Katori Hall's one-act play The Mountaintop is full of surprises. Starring David Harewood and Lorraine Burroughs, it tells the story of the night before Martin Luther King Jr's death, with verve, thrust and a hell of a lot of raw energy. While it certainly takes its time getting going - Harewood's stage-stalking takes some getting used to, while Burroughs looked stiff and uncomfortable before she warmed into her character - it soon becomes a very interesting, thought-provoking play with a twist you really won't see coming.
Harewood's Martin Luther King, while a little overly reliant on the preacher-style voice patterns used in King's public broadcasts, rather than the calmer tones King might have used in private, was a wonderful evocation of the way the man might have been - though of course, not having been there, this is all conjecture on Hall's part.
Burroughs, too, was strong on her accent and characterisation of maid Camae, who brings King a late-night cup of coffee and stays to chat. Camae, unsurprisingly, is not exactly what she seems to be at first. Burroughs dealt with the twist well, managing to avoid it becoming ridiculous. Instead, she brought a gravitas to the play at just the moment when it could veer off in the wrong direction in less secure hands.
The Mountaintop is an uncomfortable watch, for language and for the sheer fact you know what dreadful thing is to come, but nonetheless this is a play that's more than worth seeing. The use of lighting, sound and props is wonderfully clever, the storyline unusual but intriguing and the ending extremely apt.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
News: Deaths, extensions and expansions
It's not been a good week for the theatre community as two stalwarts of the industry have sadly passed away. First, famed choreographer Merce Cunningham died at age 90. Despite being confined to a wheelchair in his latter years, he continued to choreograph until very recently. Earlier this year, he announced plans for his company to tour for two years after his death and then to wind down. Character actor Harry Towb has also gone. His work encompassed everything from Little Shop Of Horrors to Guys and Dolls and, on television, Z Cars and Doctor Who.
It's happy days for puppet musical Avenue Q, however, as it announced its extension to January 2009. Its run had already been extended following its transfer to the Gielgud Theatre from the Noel Coward, but no concrete news on its fate past this September had been given until this week. Also enjoying some good news is website Broadwayworld.com, whose West End section has undergone an expansion, with freelance writer Carrie Dunn named editor-in-chief of the section.
It's happy days for puppet musical Avenue Q, however, as it announced its extension to January 2009. Its run had already been extended following its transfer to the Gielgud Theatre from the Noel Coward, but no concrete news on its fate past this September had been given until this week. Also enjoying some good news is website Broadwayworld.com, whose West End section has undergone an expansion, with freelance writer Carrie Dunn named editor-in-chief of the section.
Monday, 27 July 2009
News: Too Close To The Sun, Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, La Cage Aux Folles
It has now been confirmed by producers that massive flop Too Close To The Sun will close two weeks early, on August 8th. The musical was roundly panned by critics, including the Telegraph's Charles Spencer, who called it a 'rubbish heap of a show', and The Stage's Mark Shenton ('a crime against humility') although the West End Whingers, forced to observe a five day moratorium on review posting after taking free tickets on the Monday before press night, seemed to have a lovely evening, saying it was 'wonderfully bad' and 'inspirational'!
Comedian Richard Blackwood and the fabulous Nina Sosanya are to join the cast of Broadway transfer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof when the play comes to the Novello this winter. Already confirmed to appear in the very starry cast are Americans Phylicia Rashad, James Earl Jones, Sanaa Lathan and Brit actor Adrian Lester. Sosanya has recently been seen in Apologia at the Bush and last year's Love's Labours Lost with the RSC. She is, of course, beloved to us all for her role as Jenny in Teachers.
John Barrowman has already created waves of controversy with his appointment to the role of Albin in La Cage Aux Folles from September, and now his Georges has been announced. Experienced Aussie actor Simon Burke will take over from Philip Quast on September 14, and will remain in the role until November 28.
Comedian Richard Blackwood and the fabulous Nina Sosanya are to join the cast of Broadway transfer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof when the play comes to the Novello this winter. Already confirmed to appear in the very starry cast are Americans Phylicia Rashad, James Earl Jones, Sanaa Lathan and Brit actor Adrian Lester. Sosanya has recently been seen in Apologia at the Bush and last year's Love's Labours Lost with the RSC. She is, of course, beloved to us all for her role as Jenny in Teachers.
John Barrowman has already created waves of controversy with his appointment to the role of Albin in La Cage Aux Folles from September, and now his Georges has been announced. Experienced Aussie actor Simon Burke will take over from Philip Quast on September 14, and will remain in the role until November 28.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Word on the street...
We hear that:
- Resounding flop Too Close To The Sun may close August 8th
- The cast of A Little Night Music, which just closed, cannot be taken across the Atlantic to perform in New York thanks to Legal Issues :(
- That's about it for now! It's a quiet weekend...
