Tag Archives: Finty Williams

Review – The Baker’s Wife, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 1st September 2024

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Apologies for being late to the party with The Baker’s Wife, as Edinburgh Fringe duties kept me away. One of Stephen Schwartz’s more obscure musicals, it’s based on a 1938 film, La Femme du Boulanger; and, to be honest, I knew nothing about either the original film or the 1976 musical. The Baker’s Wife never made it to Broadway nor did it reach the West End until a lukewarm production in 1988 directed by Trevor Nunn. Re-invigorated with a new production by Gordon Greenberg, can the Menier succeed with this show where others failed to make the mark?

We’re in a Provençal village in 1935, where the baker has died four weeks ago and the village is bereft of bread. Can you imagine a French village with no bread? It would be like Hemel Hempstead without the roundabouts. Fear not, mes amis, because a new baker, Aimable, is ready to move into the boulangerie with his wife. His beautiful young wife, that is; Genevieve. He’s hopelessly in love with her; she’s in love with being in love, having a married name, desperate to please him. But does she actually love him? Hein, c’est ça le rub, n’est ce pas? When she leaves him for the Marquis’ besotted assistant, Dominique, all the rise goes out of Aimable’s dough and he loses the will to bake. But will the other villagers put up with that? Absolument pas!

You’ve heard of the old phrase, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover? Here’s one of those times where the cover is immaculate, but the book is nondescript. Paul Farnsworth has truly gone to town to recreate a French village in the heart of Southwark Street. Boules in the square, French road names, café tables with coffee and cognac, accordions gently playing; you couldn’t wish for a more idyllic Provençal setting. To increase that sense of la vie française for theatregoers, some seating is at cabaret tables, in the heart of the action; we sat at Table J and although there are a few scenes where some of the action on stage is blocked, that sense of being a villager more than makes up for it.

And there’s a cast of West End stars to take your breath away. Clive Rowe plays Aimable and his rich, sensitive voice delivers his songs with a genuine sincerity and power. Opposite him, the wonderful Lucie Jones brings energy and cheekiness to her songs, including a brilliant epiphany moment in Meadowlark. The delightfully squabbling couple of Denise and Claude who own the café are brought to life with the always amazing Josefina Gabrielle and the comic genius of Norman Pace; they are matched by the problem pairing of Liam Tamne’s brutal and critical Barnaby and Finty Williams’ submissiveHortense – the underlying sense of domestic violence is delicately but clearly portrayed in these two excellent performances. With Joaquin Pedro Valdes’ persistent Dominique, Matthew Seadon-Young’s pious priest, Michael Matus’ bombastic Marquis and Sutara Gayle’s perpetually offended Therese, as well as a superb wider ensemble, you’ll be hard pushed to find a better-performed show in the whole of London. And let’s not forget Dustin Conrad’s terrific band who play Schwartz’s score with a true feel for its romantic French style.

Such a shame, then, that the story is so slight and unadventurous, and the music is so forgettable. Yes, there are a few numbers that stand out; the opening song If It Wasn’t For You is an amusing introduction to the characters of the villagers, Bread is an entertaining homage to that irresistible smell and taste of fresh bread, and the epiphanic Meadowlark is a powerful cry of assertiveness. But so many of the songs and tunes are immediately forgettable, sadly. And whilst the story does have interesting observations about the nature of forgiveness, both between an unfaithful couple and decades-long family feuds, you can’t help but feel that the show has a very narrow and blinkered vision; other than to make us feel ever-so-French, which it does immaculately.

Despite its faults, there’s no doubt that, in terms of production and performance values, this is one of the best that the Menier has ever hosted; and it’s 100% worth going to see for the spectacle and atmosphere alone. Just don’t expect to remember any of the songs.

 

3-starsThree-sy Does It!

P. S. Sitting in seat J1 had its perks. As the audience were taking their seats, not only did Ms Gabrielle ask me most politely to slightly move my chair so that her entrances and exits could be more gracefully executed, but also Mr Pace (in full character as Claude) said to me bonjour monsieur, to which I replied, bonjour monsieur, comment ça va? To which he replied Ah, vous parlez français, monsieur? And I came back with Oui, monsieur, comme un anglais, to which he replied, Ah, moi aussi! You had to be there.

