Who’s the Fairest?
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
by Alan McHugh and Jonathan Kiley
QDos Entertainment at Richmond Theatre until 5th January
Review by Mark Aspen
Wham, bang, thank you … if you had any doubt that the six-week annual panto season has opened with a bang, then the proud boast of Qdos Entertainment, one of our largest producers of pantomime, that it has ordered 44,000 pyrotechnics for the season should reassure you. But deeds speak louder than words in the crazy realm of panto, and the full excitement of this glitz and glam, brash clash, quick-fire world explosively opens Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, to the vociferous delight of the audience of children of all ages.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, and the first “character” in the role call is that catalyst to the action, The Magic Mirror. A fluid faced and voluminous voiced image is not credited, but is no doubt known to Tom Marshall, the sound designer, who has created a number of impressive effects with lighting and video wizards Pete Watts and Michael Warne. Our Magic Mirror may look as if he has eaten something that hasn’t agreed (a poisoned apple perhaps) but his honesty is unimpeachable.
And talking of impeachment, apart from a brief reference to Donald Trump (as translatable to Duck Fart!), there is, thankfully for a show with its press night on the night of a General Election, almost no reference to politics! In fact after an impersonation of our own Prime Minister, Muddles apologises that he didn’t want to split his audience 52% to 48%.
Muddles, the comic lead, is played by the matchless mimic Jon Clegg (whom we saw at Richmond in last Christmas’s Peter Pan), whose skills as an impersonator quickly engage the audience, particularly those who watch lots of television. Clegg, now on his nineteenth panto, is a natural in the role and comfortable when forced to think on his feet. With spot-on comic timing, Clegg is quick-witted and personable and has a natural rapport with children, so that the matey Muddles soon becomes their favourite.
In short measure, however, we meet the Seven Dwarfs (dwarves? dwarfs?), who march in behind their leader, Skipper. All have names, of course, to match their personal idiosyncrasies, Dozy or Blusher for example. Collectively they are dubbed The Magnificent Seven, the adjective being an epithet well deserved. Actual dwarf actors must nowadays be in short supply, for our Magnificent Seven are standard height actors obliged to spend their on-stage time in sustained cartilage-cracking genuflexion. One must suffer for one’s art, but patellar callouses? The Dwarfs maybe of diminutive stature, but they have big hearts, and our actors are as endearing as they are entertaining in the roles of the affable, kindly and generous Magnificent Seven. The majority seem to hail from the Celtic fringe, so it seems appropriate for them to sing a tune based on Londonderry Air, the old Irish folk song, now as You Raise Me Up. It is as touching as it is hilarious when sung as a serenade to Snow White, and to accompany their building a human pyramid, with the concluding line “ … we now feel four feet tall”. High-ho! Now here is a (48”) highlight to the show.
So Snow White has plenty of chums, which as an orphan she needs, although she does have her long-time nurse, Muddles’ mum, Nurse Nancy. Jason Sutton in a traditional dame role fills Nurse Nancy’s bloomers (and she makes plenty of them) with great aplomb. Of course, as always in a panto, the wardrobe has a field day and Mike Coltman’s speciality costumes do not fail to amaze with their ingenuity. Sutton is known as Miss Jason on the Brighton cabaret circuit, so knows how to take what comes his way. And he can give. Never book a seat in the third row of the stalls if you are a youngish man. Miss Nancy’s audience “love interest” so excites “her” that she later tells him, presumably after a sandwich in the interval, “I’ve been masticating back stage, thinking about you”.
Returning to the plot, the main love interest there is naturally between Snow White and the prince, Prince Harry of Hampton. The Prince’s entrance is resplendent, his black and gold costume complementing the black and gold glitter of the set. James Darch cuts a suave and gallant figure as the Prince. He has an expressive singing voice and can dance with fluency.
A trio comprising Muddles, Nurse Nancy and the Prince excels with a gag rarely now seen in a panto, the running tongue-twister. Muddles is the hapless messenger in a conversation between the others, who are deciding lunch options from opposing wings of the stage. Phrases build one on another and at mid-point something like “Sally selling Sushi in the Sushi store on Saturday … …Sally’s sister Shirley is seen in a shoe shop on Sunday” is developing. There is little margin for error and errors are … unfortunate. It is a priceless episode that had your reviewer, and most of the audience, crying with laughter. Here is another lighheight, I mean highlight.
Mia Starbuck makes a charming Snow White, beautifully partnered with Darch’s Prince Harry, and they have some sensitively expressed duets both in song and in dance. Snow White has some quite affecting moments with the lovelorn dwarfs; in one such charming scene she reads them their favourite book, Little Women.