A Sneaky Peek At... Zanna, Don't!
There's no news on a transfer for the charming off-West End production of Zanna, Don't!, but Theatrical Leanings has been pointed in the direction of this sneaky video of the show: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEej4yNJHbs (there are a couple of others elsewhere from this user).
Vocals blow the sound a fair bit (must be a small camera) but still give a good sense of what's going on. 'Straight To Heaven' - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=peJYc2FCU2Y - is particularly strong, despite cutting off early (does the rest of the show exist somewhere on MTLoverrr's hard drive, we wonder?).
Definitely watch this if you saw the show and want to remind yourself what was going on *all* over the stage during that piece and not just where your focus may have been to start off with. You may be surprised by just what you missed first time round and by the raw and awful emotion of the scene.
Additionally, Nadeem Crowe's (Tank) music vids, which you can see linked on the page beneath the video, are very much worth watching, especially if you enjoyed his solo and want to hear more baritone funtimes (and how he actually speaks!). Here are a couple for starters - his gorgeous version of Bare's Role Of A Lifetime and also a lovely, powerful rendition of Anastacia's One More Chance.
And why not finish off by indulging in a quick visual comparison of some of the international productions:
Be A Man Australia: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtxoIVrcd20
Be A Man UK: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZADRZvKVeJo
Be A Man Korea: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vqgRMzkTP4
Which is -your- favourite?
Vocals blow the sound a fair bit (must be a small camera) but still give a good sense of what's going on. 'Straight To Heaven' - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=peJYc2FCU2Y - is particularly strong, despite cutting off early (does the rest of the show exist somewhere on MTLoverrr's hard drive, we wonder?).
Definitely watch this if you saw the show and want to remind yourself what was going on *all* over the stage during that piece and not just where your focus may have been to start off with. You may be surprised by just what you missed first time round and by the raw and awful emotion of the scene.
Additionally, Nadeem Crowe's (Tank) music vids, which you can see linked on the page beneath the video, are very much worth watching, especially if you enjoyed his solo and want to hear more baritone funtimes (and how he actually speaks!). Here are a couple for starters - his gorgeous version of Bare's Role Of A Lifetime and also a lovely, powerful rendition of Anastacia's One More Chance.
And why not finish off by indulging in a quick visual comparison of some of the international productions:
Be A Man Australia: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtxoIVrcd20
Be A Man UK: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZADRZvKVeJo
Be A Man Korea: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vqgRMzkTP4
Which is -your- favourite?
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Review: Hamlet (Donmar Theatre)
Only six months on from the RSC's acclaimed Hamlet, starring a certain Monsieur Tennant, the Donmar West End has presented their own star-studded production, complete with Jude Law in the title role. While certainly star casting to rival and somewhat out-do the RSC, whispers from the go were that this production didn't quite match up to the strong ensemble work and smart, comedic bent the RSC managed.
Law's Hamlet was jittery and expressive, seemingly thoroughly sane, and while this is an interesting way to play him, we never got the true emotional core of Hamlet because of this. At his best when the sexual chemistry fizzed in scenes with Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Ophelia (a thankless role at the best of times, but one she did wonders with), or when sarcing the other characters with quips and piss-taking, Law's Hamlet was so angry at everyone and everything that he failed to achieve quite the emotional range needed.
Penelope Wilton made a strong Gertrude, though even she was hampered by the extremely peculiar staging of the bedroom scene behind a white curtain, which meant you could barely see her and Law interact. Kevin McNally was fine as Claudius, though he too seemed to rear away from the emotional connection. You didn't believe his on-bended-knee repetance, borne out by how Claudius' drink had to be forced down him at the end.
Speaking of the closing, the rapier fight was a particular weak spot for this Hamlet. Badly choreographed but decently executed, there was no real effort to show the impact of the blade on the men's bodies, it never felt remotely threatening, and once everyone had been poisoned, death times were so ridiculously varied that you almost wanted to giggle. Hamlet, for one, despite having been hurt just as much as Laertes, manages to soliloquise on for far too long before finally succumbing.
The ensemble was hampered by a series of dull, badly-fitting black/white/grey costumes that brought down the mood, even when it was meant to be comic. Speaking of comedy, where was it in this production? Hamlet may not be the first play you think of when looking for something funny, but it contains mounds of comedic possibilities, none of which were exercised by the cast.
Polonius, for instance, is a very funny character, but Ron Cook appeared utterly unable to extract more than a smidgen of fun from the pompous old windbag. Hamlet and the Player King's interaction as Hamlet tries to remember lines should be amusing, but here it was simply boring. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's exchanges with Hamlet are cutting (against them), but funny too, yet John MacMillan and Gwilym Lee were almost ciphers in the roles, forgettable and dull. While Alex Waldmann made an enjoyably perky Laertes, he too did not draw as much as he could from his exchanges with Mbatha-Raw near the start of the play. The grave-digger scene - well, the less said about that the better.