Review – Pack of Lies, Menier Chocolate Factory, 27th October 2018

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Major spoiler alert! Here’s an interesting little timeline for you:

1961: Ruislip residents Helen and Peter Kroger (real names Lona and Morris Cohen) were sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment for spying for the Russians.
1969: They were released and exchanged for a Briton, Gerald Brooke, who was in jail in Moscow; and they flew to Poland.
1971: Having met Gay Search, today a presenter of gardening programmes, but then a young journalist who was the Krogers’ neighbour, Hugh Whitemore writes a BBC Play of the Month, Act of Betrayal, based on the facts of the case.
1983: Hugh Whitemore expands his play into a more fictionalised account, calls it Pack of Lies, and it plays at the Lyric Theatre in the West End, starring Michael Williams and Judi Dench.
1995: Having spent years training Soviet agents in Moscow, and then retiring on KGB pensions, Morris (Peter) dies; Lona (Helen) had died three years earlier. They were recipients of the Order of the Red Banner, the Order of the Friendship of Nations, and post-dissolution of the USSR, Yeltsin gave them the honour Hero of the Russian Federation.
2018: Michael Williams and Judi Dench’s daughter Finty Williams stars in a revival of Pack of Lies at the Menier Chocolate Factory.

I knew – but I’d forgotten – before seeing this production that it was largely based on the true story outlined above; the Krogers were at the heart of a major espionage scandal that shocked the media in the early 1960s, being part of the Portland Spy Ring who had infiltrated the Royal Navy. As portrayed in Pack of Lies, their cover, their back-story, their pretence with the naively innocent Jackson family (in real life, Ruth, Bill and Gay Search) was immaculate.

The question in this play is, who pays the price? The Krogers are imprisoned, so they do the time for their crime, but they were lucky to be released early, and their lives are privileged once they leave jail. The country paid a price – who knows what damage their information gathering did to the security of the UK, and whether lives were lost as a result? Always hard to quantify an unknown.

But it’s the Jacksons whom we see pay the biggest price. Can you imagine what it would be like to discover that your best friend, your most trusted ally (outside, perhaps of your closest family members) was working as a spy all along, and that you were merely cultivated in order to create a more convincing fabrication to conceal their activities? Everything you ever held true would be flung into doubt. You could never trust another word anyone said. It would be – literally – shattering. And what about having to break that news to your very trusting daughter? That growing fear that something is going wrong, followed by the ultimate proof that you’ve been taken for a fool all along, is what this play achieves best.

1960 was a spartan time, and Hannah Chissick’s production nicely paints a picture of a society where your friend makes your dress from materials, and you wait your turn to have a cup of tea, you can’t just have a cuppa willy-nilly any time any place. Bob comes home from a hard day at work and merely replaces his jacket with his cardigan to spend the evening with his newspaper – no changing his shirt or removing his tie for him. Paul Farnsworth’s set suggests an adequate but not opulent lifestyle; re-covered soft furnishings, basic kitchen cupboards – but would they really have had such a modern looking toaster? Surely the toast would have been prepared under the grill at the top of the oven? I did love the attention to detail elsewhere though, with the vintage packets of cereals and the Susie Cooper tea-set.

It’s fair to say that the play progresses at a gentle pace. This allows for maximum scene-setting and a useful appreciation of the apparent relationship between the Jacksons and the Krogers. The opening scenes are full of very nice observations and characterisations, and, although nothing much happens, the performance level keeps you entertained. By the time that Mr Stewart – who’s emphatically not a policeman, but is definitely a law enforcer – starts to ingratiate himself with the Jackson family, I was beginning to wonder if anything was ever going to start happening. I was still enjoying it, but very much at a loss regarding the direction it was heading. However, as the truth of the situation starts to emerge, the story becomes surprisingly gripping, and the emotional fall-out at the end of the play creates a very moving and powerful climax.

Finty Williams and Chris Larkin are a perfect match for the central characters of Barbara and Bob Jackson. They’re both very formal performances, full of that sense of repression that followed the austere 1950s, making an excellent juxtaposition with the extravagant demonstrativeness of the Krogers. Ms Williams beautifully conveys all Barbara’s little fears and paranoias, and her deep trembling emotion that only occasionally is allowed to creep to the surface. Mr Larkin’s Bob is reserved and passive; knows his limitations and is grateful for what he’s got; mindful of doing the right thing and not wishing to stir up trouble, whilst still being as good a protector for his family as he can.

Macy Nyman is excellent as daughter Julie; full of enthusiasm for anything new, just like a good teenager should be, but also well brought-up so she’s polite and obliging with Mr Stewart; and feels totally at ease with the Krogers, whom she calls Auntie and Uncle. Jasper Britton is very convincing as Stewart; authoritatively refusing to answer any question that he simply can’t and doing so with as much honesty as possible. The ever reliable Tracy-Ann Oberman is brilliant as Helen Kroger, never missing an opportunity for some brash New York style advice; ironically coming across as the epitome of bright kindness.And Alasdair Harvey is also very good as Peter Kroger, the quieter, more sensible half of the marriage; you could easily imagine him as an antiquarian book dealer, until he delivers his rather creepy but very illuminating address to the audience about how his life changed in 1932 when he attended his first Communist party meeting.

An engrossing play, with some immaculate performances. An unusual choice for a revival? Possibly. But very rewarding nonetheless. On at the Menier until 17th November.