Tag Archives: Stewart Clarke

Review – Les Miserables, Sondheim Theatre, London, 6th February 2025

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When there are countless new productions coming up every week worthy of one’s theatre ticket budget, it might seem strange to go back to a few old favourites once in a while, just to check up on them and see how they’re getting on, like an elderly relative who’s beginning to lose the ability to look after themselves properly. Thus we decided to pay a visit to Les Miserables at the Queens’, I mean Sondheim, Theatre, to see if, forty years on, it’s still in rude health.

It’s misleading to think of it as forty years, as this is the “new” version of the show, directed by Laurence Connor and James Powell, which Mrs Chrisparkle and I were lucky to catch in swanky New York ten years ago. That performance blew our minds, having seen the original version back in 1986 and, frankly, not liking it much; I think you need to have experienced a few hardships in life to truly appreciate Les Mis. Bizarrely, we also saw it at the Leicester Curve in 2018, in a production that completely escapes my memory.onnor and Powell zipped the original up and smartened it out, creating a more vivid show; even though it still lasts just short of three hours, it’s incredibly pacey. When Marius tosses a stone at Cosette’s window she bursts forward to see him instantly, even before gravity has had time for the stone to hit the floor. There’s no hanging about here.

One might not expect a Thursday matinee in February to be full, but so packed was the Sondheim Theatre that there was hardly room for an underfed Parisien street urchin to sneak in. Steward Morley’s fantastic orchestra give the performance of their lives as they emote Claude-Michel Schönberg’s luscious score;crammed full of leitmotifs, and not a note wasted. Matt Kinley’s superb set spills out into the boxes at the side of the stage, recreating the terror of the prisoner labour ship, the grimness of the factories, the grandeur of Valjean’s house and the makeshift mess that represents the barricades. I was struck – perhaps for the first time – by how effective it is, to regularly contrast an elaborate set, such as the ship, with the simplicity of just a table with two candles, such as represents the Bishop of Digne’s humble home.

I know of no other show that can produce audience sobs out of thin air with the ease that Les Mis does. Spoiler alert, soz (but where have you been for the last forty years?) the first tremors of emotion come with Fantine on her death bed, and of course there’s always a gulp at Eponine’s On My Own. But it’s Bring Him Home that opens the floodgates, with alikely trigger at Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, and flat out wailing when the ghosts of Fantine and Eponine come to welcome the dying Valjean out of this world and into a better place. Paule Constable’s stunning lighting design and Finn Ross’ video projections also add to many of these moments, notably Javert tumbling to his death in the Seine, and that amazing second or two when Gavroche’s lifeless body is captured in a crosshair of bright light; they truly take your breath away.

Changes of cast occur from season to season, and the current cast is full of star turns. Ian McIntosh, whom I’ve only ever seen before giving brilliant supporting performances in iffy touring musical productions, portrays a Valjean of valour, nobility and the most exquisitely tender voice. It’s not just the sentiment of Bring Him Home that makes us go wobbly at the knees, it’s that purity and clarity with which he delivers those most immaculate of notes.His nemesis, Javert, is played by Stewart Clarke, whose powerful voice is put to great use, suggesting the character’s bullying and intimidating nature. I’ve seen Mr Clarke many times before on stage and he always nails those imposing, ruthless roles; but I wished for a little more light and shade in his portrayal of Javert. His face is set to one expression throughout – grimace – which only begins to soften in his final moments. You never get the sense that this Javert questions his motives or beliefs for one instant. I know; call me picky.

The three main female roles are all superbly performed. Lucie Jones’ Fantine is a terrific portrayal of decency destroyed by circumstances, giving us a delicate and almost intimate performance of the classic I Dreamed A Dream. Annabelle Aquino plays Cosette with a brightness of spirit and a heart of gold; andAmena El-Kindy pulls out all the stops as her Eponine delivers a soaring On My Own, making the best of observing Marius’ devotion to Cosette on the sidelines, just so that she can be in his company.

Jacob Dachtler’s unswervingly brave and noble Marius is a perfect match for Cosette; he nicely brings out the emotional content in his songs extremely well and is very believable in the role. Robson Broad’s Enjolras is a triumph of heroism, with an amazing stage presence and a wonderful voice which helps those powerful but brief songs, Red/Black and Do You Hear The People Sing, linger on in our minds long after curtain down.