The energy of the ensemble dancers and their accurate timing is quite remarkable. The styles vary from stately formation dancing in the party scene at the palace, to an appealing ballet as woodland creatures. The Young Set ensemble of child dancers supplements them, creating a delightful margin to the main dancers.
Every panto must have a villain, and in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is Queen Lucretia, an archetypical wicked step-mother. The top-billed star is in fact brand-new to panto, and hasn’t quite got the hang of the bigness of it all. In the role of Lucretia, Jo Brand plays within her small-screen comfort-zone, which is a pity as she is certainly Borgia-esque enough in the part. She has the sneering dismissals of the audience down to a fine art and Brand’s dry sardonicisms and acid tongue are her stock-in-trade. The spiky black and red costume and Doc Marten boots underline Lucretia’s style, impale or squash. But, as we know, the step-mother’s weapon of choice is poison. With the help of dancers as harpies, the apple is transformed with its deadly load in the cauldron, in her Rex Harrison style talk-along song, I Put a Spell on You. Brand’s persona works though in Lucretia’s screechy cackle, and the deadpan directness with which she tells the audience to “Shut it” and Show White to “Bog off”. She has a good line in put-downs. When the Magic Mirror describes her as a “minger”, she scoffs back “Minger! That’s so 2003”. However, when she stomps off flat-footed and not allowing herself to savour the traditional pantomime boos, she gives the impression that she would rather be elsewhere.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs has the traditional pitch of jokes at all levels, including those we hope go over the head of the children in the audience. Although politics are wisely skirted around, HM’s beleaguered family is fair game. There is a proposal to go to a well-known pizza chain in Woking and, more explicably, Lucretia says she has “got to go off to get Prince Andrew out of the dressing room”. Nevertheless, the main direction of the jokes is scatological, which fills the children with illicit delight. Although the jokes range from the coarsely puerile (see Trump quip above), they do range to the almost intellectual: “An innuendo? I thought that was an Italian suppository”.
The wonderful thing about panto is that everyone can enjoy it, the cast, the band (and here Pierce Tee and his Richmond Theatre Orchestra had a whale of a time), and the audience, which always ranges from babies to great-grandparents, all getting so much from it. Qdos is a past master of the genre and its Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs continues to bring new ideas to a much loved and well-trodden tradition. The skilful company all play off of each other’s strengths to keep the party jumping. The season’s plethora of pyros is only one element that will make this Christmas’ pantomime season go with a big bang.
Mark Aspen
December 2019
Photography by Craig Sugden
All Gambits Declined
Ravens: Spassky vs. Fischer
by Tom Morton-Smith
Sonia Friedman Productions at the Hampstead Theatre until 18th January
Hampstead Theatre World Premiere
Review by Eugene Broad
Directed by Annabelle Comyn, Ravens: Spassky vs. Fischer is a new play on the eminently historical and dramatic World Championship in chess, which took place between the mentally unhinged American, Bobby Fischer, and the Soviet gentleman-professional Boris Spassky. Having a solid background in chess and chess history, this review is unfortunately biased through that perspective and lens, as well as discussions with my close friendship circle, which appropriately includes a Russian titled player, who was unfortunately unable to attend the play due to a last minute tournament commitments in Poland.
In any event, those passionate about chess know the 1972 World Championship intimately. It is by far the most well-known World Championship, and also one of the best known chess events in the general public’s consciousness, other than perhaps Kasparov’s matches against IBM’s computer Deep Blue. It is so well known because of what it represents – not just battles on the board between a chess player frequently cited as the best to have ever lived (this is contentious, and will spark a debate between any chess enthusiasts about whether it was Fischer, Kasparov, or the current World Champion, Magnus Carlsen), and the strongest Soviet player at a time when Soviet dominance in chess had been unrivalled since the end of the Second World War – but also another proxy battle between the Communist Soviet Union and the Capitalist USA at the peak of the Cold War.
In chess terms, Fischer’s eventual victory was immense, given the Soviet habit of strong grandmasters coaching, preparing, and arranging draws between each other. Anyone playing a Soviet grandmaster wasn’t just playing their opponent, but also every other strong Soviet player available to help them. In the World Championship, there were no players of equivalent strength for Fischer to receive coaching or preparation from. The next strongest players in the US were significantly weaker than any of the top ten Soviet players, so in chess terms Fischer’s victory wasn’t just his team against Spassky’s team; it genuinely was Fischer’s individual victory versus the collective coaching, preparation and advice of the well-funded top Soviet players. Although, in fairness, it’s uncertain how much help these other Soviet grandmasters would have been to Spassky, as Fischer was over 125 rating points stronger than Spassky, the world number two. This is an almost unheard of gap. Until Magnus Carlsen, the gap was often less than 10 rating points.
