tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296709102024-03-01T07:45:31.509+00:00West End WhingersPhil and Andrew have transferred their whinging to <a href="http://www.westendwhingers.wordpress.com">westendwhingers.wordpress.com. Click here to visit us in our new auditorium.</a>Andrew Orangehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998244517862702881noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29670910.post-33384394645544583322010-04-06T08:32:00.002+00:002010-04-06T08:34:40.765+00:00CABE design review of Sky GardensThe Commission for Architecture and the Built Environment has published a Design Review of Sky Gardens with some interesting reservations. I don't know if it has any power or not. Doesn't sound like it.<div>
</div><div><a href="http://www.cabe.org.uk/design-review/vauxhall-sky-gardens-2">http://www.cabe.org.uk/design-review/vauxhall-sky-gardens-2</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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They have transferred to <a href="http://www.westendwhingers.wordpress.com">http://www.westendwhingers.wordpress.com</a>. Do please come and visit us there where we have more room to whinge and better lighting.
This venue will remain dark for the foreseeable future.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>As Elizabethan explorer Sir Martin Frobisher was searching for the (then) theoretical <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northwest_Passage">Northwest Passage</a>, he discovered a marvellous black mineral from which he was convinced gold could be extracted. He transported it back to England in copious quantities, only to find that "Frobisher's Gold" - although quite sparkly - was worthless.
And so it was that the West End Whingers were gifted of a hook for their review when they sat through two-and-a-half hours of <a href="http://www.offwestendtheatres.co.uk/index.php?where=the_shaw&when=now_showing">Frobisher's Gold</a> at the Shaw Theatre in the heart of London's glamorous Euston Road.
In actual fact, Phil was spared this experience. Andrew took along would-be whinger Neil just to check that the whingers haven't lost the plot when it comes to theatre criticism - can they really have seen so much rubbish at the theatre? But Andrew is pleased to report that all is well with the WEW dramatic compass which does indeed point firmly towards true crap.
The play opens as a history (albeit with a free sprinkling of anachronisms) featuring the usual Elizabethan suspects - Essex, Walsingham and in this case Frobisher - and trundles along in this manner until the interval (end of Act III!), at which point it drifts into surrealism which culminates in the major characters transforming into animals. It's all kind of explained, but in a "it was all a dream" kind of way.
Frobisher's Gold was written by Fraser Grace under the patronage of <a href="http://www.menagerie.uk.com">Menagerie</a> - "a leading independent producer of new writing for the stage" which only goes to reinforce Andrew's view that, on the whole, new writing should be suppressed rather than encouraged. In fact Andrew rushed home after the show to instruct his lawyers to set up an endowment to fund a foundation for this very purpose.
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/678/767/1600/2222.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/678/767/200/2222.jpg" border="0" /></a>Poor <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Janet_Suzman">Janet Suzman</a> - remember her from the film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067483/">Nicholas & Alexandra</a> and the seventies TV series <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159857/">Clayhanger</a>? She's an excellent actress and her performance as Elizabeth I rises far above the material. But one imagines her next gig as Volumnia in <a href="http://www.rsc.org.uk/newsandevents/events/3530.aspx">Coriolanus</a> (which will round off the RSC's Complete Works Festival) can't come round soon enough for her.
The costumes, sets and make-up don't help. They put Andrew in mind of a university dramasoc production. Actually, this production might have worked quite well in the informal intimacy of a pub theatre, but the Shaw Theatre is too large to do anything other than show this production up as rather tatty and low-budget.
So, was it value for money? Andrew and Neil paid just £10 for the tickets which they thought was worth paying to see the woefully underexposed Suzman.
But when Elizabeth reprises herutterancee that "underachievement" bugs her (yes, Elizabeth uses words like "bug") at least two people in the audience could be seen nodding gravely in sympathy.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>Like the West End Whingers, fellow theatre-goers and would-be whingers Simon and Nick found themselves at the very end of row C in the stalls at Wicked.
Problems similar to <a href="http://westendwhingers.blogspot.com/2006/10/wicked-orrible.html">those experienced by Phil and Andrew</a> ensued. They could only see the front of the stage at the best of times and when cast members were on the spiral staircase at the front of the stage, they couldn’t see anything except their backs.
