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Review – Pacific Overtures, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 28th December 2023

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I was thrilled to discover that the third big musical in a row from the Menier Chocolate Factory in 2023 was to be Pacific Overtures, as it has always signified a big gap in my Sondheim knowledge. And although The Third Man was a bit meh, Close Up was a terrific surprise and with the Menier’s star back in its ascendancy again, I had very high hopes of this production.

First produced on Broadway in 1976, but not in the UK until the English National Opera had a crack at it eleven years later, the show has always had that sense of – if not being one of Sondheim’s failures, but certainly not one of his big successes. That New York production emphasised its Japanese element by mixing Broadway showbiz with Kabuki – a bold move indeed. Its original run lasted six months, long enough to chalk up a couple of Tony Awards (for scenic and costume design), and it was just recent enough to have one song (Pretty Lady) selected for inclusion in Ned Sherrin’s very influential Side by Side by Sondheim, which really cemented the late great Steve’s reputation in the UK. Since then Pacific Overtures has had a few revivals, but this current production at the Menier is a co-production with the Umeda Arts Theater of Osaka, having played there and in Tokyo in March and April 2023.

The show tells the story of a period of Japanese history that is hardly known in the UK. Commodore Matthew Perry sailed from America in the 1850s on a mission to open up Japan to the west. Japan had hidden itself away from the world for over two centuries, and Pacific Overtures gives us some insight into the shock of western invasion, not only in the form of political and administrative change but also cultural. The western sailors, for example, who sing to that Pretty Lady are not asking her out on a genteel date but mistaking her for a geisha and chasing her as they would an exotic sex worker. When Kayama, the lower-class samurai who was first tasked to deal with Perry and his men, becomes more and more involved with the invading culture, he starts to wear western clothes and sings about wearing A Bowler Hat. The whole inexorable process of progress is overseen by The Reciter, a narrator and ironic chorus for the story, aloof from the action but never far from it, and taking a prominent role in many of the show’s songs.

It’s always a joy to come to the Menier Chocolate Factory to find out how they’ve jiggled the space around – the configuration is hardly ever the same twice! For Pacific Overtures, they’ve created a traverse stage which really helps the intensity and intimacy of the production. Sit in Row A and you’re never more than three feet from an actor, so you feel truly involved in everything that is going on. Simple staging – excellent set design from Paul Farnsworth – easily suggests the exhibits in a museum, or Perry’s ship arriving in the harbour. Ayako Maeda’s sumptuous costume designs revel in the opulent glory of the Shogun era, but also convey the drabness of the everyday wear of ordinary people. Ashley Nottingham’s choreography smartly reflects the era and location, whilst using every inch of the limited space available. And Paul Bogaev’s hidden band bring out all the exoticism and quirkiness of Sondheim’s tremendous score.

John Weidman, who wrote the book, explains in the programme the need to shorten the show and to remove any unnecessary sequences that get in the way of reflecting the cultural purity of the pre-Perry era. The excellent song Chrysanthemum Tea has been cut because it is a delicious blend of Japanese and 1970’s American showbiz, which doesn’t have a place in the vision of this production. I can’t compare as I have never seen the show before, but you do get the sense that there is something missing from this show; perhaps embodied in the role of the Reciter, who cocks many a snook at the ways of traditional Japan, whilst dressed in the epitome of smart glitzy Broadway, rather than as an Edo everyman. But it’s a minor quibble.

The production is crammed with glorious performances throughout. It’s very much an ensemble piece, despite the presence of obviously major roles being played by some star performers. Takuro Ohno and Joaquin Pedro Valdes are superb as the two main protagonists, the samurai Kayama and the fisherman Manjiro, with commanding presence on stage and superb voices. Saori Oda makes a fantastic Shogun, full of imperious bravado but often with a touch of tongue-in-cheek humour. A familiar face from many shows, Masashi Fujimoto brings dignity and authority to all his roles, and is especially poignant in the song Someone in a Tree. Lee V G, Ethan Le Phong, Sario Solomon and Patrick Munday give great comic support as the four foreign admirals, and there are also terrific performances from Kanako Nakano as Tamate and Rachel Jayne Picar as Councillor/Kanagawa Girl.

But there’s a stand-out performance from Jon Chew as the Reciter; sometimes the busybody, sometimes the showman, but always with a glint of mischief in his eye. He’s a great singer and actor, and has enormous stage presence; the kind of performer you can’t stop watching even when they’re silent.

A tremendous production; what it may occasionally lack a little in clarity it more than makes up for with sheer gusto and musical excellence. One hour 45 minutes without an interval, it’s certainly an intense experience.

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Close Up, The Twiggy Musical, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 22nd October 2023

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I was having second thoughts about seeing this show because the opening a few weeks ago was greeted with a swathe of very iffy reviews. But I can never resist a Menier Sunday matinee, no matter what the show is; and all I can say is, gentle reader, never trust a critic. They (and I include my humble self here) don’t know what they’re talking about. Close Up – The Twiggy Musical is a complete winner from start to finish. In fact it’s rare to find a production that’s outstanding in virtually every department.

For the youngsters among you, Twiggy was the affectionate nickname given to the young (very young, as it turns out) Lesley Hornby back in the mid 1960s, a naïve girl from Neasden who was catapulted to stardom through a modelling career that has certainly lingered over the decades, as has the affection the British public have for this true sixties icon. Ben Elton’s book and lyrics take the form of a kind of a musical docudrama, with Twiggy herself (as performed by Elena Skye) narrating the story of her life,all pleasingly punctuated by vignettes with her parents, Norman and Nell, her best friends Cindy, Sally and Kay, and the major influences on her life, including manager/lover Justin de Villeneuve and first husband Michael Witney. All this is set alongside a musical kaleidoscope of memorable 60s and 70s hits, played by Stuart Morley’s terrific band, and performed with gusto and emotion from the brilliant ensemble cast.