But the 1972 World Championship is also known for the extreme drama that occurred, which makes it perfect for cinema or stage. Fischer’s exact mental health issues are unknown, but he was very prone to delusions and paranoia, with many suspecting he was schizophrenic. In the World Championship, the presence of the audience (somewhat understandably) unsettled him, but (less understandably) so did the proximity of the pot plants in the room, the contrast between the squares on the chessboard, and he claimed to hear the ultrasonic frequencies from the television cameras. Infamously, Fischer was an eccentric character who was vehemently anti-Communist in the style of McCarthy, and anti-Semitic to the extent of idolising Hitler, albeit having Jewish ancestry himself. But Fischer was complex, equally anti-American, although this seemed to be because he subscribed in outlandish conspiracy theories, such as the USA being ran by a shadowy cabal of Jews who Svengali’d the US government, and that this cabal sought to persecute him for realising the truth.
This outlandish behaviour has filtered into the general public knowledge and mythos relating to chess, although with some artistic licence. The cinematic nature of the Spassky – Fischer match is clearly presented in Ravens, and from this it seems to have also drawn from the recent Hollywood film Pawn Sacrifice. This isn’t just because of the identical subject material of both Pawn Sacrifice and Ravens, but the presentation of Ravens lends itself to a cinematic feel, as did the runtime at nearly three hours. Intelligent set design by Jamie Vartan incorporates shifting panels revealing new parts of the stage, giving the feeling of scene cuts. Howard Harrison’s clever lighting design also allows some of the stage lights to be part of this, at times tightening the frame, other times widening it. Television screen props and projections keep the score for the audience, giving the impression of being in the media room. Even the composition and music adds to that cinematic impression.
Fischer, portrayed as an immature and arrogant savant descending into a madness where winning is the only thing of value, is performed convincingly and, at times, disturbingly, by Robert Emms. This is the main angle, the mainstream take on Fischer, as a flawed genius, whose unique talent for the game is marred by his erratic behaviour and commentary. It makes for dramatic and compelling spectacle, but Fischer was a genuinely unwell individual who had pressures thrust upon him. He himself was an unwitting pawn in a greater game he didn’t really understand, leading to his withdrawal from competitive chess and social reclusion. Unfortunately, in Morton-Smith’s interpretation, I never really saw that side of Fischer, his vulnerability and how society itself exploited him at the time … and, to some extent, how society continues to exploit him and his legacy.
There were some moments where he opens up to his Icelandic chaperone, Sæmundur Pálsson (known as Sæmi-Rokk, a pun in Icelandic, but we won’t go there), who is played by Gary Shelford, where perhaps some more vulnerability is on display: innocently chasing Icelandic sheep and taking a pure delight in it, or explaining his background and motives. Likewise, there are some moments between Fischer’s second, William Lombardy (Solomon Israel), where we get a greater sense of Fischer’s motives, and how people who had known Fischer since he was a child were now viewing him, the various patterns or tactics Fischer had come to rely on, and his black and white way of viewing the world. This interaction with Lombardy feels essential – without his sensitive understanding of Fischer, and without his exposition, it’s difficult for a non-chess enthusiast audience to appreciate Fischer’s achievements in light of his background. This, perhaps, could’ve been explored more and would lend itself well to more of a psychological exploration of Fischer. There are hints given throughout the script, but only my knowledge of chess and of Fischer tied into the plot and story.
Boris Spassky was (and to the best of my knowledge, remains) a more straightforward individual, known to be a consummate professional and a gentleman. Ronan Raftery portrayed him following this vein, magnanimous and humble in defeat, and reluctant to directly criticise Fischer. In the drama, as in real life, Fischer plays the Queen’s Gambit Declined, Tartakower variation, an opening Fischer had never competitively used before, and had actually criticised as unambitious and losing, consequently surprising everyone in game 6 when he employed it to great effect, securing a victory over Spassky. So impressed (perhaps at Fischer’s long-term swindle as well as the game itself) Spassky joined the audience in applauding Fischer’s victory.
Much of the drama on the Soviet side comes from the unique political pressures Spaasky and his team faced. His grandmaster tactics and opening coaches and preparers, Efim Geller and Nikolai Krogius, (played by Gyuri Sarossy and Rebecca Scroggs respectively) show us their slide into paranoia as the pressure mounts. Initially cool, composed, and calculating, they eventually also succumb to the anxiety that the Kremlin and KGB may be concerned with their performance, looking for espionage bugs, or radiation-emitting devices in the lighting system, or believing that the orange juice may be doped. Their paranoia is ultimately based more in reality than Fischer’s is, although questions are raised as to whether there may be more to Krogius than meets the eye.
