Review – The Boy in the Dress, RSC, Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 27th November 2019

Posted on November 29, 2019 by therealchrisparkle

Hotly awaited comes this brand-new musical to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre with a pedigree as long as a dachshund. David Walliams’ book (his first) has been adapted for the stage by Mark Ravenhill (of Shopping and F***ing fame), with music and lyrics by Robbie Williams and Guy Chambers. Directed by RSC Supremo Gregory Doran, heading the cast is the inimitable and versatile Rufus Hound, with a fabulous (and I do not use the word lightly) set by Robert Jones and a delicious-sounding band led by Alan Williams. All well and good so far!

And indeed, it’s all well and good for the most part. I’ve not read Mr Walliams’ book but a quick flick at a synopsis suggests that the musical is very true to the original and is a story with its heart fixed firmly in the right place. 12-year-old Dennis is the top scorer in the school football team, but his life has been shattered by his mum walking out on the family home and leaving him with just his dad and older brother John. Whilst Dad sits around indulging in comfort food and John is out doing his own thing, there’s a big mum-shaped hole in Dennis’ life. Dad has burned all the photos of her, save one that was accidentally rescued by Dennis, where she’s wearing that yellow dress that he always associates with her. One day, whilst buying this week’s Shoot! magazine in Raj’s corner shop, Dennis spies an edition of Vogue with a beautiful yellow dress on the cover and he can’t resist buying it. Hoping to gain the attention of the most desirable girl in the school Lisa James, Dennis allows her to dress him up in her new fashion creation, an orange sequined dress; and he loves it. But how will this go down with his friends, family and headmaster? You’ll have to watch it to find out!

In these days where schoolchildren are being taught (quite rightly, imho) that there should be No Outsiders, and society seems to be getting less and less tolerant, this feels like a timely addition to the debate about the human condition. I’m sure there are more plays that examine what it’s like to be a cross-dresser, but this is the first I can remember since Robert Morley and John Wells’ A Picture of Innocence back in 1978, and certainly the first involving a child. Its message of acceptance is simple and clear; it doesn’t erroneously conflate it with homosexuality, and beware of anyone who doesn’t accept you as you are, because they’re likely to be hypocrites. I always guessed that a certain someone would have a guilty secret; I was right.

At its best, this is an irresistibly charming production, with some great flashes of humour, both spoken and physical. The prancing arrival of the posh boys’ football team has you hooting with derision. When Lisa James peeks through Dennis’ bedroom window and he asks how she got there, the hilarious simplicity of the answer almost stops the show. Then there are some great set pieces of music and dance; the Disco Symphony sequence, for instance, is brilliantly staged and the audience raises the roof in response. The football matches are represented with some fantastic footballography, creating a balletic effect out of the beautiful game. And its impishly sudden ending is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a musical.

So it’s a smash-hit, right? Well, no, not quite. I really wanted to love this show from my toes to my fingertips but there were elements that for me let it down. The show wavers between being played very straight and serious in some parts and as pure pantomime in others. The lump-in-the-throat provoking If I Don’t Cry, where Dennis explores his reaction to his mum’s departure, and A House Without a Mum, where the whole family comes to terms with their new status, are full of heartfelt emotion and true humanity. On the other hand, all the scenes with the ebullient shopkeeper Raj, or Darvesh’s outrageous mother, or Mr Hawtrey’s A Life of Discipline number, are pure pantomime, and the balance between the two sometimes feels a little uneasy. Of course, sometimes we have up days, sometimes down, and having a variety of styles reflects that. It’s just that the heartfelt sequences work so well and the pantomime sequences don’t always achieve that.

The story is great, and the tunes are perfectly agreeable. However, some of those lyrics – oh, good Lord. I appreciate that the show is designed to appeal to children – the suggested age for David Walliams’ book is 8- to 12-year-olds. But that doesn’t mean the words have to be dumbed down. For example: the chorus of the Headmaster’s song, I Hate Kids, blandly goes (if I remember rightly), “I hate kids, I hate kids, I really really really hate kids”. Doesn’t give us great character insight, does it? Particularly as in other scenes the headmaster is happy to declaim “Degenerate!” whenever he sees Dennis, which is a rather sophisticated word. Many of the songs throughout the show are sadly littered with inane and uninspired lyrics, and opportunities for more telling words are sacrificed in the quest for a rhyming couplet – learning/learned, turning/turned comes to mind.