It’s full of funny asides, with loads of nicely judged interaction with the audience so that the fourth wall is in a virtual state of ruins. Elton’s script depicts Twiggy as her own worst enemy; for example, when everyone tells her that she should do X she always does Y (they told me I should leave him, so what did I do? I married him!) Whilst never shying away from the grim reality that frequently lurks barely beneath the surface – underage sex, mental health issues, business disasters, etc – the characters always remain positive and optimistic, always see the best in a situation, and always look to learn from harsh experience to make things better in the future. This helps towards creating a truly feelgood show, full of humour, emotion and life events that we can all recognise.

All the creative team make massive contributions to the success of the show. Timothy Bird’s set is beautifully simple, with just a projection screen at the back of the stage and a white roll of film running out from it across the floor. Tim Blazdell’s video design utilises that screen and the back projection wall to terrific effect with contemporary images and films. Philip Gladwell’s lighting design is 100% fab, with psychedelic flashes and moods in all the colours of the swinging sixties, and Jonathan Lipman’s costumes are absolutely spot on in reflecting the daring styles, lurid colour combinations, outlandish fabrics and so on that made the 60s so special. Jacob Fearey’s stunning choreography is full of carefree abandon, love of life, and truly feeling the groove; the ensemble dancers fill the relatively small stage of the Menier with an overwhelming sense of exhilaration and fun.

The whole show revolves around Elena Skye’s performance as Twiggy. She completely looks the part, she has an engagingly honest relationship with the audience, and gives an excellent sense of a character who is frequently out of her depth, anxiously biting her lip, but always willing to give-it-a-go. She was by far the best thing about last year’s touring production of We Will Rock You and, if anything, she is even better in Close Up.

There are also tremendous performances from Steven Serlin and Hannah-Jane Fox as her parents. Both are blessed with invigorating and expressive voices; Mr Serlin imbues Norman with true warmth and kindness throughout, and comes across as a Dad in a Million. He’s also a devil with those marvellous impersonations of 60s and 70s interviewers! Ms Fox conveys Nell’s sadness and frustration with her own mental health but also overflows with pride and shows how superbly she would encourage her daughter always to be the best she can. Aoife Dunne gives a hilarious performance as Twiggy’s occasionally foul-mouthed friend Cindy, whilst Beth Devine is also impressive as the ever-supportive Sally,and Lauren Azania AJ King-Yombo excels as her friend Kay, with a beautiful ability to cut the cr*p and tell harsh truths where necessary. Darren Day uses his terrific voice to great effect as Michael Witney, with very moving renditions of Without You and The Air That I Breathe – his Jekyll and Hyde transformations between sober Michael and drunk Michael work very well, and I almost – not quite, but almost – felt a drop of moistness in my eye during his final scene.

Stealing every scene he is in is a tremendously funny and quirky performance by Matt Corner as Twiggy’s Svengali (they hated that word) Justin de Villeneuve. Taking the Mickey out of the character even before he’s on stage, Mr Corner gives him boundless arrogance and endless shiftiness; a brilliant portrayal of someone who blagged their way to success and had absolutely no qualms about creaming the top off other people’s achievements whilst all his own sparkle was a mere façade.Superb.

The show runs at the Menier until 18th November, but there’s barely a ticket to be had; all I can suggest is that you keep an eye out for returns. Surely this must have a life afterwards! A show that sends you out of the theatre bristling with energy and that sense of privilege that you’ve seen something incredible.

Five Alive, let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Third Man, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 23rd July 2023

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The Menier is one of our favourite theatres, so we always like to catch their shows if they appeal to us. Everyone (even me!) knows the film of The Third Man, and a musical version penned by the creative team of Don Black, George Fenton and Christopher Hampton sounded too enticing for words. To top it off, it was to be directed by Sir Trevor Nunn. My theatrical heart spilleth over. But then came the reviews, and the word of mouth: not good. How could this be, a renowned gripping story with a bunch of creatives like that? Shurely shome mishtake! But the tickets were already bought and we just had to find out for ourselves.

So; The Third Man. Based on Carol Reed’s 1949 British film noir, set in postwar Vienna, where Westerns writer Holly Martins turns up at the invitation of his old friend Harry Lime and the promise of a new job. Trouble is, Lime died the day before Martins flew in. And his death all sounds a bit suspicious. So he stays to investigate, starts to fall in love with Lime’s girlfriend Anna Schmidt, and what’s at first suspicious becomes downright dark and dirty before long.

Everything starts positively. When you enter the Menier auditorium, you never know what the configuration is going to look like, so it’s always exciting! You’re confronted by the blacks and greys of designer Paul Farnsworth’s set, which impress with their inbuilt gloom and despondency, rubbish piled up at a few corners, use of tattered newsprint, a mishmash of pavement coverings suggesting cobbled streets,  floorboards and one-time elegant designs. The costumes, too, are perfectly evocative of those grim times, with suits and overcoats in various stages of decrepitude depending on the wealth of the wearer. Trevor Nunn uses every single inch of the available space to suggest busy streets, with people rushing here, there and everywhere. In fact, those of us in the front rows are asked to make sure our possessions (including our feet) are well tucked in and out of the way of the actors. I didn’t dare to let go of my drink lest it accidentally got kicked halfway across the stage and into another quarter of old Vienna.