Spassky was never a member of the Communist party, and as suggested in the play there were fears he threw the games in order to more easily to defect to the West. Iivo Nei, just an international master (the title below grandmaster, but still only making up around the top 5,000 players in the world) and Spassky’s sparring partner, enacted with innocent naivety by Beruce Khan, unfortunately bears the brunt of the concerns of defection after his friendships raise doubts.
As a chess enthusiast, and someone who has come to appreciate and enjoy “the game of kings” as more than just a board game but also as a medium where art, design, mathematics, and creativity combine, I’m never going to be unhappy with something which gives me such pleasure in life receiving more mainstream appeal. I want chess to have more visibility within society. But I don’t think Ravens will appeal just to the chess enthusiast wanting to see this historic segment of chess and politics represented on the stage. I think the complex interplay of human motivations, ambitions, politics and sport can be appreciated by anyone to enjoy this play.
Consequently I’m looking forward to Tom Morton-Smith one day visiting more of the stories within chess. There are countless hundreds of remarkable individuals or events to choose from. One of my favourites includes the Mechanical Turk – an early chess-playing robot from the 1800s who was said to be powered by demonology – infamously playing the great and good of the day, and even telling off Napoleon with a wagging finger when he played an illegal move. In terms of humans, there are so many stories, dramas, rivalries, and personalities within chess that whilst Fischer vs Spassky will always be a favourite, it cannot be the only defining moment in the known 1500 year history of chess.
Eugene Broad
December 2019
Photography by Manuel Harlan
Editor’s Note: Eugene Broad is one of our opera and drama critics, but also writes extensively about chess, so writes this review predominantly from a chess perspective.
Timeless Tale for the Future
A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens, adapted by Asha Gill
Richmond Shakespeare Society at Mary Wallace Theatre, Twickenham, until 14th December
Review by Louis Mazzini
For this largely traditional production, director Asha Gill has assembled a very strong cast. Opening in what is emphatically a Victorian office, we encounter Ebenezer Scrooge played with great feeling by a wonderfully bewigged John Mortley.
As the start of the Christmas holiday approaches, Scrooge does not miss an opportunity to torment his loyal clerk, played by a delightfully timorous Paul Grimwood.
The Mary Wallace is a small theatre and I have never seen its stage busier but Gill choreographs as well as she directs and, while some of the entrances are a little slow, the transitions and on-stage movement are smooth. Though the set is simple, it morphs cunningly around the actors; now a street; now a shop; now Scrooge’s lonely home. Sometimes one forgets that there are in fact four ghosts in A Christmas Carol but here the ghost of Scrooge’s partner Jacob Marley – played by a honey-voiced Michael Andrew – is absolutely unforgettable, gleaming like a human firework as he erupts from the stage in a blaze of dry ice and silvery chains. The clock is ticking and, as Marley explains to Scrooge, time has at last caught up with him and he will yet encounter three more ghosts.
The first is the Ghost of Christmas Past, gently portrayed by Clare Farrow, who recounts with much kindness the circumstances that have led Scrooge to where he is now. So far so traditional but, as the director reminds us in a programme note, A Christmas Carol is a genuinely timeless tale and, as such, “there is no period”. The meaning of this becomes apparent with the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present – Terry Bedell in a 
rumbustious performance of Blessed proportions – who shows Scrooge a carousel of Christmases present in which Dickens’ most vital characters – ‘Ignorance’ and ‘Want’ – make their appearance. Sometimes dispensed with by less thoughtful directors, Gill puts them – literally – centre stage and by a brief exchange between two minor characters we are gently reminded that Christmas is just another working day for some. The whole of the scene is brilliantly conceived and executed. And then there is the final “stave” in which Scrooge is confronted by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and things will never be the same again.
Among the ensemble cast, Georgie Carr and Matt Dennis are particularly memorable for their brief cameos during the “Christmas Present” sequence and Dennis is also very effective as Scrooge’s kindly nephew, while Sally Page is excellent as young Scrooge.
This is a thrilling and richly entertaining production of – arguably – the second most famous Christmas story of them all; and, like a plum pudding, the script – also by Gill – includes many interesting ideas. The special effects are superb, and there are some genuinely touching moments. However, for all its beauty, Gill’s re-imagined scene in which The Ghost of Christmas Present shows Scrooge events from the future jars and may be why others keen to make a similar point simply drop the Victorian setting to present an all-too-contemporary Scrooge.