The biggest problem with this production of Hamlet? Dullness, through and through. Everything felt flat, everything felt stifling. While, barring the over-the-top stylings of Alan Turkington's Fortinbas and Matt Ryan's Horatio, the cast were strong, they were hampered by boring direction, bad script choices and a failure on their parts to fully inhabit their roles. While the RSC production was unforgettably brilliant, memories of this will soon fade away.
Law's Hamlet was jittery and expressive, seemingly thoroughly sane, and while this is an interesting way to play him, we never got the true emotional core of Hamlet because of this. At his best when the sexual chemistry fizzed in scenes with Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Ophelia (a thankless role at the best of times, but one she did wonders with), or when sarcing the other characters with quips and piss-taking, Law's Hamlet was so angry at everyone and everything that he failed to achieve quite the emotional range needed.
Penelope Wilton made a strong Gertrude, though even she was hampered by the extremely peculiar staging of the bedroom scene behind a white curtain, which meant you could barely see her and Law interact. Kevin McNally was fine as Claudius, though he too seemed to rear away from the emotional connection. You didn't believe his on-bended-knee repetance, borne out by how Claudius' drink had to be forced down him at the end.
Speaking of the closing, the rapier fight was a particular weak spot for this Hamlet. Badly choreographed but decently executed, there was no real effort to show the impact of the blade on the men's bodies, it never felt remotely threatening, and once everyone had been poisoned, death times were so ridiculously varied that you almost wanted to giggle. Hamlet, for one, despite having been hurt just as much as Laertes, manages to soliloquise on for far too long before finally succumbing.
The ensemble was hampered by a series of dull, badly-fitting black/white/grey costumes that brought down the mood, even when it was meant to be comic. Speaking of comedy, where was it in this production? Hamlet may not be the first play you think of when looking for something funny, but it contains mounds of comedic possibilities, none of which were exercised by the cast.
Polonius, for instance, is a very funny character, but Ron Cook appeared utterly unable to extract more than a smidgen of fun from the pompous old windbag. Hamlet and the Player King's interaction as Hamlet tries to remember lines should be amusing, but here it was simply boring. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's exchanges with Hamlet are cutting (against them), but funny too, yet John MacMillan and Gwilym Lee were almost ciphers in the roles, forgettable and dull. While Alex Waldmann made an enjoyably perky Laertes, he too did not draw as much as he could from his exchanges with Mbatha-Raw near the start of the play. The grave-digger scene - well, the less said about that the better.
The biggest problem with this production of Hamlet? Dullness, through and through. Everything felt flat, everything felt stifling. While, barring the over-the-top stylings of Alan Turkington's Fortinbas and Matt Ryan's Horatio, the cast were strong, they were hampered by boring direction, bad script choices and a failure on their parts to fully inhabit their roles. While the RSC production was unforgettably brilliant, memories of this will soon fade away.
Friday, 24 July 2009
Word on the street...
We hear that:
- Avenue Q is about to extend booking (it's currently on till 27th September) to the new year
- Angela Lansbury would like to bring Blithe Spirit (which she has just finished starring in on Broadway) to the Haymarket theatre in the West End. When or who else with is unknown
- Despite reportedly comping its way through much of its run at the King's Head and now at the Arts Theatre, rumours are that Fucking Men and possibly Naked Boys will transfer to a third venue when their time at the Arts comes to a close
Thursday, 23 July 2009
News: The London Paper on Too Close To The Sun, Jay Benedict pulls out
Here's what The London Paper's Stage Snoop section had to say about can't-be-anything-but-a-flop Too Close To The Sun, which 'star' Jay Benedict, who plays - or should I say played - creepy Rex, has just pulled out of, citing a bad knee. Yeah... Poor, poor understudy.
"Good? Heming-no-way.
Ouch. The knives are out in theatreland, as the opening of new musical Too Close To The Sun approaches. Whisper is the show has a whiff of flop about it. Well, the subject matter doesn't scream hit - it's loosely based on the final days of Ernest Hemingway. And it's written and produced by John Robinson, whose most recent claim to fame was 2005's short-lived Behind The Iron Mask. That received some of the worst reviews in living memory ("I would quite happily have volunteered for death... to help speed things up"). The critics deliver their verdict on the latest effort over the weekend - perhaps we'll be pleasantly surprised. Although Twitterers from previews describe it as 'comedy gold'. Problem is, it's not a comedy."
Here, too, for your reading pleasure, are a couple of threads from prominent theatre forums chatting about the show:
What's On Stage: http://www.whatsonstage.com/board/index.php?showtopic=7313
and
Broadway World: http://westend.broadwayworld.com/board/readmessage.cfm?thread=1000947&dt=72&boardid=3
"Good? Heming-no-way.