Tamara Saringer’s orchestra also gives you optimism for a good show to follow, as the opening strains of a kind-of version of Anton Karas’ famous theme lead you into the first scene, a scurry of grey Viennese characters busying themselves about their daily lives; lots of movement, lots to look at, lots that make you think – this is shaping up to be quite good! But then you start listening to the lyrics. Regrettably, they are as trite and repetitive as you can imagine. It’s as though they have been assembled to scrape the barrel of rhymey chimey phrases, designed to give an overall impression of something – Vienna? Poverty? Misery? but with neither depth nor emotion. In fact on the first occasion (yes there are more) that they rhymed Harry Lime with slime, Mrs Chrisparkle let out an audible snort of derision. Unfortunately the music is also extremely forgettable; when we came out, we couldn’t remember one bar of it.

Sadly, no end of the talent that’s on stage or in directing, or in the music and lighting contributions can disguise the thinness and risibility of the material they have to work with. As the show progresses, you can admire and enjoy the performance level of the cast and appreciate the great use of the stage, and the pleasant playing and singing. But the show itself just gets boring. It’s puddingy, bland, soft and doughy. One could compare it unfavourably to blancmange but that’s hardly fair on blancmange. Such a shame and such a wasted opportunity.

In its favour, you have a hard-working and committed cast. Sam Underwood gives a good performance as Holly Martins, increasing in slovenly desperation to work out what happened to Harry. Natalie Dunne sings beautifully as Anna Schmidt – although she is a little inconsistent with the accent which is strongly Mittel Europa when she speaks and rather English rose when she sings. I really liked the double-act of Edward Baker-Duly and Jonathan Andrew Hume as the military police Major Calloway and Sergeant Paine; and I was dismayed to find the splendid Derek Griffiths so underused as the Porter.

You can see the amount of effort that has gone in to bringing this production to the stage and can only admire the skills of those who are working at their best. But those lyrics… how could they have written something so gloopy?

 

 

Two Disappointing for Anything More!

P. S. Not everyone at the Menier on Sunday afternoon was disappointed with the show. The wannabe Gogglebox participants who sat behind us never ceased with their audible oohs and aahs and over-the-top vocal reactions to the most minor of plot developments or moments of adequate acting. They were either high on coke or friends of someone in the cast.

Review – The Sex Party, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 30th December 2022

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Wasn’t it the great Jona Lewie who said – and I think it was – You’ll Always Find Me In The Kitchen At Parties? Sadly, that’s where Terry Johnson has chosen to set his latest offering, The Sex Party – not in the living room where everyone’s getting down and dirty, but in the kitchen, where everyone’s either embarrassed, or bitching and moaning, or being offensive or just getting steadily chateau’d. To be honest you’d get a lot more entertainment from Jona Lewie’s 7-incher than you would by sitting through two hours twenty minutes of this dismal and, frankly, unpleasant play.

But first, gentle reader, let me cast your mind back to April of last year. Maria Friedman had just finished her short spell at the Menier performing Legacy, which we unfortunately missed. But we were waiting for the announcement of the next show at this much-loved theatre. And we waited… and we waited. Surely the Menier hasn’t… closed?… we thought? No movement on the website – nothing in the social media. Don’t say this is the end….? And then a sign of life – the Menier would be reopening in November, with the latest play by Terry Johnson. I jumped at the chance – as I am sure many others did. We’ve all missed the Menier and were sad at the thought that it might never reopen; basically we would have booked to see anything. And Terry Johnson too – he’s a reliable old theatrical character, with hits like Dead Funny and Insignificance to his name. What could possibly go wrong?

To be fair, not quite everything. Tim Shortall has constructed a fantastic set depicting a well-to-do Islington kitchen. Every detail is realised immaculately. The matching kettle and toaster; the yuppie cookbooks including that Leon one that all posh people have; the well-stocked patio garden. Boy, you could live in that kitchen. There are some good performances too. Jason Merrells is a safe pair of hands as Alex, whose home it is and who is holding the party, along with the excellent Molly Osborne as Hetty, who is the bubbliest and most welcoming of hostesses without going over the top. The first scenes find them greeting their first guests, the verging-on-spoilt Gilly (Lisa Dwan) and her husband, the verging-on-tedious Jake (John Hopkins), both excellent in conveying their characters’ annoying habits and difficult relationship.

Strangely, if Terry Johnson had left it there, with two embarrassed and embarrassing guests being manipulated by two ostensibly charming hosts, it might have developed into something reasonable. A dash of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf mixed with a splodge of Relatively Speaking to make a modern-day Comedy of Manners that dismantles 2022 Britain (and let’s face it, it needs some dismantling) through the eye of a swingers’ party. But no – Johnson gives us five more characters to contend with, four of which position themselves variously on the thoroughly irritating spectrum; and the fifth, a catalyst with which to throw a big spanner in the works.

That last character is Lucy – played with immaculate reserve and control by Pooya Mohseni – a discreet and refined woman who happens to be trans but doesn’t expect to make a big thing of it. Terry Johnson, however, wants a very big thing to be made of it. At this point, he throws all these disparate elements up into the air and lets them land higgledy-piggledy on the stage to let everyone fight it out in the manner of a live Twitter spat. The rest of the play is an experiment in seeing how far you can take the mickey out of transphobia, and questions how long is it funny to do so before it starts getting uncomfortable.

Answer: not long. It falls to Broadway and Hollywood star Timothy Hutton, in his London stage debut (so bizarre that he should have chosen this play for this significant step in his career), as the American businessman Jeff, in what often feels to be a very stilted performance, to bombard Lucy with offensive, intrusive and crass questioning about her right to call herself a woman; goaded on by the almost equally offensive beliefs and asides of his Russian wife Magdalena, whom I think is meant to be a humorous character but comes across way off the mark.