So in the interval, Nick (of whom WEW are proud) spoke with the box office manager who admitted that the tickets went on sale before they knew what the set design was, and they didn’t realise that some tickets would have a restricted view (one more tale of <a href="http://westendwhingers.blogspot.com/2006/10/box-office-poison.html">box office poison</a>).
The box office manager tried to insist that Nick write to the theatre manager to complain but caved in under a further onslaught of whinging to offer Simon and Nick best seats (the middle of the row with the leg-room in the stalls) for another performance. He also mentioned that they had had more than a few upset customers.
So, what's the thinking going on at the box office here? "Whoops, these seats we sold at top price are actually crap. We must contact the poor people who have shelled out for them and offer some kind of recompense?" Yeah, right. That would have been the honourable thing to do; the decent thing. But you have to remember that the one thing box office people can't stand are audiences. They are scum.
Fans of WEW may be wondering why practised whingers Phil and Andrew - whose seats subjected them to similar visual and aural imediments - did not kick up a fuss like Nick did? Simple. For his efforts Nick now has to sit through Wicked <em>again</em>. Wild horses wouldn't drag us. Not for all the tea in China. Poor Nick - hasn't he suffered enough already?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>Far be it from the West End Whingers - for whom every purchase of a theatre ticket is a triumph of optimism over experience - to predict hot tickets for the future, but the <a href="http://www.menierchocolatefactory.com/">Menier Chocolate Factory</a> has a track record of interesting productions (<a href="http://www.sundayinthepark.co.uk/">Sunday in the Park with George</a> was excellent) and a very nice bar.
So it's exciting to hear that the Menier is to revive <a href="http://www.menierchocolatefactory.com/littleshopofhorrors.htm">Little Shop of Horrors</a> (previews 17th November). The West End Whingers are both fortunate enough (or old enough, depending on how you look at it) to have seen Ellen Greene play Audrey in the original London stage production and, of course, in the excellent movie version.
If <a href="http://www.sheridansmith.co.uk/">Sheridan Smith</a>'s voice has half the power of Greene's this could be worth seeing. Let's just hope they haven't gone down the "Audrey couldn't really sing" route which has <a href="http://westendwhingers.blogspot.com/2006/09/cabaret-whats-wrong-with-sitting-alone.html">blighted so many Cabaret productions</a>.
The role of Seymour is taken by Paul Keating (he was in Tommy and nominated for a Laurence Olivier Theatre Award for his performance in Closer to Heaven). Comedian <a href="http://www.pfd.co.uk/clients/mcshanem/a-act.html">Mike McShane</a> (Whose Line is it Anyway) plays Audrey II.
WEW know that they are almost certainly doomed to disappointment, but they are going anyway. At least they can be sure they will be able to have a good moan about the Menier's <a href="http://westendwhingers.blogspot.com/2006/08/unallocated-seatingwe-have-our.html">unallocated seating</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>A spoof Broadway meta-musical that lampoons theatrical Jews and gays along the way. Sound familiar?
<a href="http://www.spamalotlondon.com/">
Monty Python's Spamalot</a> ("a new musical lovingly ripped off from the motion picture") doesn't have the grace, wit, or structure - nor the quality of pastiche or song - possessed by Mel Brooks' <a href="http://www.theproducerslondon.com/">The Producers</a>, nor it does not exude a particular love for the genre. But for an enjoyable night out at the theatre in the West End at the moment, it's pretty hard to beat.
High praise indeed from a West End Whinger, but Andrew does have some empathy with <a href="http://westendwhingers.blogspot.com/2006/10/spamalot-phil-tried-to-look-on-bright.html">Phil's lukewarm feelings for Spamalot</a>. For a start: if you're not a big Monty Python fan, it's not nearly as funny as half the audience seems to think it is. Indeed, they laugh <span style="font-style: italic;">before </span>the jokes which is most disconcerting.