And then there’s the character of Raj. It panders to every Asian shopkeeper racial stereotype under the sun, and I felt sorry for Irvine Iqbal being asked to gurn his way through a sequence of embarrassing musical clichés which wouldn’t have made the first draft of a Goodness Gracious Me sketch. Not giving too much away, I hope, but when he donned his sari I truly wanted to look away. That really didn’t work for me at all. And whilst I enjoyed Natasha Lewis’ performance as Darvesh’s Mum (she does have the best line in the show after all), it seemed clear that the adult Asians are portrayed as outrageous/grotesque figures of fun whilst most of the adult Caucasians are portrayed as ordinary, recognisable human beings. If you want to see lovable Asians on stage without patronising them, can I recommend a revival of the excellent Bend it like Beckham?

Despite these not insubstantial issues, there’s no doubt that the show is immensely enjoyable, largely down to a fantastic performance from a gifted cast. For press night, the role of Dennis was played by Toby Mocrei, and he was exceptional. Full of authority, a face that conveys innocence, cheekiness, sadness and that wonderful feeling when you get the attention of the most attractive girl in the school, plus the voice of an angel (yes, Messrs Williams and Chambers aren’t the only ones who can use a cliché), the audience as one rose to give him a most deserved standing ovation at the earliest opportunity. Dennis is a dream role for a child actor and Toby was the star of the night. There are four actors playing Dennis, as there are for the role of Darvesh; ours was Ethan Dattani, also full of confidence, plaintively and affectionately reassuring Dennis that his cross-dressing didn’t make a shred of difference to their friendship in a rather emotional little scene. He also very nicely batted away his mother’s embarrassing pitchside kisses.

As one of three actors playing Lisa James, Tabitha Knowles is another supremely confident young performer; her Lisa creates a strong bond with Dennis, whom she proudly displays in the shops and at school as though he were her extravagant new pet. She also has a great singing voice, nice comic timing and a very engaging persona. And Alfie Jukes’ John is a nicely underplayed Neanderthal dumb-nut, who’ll do anything for a Magnum. I hardly recognised Rufus Hound as Dad, an unhappy, down-at-heel man who doesn’t need any further complications in his life and is insufficiently in tune with his feminine side to come close to understanding Dennis’ fondness for dresses – at first. But when he opens his heart and accepts his son, I swear a bit of grit must have got in my eye and I had to activate my tear duct.

Elsewhere there’s an effective pantomime-villain performance from Forbes Masson as Mr Hawtrey, strictly one-dimensional and played for laughs, and a nicely loopy performance from Charlotte Wakefield as the useless French teacher Miss Windsor. And I loved Ben Thompson’s very human operation of Oddbod, the dog who farts when he gets excited. There’s one lovely moment when he lets one rip and then looks accusingly at the audience as if to ask, “come on, which of you did that?”

I wanted this to be a great show; I guess I’ll have to make do with it being a very good show. But I’m sure it’s going to be a terrific hit with Christmas families and school parties. It’s playing at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre until 8^th March 2020, but I’m sure that’s not the last we’ll see of sharp-shooting Dennis and his shimmying gown. And, on press night at least, the evening belonged to young Master Mocrei.

Production photos by Manuel Harlan.

Review – The Provoked Wife, Royal Shakespeare Company at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 9th May 2019

Posted on May 10, 2019 by therealchrisparkle

Was there nothing that Sir John Vanbrugh couldn’t do? Architect of such national treasures as Blenheim Palace and Castle Howard, writer of such enduring Restoration Comedies like The Relapse and The Provoked Wife, political activist, even working for the East India Company in Gujarat. He must have been such a Smart Alec.

Let’s get up to date with the plot: Lady Brute, tired of being ignored and despised by her waster of a husband, Sir John, decides to take a lover to spice up her life and to give him a virtual bloody nose into the bargain. She tries to instigate a liaison with Constant, a gentleman, whilst his friend Heartfree, who’s something of a misanthrope – especially against women, falls for Lady Brute’s confidante and niece Bellinda. To add to the mess, Constant and Heartfree are also pals with Sir John. The plot, as it so often does, thickens. Meanwhile, the vain and silly Lady Fancyfull, inspired by her companion Mademoiselle, also wishes to try her luck with Heartfree. Their plans all fall apart in a series of farcical meetings, with ladies hiding behind arbours, and gentlemen heeding the ever-familiar instruction to secrete themselves “into the closet”. But, as Browning was to ask 150-odd years later, what of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

The Provoked Wife was Vanbrugh’s second comedy, first performed in 1697, with what was, at the time, an all-star cast. The whole nature of restoration comedy, a natural rebellion against the Cromwellian frugality and puritanism of a few decades earlier, required as much careless wit, bawdy and foppery as you could cram into a few hours. Stock characters abound, their names proclaiming their characteristics; but even so, they have hearts too, and social disgrace means precisely that. Reputation is key, and when a character cries “I am ruined!” they’re not kidding.