Can you write a play examining transphobia? Of course you can. But this isn’t it. It doesn’t contain sufficiently robust conversations or plot development; in fact there were a couple of lengthy and excruciatingly dull sequences – one where Magdalena likens herself to a butterfly, another where there is a pointless conversation about whether people like dogs. The play lacks the required delicacy and integrity to manage its own sensitive subject matter, and whatever humour there is misses its spot so that the audience is reduced to squirming in their seats. There’s even a short scene at the end of the play that explains what has happened to some of the characters some months later, as if we cared. It was very noticeable how the energy of the audience members had been hugely sapped as we all slunk out at the end,with no one quite daring to say WTF did we just see? – but definitely thinking it.

A wasted opportunity? Yes. A tasteless evening of deliberate provocation without anything to back it up? Also yes. Hurrah for the return of the Menier Chocolate Factory, but let this play die a quiet death and never be spoken of again. Two stars is generous, but it’s a proficient production.

Two Disappointing for Anything More

 

Review – The Boy Friend, Menier Chocolate Factory, 12th January 2020

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Hands up everyone who thought The Boy Friend and Salad Days were written by the same people? Oh, just me then. They really are frightfully similar in outlook; Sandy Wilson’s Boy Friend opened at Wyndham’s in January 1954, and Julian Slade and Dorothy Reynolds’ Salad Days opened in Bristol six months later. After the dark days of the Second World War, theatregoers were happy to celebrate an innocent 1920s era of charming young fillies and dashing young chaps looking to the future with hopes and dreams of super friendships and loving marriages. One’s only care was not getting caught by Madame Dubonnet’s (very slightly) disapproving gaze, or trying to conceal your aristocratic background so that people don’t fall in love with you for the wrong reason.

That’s jolly Polly Browne’s problem; she can’t find a suitable boyfriend because he’s bound only to want her for her money, so she’s facing the humiliation of not being escorted to the Carnival Ball due to the minor fact that the boyfriend who was going to accompany her is entirely fictitious. Being left on the shelf at the grand old age of seventeen is an awful bore. Young Tony Brockhurst has a similar problem; bunking off Oxford and fleeing to the French Riviera without a word of explanation to Mater or Pater. He’s making do as an errand boy for the costumiers and is about to deliver Polly’s dress to Mme Dubonnet’s School for Young Ladies, when he espies her, and she espies him, and within three minutes they’re in love. Amazingly, because this is the musical theatre of the 1950s, Polly’s old man is in town, rekindling his thing for Mme Dubonnet; and Tony’s old folks are also sur la plage, getting into all sorts of embarrassing scrapes as decency will permit. Coincidence, much?

Matthew White’s had the wizard idea of reviving The Boy Friend for the Menier, presenting it in its full original glory, as a breath of fresh air with a whiff of kindly romance and an homage to the Charleston. Just as the post-war theatregoers needed taking out of themselves, us 2020-types also need to have our minds taken off the horrors of Brexit and the threat of war in the Middle East; so this is immaculate timing. The production has taken the bold, and I think totally pukka decision to keep the three-act structure, so yes, to assembled gasps of surprise, we have two intervals just like they did in the olden days, when going to the theatre was the reason for the evening out rather than one of the things you managed to cram in before bedtime. The original production would have been a pastiche of 1920s shows, and by keeping the same flavour and nuances, you could say this works as a pastiche of a pastiche.

Paul Farnsworth’s sunny set recreates the blue sky and the sandy beach, which, mixed with some wonderful period costumes – especially the all-over swimsuits – places us firmly in the mood for a beachball fight and cocktails on the terrace. Simon Beck’s bijou little band punches above its weight with its perky playing of Sandy Wilson’s cheery numbers and the terrific ensemble throw themselves so wholeheartedly into this delightful piece of nonsense that I was left with a stupid grin permanently etched on my face for a full two and a half hours.

In the senior roles, Janie Dee is excellent as always as Mme Dubonnet, ostensibly perhaps a stickler for proper behaviour, but scrape the surface and she’s pure Goddess of Lurve all the way through. Littering her performance with wonderfully Frenchy breathiness, she’s both musically and comedically perfect. Matching her is Robert Portal’s chiefly dignified (but not always) Percival Browne as her long-lost paramour, exporting his British civility across the sea. I loved Adrian Edmondson and Issy van Randwyck as Lord and Lady Brockhurst; he, mischievously wandering the seafront in search of adventure, she, repressed and disgruntled until she gets sozzled; a brilliant partnership.

Amongst the young things, Amara Okereke is charm incarnate as Polly, with an engaging, funny and strongly musical performance; she’s joined by Dylan Mason, perfectly cast as the unassuming and sincere Tony – together they make a properly lovely couple. There are fantastic song and dance skills from Gabrielle Lewis-Dodson as Maisie and Jack Butterworth as Bobby, erupting their Charleston all over the stage with a great sense of fun and a huge amount of expertise. Add to this, there’s great support from Bethany Huckle, Emily Langham and Chloe Goodliffe as Polly’s schoolgirl (really?) colleagues and Tom Bales, Peter Nash and Ryan Carter as their respective beaux. Running through the show like a naughty stick of rock is a fantastic performance by Tiffany Graves as the maid Hortense, all knowing looks, high kicks and seductive utterances.

A bewitchingly delightful production in the safest of hands, this brought a sense of innocent joy into an otherwise dark January. I absolutely loved it. It’s playing at the Menier until 7th March. What are you waiting for, mes petits choux?

In a nutshell: Bright, funny and all-round delightful revival of Sandy Wilson’s landmark work; an exceptional cast means the smile never leaves your face.

Five alive, let theatre thrive!