But the secret ingredient of this current production is the inspired casting of Luke Kempner and Claire Machin as the Thénardiers. Crowd pleasers from the start, their physical comedy is outstanding, and their comic bickering is credible rather than just being pure pantomime.Along with the rest of the ensemble, their on stage activity for Master of the House is immaculately timed with hilarious shenanigans complementing the music perfectly. The audience adores them.

I genuinely had no idea I was going to enjoy this show again as much as I did. If you’ve never seen it, what are you waiting for? And if you have, you’ll be delighted to know it’s as great as ever.

 

 

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – A Streetcar Named Desire, Leicester Curve Studio, 24th October 2015

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I’ve been an admirer of the plays of Tennessee Williams for as long as I can remember. I recall being blown away by a TV adaptation of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when I was about 16, then I took a young lady to see The Glass Menagerie when I was 17 (what a romantic gesture that was!) and the only other time I’ve seen A Streetcar Named Desire was at the Oxford Playhouse back in 1978, directed by Nicolas Kent. So it was high time I got reacquainted with the play. Mrs Chrisparkle had also never seen it, nor had our friend, Lady Lichfield, who struggled up to Leicester by train on the most circuitous of routes, but that’s another story.

I had forgotten what a simply magnificent play this is. It is so beautifully written, creating an uncertain air of mystery with almost every new plot progression, that you, as an audience member, can interpret it in many different ways. These basic plot details are for certain: Blanche Dubois has come to visit her sister Stella who lives in a dingy downstairs flat in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Blanche seems used to a more refined lifestyle, dressing in lace and assuming an almost unnatural politesse. Stella, however, has married Stanley, an uncultured Polack (Blanche’s word), and appears content to live with (indeed emotionally and sexually satisfied by) his violent and brutish behaviour. The Grand Estate – Belle Reve – where Blanche and Stella were brought up has been “lost”, and Blanche is now homeless. Stella hasn’t forewarned Stanley that his sister-in-law is coming to stay, and it’s fair to say that they don’t hit it off. In the following months, Blanche gets courted by one of Stanley’s poker-playing buddies, Mitch, who’s less Neanderthal than the rest of them; but her past catches up with her and none of it ends happily. I could go into more detail about the plot but a) you probably know it already, b) maybe you don’t want to know it, and c) there’s a fine line between what you see on stage and what might just be figments of Blanche’s imagination. Although Blanche is taken away by a doctor and nurse at the end of the play, it’s debatable at which point her mental instability takes control. It could be at the end of the play, it could be much earlier; and what you see may be a hazy blend of reality and fantasy. That’s just part of the play’s mystery.

It was first produced in 1947 and had its first UK production in 1949, directed by Laurence Olivier and with Vivien Leigh as Blanche. Of course, back in those days, drama was censored on the British stage and the producer had to apply to the Lord Chamberlain’s office for a licence to perform. This must have provided more than a few difficulties for the censor, as the play deals with – amongst other things – insanity, victim mentality, suicide, rape, and paedophilia. But none of this was, apparently, a particular problem. The only thing that almost caused the production to be banned at the last minute was the story about Blanche’s late husband Allan, whom she found in flagrante delicto with someone else: “Then I found out. In the worst of all possible ways. By coming suddenly into a room that I thought was empty – which wasn’t empty, but had two people in it…the boy I had married and an older man who had been his friend for years”. For the censor, this was the bridge too far. The reference to homosexuality had to go. Bizarrely, the censor himself suggested it should be replaced so that Allan should have been caught at it with a black woman. Eventually a cut was agreed, with the line now just reading “which wasn’t empty, but had two people in it…” And that is how it reads in my Penguin edition of the play and how it is currently spoken in this Curve production. Oddly, by not spelling out precisely what it was that Blanche saw her husband doing, it actually adds to the play’s overall air of mystery.