Phillip Breen’s new production for the RSC teems with life and laughter – until about the last thirty minutes. Not because the production goes off the boil, far from it; but because the villainous, murky side of Vanbrugh’s characters take control of the play. Up till then, it’s all knowing winks, powdered faces, nicking an audience member’s programme, and a wonderful selection of pomposity-pricking moments. However, despite its obviously comical – indeed farcical – main plot of wannabe sexual shenanigans and the hilarity of cuckolding a cruel husband, there’s a savage underbelly that makes you question whether you should be laughing at it; and that knife-edge is at the heart of all the best comedy, from Shakespeare to Ayckbourn. As the plot switches from major to minor, the effects of what’s been happening to these figures of fun, who are indeed flesh and blood after all, becomes apparent, and by the end there’s very little to laugh at.

Mark Bailey’s simple set presents us with a solid proscenium arch complete with traditional overhangings and a useful curtain to hide behind. And an all-important back door, which is our glimpse of the outside world, the entry and exit point for all things comical or threatening; and even a way to demonstrate superiority (watch two self-important women try to struggle through it at the same time and you’ll see what I mean). Paddy Cunneen has composed some lively, cheeky tunes for our five on-stage musicians, who herald the end or start of scenes and accompany Lady Pipe or Mr Treble with their pompous warblings.

Alexandra Gilbreath’s Lady Brute is a brilliant portrayal of a woman coming out of her shell; wonderfully confiding, slow to react, discovering the truth of her own meanings as she’s speaking the words. She is matched by an equally superb performance by Jonathan Slinger as Sir John Brute, who sets the tone of the evening with a hilarious opening scene of grumbling and misogyny, and who rises to the challenge of playing the old drunk vagabond impersonating his wife perfectly. It’s their scene when we see his true brutal nature and his attempt to rape his wife where the play turns its corner; challenging and uncomfortable, but played with true commitment and honesty.

John Hodgkinson plays Heartfree with just the right amount of cynicism, i. e. not too much, because you have to believe that he genuinely turns from a callous cold fish to an unexpectedly affectionate suitor. Natalie Dew is a sweet and thoughtful Bellinda – mischievous enough to encourage Lady Brute to cast off the shackles of her miserable marriage, but virtuous enough to attract the attentions of Heartfree. Rufus Hound’s Constant is just that; played very calmly and straight, respectable but always with a twinkle in his eye as he looks for preferment. There are also some terrific performances from the minor characters, with Isabel Adomakoh Young’s Cornet a delightful fly in Lady Fancyfull’s ointment, Sarah Twomey a beautifully manipulative and mischievous Mademoiselle, Kevin N Golding a bemused Justice and Steve Nicholson a hilariously plain-talking Rasor. I was excited to see that Les Dennis is in the cast but was disappointed at how small his role as Colonel Bully is – just a little bit of drunk swagger in a scene or two; hopefully he’s keeping his powder dry for his appearance in the RSC’s Venice Preserved later this month.

But it’s Caroline Quentin’s Lady Fancyfull that makes you beam with pleasure from start to finish. A vision of self-importance, who clearly pays well for flattery; she coquettishly protests modesty whenever she hears praise, and vilifies anyone who dares to contradict her own opinion of herself. In an age today where people often have self-esteem issues, here’s what happens when you go to the opposite end of the scale! Yet it’s a measure of the intelligence of Ms Quentin’s performance that when Lady F is shamed and mocked at the end of the play, her face-paint and wig cast aside, that you do feel some compassion for the wretched character. It’s a great comic performance and she brightens up the stage whenever she’s on.

To be fair, at a little over 3 hrs 15 minutes, the production does feel a trifle long, and leafing through my copy of the text, I don’t think they made any cuts apart from removing the epilogue. However, it’s a very entertaining and lively way to spend an evening; just remember never to provoke your wife.

Production photos by Pete Le May

Review – Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Savoy Theatre, 6th September 2014

Posted on September 8, 2014 by therealchrisparkle

I hummed and hahhed about booking this show because, deep down, gentle reader, I’m a little fed up of the trend to reinvent successful films as stage shows. The story’s already been told in one format – does it really need to be in another? I know there have been loads of great musicals as a result, but I’d really like to see something a bit more original. So at first I ignored it; then ATG tickets rang me up with an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I changed my mind. Yes, the decision to go was price-based. Still, the show sounded funny, it’s always a pleasure to return to the Savoy Theatre; and I’ve always got a lot of time for Robert Lindsay on stage.

Well, I’m very glad that my inflexibility didn’t get the better of me, because Mrs Chrisparkle and I had an absolute whale of a time at this show. We had seen the film before – but it had been some time ago and we’d both forgotten it. Suffice to say, we knew that we enjoyed it, but not why. I remembered it contained a couple of dirty rotten scoundrels, but that’s no great achievement when the clue is in the title. So the plot unfolded to us as a new story, which was very satisfying as it has a delicious twist at the end that came as a complete surprise.