Review – The Watsons, Menier Chocolate Factory, 27th October 2019

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One of the big hits of last year – but which left me cold – was Laura Wade’s Home I’m Darling, a clever construct that merged the 1950s with the present day, but which for me lacked substance, characterisation and conviction. I’m perfectly prepared to accept that I’m out of kilter on that one. I’d already seen another of Ms Wade’s plays, Posh, as performed by the University of Northampton Acting Students and a jolly good fist they made of it. Having enjoyed that, I thought I’d give Ms Wade another chance with The Watsons, a co-production between the Menier and Chichester Festival Theatre, both of whom I pretty much trust to come up with good productions and performances. And whilst you can see certain elements linking both plays – messing around with time, fooling the audience into thinking one scenario is happening when in fact another is secretly operating over and above it – I’m delighted to say that Home I’m Darling isn’t a patch on The Watsons, which is currently convincing me is one of the best new plays written in the 21st century.

If you want to miss any spoilers, skip this paragraph, although if you’re interested in seeing the play, you may well already know its trick up its sleeve. The Watsons is an unfinished book of Jane Austen’s; she started writing it in 1803 and shelved it after a few chapters. We don’t know why she stopped writing it; and the play is Laura Wade’s method of exploring this mystery and imagining what story might have evolved from the bare bones that survived. Emma, the youngest of the Watson girls, returns to the family fold much to the interest of local society, and the curiosity of her brother and sisters. Will she be courted by young Lord Osborne, whose family own the posh house? Or might she fall for the dignified poverty of Mr Howard the clergyman? Or, heavens forfend, will she choose the dashing cad Tom Musgrave? Just as she’s about to consider favourably an offer of marriage, Laura, ostensibly a maid but actually the author, crashes into the story and stops Emma from underselling herself. Once Laura has crossed the divide between Jane Austen’s characters and real life, her adaptation task is made so much harder, as the characters themselves demand a say in what happens… and the result is, literally, anarchy.

Yes, it’s a play about the creative process – something I always find extremely rewarding – bringing the creator herself up close and personal in conflict with her characters and plotline. The play gives Ms Wade a chance to explore the differences between reality and fiction; there’s delight when the characters realise they will never die, for example, but a shock when they discover they will never progress; much to the horror of ten-year-old Charles Howard, who realises he will always be a boy and never get to discover what’s hidden inside ladies’ underwear. There’s also a lot of fun to be had by bringing both the modern world and the theatre world into the characters’ lives, and each funny little idea that Ms Wade writes into the text is only ever used once, which keeps the play constantly inventive and evolving.

Despite the idea of a writer confronting his characters not being 100% original – Laura herself mentions Pirandello when chatting to David the producer on her mobile – the construction of this play is so fresh and so tight, and so beautifully carried out by a cast who do not put a foot wrong, even by the most minor of the 19 roles that pack out the tiny Menier stage, that the production is a complete joy. Ben Stones’ design helps to accentuate the differences between Austen’s era and today, with simple touches like the minimalist plastic red chair that Laura sits on to workshop the story with the cast who are all seated opposite her in regency white. I had to chuckle when I saw that her coffee cup bears the symbol of the Sheffield Crucible’s Centre Stage Loyalty club.

Even when their characters are developing way beyond what Jane Austen might have expected of them, each of the nineteenth century cast plays it absolutely straight, which intensifies the hilarity all the more. Only Louise Ford, as Laura, is allowed the space to reflect and speak in the modern manner, much to the amazement of her Georgian counterparts. It’s a beautiful performance, laden with responsibility towards Austen, the characters, the audience, everyone; delivered with embarrassed uncertainty and occasional goofiness. She is matched by Grace Molony’s Emma, at first miffed that her chance of a fine marriage has been thwarted, who grows into a delightful 200-year-old rebel, with a perfect blend of the demure and the cunning.

Paksie Vernon is excellent as the put-upon Elizabeth, Jane Booker tremendously haughty as Lady Osborne, Joe Bannister hilariously tongue-tied as her uppercrust son, Laurence Ubong Williams marvellously roguish as cad Tom, Sophie Duval delightfully pompous as Mrs Robert, Sally Bankes brilliant as the surprisingly political Nanny, and with the rest of the cast all turning in superb supporting performances. At our show, young Charles was played by Isaac Forward and he was effortlessly fantastic.

The run of The Watsons at the Menier continues until 16th November – but it’s completely sold out. I’m not surprised. Surely a West End transfer must follow; this is far too good a play and production to end here. I don’t do star ratings – but this gets a 5*!

Review – The Bridges of Madison County, Menier Chocolate Factory, 11th August 2019

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It’s not often, gentle reader, that I can honestly say that I have read the book from which a musical/film/melodrama/interpretative dance/etc (delete as applicable) was taken; but, in this instance, I Have Indeed Read That Book. The Bridges of Madison County was recommended to Mrs Chrisparkle by our friend Lady Lichfield back in the day (1992) when it was all the rage; she enjoyed it, so, as it was short, I thought I’d give it a try. It would be wrong to use the pejorative term chicklit, so I won’t. Robert James Waller’s romantic novella tells the tale of Francesca, a lonely Italian-American housewife, being swept off her feet by the dashing National Geographic photographer Robert Kincaid, a brief moment of passion in an otherwise dowdy existence. It had Lady Lichfield in tears; Mrs C was audibly sobbing whilst reading it; I read it and thought it was… ok.

However, when the Menier announced that they were producing the musical version of the book, which had received the Tony award for best score for its Broadway production in 2014, I knew it was the right thing to do, so booked the tickets straight away. And then I realised an extraordinary thing: The Observer gave it a 5-star review; the Standard gave it 1 star. This is going to be nothing if not Marmite.