Ouch. The knives are out in theatreland, as the opening of new musical Too Close To The Sun approaches. Whisper is the show has a whiff of flop about it. Well, the subject matter doesn't scream hit - it's loosely based on the final days of Ernest Hemingway. And it's written and produced by John Robinson, whose most recent claim to fame was 2005's short-lived Behind The Iron Mask. That received some of the worst reviews in living memory ("I would quite happily have volunteered for death... to help speed things up"). The critics deliver their verdict on the latest effort over the weekend - perhaps we'll be pleasantly surprised. Although Twitterers from previews describe it as 'comedy gold'. Problem is, it's not a comedy."
Here, too, for your reading pleasure, are a couple of threads from prominent theatre forums chatting about the show:
What's On Stage: http://www.whatsonstage.com/board/index.php?showtopic=7313
and
Broadway World: http://westend.broadwayworld.com/board/readmessage.cfm?thread=1000947&dt=72&boardid=3
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Review: Too Close To The Sun (Comedy Theatre)
Too Close To The Sun will give you a truly memorable night out at the theatre. Sadly, this isn't for quite the reasons the composer intended (by the way, he is the man who brought you Behind The Iron Mask, which should really tell you all you need to know). If you're still not getting it, perhaps this will give you an idea of the quality of this particular show. Yes, this is absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst piece of theatre to have sat in any part of London in the last decade, and possibly ever.
Starring James Graeme as a rather overly vigorous Ernest Hemingway, Helen Dallimore as long-suffering wife Mary, Jay Benedict as the pervy and rather disturbing Rex de Havilland and Tammy Joelle as naughty secretary Luella, the piece gives a fictional rendering of what 'might' have happened during Ernest Hemingway's last days. According to John Robinson and Roberto Trippini, who between them wrote the music and libretto, he spent his time drinking heavily, aggressively hitting on young women and arguing with de Havilland. Thankfully, despite the majority of the audience (including Theatrical Leanings) knowing not very much about Hemingway at all, the musical is so ridiculous that you soon come to realise this fictional account is very fictional indeed.
With songs written in freeverse and scored all over the scale, plus a series of hackneyed and unfortunate lines ('enough of this bullshit' provoked one audience member to laugh so loudly it sent the rest of the - by that point mostly empty - theatre into paroxysms), this show is a disaster not even waiting to happen. The poor performers struggled along with the tone-deaf score and terrible lyrics, gamely ploughing through, though despite their professional status, they often seemed unable to stay in tune. The songs came out of nowhere and often had no relevance to the plot (see 'Havana' and 'Alabama, The Queen Of Them All') - while others were simply so, so bad as to be laughable ('Just Relax - Think Good Thoughts' and 'Make Yourself One With The Gun'). Poor Joelle was forced to sing a tune with the title 'Poor Little Silly Young Me', showing exactly how little thought had been put into her character.
This was an unintentional comedy, with the audience sniggering their way through both acts. The majority of the audience left at the interval, unable to take any more, and those who did remain had to self-medicate to make it through the remaining 12(!) songs, including yours truly. Whether it was the aggressive, somewhat harassing flirtation between Ernest and Luella, Rex running around like a lunatic stage left singing about how he'd make a film while Ernest earnestly caterwauled about committing suicide stage right, the endless revolve or Mary and Luella discussing (at length) bleu cheese and hot sauce before the immortal line: 'I don't trust that pirate girl' was uttered by Dallimore as Joelle exited the stage, TCTTS provided the remaining audience with an evening out unlike any other (apart from those who saw Behind The Iron Mask, that is).
When it comes down to it, whoever thought it was a good idea to make a musical about Ernest Hemingway committing suicide should themselves be shot. While it could possibly have worked as a straight play, with a lot of rewriting, as a musical it was utterly abysmal. The performers knew it too - at curtain call the smiles were slipping and the weary horror showed on their faces. 'Can't Think Of It Without Wanting To Cry'. With laughter, that is.
Go and see this horrific gem of a show. You'll want to say you did in years to come, trust me. But make sure you load up on booze before you even start, or you won't make it as far as the interval.
Starring James Graeme as a rather overly vigorous Ernest Hemingway, Helen Dallimore as long-suffering wife Mary, Jay Benedict as the pervy and rather disturbing Rex de Havilland and Tammy Joelle as naughty secretary Luella, the piece gives a fictional rendering of what 'might' have happened during Ernest Hemingway's last days. According to John Robinson and Roberto Trippini, who between them wrote the music and libretto, he spent his time drinking heavily, aggressively hitting on young women and arguing with de Havilland. Thankfully, despite the majority of the audience (including Theatrical Leanings) knowing not very much about Hemingway at all, the musical is so ridiculous that you soon come to realise this fictional account is very fictional indeed.