Without giving too much away, it’s about rogue serial swindler Lawrence Jameson, who spends his summers in a fashionable French resort, conning rich ladies out of their considerable fortunes. He’s assisted in this by his accomplice, Andre, an Inspector in the local police force. But their happy little business becomes at risk when another chancer arrives on the scene, the American small time crook Freddy, who’s in the same line of work and who threatens to blow the gaff on Lawrence’s little game. To preserve his way of life, Lawrence agrees to teach Freddy the finer points of scoundreldom; and thus they end up working together, challenging each other to swindle the most money out of the next lot of victims. Into their life steps heiress Christine Colgate, and the game is on.

I’d forgotten how good Robert Lindsay is. We last saw him a few years ago at the Old Vic in John Osborne’s The Entertainer, where he was great; but Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is the kind of show where he really excels – a proper old-fashioned musical, with a bit of a song-and-dance, some showmanship, and some stagey razzmatazz. I first saw him in the original cast of Me and My Girl at the Adelphi in 1985 and was astounded at his ability. In fact, I think his only rival for the title of Best Charisma on Stage in a Musical is Michael Crawford. He’s one of those actors you just can’t stop watching. Every little gesture, every look, every aside, is filled with meaning – whether it be revealing something about the character, or letting you into a moment of emotion, or being just downright hilarious. The role of Lawrence is just perfect for him, allowing him to preen, pose and vain it up like a peacock, whilst being brought down to earth with regular thumps every time things don’t go his way.

Much of the fun comes from how he so nearly (but not quite) breaks the fourth wall on so many occasions, such as his look of incredulity directly at the audience when we applaud Rufus Hound for some comic business, or, after the wonderful and surreal Oklahoma number, when he offers us a silent throwaway “wtf?” You come away from the show feeling that his performance has been one long tongue-in-cheek in-joke, and all the funnier for it. Actually the script is full of quirks that teeter on the edge of normal stagecraft, teasing us with breaking the usual rules of theatre; like when Act Two begins in the same place that Act One ended, and they make fun of the fact they’re performing the same scene twice. Overall Mr L gives us a wonderful comic performance, let alone his still being light on his feet at 64 (apparently), and vocally still really strong. A true star of the stage. He is of course matched with a fantastic performance from Rufus Hound; it’s the first time we’ve seen him live and I was really impressed at his accomplished stage presence. Relishing every opportunity to look as stupid as possible, as when he is playing out the role of the brother from hell Ruprecht, or being ferociously whipped and having to mask the pain, he gives an incredibly active and physical performance, and together with Mr L they create a perfect comic partnership.

Supporting is a wonderfully funny and surprisingly tender performance by Samantha Bond on top form, as the lovelorn Muriel, always wanting to give Lawrence (masquerading as the Prince of some threatened Ruritanian province) a little more money to help his country’s fight for survival. She’s got great comic timing, and acts out a charming love story that develops with Andre; and I loved the moment when she hangs on to the disappearing balcony rail in another of those quirky stagecraft scenes. In the performance we saw, two members of the cast were indisposed so their understudies were called on, and, my word, did they give good accounts of themselves. Darren Bennett played Andre with wit and panache, and Alice Fearn was a beautiful, seemingly kind-hearted Christine Colgate, with a super stage presence and a fantastic voice. We were also really impressed with the statuesque Lizzy Connolly, who played the horrendous Jolene with enormous verve and a great sense of fun. The sets look opulent, and really reflect that sunny Riviera feeling, as do the costumes; and Jerry Mitchell’s choreography is funny and engaging, bringing out the best in the talented ensemble dancers. The songs are catchy and amusing, and the book is extremely funny – all in all, it’s something of a dream combination.

An unmitigated joy – were it not for one really unfortunate blip. I had read reports earlier in the run that the sound system is not up to the job. We had presumed that, months on, all that would have been rectified by now, but no. What I suspect are really witty lyrics in most of the big numbers were absolutely lost by the imbalance of orchestra versus voice. You catch just a percentage of the words, by dint of heavy concentration and a reliance on lip-reading. You know the kind of thing – you catch significant rhyming words like, say, “map” and “crap” and your brain tells you “that’s a really funny lyric that links map and crap, I’m sure if I heard it in its entirety it would be incredibly witty”. You hear enough to keep abreast of plot development, but not enough to savour every moment. It’s a real shame; and we were only four rows from the front in Row C. I would imagine that at the back you would have been completely lost in those big set pieces. Disgraceful really, considering the prices of the seats. Fortunately the show is just so good that you forgive it.