lightly keeping everyone well behaved for the acts but also sharing some stonking good material with us. He’s got a great stage persona – wry and rather cynical but still upbeat and positive. He kept the show going superbly and had the majority of the best lines of the night.

Our first act was new to us, Javier Jarquin. He’s an interesting blend of Chinese and Latino all wrapped up in a Kiwi accent. He comes over as very likeable, with some really excellent material, including how a newcomer to a country can be confused by the shop names, the (highly significant) differences between “it” and “that”, how furnishing a bed changes when you get a girlfriend, and how a pavlova can pale into insignificance when talking to a Croatian. He had both Mrs Chrisparkle and me in hysterics when he equated asking his girlfriend how her day was to accidentally hitting “Print All” on the computer. Great delivery, and really funny. He’s a magician too – would be good to see him do some magic another time!

Our second act was Helen Arney, also new to us, and, really unfortunately, it all went a bit Pete Tong. Her act is based on her persona of being a science nerd, and doing comedy songs that reflect that. To be honest, I didn’t think she looked or acted particularly nerdy so that persona didn’t convince me. She seemed nervous and somewhat shouty, and rushed the early parts of the act a bit, and I think got put off when the laughs didn’t come. She then forgot her lines in her first comedy song, lost even more confidence, and at that point we lost confidence in her. Her final song, about having a lover in a coma, was extremely dark and savage and would probably have worked if we’d kept faith in her act – but I’m afraid we hadn’t, so it didn’t. Oh well, you can’t win them all.

Last act was someone we had seen before, and remembered as being brilliant, local lad Andrew Bird. He was runner-up in the 2012 Chrisparkle Awards for best Screaming Blue Stand-up, beaten only by the fantastic Mr Paul Sinha. Andrew Bird’s attack and confidence are just astounding, because they are so perfectly pitched. He has just the right level of enthusiasm for you to fully engage in the pictures of domestic or parental harmony he is painting, with wonderful observations that capture true comedy moments. We loved his material about marketing a lavender scented child’s bath lotion, to calm bath time for a two-year-old into a chilled experience – and the contrast with the bottle of Matey that we all had when we were kids that bleached everything in sight. So much brilliant material, and the audience absolutely loved him.

And that is indeed it, until the next season starts again on 12th September. Get it in your diary now!

Review – Frank Skinner, Man in a Suit tour, Derngate, Northampton, 13th May 2014

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I’ve enjoyed watching Frank Skinner on the TV on and off over the past 25 years or so. He’s always good value guesting on panel shows and we both used to love his Fantasy Football programmes with David Baddiel. Mind you, I draw the line at Room 101. You have to have some standards. This is his first stand up tour in about seven, and certainly the first opportunity we’ve had to see him live, so I grabbed excellent tickets the moment they went on sale. Unfortunately, Mrs Chrisparkle was delayed coming home from work before the show so I was sent on ahead to the theatre to order the drinks, whilst she gobbled her evening meal and followed on in a mad flustery indigestive panic, arriving one full minute before the show started. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. However, she needn’t have worried too much about hurrying as the first twenty-five minutes or so was in the company of support act Gareth Richards.

Maybe it’s a big ask to warm up a full Derngate auditorium on a Tuesday night, but I’m afraid I just didn’t find Mr Richards very funny. His style seemed quite detached and introverted, which I don’t think transferred to the big stage very well. Amongst his material he had a couple of rather dubious jokes that, if you thought about them, made fun of the mentally ill and debased the status of women – you can get away with that kind of stuff if you have a really deft touch or a controversial persona to hide behind but he had neither. Before launching into his final song he said that after the interval we’d have the pleasure of the company of “Frank Skinner!” which was a cue for cheers and applause. But the cheers and applause were infinitesimally quiet, to which Mr Richards said “Oh no, I’m meant to have warmed you up – I’ve killed you!” He had a point. Mrs C needn’t have rushed after all. I should say though, in the interests of fairness, the people I stood next to at the bar in the interval absolutely loved him, so what do I know.

As the title of the tour suggests, Frank Skinner emerges after the interval, dressed in a very smart suit. Stylistically he’s undergone something of a sea-change over the years and now presents himself, visually, as the height of respectability, despite inside being still as mischievous as ever. He’s very engaging and smiley, gets a great rapport with the audience, has lots of chats with people in the first few rows, and gets us all on his side right from the start. He’s excellent at setting up jokes for later on too, which is always a rewarding skill.

His delivery is relatively slow and deliberate. Not too slow; but you wouldn’t want it any slower. He also spends the entire evening pacing from one side of the stage to the other, but again, very slowly. Not so much like a caged tiger (which can be very offputting), more like someone who’s been told to exercise but doesn’t want to. I always think the way a comic walks (or doesn’t), and speaks either quickly or slowly, gives you an indication of their energy levels and their self-confidence. Mr Skinner’s presence was very reassuring and extremely self-confident; the relatively slow pace allows him the time to think on his feet and to be flexible with his material, going off at tangents in a well-thought-through way, rather than blundering into them only to find a dead-end.

A lot of his material concerns his relationship with his girlfriend. We loved his observation that at his age – which is not dissimilar to mine – to say he has a girlfriend sounds as weird as if he said he has a skateboard. He has a really funny routine about her horrendous ability to remember an argument and make it last…and last. It’s material that many people do but his is somehow additionally credible. Another of his very quirky observations was a comparison between poor people of today and poor people of forty years ago. Very nice. But all round, he’s cram-packed with excellent material.

Mrs C noted how, as the evening progressed, his language became progressively more profane. It’s true, I think he held back some of his more old-fashioned material for the end of the show. It’s a bit like when you meet someone new for the first time, you’re always on best behaviour for a while. Then you might accidentally on purpose let slip a minor swear word to see how they react – that’s how you find your combined level. Once you’re old mates, you talk the same way. I guess he thought his average audience is probably quite a rude bunch. He’s probably right. Mrs C was also disappointed he didn’t sing “Three Lions”. I have a feeling that phase might have passed several years ago. Would have been fun though, if he’d sang what is the best football song evah.

A very enjoyable night with a very assured performer delivering great observational comedy at a deceptively relaxed pace. His tour continues into June and I believe he’s doing Edinburgh this summer too. Definitely recommended!