Life for someone like Francesca must have been extraordinary difficult. Brought up with all the metropolitan bustle and bustle of Napoli, then transplanted to the plains of Iowa, you couldn’t get a stronger contrast. With her only sister on the other side of the world, she must have felt isolated, even in a loving, committed relationship. With a farmer husband and children who are only interested in showing steers, Francesca loves her family but can’t associate herself with their interests. So when the rest of the family go off to Indianapolis for a fair, she stays behind, assuring them that she will be fine with her book and testing out new recipes. And, to be fair, you get the feeling that she’s 100% telling the truth. There’s no doubt that this Francesca loves her family and seems more contented than the version of Francesca that you find in the book. So, perhaps, when Kincaid enters her life, it’s more of a surprise to her – and to us – that she falls for him so easily.

But fall she does, and, as a romantic love affair story, which she has to hide from not only her husband, but also her children and her nosy neighbours, it’s a story as old as time, but none the less emotional as a result. Confronted with the reality of her family returning home, and expecting life to carry on the same, does Francesca leave them for Robert, or does she buckle down to her previous life? If you don’t know the answer, I’m not going to tell you, you’ll have to see the show to find out!

The score, by Jason Robert Brown, was completely new to me, and is truly impressive. With its plaintive intimacy, it reminded me to an extent of the score from The Hired Man, but doesn’t have the latter’s barely concealed savagery. Tom Murray’s terrific, unseen, orchestra play these beautiful tunes with a marvellous balance of strength and fragility. However, although it was performed with great bravado, I thought the opening number to the second Act, State Road 21, completely destroys the atmosphere that had been built up at the end of the first Act; hoe-downing around, and encouraging the audience to clap along just feels all wrong. Whether that’s a misjudgement by Mr Brown and Marsha Norman, who wrote the book, or by top director Sir Trevor Nunn, I have no idea, but I clapped along, unhappy with myself for doing so.

Tal Rosner’s video design projects constantly changing images on the back walls to suggest the prairie fields or the city lights, encroaching into Jon Bausor’s set which recreates a homely but modest kitchen; enough to keep a family fed, but not to linger over. A couple of things really bugged me; why, when we get a glimpse of Francesca’s sister Chiara swigging out of a wine bottle in her miserable home in Napoli, is she drinking Mersault? That’s far too upmarket (and French) to be believable. It should have been a cheap bottle of Chianti or something. And how come Kincaid goes into the garden to pick fresh vegetables for the evening meal, which Francesca then prepares and they eat, whilst the aforementioned vegetables are still sitting in the box on the kitchen worktop? If it was a film you’d say that was a continuity error.

Jenna Russell is a sensational Francesca. Resilient, brave, mature but childlike, you can see the character constantly daring herself to go one stage further, along a path to who knows what. Of course, her voice is superb and she delivers her songs full of expression, of hope and of love. Edward Baker-Duly is also excellent as Kincaid, treading a fine line between an innocent abroad and a roué; the character is neither of these, but Mr B-D always makes us think that Kincaid could react in any number of unexpected ways. The always reliable Dale Rapley is great as Francesca’s dullard husband Bud; a good, unadventurous man with no hint of suspicion. There’s excellent support from Gillian Kirkpatrick as the nosy – and slightly jealous – Marge, and Paul F Monaghan as the very grounded Charlie, as well as all the rest of the cast. But I must mention that I particularly liked Maddison Bulleyment’s portrayal of the rather goofy daughter Carolyn, with its nicely underplayed sense of comedy.

A very enjoyable and captivating production of a strong musical show. It’s on at the Menier until 14th September, and worth catching for its two central performances alone. I cannot comprehend under any circumstances how you could possibly award this production only one star!

P. S. We took tissues, just in case; we didn’t need them. However, you could certainly hear the sobs from all corners of the audience. The poor woman in the front row opposite us looked like she was going to explode in a sea of lachrymosity!

 

Review – Orpheus Descending, Menier Chocolate Factory, 2nd June 2019

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If Tennessee Williams knew one thing, it was how to write for, and about, women. His plays always (as far as I can make out) feature a few vulnerable, essentially noble, world-weary, mentally tortured women affected by one lone humdinger of a rough-and-ready sexual male. Think the triangle of Blanche, Stella and Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire. Brick and Maggie in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Chance and Alexandra in Sweet Bird of Youth. There will be others, I’m sure.

Orpheus Descending, which was first produced in 1957, after Cat and before Bird, also follows this structure. Lady runs a dry-goods store whilst her ailing husband complains upstairs, when into her life drifts the itinerant musician and ne’er-do-well Valentine Xavier (you couldn’t create a more exotic stage name if you tried). Val has already had knowledge of local harlot Carol, and is also caught playing up to Vee Talbott, the Sheriff’s wife – never a wise move. Nevertheless, (or, maybe, as a result,) Lady invites Xavier to move into a storeroom downstairs in the shop, ostensibly as a clerk and to save on hotel bills, but, in reality, to be engaged on additional duties.

Briefly Lady enjoys a new lease of life. But guys like Valentine never stay in one place too long, and, encouraged to leave town by the sheriff, he makes plans to save his bacon. However, someone else takes matters into their own hands in a surprisingly catastrophic ending, that represents an irrepressible surge of the emotions that have been bubbling under the surface. Whilst it might not be clean and classic, it’s certainly effective; and if you don’t know what happens, I’m not going to spoil it for you!

As the title suggests, the play is a modern retelling of the Orpheus myth, although I don’t know enough of the Classical story to identify quite where the crossovers lie. I know that Orpheus visited the underworld, so I guess that’s the descent that’s alluded to in the title. Trouble is, if Val represents Orpheus, he never quite gets around to leading Eurydice (Lady, I presume) out of the underworld. Or maybe that’s the point? I’m not going to dwell on it, I’ll leave that to others more intelligent than me.