It's also true that Tim Curry as King Arthur coasts rather languidly through his role without bringing the energy or dynamism one might have expected. Thankfully the rest of the cast is strong - which it needs to be with each of the principals playing three or four roles. There's some fine singing too, particularly from Darren Southworth (Historian / Not Dead Fred / French Guard / Minstrel / Prince Herbert) and Hannah Waddingham (The Lady of the Lake) who steals the show.
Waddingham - who has been in two more Ben Elton musicals than any actress should have to endure (Beautiful Game and Tonight's the Night) - has a fantastic voice and brings the house down several times. Her vocal play is fantastic - The Diva's Lament, in which she complains that she doesn't have anything to do in Act II, is excellent. So is her duet with Sir Dennis Galahad (Christopher Sieber) - The Song That Goes Like This - an amusing (if not terribly original) musical theatre parody.
The songs (by Eric Idle and John Due Prez) don't really stick in the memory but they've wisely imported some ready-made goodwill in the form of "Always look on the Bright Side of Life" fromMonty Pythons' Life of Brian. Again, the audience is ahead of the show, singing along almost from the opening notes.
Spamalot never bores, although bits of the second act drag somewhat - notably the over-laboured, sub-panto scene in which Prince Herbert's father instructs his dim-witted guards not to let his son leave the room.
There are also some real problems with the transfer of this to the West End from Broadway. Faced with the task of putting on a West End Show, King Arthur and his knights are faced with the apparently essential corresponding task of therefore having to find Jews to take part on it. This might have worked on Broadway, but in the Palace Theatre the introduction of this theme was understandably met with bemused silence - it's simply not part of our theatre in-joke culture here. It worked in The Producers because (a) it was set on Broadway (b) Max Bialystock is Jewish and (c) Mel Brooks is Jewish.
For evidence of just how half-arsed this transfer is look no further than the programme where the accompanying song is still called You Won't Succeed on Broadway, although those certainly weren't the words being sung on the stage.
But these are minor gripes. Director Mike Nichols (whose films include The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Vifinia Woolf, Postcards from the Edge) puts on a terrifically busy show which, combined with Tim Hatley's first-rate set and costume designs and the presence of Tim Curry, all helps convince you that you're seeing your £60 ticket money up there on the stage.
If Andrew were a lazy newspaper critic keen to have his words up outside the theatre he might say that in some ways this is the Holy Grail of musical theatre - enjoyable, funnygreat singing, lots to look at and a star. Who would have thought that there would come a time in musical theatre when such a combination would be rare enough to be worthy of comment?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>Cheez. What's the matter with the folks in the box offices in London? Andrew outsourced the purchasing of Spamalot tickets to his faithful friend and would-be-whinger Neil who diligently turned up at the Palace Theatre box office on the day the tickets first went on sale. "I'd like tickets for the evening of the first Saturday after Opening Night, please [for he is very polite]," he said.
Imagine his dismay to realise that the tickets he had been sold turned out to be for the evening of the <em>last </em>Saturday <em>before </em>opening night. An easy mistake to make? Ummm. No. Don't think so. Not unless the box office staff are flaky or not very interested in meeting their customers' needs or hung over.
So he returns to the theatre to enquire about the mistake. "When you said Opening Night, did you mean the press night?" they enquired. Well of course he did. They're the same thing. And either way, the dates are wrong. Perhaps the opening night moved? No.
He received an apology of sorts. But wouldn't a free programme each or something have made all the difference? What would it have cost them? Probably about £1, despite the fact they probably charge ten times that for them.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>For once, West End Whingers can guarantee absolutely no plot spoilers in their review of the "unpredictable, funny and disturbing new play by Terry Johnson" (according to the <a href="http://www.royalcourttheatre.com/whatson01.asp">Royal Court's website</a>).
There are two good reasons for this. One, the plot in the first act isn't worthy of the word. Two, we didn't see the second act.
For what it's worth, the play centres around two sisters (sounds two-thirds Chekhovian, doesn't it?) and some vague metaphors concerning a lost piano key (ooh, very Chekhovian) and a murmeration of starlings (there's a whole riff on <a href="http://www.rinkworks.com/words/collective.shtml">collective nouns</a> as a substitute for sparkling dialogue, but don't worry, it's not relevant to anything).