With songs written in freeverse and scored all over the scale, plus a series of hackneyed and unfortunate lines ('enough of this bullshit' provoked one audience member to laugh so loudly it sent the rest of the - by that point mostly empty - theatre into paroxysms), this show is a disaster not even waiting to happen. The poor performers struggled along with the tone-deaf score and terrible lyrics, gamely ploughing through, though despite their professional status, they often seemed unable to stay in tune. The songs came out of nowhere and often had no relevance to the plot (see 'Havana' and 'Alabama, The Queen Of Them All') - while others were simply so, so bad as to be laughable ('Just Relax - Think Good Thoughts' and 'Make Yourself One With The Gun'). Poor Joelle was forced to sing a tune with the title 'Poor Little Silly Young Me', showing exactly how little thought had been put into her character.
This was an unintentional comedy, with the audience sniggering their way through both acts. The majority of the audience left at the interval, unable to take any more, and those who did remain had to self-medicate to make it through the remaining 12(!) songs, including yours truly. Whether it was the aggressive, somewhat harassing flirtation between Ernest and Luella, Rex running around like a lunatic stage left singing about how he'd make a film while Ernest earnestly caterwauled about committing suicide stage right, the endless revolve or Mary and Luella discussing (at length) bleu cheese and hot sauce before the immortal line: 'I don't trust that pirate girl' was uttered by Dallimore as Joelle exited the stage, TCTTS provided the remaining audience with an evening out unlike any other (apart from those who saw Behind The Iron Mask, that is).
When it comes down to it, whoever thought it was a good idea to make a musical about Ernest Hemingway committing suicide should themselves be shot. While it could possibly have worked as a straight play, with a lot of rewriting, as a musical it was utterly abysmal. The performers knew it too - at curtain call the smiles were slipping and the weary horror showed on their faces. 'Can't Think Of It Without Wanting To Cry'. With laughter, that is.
Go and see this horrific gem of a show. You'll want to say you did in years to come, trust me. But make sure you load up on booze before you even start, or you won't make it as far as the interval.
Friday, 17 July 2009
Review: Fucking Men & Naked Boys Singing (Arts Theatre)
After successfully transferring from the King's Head in Islington, Fucking Men and brother show Naked Boys Singing are just settling into their run at the Arts Theatre in Covent Garden. Although the shows are very different - one's a straight play, the other almost a cabaret revue with the thinnest of plot strands to tie it together - they have been presented as a double act by the producers. You go to see one, you stay for the other. It's a pity, therefore, that the latter's quality does not stand up to that of the first.
Fucking Men takes ten gay men in New York and tells their stories, if somewhat perfunctorily. From the closeted soldier to the out-and-proud porn star, the banker who doesn't want to reveal his HIV-positive status to the struggling playwright who can't find a partner who loves him, Joe DiPietro's split-stranded play blends their stories into one interesting, thought-provoking evening.
Some garnered more sympathy than others - HIV-positive Jack behaved pretty badly to his loving partner Leo, played by a sweetly sympathetic Timothy Lone. Meanwhile, Russell Howard lookalike James Kristian's obnoxious college kid left you wanting to slap him silly as he practically forced his partners (including the heinously under-used Chris Polick as tutor Marco) into sexual situations they never really wanted.
You began to invest in the characters as the play gathered pace; why did funny, sexy escort John (Shai Matheson) stay with tense, closeted soldier Steve (Matthew Clancy), who began the relationship with a punch to the face? By the end, thanks to a heartfelt confession, Matheson's loved-up performance more than convinced of why. It's a pity that Clancy's performance didn't ring quite true - not helped by his occasionally uneven accent - and the fact you didn't see Steve after his cessation of denial.
On the other hand, Adam Unze's goofy, adorable porn star Ryan was an absolute standout performance. Poor Ryan just wanted to settle into a monogamous, loving relationship and to have his personality and intelligence, not just his dick, appreciated, but instead found himself 'cared for' in a New York flat he never really wanted, his kindness and his love going to waste. Unze's scenes with Dan Ford as verbose, nervy playwright Sammy were particularly brilliant - both actors clearly have a gift for comedy and form a formidably funny double act. Unze, in particular, is a burgeoning -and big - talent, but pretty much everyone in the ensemble did a fantastic job.
Fucking Men is funny, but it's also sweet and sad, and it's just a pity that it wasn't twice the length - DiPietro only scratches the surface of each character, all of whom are worthy of having more time spent on them.