But such concerns matter little when set against the strengths of this production and Richmond Shakespeare Society are to be congratulated for what may well be the show of the season.
Louis Mazzini
December 2019
Photography by Pete Messum
Starship Troupers
King Arthur in Space
by Loz Keal
Teddington Theatre Club at Hampton Hill Theatre, until 14 December
Review by Matthew Grierson
When England’s need is greatest, King Arthur will rise again. And so – long, long ago and yet somehow in the future, as the scrolling, Star Wars-style intro wittily puts it – Arthur King is roaming the stars in search of the evil Mrs Morgan, who has fled the Earth she has despoiled and polluted.
I hope this précis is of benefit to the mums and dads too busy settling their kids in to have picked it up, because it’s about as much plot as King Arthur in Space provides. I bring this up as I overheard two parents during the interval trying to puzzle out what was actually going on, which gave me occasion to think about how much narrative you want in your panto.
Certainly the production offers plenty of the expected spectacle, with high-energy dance numbers hot on the well-drilled heels of one another. These vary from big troupe deployments and graceful brawls to a ballet solo by choreographer Kelly-Marie Tuthill, which accompanies a tender romantic rendition of ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’. Given that the songs span everything from Queen to S Club 7 to Billie Eilish, there is something for every generation to sing along to, the lyrics slyly seasoned with outer-space references to bring them into the spirit of the play. Even more impressive than this range is Jessica Hunt’s own in her singing as Gwen, keeping the energy up through the show.
The other performances, if not all of the singing, are largely as peppy as this. Highlights are Nicky Shaw as cheery principal boy Lance and Anna Strain as reluctant baddy Wainga, who are destined for a bipartisan romance – despite the dastardly machinations of Danielle Thompson, chewing the scenery as Mrs Morgan, and Dave Dadswell as the equally dastardly if dim-witted Dredmor. Naomi Pink gives a cute turn as robot D4-QP, while Juanita Al-Dahhan takes good care of Dame duties as Dotty. Only Scott Tilley as Arthur is a little less forceful than you’d imagine; but this does allow for a neat reversal of cliché when he’s captured by Mrs Morgan and Gwen has to marshal his crew to rescue him.
The production boasts the high values you’d expect of TTC shows, and their pantos in particular – the costumes of Mags Wrightson and the wardrobe team are an entertaining mish-mash of science fiction styles. These are helpfully colour-coordinated into a cool blue pastiche of the Star Trek uniform for the Camelot crew, something redder and more steampunk for Gwen and her fellow denizens of the planet Boogie Woogie, and a purple Goth-inspired look for (boo-hiss) Morgan and her henchpersons.
Fiona Auty’s set design takes a similar tack, with the Camelot control room and the villains’ lair, stage right and stage left respectively, comprising antiquated computer keyboards and monitors, sci-fi bric-a-brac such as an R2D2 statue and a portrait of Aladdin Sane, and tinsel – so much tinsel. This opens on to an upstage screen that enable quick scene changes from rock quarry to starfield to Disneyfied forest. This gives plenty of opportunities for surprise entrances – sneaky Cybermen and gruesome Gorn – and pop-up puppetry, though when characters are speaking from the porthole of the Camelot it’s not always immediately apparent where the voices are coming from, as not all the audience gets a clear line of sight.
In the same way memorabilia are strewn across the stage, the script is liberally scattered with quotations from various sci-fi films and TV programmes. This is a bit like a game of bingo for a middle-aged nerd such as me, mouthing along with the recycled Doctor Who dialogue, but seems to be a bit lost on the better-adjusted families in the audience, and given its frequency runs the risk of becoming self-indulgent. Longueurs are largely avoided, though, thanks to an equally judicious sprinkling of puns for all the family, most of which hit their mark.
The show is also as choc-full of clever ideas as a Christmas selection box. For instance, seemingly defeated in just scene two, Mrs Morgan is granted a Time Lord-like regeneration with Josh Clarke (surprisingly, the only man in drag here) becoming Danielle Thompson to pursue her evil plans. Then, the computer on board the starship Camelot, Merlin, appears as a disembodied head in a wheeled-on Punch & Judy booth or through a cheekily placed TARDIS window – think Holly from Red Dwarf – and is portrayed with deadpan brilliance by Hannah Lobley. Infected with a computer virus by Mrs M., Merlin crash-lands the ship, taking the show into proper panto territory in perhaps the cleverest conceit of all, the planet of the washed-up Disney princesses.