Designer Jonathan Fensom has very sensibly created a Spartan set, with only a few tables and chairs, a magnificent old till (either beautifully recreated by a workshop somewhere or well sourced by the props department), with the back of the stage enclosed by a decrepit wooden-slatted back screen. This design approach, which allows our imaginations to run riot, is perfect for this kind of play; one that has a large cast of characters and could otherwise get bogged down in trying to present a realistic setting.

Hattie Morahan gives a great performance as Lady; she’s that rare combination of strong and fragile, assertive and vulnerable. Although Lady may be in charge of her business, she’s not really in charge of her life, and Ms Morahan’s portrayal deftly reveals that conflict. She is matched by a very good performance by Seth Numrich as Valentine; a tad clean-cut to be loafing on the road perhaps, but then, appearances can be deceptive. Because he comes across as an essentially decent type, when his transgressions are variously revealed it makes them all the more shocking.

Jemima Rooper is brilliant as the louche and couldn’t-give-a-damn-about-it Carol, face painted with artless excess, someone who’s used whatever it took in order to survive. Carol Royle is also excellent as the slightly deranged Vee, desperate to peek out from under the thumb of her controlling husband, and a lone figure of creativity in an otherwise repressed environment. And there’s a great partnering of Catrin Aaron as Beulah and Laura Jane Matthewson as Dolly, the gossipy locals who love to sniff out any scandal.

In a nicely Brechtian touch, the role of Uncle Pleasant, played by Valentine Hanson, is enhanced so that he recites Williams’ stage directions as an introduction and towards the climax of the piece. Mr Hanson hangs around portentously, on and off during the performance, creating an ominous reminder that there is a world outside. Williams often has a minor, but authoritarian male figure who calls the shots – or at least tries to; here given a strong performance by Ian Porter as Sheriff Talbott. But the whole cast do a great job in bringing this slice of southern melodrama to life.

This is definitely one of Tennessee Williams’ Championship-level plays rather than one of his Premiership big-hitters, but nevertheless this excellent production gives us a good chance to see one of his works that isn’t performed that frequently. Powerful and riveting performances win the day! It’s on at the Menier Chocolate Factory until 6th July.

Review – The Bay at Nice, Menier Chocolate Factory, 21st April 2019

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I’ve been an admirer of David Hare’s work right from the start of his career (there can’t have been many 12-year-olds who read Slag in the early 70s) and it’s rewarding to fill the gaps in one’s knowledge by seeing the various gems of his back catalogue. I had never heard of The Bay at Nice, his 1986 one-act play set in a grand but comfortless display room at the Hermitage in St Petersburg – or Leningrad, as it was then. But I rarely pass up a chance to see what the Menier next has to offer, so it was with no preconceptions that Mrs Chrisparkle and I chose to spend our Easter Sunday in Southwark.

The year is 1956. Esteemed art expert Valentina Nrovka has been asked by the curators of the Hermitage to inspect a new acquisition – allegedly a Matisse – that has recently been bequeathed to the museum. There is some uncertainty as to its authenticity; and, as Mme Nrovka knew the artist personally in her youth, it is thought she would see through any deliberate attempts by a faker to pretend to the great man’s work. She is accompanied to the Hermitage by her daughter, Sophia, herself a part-time artist, and full-time disappointment to her mother. Over the course of 75 minutes, mother and daughter dissect their difficult relationship as Sophia’s marriage breakdown and new romantic liaison is revealed, against a backdrop of Communist Party politics, the motivation for creativity, the lure of the homeland, and the valuation of art.

One of the genuinely thrilling aspects of seeing a production at the Menier is the discovery of how they have configured its marvellously adaptable acting space. Fotini Dimou’s set has required the 200-or-so seats to be re-arranged, L-shaped, on just two sides of the theatre, to create a comparatively huge space, filled with coloured, borrowed light, to represent one of those enormous Hermitage galleries. Plush red and gilt chairs have been stacked unceremoniously to one side of the stage, beneath a Grand Master’s work; on the back wall of the stage, double doors that lead to the rest of the museum, the only clue that there’s a life outside. As the late afternoon turns into the early evening, Paul Pyant’s lighting design gradually becomes progressively dimmer, which may imply that the longer you talk about life and art – and the less you actually do it – clarity and understanding of these issues reduces. When Mme Nrovka finally looks at the painting, there’s only enough light for a peremptory glimpse – mind you, that’s all she needs.

Penelope Wilton is simply magnificent as Valentina, a woman who has reached a time in life when she is so accustomed to suppress any individual desires, who values the altruism of self-denial, if it’s to achieve a greater good. Her daughter, she reckons, is shallow beyond belief, following a path of self-interest which both ill-serves her family and prevents her from artistic expression. And she doesn’t like to be shaken up and questioned by what she perceives to be an inferior intellect; and is perfectly comfortable to say precisely what she thinks, regardless of how it might offend or distress others. Ms Wilton delivers Hare’s tremendous lines with natural authority, cutting sarcasm, forceful majesty, and a reasoned spite, in what is probably my favourite performance in a play so far this year.

Giving almost as good as she gets, Ophelia Lovibond is excellent as Sophia; patronised, forced to explain herself, intimidated into defiance against her mother and her strictures. It’s a great portrayal of someone who, in everyday life has all the confidence needed to lead an assertive life but who crumbles under parental pressure. David Rintoul is also very good as her new man Peter, awkwardly hovering in the sidelines, choosing silence rather reacting to a taunt, putting his case plainly, honestly and supportively. And Martin Hutson is also great as the Assistant Curator, treading carefully around the Grande Dame’s ego, gently guiding her in the direction he wants, to the benefit of both self and party.