After a break for the loo and a quick drink, the evening resumed with Naked Boys Singing, essentially a Chorus Line-style hour of song and eventual nudity. Huge props to the cast, all of whom show absolutely everything - and with gusto! When this ran at the King's Head, rumour was that pervy old men would take the (unreserved) front row seats - and at such a small venue, you'd be a little too close to the men for comfort.
Thankfully, the Arts is a rather bigger venture and as such you're deposited at a safe distance (unless you're in the front row, in which case you might get a bit of a lapdance). With songs that ranged from clever (The Bliss Of A Bris) to lame (I Beat My Meat) the material varied tremendously in quality, but the performers were at least triple threats to a man - great dancers, decent actors and with lovely vocals to boot.
Duncan Leighton's hilarious and perky ode to porn stardom and the ridiculously buff Nathan Taylor's emotional ballad to former lover Chris were particular highlights, as was the minute moment of pseudo-ballet towards the end, but as far as the nudity goes - well, I'm far from a prude, but suffice to say it reminded me why I prefer men with their pants on. It's all downhill from...well, downhill.
Fucking Men takes ten gay men in New York and tells their stories, if somewhat perfunctorily. From the closeted soldier to the out-and-proud porn star, the banker who doesn't want to reveal his HIV-positive status to the struggling playwright who can't find a partner who loves him, Joe DiPietro's split-stranded play blends their stories into one interesting, thought-provoking evening.
Some garnered more sympathy than others - HIV-positive Jack behaved pretty badly to his loving partner Leo, played by a sweetly sympathetic Timothy Lone. Meanwhile, Russell Howard lookalike James Kristian's obnoxious college kid left you wanting to slap him silly as he practically forced his partners (including the heinously under-used Chris Polick as tutor Marco) into sexual situations they never really wanted.
You began to invest in the characters as the play gathered pace; why did funny, sexy escort John (Shai Matheson) stay with tense, closeted soldier Steve (Matthew Clancy), who began the relationship with a punch to the face? By the end, thanks to a heartfelt confession, Matheson's loved-up performance more than convinced of why. It's a pity that Clancy's performance didn't ring quite true - not helped by his occasionally uneven accent - and the fact you didn't see Steve after his cessation of denial.
On the other hand, Adam Unze's goofy, adorable porn star Ryan was an absolute standout performance. Poor Ryan just wanted to settle into a monogamous, loving relationship and to have his personality and intelligence, not just his dick, appreciated, but instead found himself 'cared for' in a New York flat he never really wanted, his kindness and his love going to waste. Unze's scenes with Dan Ford as verbose, nervy playwright Sammy were particularly brilliant - both actors clearly have a gift for comedy and form a formidably funny double act. Unze, in particular, is a burgeoning -and big - talent, but pretty much everyone in the ensemble did a fantastic job.
Fucking Men is funny, but it's also sweet and sad, and it's just a pity that it wasn't twice the length - DiPietro only scratches the surface of each character, all of whom are worthy of having more time spent on them.
After a break for the loo and a quick drink, the evening resumed with Naked Boys Singing, essentially a Chorus Line-style hour of song and eventual nudity. Huge props to the cast, all of whom show absolutely everything - and with gusto! When this ran at the King's Head, rumour was that pervy old men would take the (unreserved) front row seats - and at such a small venue, you'd be a little too close to the men for comfort.
Thankfully, the Arts is a rather bigger venture and as such you're deposited at a safe distance (unless you're in the front row, in which case you might get a bit of a lapdance). With songs that ranged from clever (The Bliss Of A Bris) to lame (I Beat My Meat) the material varied tremendously in quality, but the performers were at least triple threats to a man - great dancers, decent actors and with lovely vocals to boot.
Duncan Leighton's hilarious and perky ode to porn stardom and the ridiculously buff Nathan Taylor's emotional ballad to former lover Chris were particular highlights, as was the minute moment of pseudo-ballet towards the end, but as far as the nudity goes - well, I'm far from a prude, but suffice to say it reminded me why I prefer men with their pants on. It's all downhill from...well, downhill.
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Fringe benefits: The importance of off-West End theatre
With the inevitable focus of London theatre centreing on the plethora of musicals and high-profile plays that currently line the streets of the West End, it is all too easy to forget that there is plenty of great stuff out there for less money and in more intimate venues. Admittedly, you're not going to find anything with the production values of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, or the star pulling power of Hamlet, but there's value and joy to be had from many off-West End productions.
With venues dotted all over the outskirts of London, from the King's Head in Angel to Above The Stag in Victoria, there's something to be found no matter which borough you live in. Productions vary in size, quality and audience - some are absolute stinkers, while others could easily (and often do) transfer to full-on West End productions. Particularly proud amongst this group of venues is the Bush Theatre, which often offers exciting, thought-provoking work, as well as Upstairs At The Gatehouse, tucked away in Highgate but a purveyor of often high-quality, fun and quirky pieces.