But the law of the conservation of energy states that it can neither be created or destroyed, merely transferred: and with so much invested in the song-and-dance numbers, the links, such as they are, go comparatively slack. Transitions between scenes could be snappier, and the dialogue, in the princess scenes in particular, could be picked up with more pace.
As I speculated, we’re not probably not depending too much on plot. But given that sending King Arthur into space means we’re heading literally into uncharted territory, it might have helped to have a stronger sense of where we were going. When he pulls a sword from a polystyrene rock early on in proceedings, for instance, it barely registers, even as a wink to the original myth. Is it a joke? A plot point? It doesn’t end up being either. Neither does the repeat business of finding out that A-Vow-Ma – a fox-like Tralfamadorian, in case you wondered, rather than Kurt Vonnegut’s time-transcending aliens for whom she is named – can speak English and not just animal grunts.
But then, what do I know? I’m only an old geek, and the kids tonight certainly enjoy the show, and by the end are waving their inflatable lightsabers with gusto. It may not always be moving at warp speed, but King Arthur in Space is at least a bold go at somewhere panto has never gone before.
Matthew Grierson
December 2019
Photography by Joe Stockwell
Babes on Barnes Common
Robin Hood and Babes in the Wood
by Alan Frayn
BCP, at Kitson Hall, Barnes until 7th December
Review by Andrew Lawston
The wine is mulled and the pies are minced, panto season is underway at Kitson Hall in Barnes, where opening night jitters are kept firmly under control by a confident cast who certainly seem to be enjoying their performance enormously.
Robin Hood and Babes in the Wood is this year’s pantomime from the Barnes Community Players, and features a fresh-faced and energetic principal cast supported by veteran members.
The show opens in Nottingham with Richard the Lionheart (the imposing Mark Hunter, who later doubles as a Peasant Who Resembles the King) about to leave on a crusade, and entrusting his niece and nephew to the Sheriff of Nottingham’s care. This takes place during an archery competition won by Robin of the Hood, the outlaw who has been poaching deer in the royal forests in order to feed the poor.
There is, perhaps, a little more plot to all this than we might be used to in the opening scene of a pantomime, which means the fun takes a few moments to get going, but a rousing rendition of ELO’s Mr Blue Sky soon sets the tone for an evening of upbeat adventure. The band is marvellous throughout, pulling off some challenging numbers with great gusto and a sound which seems much bigger than just the four of them: Martin White on keyboard, Grainne O’Kelly on sax, Terry Walker on bass, and Andrew Hale on drums.
Once the newly-dubbed Robin Hood gets together with his Merry Men, the laughs begin in earnest. There are many venerable pantomime gags, as well as some newer and funnier material, which is all remarkably clean and family-friendly. Thaisa Smart gives a gung-ho and energetic principal boy performance as Robin, playing well against Darcie Hunter’s feisty and determined Maid Marian. Jessie Lowit gives a strong performance as Will Scarlet, and it’s a shame she didn’t get a bit more to do. The Merry Men’s capabilities are soon enhanced by the brewing skill of the enthusiastically tipsy Friar Tuck (Jill Turetsky), whose tonsure provokes a brilliantly-delivered one-liner from Little John. Steve Hunter’s childlike Little John is often the cement binding the show together. He gets a lot of the best jokes, and delivers them with great timing.
Pitted against the Merry Men, however, are the Sheriff of Nottingham (“Tarquin”) and his henchpersons Snivel (Alexa Bushell) and Grovel (Ciaran Parker). All three have enormous fun with their villainy. Alexa showcases her impressive singing voice in a villainous rendition of Bad Guys from Bugsy Malone, while Ciaran’s grovelling is conveyed through impressively energetic physical comedy. The pair provide some familiar panto routines while making the material seem utterly fresh through their sheer enthusiasm.
The Sheriff of Nottingham is played by Robyn Bloomfield, who was a relatively late addition to the cast, I understand. In a cast full of colourful characters, Robyn plays the Sheriff with admirable restraint, as an icy and rather aloof villain, often raising a disdainful eyebrow at the audience’s booing. Our opening night crowd was possibly a bit more subdued than the rest of the run, and I hope subsequent audiences give Robyn more to work with and react against.
The eponymous babes are played with suitable charm and suggested mischief by Jadon Standing and Zoe Prokopiou as… Sam and Ella. Their presence in the story forces the Sheriff to send for her old nanny, Nurse Nellie Nickerlastic, which sees the bombastic entrance of Nick Barr on Dame duty, doubling up here as the show’s director. The Dame is such a crucial ingredient of modern pantomime, and Nick revels in the part, with a dazzling array of costumes and an outrageously lip-synched entrance to Shirley Bassey’s Big Spender. Glorious fun.