I had read some very disappointing reviews of this production after press night – none of which are remotely recognisable to the show we saw on Saturday – so I can only assume that the team have continued to work on earlier criticisms, because we all thought the show was quite brilliant. Michael Taylor’s set cleverly encompasses the several acting areas of the play – the Kowalskis’ two roomed apartment, the bathroom, the porch area, Eunice’s flat upstairs, even the streets around New Orleans. There’s a very realistic rain effect right at the end of the play that might get your knees and legs wet if you sit in the front row (as we did, but it’s great to be almost part of the action). There are lots of off-stage music effects that confront and unsettle you, the emotionally moving image of the flower vendor selling her flores para los muertos, and, of course, there are some magnificent performances.

The character of Blanche is so central and so iconic that it is vital to get it right – and Charlie Brooks gives us a terrifyingly stressed Blanche; jittery, anxious, and clearly disturbed right from the start. Mrs C and Lady L both thought that her characterisation made the first act rather frenetic – you were constantly being so bombarded by her words and her anxieties that you hardly had time to reflect. I think that’s possibly true – but I also think it’s entirely justified. In fact, I found it virtually impossible to take my eyes off Ms Brooks all the time she was on stage, so vividly and profoundly did she inhabit the character. I thought it was an amazing performance. We’d seen her a few months earlier in Beautiful Thing and she was terrific in that too – she’s not putting a foot wrong at the moment.

Her anxiety makes the perfect contrast with Dakota Blue Richards’ portrayal of Stella – calm, collected, accepting, practical, and surprisingly assertive. When Blanche tries to load the emotional blackmail on her she simply rejects it; when Stanley behaves badly to her sister she remonstrates with him. Nevertheless, she’s no match for Stanley’s brute force, and the simplicity of her return to him after he’s assaulted her speaks volumes about what she wants from life – and we the audience watch disapprovingly at her contentment with her victim status. Ms Richards gives us a Stella of great clarity and warmth; and turmoil too, when she wonders if she has done the right thing by bringing the doctor to Blanche. That was the moment when both Mrs C and Lady L reached for the Kleenex.

There’s also a wild and brilliant portrayal of Stanley by Stewart Clarke; loud, cruel, calculating, and intimidating – a really strong and intense performance, never straying into an over-the-top pantomime, but always unpleasantly believable. There are also some great supporting performances from Sandy Foster as Eunice, and Patrick Knowles as Mitch,both caught up in an environment where survival of the fittest and not rocking the boat is an imperative, even if you have to do things of which you are not proud.

A stunning production of what is still a very moving and important play – one of those theatre experiences that will live on long after you come home. It’s on at the Curve until 7th November – strongly recommended!

Production photographs by Manuel Harlan

Review – Loserville, Garrick Theatre, 3rd January 2013

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I had fleetingly seen good feedback about this show and had heard that despite this it was due to close early – and so, with the unexpected opportunity to see a couple of London shows shortly after New Year, we thought it would be worth a try. After I’d booked the tickets, I saw an advert on the underground for it, where it was described as “Grease for the 21st century”. That worried me a bit. If you’ve read our reaction to the real Grease that we saw last April, you’ll understand my concern.

I can appreciate the comparison. There’s a bunch of older school kids teeming with hormones and you can split them into bespectacled geeky nerds (our heroes) and spoilt, bullying, shallow, good looking Grease-types (the baddies). Into this mix arrives the geeky but fanciable Holly – an outsider with a past as it turns out, and in Grease terms, she is Sandy. The baddies blackmail Holly into betraying her nerdy friends, but she double-crosses them at the end, and good prevails. That’s where it really departs from Grease, as Loserville is actually a very moral tale. In Grease, selling out leads to success. In Loserville, honesty is the best policy, be loyal to your friends, act for the good of society, and you will win the day. Cheats don’t prosper in Loserville.

It’s all set in a 1971 technical college, although there’s nothing Please, Sir! or To Sir With Love about Francis O’Connor’s lively set, which reminded me of a cross between Happy Days (Richie Cunningham’s as opposed to Samuel Beckett’s), and Tron. Mathematics whizzkid Michael Dork (note the subtle use of surname) is on the brink of creating the first email and all he’s missing, were he but to know it, is the final ampersand. His best mate is trying to write a book set in space and populated with characters called Leia, C3PO, and other similarly recognisable monikers. His name is Lucas Lloyd (note the subtle use of first name). Dork and his awkward pals have just discovered girls and their loins are positively throbbing at the prospect of putting theory into practice, but they have yet to learn the art of “asking out”. The baddies, of course, all exude sexual confidence and probably learned the art of seduction through the placenta. When Holly turns up, she is distinctly dorky but at the same time sassy too, so is the perfect fuel for Michael’s cockpit. She starts to help him find the email missing link but it’s not long before they get a thang going on; and while supporting chums Francis and Marvin pillock around with pretend spaceships and a similarly barmy lady enters their life, no one wants to go out for Thursday night bowling with Lucas, who is left home alone.