Theatre is ephemeral, and fringe theatre even more so. While you're pretty much guaranteed to be able to return to The Mousetrap next September if you enjoyed it this summer, most shows that run at these smaller venues only do so for a month or two tops, and if they don't sell out and the production doesn't transfer - well, that's that. It's not even the case that the show in question may be put on again soon... you may never get to see the production again - or at least, not for many years.
For instance, the recent production of Zanna, Don't! at the Gatehouse was favourably reviewed by many critics - Time Out even rather belatedly made it its Critic's Choice - with the entire ensemble receiving plaudits for sterling work, but even this, probably due to the niche nature of the material and the location of the venue, didn't get the piece selling out, and therefore a transfer looks unlikely. Apologia at the Bush finishes this Saturday - you'll have to get in quick for that one before it, too, retreats into the mists of a few lucky souls' memories.
Additionally, the exciting thing about London fringe (and by fringe, I suppose I mean smaller venues in less 'Strand-like' locations rather than in reference to the funding they receive) is the opportunity it provides for lesser-known and indeed often first-time playwrights to have their work produced. At present, 23-year-old Ella Hickson's Eight plays at the Trafalgar Studios, while Apologia is only the second play by Alexi Kaye Campbell. The Royal Court's programme for young writers enables productions like Polly Stenham's acclaimed That Face to be put on - opportunities abound. This is only a good thing. Without new writing theatre becomes stale. This is not something you ever want to be able to say about London.
May it long continue.
With venues dotted all over the outskirts of London, from the King's Head in Angel to Above The Stag in Victoria, there's something to be found no matter which borough you live in. Productions vary in size, quality and audience - some are absolute stinkers, while others could easily (and often do) transfer to full-on West End productions. Particularly proud amongst this group of venues is the Bush Theatre, which often offers exciting, thought-provoking work, as well as Upstairs At The Gatehouse, tucked away in Highgate but a purveyor of often high-quality, fun and quirky pieces.
Theatre is ephemeral, and fringe theatre even more so. While you're pretty much guaranteed to be able to return to The Mousetrap next September if you enjoyed it this summer, most shows that run at these smaller venues only do so for a month or two tops, and if they don't sell out and the production doesn't transfer - well, that's that. It's not even the case that the show in question may be put on again soon... you may never get to see the production again - or at least, not for many years.
For instance, the recent production of Zanna, Don't! at the Gatehouse was favourably reviewed by many critics - Time Out even rather belatedly made it its Critic's Choice - with the entire ensemble receiving plaudits for sterling work, but even this, probably due to the niche nature of the material and the location of the venue, didn't get the piece selling out, and therefore a transfer looks unlikely. Apologia at the Bush finishes this Saturday - you'll have to get in quick for that one before it, too, retreats into the mists of a few lucky souls' memories.
Additionally, the exciting thing about London fringe (and by fringe, I suppose I mean smaller venues in less 'Strand-like' locations rather than in reference to the funding they receive) is the opportunity it provides for lesser-known and indeed often first-time playwrights to have their work produced. At present, 23-year-old Ella Hickson's Eight plays at the Trafalgar Studios, while Apologia is only the second play by Alexi Kaye Campbell. The Royal Court's programme for young writers enables productions like Polly Stenham's acclaimed That Face to be put on - opportunities abound. This is only a good thing. Without new writing theatre becomes stale. This is not something you ever want to be able to say about London.
May it long continue.
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Review: What's Wrong With Angry? (King's Head Theatre)
Originally presented back in 1993 as a somewhat searing indictment of Section 28 and its effect on gay teenagers, 'period piece' What's Wrong With Angry? resurfaced at Edinburgh last year and is now making its London return at the intimate King's Head Theatre in Angel Islington.
Telling the story of Steven Carter (Oliver Jack), who is happy with who he is but bullied for it, and John Westhead (Christopher Birks), closeted and afraid, What's Wrong With Angry? teeters between brilliant and disappointing from scene to scene, partly due to some clumsy writing and the rather uneven sound balance, but mostly thanks to a couple of unfortunate weak links in the cast. This was the very first performance, so there's still plenty of time to iron out issues before the run really gets into full swing.
Both leads are excellent, with Oliver Jack a particular treasure. One to watch, his intense and nuanced portrayal of sweet, intelligent Steven, who just wants to be who he is, love who he wants and not have to apologise or lie for it, was by far the best thing about this production. His captivating, sympathetic and funny Steven meant you forgot the actor and simply believed the character; always a hard feat to pull off.
Christopher Birks' similarly intense, powerfully emotional John, struggling with his new-found sexuality, played well against the much more settled Steven. Intimate scenes felt real, the emotions not forced - and by the end of the play, unlike in film adaptation Get Real, you felt sorry for John, rather than angry at him for the way he treated Steven. His anguish and internal struggle were all too real.