The cast is rounded out by a Minstrel played by Fergus O’Kelly who sadly never quite manages to get to the end of a wonderful rendition of Oh What a Beautiful Morning, the fairies played by Roberta Podavitte and Amanda Marsden, and a chorus consisting of Marion Earle, Phyllis O’Kelly, Ocean Costelloe, Maggie Denin, and Frida Felicia Urelind. Ocean Costello also has a moment to shine through a flamboyant moustache as Sir Guy of Gisborne, but it seems as though the author acknowledged he had too many characters at that point. Perhaps Sir Guy can come back for a sequel next year? It’s a very talented ensemble, and the cast make the two hours or so fly by effortlessly.
Musical director Deirdre O’Kelly has done a magnificent job with an eclectic list of songs ranging from ELO and Pink Floyd 70s classics through numbers from Oklahoma, Robin Hood: Men in Tights, and Bugsy Malone, all the way up to date with a song from Frozen (not that song, though!). The band and the singers stay sharp across the varied list of songs, with some great choreography from Amanda Harker. Amanda seems to have worn several hats for the show as the programme notes she also took on hair and make-up, and costumes (with assistance from Marion Earle and Pennie Bayliss). The costumes are marvellously bright and colourful, complementing Annie Collenette’s cartoonish set design. There’s a bold cartoon feel to the production, which is reflected across the costumes, make-up (Nurse Nelly’s glaring bright rouge), sets, and even props with a wonderfully over-sized TNT plunger, and huge triangular points on Robin Hood’s arrows. The visuals are a credit to the individual crew members, as well as to Director Nick Barr and Production Manager Andrew Hale bringing all these elements together to form a cohesive aesthetic.
Stage Manager Sally Copeland keeps the action moving at a brisk pace during scenery changes, while two Martins are in charge of the light and sound: Martin Walton takes care of the lighting cues with slick aplomb, and Martin Spriggs on the sound desk and looking after the headset microphones worn by some of the principals. The technical wizardry helps further elevate the show: it might be playing in the rather homely Kitson Hall, but Robin Hood and Babes in the Wood feels like an evening in a dedicated theatre. Top notch family entertainment as an appetiser for the Christmas holiday season!
Andrew Lawston
December 2019
Photography by Patrick van de Bergh
A Gripping Handel with Lashings of Fun
Rinaldo
by George Frideric Handel, libretto by Giacomo Rossi after Torquato Tasso
Glyndebourne Opera, New Victoria Theatre, Woking until 29th November, then tour continues until 6th December.
Review by Mark Aspen
Testosterone on the rise, fantasies afire, esteem uncertain – the mind-set of the pubescent schoolboy – just the thing to rescue a concept from the disapprobation of twenty-first century moralists. Who in today’s brittle politico-religious world could mount an opera about hero crusaders triumphing against evil Saracens? Well, Glyndebourne can. In its revival of Robert Carsen’s reimagining of Handel’s 1711 extravaganza in the form of an Eagle comics gung-ho adventure, Glyndebourne triumphs in a magnificently self-deprecating romp. With Rinaldo the hero knight recast as a schoolboy, it cuts back to the idea that the heroic epic is all about seeking and finding one’s true worth.
Not only does the Glyndebourne production neatly sidestep any PC dilemma, but it also pushes it onto another level. Counter the schoolboy’s crushes and innocent puppy-love with a bit of lip-smacking sado-masochism and bondage and you get … a triumphant spoof that surprisingly succeeds. The story is told, nobody’s offended (well, not many) and you have broad humour that accrues all the erstwhile inconsistencies and improbabilities of the plot. And is Handel’s music lost? Not a jot, all the jaunty energy of the work is there and its moments of soaring beauty shine through.
When impresario Aaron Hill wanted to bring the new-fangled Italian opera to London, and to the Haymarket theatre which he managed, he decided to go to town and throw everything into the pot. It had to be a big spectacle, it had to have four counter-tenors, it had to be sung in Italian, everything that was expected from this new entertainment. He worked up a treatment of Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata, a sixteenth-century poem about the crusades, and commissioned Giacomo Rossi to write a libretto. For a composer he went to George Frideric Handel who had risen to outstanding fame in the court of Hanover as Kapellmeister to the Elector, Prince George, who three years later would become King George I. The production nearly bankrupted the Haymarket, but became a phenomenal success.