So, the plot. Repressed daughter (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001860/">Alicia Witt</a>, Zoey in the long-forgotten sit-bomb Cybill) lives a spinsterish life in her MP father's country pile with the brother of her father's second wife or something when her tediously rebellious prodigal sister Louise (<a href="http://www.kellyreilly.com/">Kelly Reilly</a>) returns home with the aim of sabotaging her father's wedding to someone-or-other that he met on a reality TV show and then... Oh, we don't know. Couldn't care less about any of them and didn't believe any of it.
Johnson has turned out some good work in the past (Cleo, Camping, Emmanuel and Dick, Dead Funny), but this play (well, the first half, anyway) is a turkey. It was written specially for Witt because she can actually play the piano, apparently. Can you believe that? Hey, Johnson - Andrew can rumba like a latin and Phil's got a cycling proficiency certificate. Why don't you write something for us? (But better than this)
Actually, Witt's quite good, although we got the impression that most of her focus was on maintaining her English accent. Reilly (good in the past) has a very good theatrical track record (as do Oliver Cotton and Danny Webb) but there are only two dimensions to any of them. Johnson tires of the whole Chekhovian thing before the end of the first act and reverts to phalluses and acrobatics as he shifts up into his favoured pre-intermission shock-mode.
On the whole, it's a charmless piece with one good gag ("I could never replace your mother" "Oh, I don't know. If I dug her up you'd probably fit quite snugly in her grave" or something), and one 20-year-old gag (<a href="http://www.snopes.com/weddings/embarrass/robinhood.asp">the one about wanting to walk down the aisle to the song from Robin Hood</a>). But do go see this play if you like listening to lots and lots of words, watching people you don't care about bickering or listening to people whining.
Value for money? Well, the set looks very West End (Phil reads that as a sign of the Royal Court's hopes of a transfer) and the front row circle seats were just £15. But by the interval our quest for culture had given way to the call of the chianti. So we spent a further £15 on a bottle and spent the rest of the evening putting the theatrical world to rights in a restaurant off the King's Road. God, we were so much more interesting.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>Just came across <a href="http://paulinlondon.blogspot.com/2006/09/theatre-cabaret_28.html">this post from Paul of London</a> who thinks even less of Cabaret than we did!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</span>Oh dear. Well, it's probably sufficient to report that the highlight of this production of Cabaret - currently previewing at the Lyric Theatre in Shaftesbury Avenue - is the pineapple song ("It Couldn't Please Me More").
Andrew and Phil can't recall exactly when it became acceptable to cast non-singers in West End musicals but this really is beyond the pale.
Neither Anna Maxwell Martin (Sally Bowles) nor James Dreyfus (the emcee) are strong enough to do justice to Kander and Ebb's songs. Sheila Hancock (Frau Schneider) gets away with it but that's probably because (a) it seems appropriate to her geriatric character and (b) we love her. Enough of this excuse that Sally Bowles couldn't really sing; it's a feeble excuse to get the role out of the shadow of Liza Minelli. Well, it backfired, because it just made us long for Liza even more.
James Dreyfus was amusing enough, but presumably the current interpretation is that the emcee "couldn't really sing either" and "wasn't really sinister" although in a press conference Dreyfus said "We're going quite dark with [Emcee], like the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Very strange, very weird. We're trying to make it incredibly different [to the film], much darker, more unpredictable; so he's not just the showman." Did you ever see the film, James?
And frankly, the idea of chorus boys beating people up never really works in musical theatre, but here they have changed out of their basques and stockings and into Nazi uniforms to do so, so it's Springtime for Hitler that runs through your mind more than anything.
And there's an awful lot of gratuitous nudity in it. Now Andrew and Phil are no prudes, but we've seen naked people before thank you very much and although the first nude scene is in context and funny, after that it gets rather wearing.
Enough about the cast. What about the rest of it? Well, a rather lackluster set with Chicago-style ladders rolling in and out of the wings failed to impress, although the giant letters standing on the stage during the finale spelling K-A-B-A-R-E-T (in case you suddenly woke up and wondered were you were) provided a particularly amusing diversion when the principals tried to squeeze their way between the letters to get off the stage. Hysterical.