For me, this was a stumbling block in the storyline. Gentle reader, I have been Lucas. I have been that stalwart gang member, who without noticing it, discovers that his best pal and everyone else in the set have moved on to pastures new, and, sadly, he has been left behind. No, please don’t cry for me, I’m well over it now. Lucas’ solution to the problem is to get angry (yes I understand that) and then betray his friends (no! There’s no way he would do that!) Lucas reveals how to break into the safe that holds the details of Michael and Holly’s research to the ne’er-do-well Eddie’s henchmen, Eddie being too lazy and thick to come up with the science that will gain him a lucrative position in Dad’s business. Lucas does this in exchange for a half-arsed promise of book publication. Realising his manuscript has been dumped and that he has been well duped, Lucas eventually gets reintegrated with the gang and – also extraordinarily unlikely – ends up with Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. I’m sorry, I just think that whole sequence of events is ridiculously unlikely! I also found the “laughing at foreign accents” sequences – with the two Yugoslav girls struggling sexily with their English – immensely tedious, but that’s just me; remembering that dreadful old TV programme “Mind Your Language”, it’s probably a highly accurate represention of what was funny in 1971.

These aspects of the storyline aside, it’s an entertaining tale and performed with huge commitment and style. The young and talented cast perform their socks off and the songs, written by ex-Busted member James Bourne, are all very jolly and accessible. To my ears, they all sound like variations of Busted’s “Year 3000”, but that’s ok. The last song of the first half is the very catchy “Ticket Outta Loserville”, which audience members in the interval bar couldn’t resist but sing along to whilst quaffing a Cabernet Sauvignon. This is all good stuff.

There is another problem though – despite this huge enthusiasm on stage something about the show does not get conveyed to the stalls. It’s not as though you feel like an estranged onlooker, but that obvious joie-de-vivre on stage does not catch. It’s a little like that massive firework that you know is packed full of noise and colour, but whose blue touch paper simply won’t light; or like there’s an invisible firewall blocking the energy before it reaches the audience. I’ve thought about this a lot over the past week and I still can’t identify why. I would hate to think that it’s because I’m too old for the show – that couldn’t possibly be the reason. I did get a sense early on in the evening that I had missed out on some important piece of plotting and I worried slightly that I wasn’t going to understand what was happening – but as a problem that lasted no more than the first fifteen or twenty minutes. So it’s not that. For Mrs Chrisparkle the main problem for the show was that it wasn’t Hairspray. She felt it had the enviable possibility of turning into “Son Of Hairspray”, but regretfully it comes nowhere near that other show in terms of entertainment and engagement. It’s true – in the comparison stakes, Loserville is a bit of a loser there.

There’s a quite cute presentation of the cast at the beginning and to a lesser extent at the end of the show, where cast members hold a board with their character names and their own names on – or those of their friends – to identify who they are. If you’d known they were going to do that, you could have got away with not buying a programme. The sequence put me in mind of the opening credits of a TV show or film. It was inventively done in a cartoony and jocular style and was rather amusing to watch. Brecht would have loved it.

The whole thing was charmingly done, and I reckon the majority of the cast – for whom many Loserville was either their professional debut or not far behind it – will go on to have excellent stage careers. Aaron Sidwell as Michael was a superb geeky hero, with a slick stage presence and a great feel for the song and dance; Eliza Hope Bennett as Holly brought out all aspects of the character really well and was extremely watchable throughout; Richard Lowe as Lucas had just the right amount of goofiness and vulnerability to shine in his role; and Stewart Clarke conveyed brilliantly the vain despicability of Eddie – we loved his curtain call dressed in combats. Don’t forget the band – six guys who filled the sound waves like musical geniuses. I wonder if, with a little tweaking, this could come back another day?