Despite its length, this dynamic little play packs a real punch and gives you so much to consider, laugh at, and identify with. Richard Eyre’s production is a first-class experience all the way. We loved it! It’s on at the Menier until 4th May, and I’d heartily recommend it.

Review – Fiddler on the Roof, Menier Chocolate Factory, 30th December 2018

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One of the most successful musicals of all time has made its way to the Menier for the Christmas/New Year slot, and is now sold out for the entirety of its run, right through to March 9th, so it’s got to be doing something right! The familiar old story of Fiddler on the Roof, with the cantankerous but lovable Reb Tevye, his devoted but not uncritical wife Golde, and their five daughters, three of which are of marryable age, has delighted millions since it first appeared on Broadway in 1964; and yes, gentle reader, I was lucky enough to see Topol in the part – although not until an early 1980s revival. Since then, I’ve seen the surprisingly superb Paul Michael Glaser in the role, and the unsurprisingly brilliant Omid Djalili. And now, this new production at the Menier, directed by Sir Trevor Nunn no less, stars Andy Nyman as the poor dairyman/philosopher/wannabe rich man.

However, unfortunately Mr Nyman, who I understand is excellent in this role, was not performing on the matinee of Sunday December 30th, and his understudy Robert Maskell took the part. Because any production of Fiddler relies heavily on this vital, central performance, I’m going to find it difficult to give a useful review of this show, as I sense the performance I saw was possibly quite different from what everyone else has seen.

I go to the theatre to have a good time so let’s dwell on the positives. Firstly, if you’ve never seen it before, Fiddler on the Roof is a brilliant show, you can take that as read. Even though all the best songs and scenes come in the first Act, so that the show feels slightly top-heavy, it’s still a strong and engrossing story with many larger-than-life characters. In the intimate environment of the Menier, it’s the music that really takes charge, with a fantastic performance from Paul Bogaev’s band, and absolutely stunning vocals and harmonies from the ensemble cast. It truly is a feast for the ear – if ears can indeed be feasted.

I always admire lively choreography, particularly when it’s crammed into such a small space as the Menier. Matt Cole’s expressive and inspiring routines work brilliantly intertwined with some of Jerome Robbins’ original choreography, and they were all danced with exquisite knife-edge accuracy. In particular, hats off to everyone involved in the To Life scene, with the great Cossack dancing and its enormous sense of happiness. For me, that was the most enjoyable scene in the show.

However, much to the surprise of both of us, we were left strangely unmoved by this production. When we saw it in Chichester in 2017, I swear we both had to wipe away the occasional tear. However, in this production, not at all. Despite all the obvious opportunities for an emotional reaction, it just didn’t do it for us. The scene where Tzeitel and Motel’s wedding is disrupted by the first signs of violent oppression by the Russians, came across as simply bad behaviour from some ruffians rather than heart-rending destruction. Similarly, when the end comes, and the pogrom clears them all out of Anatevka, we just didn’t feel the distress or devastation. It felt more like a simple administrative relocation. Sorry, your Anatevka branch has now closed, your nearest branch is now 500 miles away. The only time I felt a true sense of emotion was in that wonderful little and easily overlooked song, Miracle of Miracles, when the ecstatic Motel – Joshua Gannon on magnificent form – can’t get over the fact that he’s finally going to get married to Tzeitel. Even the normally floodgate-opening Sunrise, Sunset only came across as a passive observation of others in love, rather than an overwhelming appreciation of how love carries on from generation to generation. Beautifully sung, but strangely cold.

So I’m left to wonder if this lack of emotion came from missing Mr Nyman. You expect – and need – your Tevye to be the most larger-than-life character of all; a big man, with a big heart, and a big voice, and a big load of cheek that he shares with everyone from God downwards. Tevye is a man whom, if you dare to cross him, should make you quake in your boots. That’s why it’s so funny when, having given his approval to Motel and Tzeitel to marry, he worries about what Golde will say – the big boss man, classically under the little woman’s thumb. However, Mr Maskell’s interpretation of Tevye stressed his more lovable side; his is a kindly, softly-spoken, Big Daddy-type of Tevye. When he sings of God’s vast eternal plan (in If I Were a Rich Man) it feels less like an earth-shattering, divisive dispensation of justice and more like a well-maintained Excel document. He was gently amusing, but nothing more, I’m afraid. It’s true, he does have beautiful vocal purity; but shouldn’t Tevye have more raucous power, dominating the proceedings right from the start? For me, his whole interpretation felt like it lacked something.

Elsewhere in the cast there are some enjoyable performances from Judy Kuhn as the much-tried Golde, Louise Gold as a particularly scatter-brained Yentl, Dermot Canavan as a rather well-mannered and reasonable Lazar Wolf, Harriet Bunton as a spirited Hodel and Molly Osbourne as an enthusiastic Tzeitel. However, despite these good performances and the superb ensemble, I did come away from this show feeling slightly flat and a little disappointed. Sometimes 5 star-hype, such as accompanies this production, only sets you up to being let down. Nevertheless, it’s fully sold out and I heard a rumour of a West End transfer, so what do I know?

P. S. Maybe some of my disappointment at the show could be explained by, once again, being surrounded by some audience members distinctly lacking in the manners department. Again, we encountered a refusal to move when trying to leave or return during the interval (in fact, the woman next to me, when she saw I wanted to pass, actually stood up and blocked my path, so I had to go the longer way across the stage). She spent a lot of the show explaining to her son what was happening in the story (clearly he wasn’t using his listening ears). Another extended family group decided it was a good idea to feed their children a picnic during the performance, with all the rustling, munching, squeaking and chomping that entailed. When they weren’t doing that they were lolling all over the seats or explaining the plot animatedly to their children whilst the actors were performing right in front of them. Sigh. Modern audiences are turning me into a Grumpy Old Man.