Andrew was particularly irritated by the dingy atmospheric lighting which denied us any sight of the actors' expressions - even from row J of the stalls.
The choreography by Javier De Frutos veered between uninspired and chaotic; the orchestra rarely appeared on stage. "The Money Song" was pretty terrible, as was "Cabaret", "Maybe This Time" and... well practically everything apart from the pineapple song.
Still, to be fair, it was a preview, so maybe some of this will get sorted out. But until it does, rent the DVD of the film and sit alone in your room. We'll guarantee you have a great time.
The damage:
<ul><li>Ticket: £40 (£10 cheaper than normal because it was a preview)</li><li>Glass of wine: £3.60 </li><li>Programme: £3.50 </li></ul>
The alternative:
<ul><li>Buy the <b class="sans">Cabaret - 30th Anniversary Special Edition </b>DVD from Amazon: £5.97</li></ul><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Writing credits for this amusing four-hander production of The 39 Steps are given to the book's author, John Buchan , and Patrick Barlow (he of National Theatre of Brent) "from an original concept by Simon Corble and Nobby Dimon". Strangely it makes no mention of Charles Bennett or Ian Hay whose work , as adaptor and dialogue writer of Hitchcock's 1935 film, most of this production is based on.
Directed by Maria Aitken (bizarrely), this is an amusing production with a great cast (Rupert Degas, Charles Edwards, Catherine McCormack and Simon Gregor) and some inventive staging.
Great value for money too - we managed to get a <a href="http://www.whatsonstage.com">What's On Stage</a> two-for-one offer which worked out at £7.50 a seat. You can't complain at that, can you?
Apart from the fact that the theatre seemed to be running a bizarre two-tier system of seat allocation. If you paid full-price, you got a numbered seat. If you didn't, you had to arrive early or wander round the theatre looking for somewhere to sit. This system naturally results in lots of single seats scattered around the theatre which was hopeless if you had come as a party of two or more.
What is this thing about unallocated seating? It's the worst thing about visiting the otherwise excellent <a href="http://www.sohotheatre.com">Soho Theatre</a> and new heights to this policy were experienced at an otherwise enjoyable visit to see Bill Bailey at the <a href="http://www.bac.org.uk">Battersea Arts Centre</a> where the tickets had seat numbers on them but the seats didn't.
I mean, for heaven's sake. How much money are they saving by not putting numbers on the seats or the tickets (or both)? It's like flying with easyjet or Ryanair - it really can't be the lack of allocated seating that lets them fly you at rock bottom prices. It just seems to be designed to make the whole experience more miserable than it need be. Stop it at once.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Top tips</span>
<ul><li>Pre-theatre: <a href="http://http://www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/reviews/7830.html">The Small & Beautiful</a> restaurant 351 Kilburn High Road does an edible two course menu for £5.50 Mon-Thurs. You can't say fairer than that.</li></ul><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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<em>Did anyone else see Brasil Brasileiro? Am I crying in the wilderness. Angela bailed out at the interval and went home to do the ironing.
Brasil Brasileiro was dire. If Kylie thinks this is good dance she needs to get out more.
It was shockingly amateurish like a a bad tourist cabaret on a cheap cruise liner. It was lowest common denominator stuff and it really rankles that they think they have to dumb down dance to reach a mass audience. What they need to do is just present good dance.
They had an appalling band who were out of tune and two ageing cabaret stars (dressed in black on a bare black stage!) were singing flat and seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the band weren't with them. I've never seen anything like it. I've heard better singing at hoolies at home Ireland, at least there everyone can sing in tune.
The choice of music was also second rate. From a country which produced Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Astrid Gilberto, Antonio Carlos Jobim, this was unforgivable. It would be like representing British music abroad by using Des O'Connor.
The dancing was really community group level (like some dreary festival that Hackney council would dream up) and at one stage this couple did a lambada which was off the beat. I know middle aged English people who can dance a lamabada on the beat so was horrified. London used to have (still has I think) a number of lambada schools where amateurs produce a level of dance which is far superior to what was in this show. Passing this off as the best of Brazilian dance was criminal.