There was strong support from the versatile male ensemble, with Andrew Bryant, Matt Granados and Tom Millen pulling off a variety of accents and sometimes comic, sometimes nasty actions as they switched roles from scene to scene. The gay club scene was particularly hilarious, while the violent fight scene in the locker room made you physically wince. The final dream sequence, where Steven hears all his friends, family and acquaintances in his head, was also extremely affecting.
Unfortunately, the two weakest performances came from two of the larger roles. Charlie Deans as Linda seemed woefully miscast - Linda is meant to be a 'big' girl who boys don't really go for, but you could hardly call Deans' not-much-bigger-than-a-12 figure 'stout'. Everything felt stilted and forced, facial expressions put on for the benefit of the audience and not coming naturally. This was particularly noticeable in scenes with Jack, as while you truly believed the emotional relationship between Birks and Jack, Deans just couldn't deliver a 'real' performance.
However, Nic Gilder as gay teacher Simon Hutton wasn't simply stilted; he was just plain bad. Meant to punctuate the story with important points, his monologues left you wishing for a bit of peace and quiet. Often given while the two lead characters were onstage, his speeches were jarring and unbelievable, disrupting the flow of the drama, and the words became ridiculous and melodramatic. You wanted to laugh rather than appreciate the serious sentiment beneath them.
It is totally understandable that playwright Patrick Wilde wanted to make a point about gay rights with this play, but the inclusion of the monologues simply doesn't work. It may have done when the play was originally presented, but now it just seems superfluous to the action. Without the monologues, the audience still understands the point he is trying to make and is able to focus on the relationship between Steven and John rather than being constantly pulled away from this to hear Gilder mouth over-the-top paragraphs of text.
Go for Jack, Birks and the young male ensemble, all of whom are worth a trip for sheer charisma alone.
Telling the story of Steven Carter (Oliver Jack), who is happy with who he is but bullied for it, and John Westhead (Christopher Birks), closeted and afraid, What's Wrong With Angry? teeters between brilliant and disappointing from scene to scene, partly due to some clumsy writing and the rather uneven sound balance, but mostly thanks to a couple of unfortunate weak links in the cast. This was the very first performance, so there's still plenty of time to iron out issues before the run really gets into full swing.
Both leads are excellent, with Oliver Jack a particular treasure. One to watch, his intense and nuanced portrayal of sweet, intelligent Steven, who just wants to be who he is, love who he wants and not have to apologise or lie for it, was by far the best thing about this production. His captivating, sympathetic and funny Steven meant you forgot the actor and simply believed the character; always a hard feat to pull off.
Christopher Birks' similarly intense, powerfully emotional John, struggling with his new-found sexuality, played well against the much more settled Steven. Intimate scenes felt real, the emotions not forced - and by the end of the play, unlike in film adaptation Get Real, you felt sorry for John, rather than angry at him for the way he treated Steven. His anguish and internal struggle were all too real.
There was strong support from the versatile male ensemble, with Andrew Bryant, Matt Granados and Tom Millen pulling off a variety of accents and sometimes comic, sometimes nasty actions as they switched roles from scene to scene. The gay club scene was particularly hilarious, while the violent fight scene in the locker room made you physically wince. The final dream sequence, where Steven hears all his friends, family and acquaintances in his head, was also extremely affecting.
Unfortunately, the two weakest performances came from two of the larger roles. Charlie Deans as Linda seemed woefully miscast - Linda is meant to be a 'big' girl who boys don't really go for, but you could hardly call Deans' not-much-bigger-than-a-12 figure 'stout'. Everything felt stilted and forced, facial expressions put on for the benefit of the audience and not coming naturally. This was particularly noticeable in scenes with Jack, as while you truly believed the emotional relationship between Birks and Jack, Deans just couldn't deliver a 'real' performance.
However, Nic Gilder as gay teacher Simon Hutton wasn't simply stilted; he was just plain bad. Meant to punctuate the story with important points, his monologues left you wishing for a bit of peace and quiet. Often given while the two lead characters were onstage, his speeches were jarring and unbelievable, disrupting the flow of the drama, and the words became ridiculous and melodramatic. You wanted to laugh rather than appreciate the serious sentiment beneath them.
It is totally understandable that playwright Patrick Wilde wanted to make a point about gay rights with this play, but the inclusion of the monologues simply doesn't work. It may have done when the play was originally presented, but now it just seems superfluous to the action. Without the monologues, the audience still understands the point he is trying to make and is able to focus on the relationship between Steven and John rather than being constantly pulled away from this to hear Gilder mouth over-the-top paragraphs of text.
Go for Jack, Birks and the young male ensemble, all of whom are worth a trip for sheer charisma alone.
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