The whole show looked really under-rehearsed but the main problem was not so much the lack of talent of the cast and the basic flaw in its conception. The show was devised by Claudio Segovia who created Tango Argentino, Flamenco Puro and Black & Blue, all of which were fabulous. </em>
<em></em>
<em>What unites those three of course is that that they took as their starting point very strong vernacular dance forms and he brought together exponents of these dances who were at the top of their profession. The problem with this Brazilian nonsense is that there really isn't a dance called "samba", so there isn't anything to hang the show on. It's all too diffuse. Samba schools are about teaching street dance for Mardi Gras but there is no really defined steps so it's a loose cover all term for varieties of street dance which have echoes of jitterbug, salsa, lambada, hip hop (the Samba dance in European Latin American dance competitions is a totally different and European invented dance). </em>
<em></em>
<em>This is all fine, if it's well done but it's party dancing and while it can be fun and looks embarrassing on a professional stage. I'm not saying the dance has to be artistically pure it just has to be coming from somewhere. All the women in this show were just decorative and didn't really have any steps, they just kept up with the men who threw them around.
The look of the piece was also very interesting. They all looked really trendy (in today's terms) which meant all the men were in sporty gear and all the women looked like hookers. I could write another essay on the sexual politics of the piece, but I won't!.
The place for this show was the streets of Notting Hill Carnival not Sadlers Wells. Of course the audience loved it and clapped loudly and stamped their feet but as PT Barnum said "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the general public".</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Andrew thinks it may have been the verbiage rather than the fake blood that resulted in so many <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/groundlings">groundlings</a> to be escorted from the theatre by concerned-looking ushers. In fact, he was tempted to feign faintness himself more than once in the first half.
To be fair, Andrew has to confess that he doesn't really <span style="font-style: italic;">do </span>Shakespeare very well. He finds the effort of listening so hard rather wearing and his mind tends to wander, so - as Elizabethan and Jacobean drama goes - Titus A is a relatively attractive proposition what with there being so much on-stage death, amputation, cannibalism &c.
Half-helpfully, the programme (a relative bargain at £3.00 with <span style="font-style: italic;">lots </span>of interesting information in it. Take note West End & esp. Theatre Royal Haymarket) has a plot synopsis which selectively outlined the action, although many of the finer points were glossed over, so perhaps Andrew wasn't the only one struggling with the many words.
The first half is a bit too Shakespearean, with Douglas Hodge (Titus) doing quite a lot of that declaiming thing, but in the second half - when the tragedy ascends into farce - the whole thing lightens and is played with both eyes on the laughs which is much more enjoyable. Frankly, the time began to fly by.
Particularly entertaining is Shaun Parkes ("Aaron, a Moor") who got the only spontaneous applause of the evening, but Geraldine Alexander as Tamora and Laura Rees as Lavinia also deserve plaudits, the latter deserving an Olivier award for "Best post-double-hand-amputation and tongue extraction performance" if there is such a thing (and if there isn't, there should be).
Other high points include the styling of Tamara's Goth sons who look as though they are moonlighting in matinee performances of Cats and didn't quite have time to get all the slap off before the curtain went up on Titus A.
But anyway, Andrew has to confess that this turned out to be a fantastic evening. Seeing a show at The Globe is an amazing experience and this show has a lot to commend it.
Andrew hears that The Globe is branching out from Shakespeare so if you can't stomach three hours of words, look out for something else. And his tip for the directors of The Globe is: Go for it. Andrew would pay very good money to see Kiss Me Kate here. Perfect.
In the meantime, some coping strategies:
<ul><li>Don't be a groundling unless you are really poor or really absorbed by words.</li><li>Fork out the extra £1 to hire a cushion. The benches are hard and the evening is long</li><li>You can take your cup of wine into the theatre (Andrew was gutted not to find this out until the interval)
</li></ul><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Then they all clutch at a crucifix held aloft by a priest (-cum-chorus boy) while dramatically lit from below by a spot that casts dramatic shadows on the backdrop. Oooh. Well, Phil thought it was quite dramatic but Andrew was too preoccupied wondering where the light was supposed to be coming from to be drawn in.
All this and we're not five minutes in. Quite an amusing beginning to the £55 and 200 minutes of wine time invested (£110 and 400 minutes if you look at it holistically).
But it's pretty much downhill from then on. As Phil pointed out, more time has elapsed since the original Evita than it had between Eva Peron shuffling off her mortal coil and ALW bringing her carcass to the London stage. And it shows. Rather horrible seventies sung-through rock opera although to be fair this has more tunes than your average ALW show. And he's obviously pleased with them because they get used over and over again (I think if one were being kind one would use the terms "leitmotif" and "reprise" but there's not much inclination towards kindness coming from our seats).
Was Elena Roger worthy of the hype? Well, she's got a decent voice and she's very small which had some potential comedic value when she descended the steps onto the balcony for her Big Number - for a moment it looked as if she wasn't going to be able see over the balcony and we were in for a Morecambe and Wise moment.
But the problem is her rather rich accent. Terribly authentic of course, but we could only make out about 50% of the words - and we knew the words to Don't Cry For Me, Argentina anyway. So we could probably only make out about 25% of the words we didn't know.
Anyway, the show was rather stolen from under her by a character called "Mistress" in the programme (played by one Lorna Want) who appears for five minutes in Act 1 to sing the showstopping number (Another Suitcase in Another Hall) before disappearing never to be seen again. Peculiar construction for a musical indeed.
The last half of Act 2 drags rather thanks to some uninspiring songs (including the one written for the film version) and Andrew was rather relieved when Eva finally pegged it.
Anyway, if Lorna Want ("Mistress") ever takes over from Elena Roger, then that's the time to go. That's our advice. In the meantime, judging by the distinctly unpacked house we predict there will be offers in the offing so you won't have to pay £55 for the privilege of seeing this rather creaky revival. It's still 200 minutes of your wine time though. Think on't.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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ALW asked Brianey (I really must find out how to spell that name) if she thought that at 16 she was old enough to be a West End star? Well, Mr LW it's only a week ago that you were ranting on about how Maria was always played by actresses too old to play the "girl" that Maria clearly is. You're asking the wrong question: it's not whether she's the right age for a West End star; it's whether she's the right age to be Maria.
Of course, Brianey had to go; she's the delightful underdog who would have charmed BBC viewers into putting her through every week. Too high a risk for someone who's going to have to do eight (sorry, six. see previous post) shows a week.
To be honest, I don't care who gets it now. The ten that are left are just not interesting. I hope Brianey gets her own show. I'd pay good money to see her in The King's Head; not so sure about paying to see any of the others in SOM.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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In the first edition of How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria, the cat was let truly out of the bag with a slip of the tongue by one of the judges emphasising that the successful Maria would have to perform <span style="font-style: italic;">at least six </span>performances a week.
At least? What does that mean? Six? Eight? Seven? Which ones? If you buy a ticket now, will you see the winner or not? Do tell.
And is this now the standard? Just turn up when you can, love. Don't worry about it. We'll send someone else on if you don't feel up to acting like a professional.
And another thing. How come this programme is all about being able to sing? Is the acting something you can fudge your way through in a few weeks? If so, those poor bastards sweating their way through two years of acting school should be told. And so should we.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Amusingly, they are at pains to point out that Roger-less performances are not performed by an understudy - Roger and whoever-the-other-woman-is are, in fact, <strong>"sharing the role</strong>".
Remainder of the exchange goes something like this:
<em>Simon:</em> So how many performances is Elena Roger doing?
<em>Box office:</em> Six
Simon: And how many is the other woman doing?
<em>Box office:</em> Two
<em>Simon:</em> Well, I'd be pissed off if I were Elena Roger and I were "sharing" the work and had to do three-quarters of the performances. Not my idea of sharing.
In related news, Phil reports that the <a href="http://www.evitathemusical.com/">Evita website</a> now has a list of performances where Elena Roger is NOT expected to appear, although it's buried away somewhat. And you won't be warned at the point of booking if you so so online.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Five (out of six) stars for that pile of crap? Which play were you watching, <span style="font-style: italic;">Time Out</span>?
Some questions:
<ul><li>Why was this deathly boring play thought worthy of revival?</li><li>Why did Juliette Lewis deliver all of her lines in the same whiney manner?</li><li>Was that sound of the door slamming supposed to make me feel something?
</li><li>Whe's ever seen an American motel room ceiling that looked like that?</li><li>Why don't they revive <a href="http://www.timeout.com/img/11961/w450/h350/image.jpg">Triangle</a> so Larry Lamb can do something worthwhile. And bring backKate O'Mara while you're at it.
</li></ul>And I'm sorry, but £45 (OK, so we only paid £25, but we COULD have paid £45 if we weren't so tight) for 1 hour and 15 mins? What kind of deal is that? Although thankfully, it didn't end a minute to soon and we couldn't wait to get to the pub for a cheap bottle of red so that the evening wasn't completely wasted.
Save your money. More preciously, save your time and give this a miss<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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</script></div>Andrew Orangehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998244517862702881noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29670910.post-1151510505549521072006-06-07T09:55:00.000+00:002006-07-11T18:31:54.390+00:00Hay Fever: Winsome..lose some<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/678/767/1600/32972_DenchHayFever.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/678/767/320/32972_DenchHayFever.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>
Who did "winsome" best? Well, we thought we did. That's the problem with Hay Fever; the audience spends the first hour gagging to see how the starry lead does "in the style of the word winsome" and it goes downhill after that rather.
Still, this production had a much lighter touch to it than the last one I saw which left rather a nasty taste in the mouth.
Thanks for squeezing the three acts into two - we had enough bar time afterwards to down a bottle of red between us and another glass for the road.
The costume designer should be shot though. We could probably just about suspend our disbelief to the point of dear Dame Judi seducing a youth (well, a gay one, anyway) but we were utterly distracted by DJ's upper arms which really did make her look 20 years' older than she could have been. More sleeves please, wardrobe.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Well, yes and no. Not as interesting as the bottle of Lacryma Christi which was the alternative. Lovely to see <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Tyzack">Margaret Tyzack</a> working (albeit not very much) and <a href="http://www.talentedbritishactors.co.uk/roryk.html">Rory Kinnear</a> was astonishingly good. But the play...
Who was it for? What was it about? If we're going to sit through <span style="font-weight: bold;">both </span>acts of a play we really want to come out stimulated or moved or with our throughts provoked and this play just didn't do it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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That's what makes the National's £10 Travelex season so fantastic. You pay less than a trip to a West End cinema and you can leave leave in the interval without feeling you haven't made the most of your investment.
Here's a great case in point. What you could see on the stage clearly cost the National more than the £10 we paid, but it was still rubbish so out the door at the interval.
Now, a word needs to be said about the National's glossy programmes. Good value compared with what you'd get in the West End (and if you don't want to spend the couple of quid, there's a free piece of paper with a cast list on it), but would it really hurt them to put some production pics in there instead of rehearsal pics?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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Still, it's always rather nice to pay a visit to the Almeida. Small auditorium and Ewan McGregor is in the bar (although this may not be the case every night; please check with the box office).
The Almeida gives you a feeling that you are somehow a bit out of the crassness of the West End and in an <span style="font-style: italic;">enclave</span> where everything is rather chicer and more intellectual.
Maybe, but the programmes are still too expensive.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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You might think that if you threw enough big names - Arthur Miller, Robert Altman, Neve Campbell, James Fox, Matthew Modine and Maximilian Schell - into a show and let them get on with it, something worth watching would ensue.
But it didn't. It was unwatchable. Everyone was terrible. The set was terrible. The costumes were terrible. It cost a fortune.
Why did we return after the interval? Well, we've always wanted to boo at the end of a show, but we've never seen anything bad enough to warrant it. This was our One Big Chance and Phil seized it with aplomb. I'm ashamed now that I didn't join in, but my shame is nothing compared to that which should be still plaguing the souls of Altman, Campbell, Fox, Modine, Schell and Spacey. We'll let Miller off because he was dead at the time. But presumably alive when he wrote it, so maybe we shouldn't let him off. OK then. And Miller<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript"><!--
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