Rossi’s epic Rinaldo opens with Goffredo, leader of the crusaders rallying his knights to besiege Jerusalem. Carsen’s Rinaldo opens in schoolroom. During the broad and energetic overture we learn of the situation of our hero schoolboy. He is a “loner”, shy and not one of the gang, a prime target for bullying, and the whole class seems to do it. They particularly taunt him about his crush on a pupil of the nearby girl’s school, a pretty redhead. They even manage to drop him in it with the teachers, so that he gets punished for their misdemeanours. His escape is to daydream his way into Rossi’s heroic romance, as the eponymous Rinaldo, champion of the army of the First Crusade, besieging Jerusalem in 1099. His schoolgirl love interest becomes Almirena, daughter of Goffredo leader of the crusaders. Goffredo and his brother and fellow general Eustazio, appoint Rinaldo as the knight who will spearhead the attack on Jerusalem. Goffredo promises that Almirena will be Rinaldo’s bride when Jerusalem surrenders.
Jerusalem becomes the girl’s school, defended by a hoard of St Trinian’s schoolgirls as the Furies. Battlegrounds become the tennis courts and bike sheds. The bikes become the shining steeds of old(e). Gideon Davey’s design cleverly incorporates the scene-shifting daydream mind as battlegrounds transmogrify from desk-lined schoolrooms (schools that seemed a little too pristine from my own memory, but maybe schools have smartened up over x!? decades).
Jake Arditti is well cast in the title role, with just the right look of the hesitant adolescent. Arditti’s countertenor has a sensitivity that works well to express the teenager’s inner conflicts, and he is a great actor. His aria lamenting the abduction of his darling betrothed, cara sposa, amante cara, is very touching. Equally well cast is Anna Devin, who portrays Almirena’s innocence with a heartbreaking delicacy. What adolescent schoolboy (of any age) would not be infatuated with her? Her lyrical soprano excels in the well-known lascia ch’io pianga, let me weep.
But what does Almirena have to weep about? She has been abducted on behalf of King Argante, the enemy Saracen leader. But worse still, Argante has fallen in love with her! Aubrey Allicock (repping with his role Monterone in Rigoletto) brings gravitas to the role of Argante and an impressively sonorous bass-baritone voice.
Argante though has an ally, Armida, the Queen of Damascus, who is his mistress. She is a powerful shape-shifting sorceress. It is she who abducted Almirena, and she who keeps the Furies (the St Trinian’s goths). It is her Sirens (sopranos Chloe Morgan and Lesley Davis) who lure the hapless Rinaldo away from his quest to free his beloved Almirena. But now, in spite of herself, Armida has fallen in love with the young and handsome Rinaldo. American soprano Jacquelyn Stucker steals the show as a femme fatale par excellence. Revival director Francesca Gilpin has re-envisaged Armida as a latex-clad dominatrix, a Miss Whiplash schoolboy’s wet-dream and Stucker savours it as a gift of a role. She gives real oomph to the part in arias such as vo’ far guerra, e vincer voglio, (I want to make war, and I want to win), giving full vent to her spinto soprano as she vents her rage on 
the cowering St Trinian’s goths, flogging the Furies, when she discovers Argante’s designs on Almirena. In contrast, almost immediately before this she has sung the wonderfully lyrical ah! crudel, il pianto mio, ti mova per pietà! (o cruel one, may my tears move you to pity), as Rinaldo rebuffs her advances. Silly boy, why didn’t he just lie back and think of England? But, hold on, don’t Argante and Armida look rather like the more draconian teachers in the boy’s school?
Rinaldo is a real festival of countertenor virtuosity. As well as the eponymous role of Rinaldo, there is Goffredo, the crusader general, a role to which James Hall’s vigourous voice lends authority and magnanimity. He has (almost) the final say in Goffredo’s aria of reconciliation, sorge nel petto certo diletto (swells in my breast a certain delight). Hall makes the most of its exuberant rhythm. The battle has been won with the help of A Christian Magician, here a wild-eyed and wild-haired chemistry master, played with relish by William Towers, who rushes around the chemi-lab igniting a plethora of pyrotechnics. Andate, oh forti, go you strong ones, he sings, the deus ex machina with a Bunsen burner. The fourth countertenor, Tom Scott-Cowell also has great fun as Eustazio, a more cautious commander. Sulla ruota di fortuna và girando la speranza, he warns, hope goes spinning on the wheel of fortune. The metaphor of this aria couldn’t be more pertinent, for as the leader of the cavalry, Eustazio in the school setting is obviously the one who maintains the bicycles.
However, in the production, the one with his hands firmly on the Handel bars is conductor David Bates, clearly enjoying the spirited score with the Glyndebourne Tour Orchestra configured in its Baroque splendour, including a recorder section, fanfare trumpets, and a the very striking presence of the archlute (with the theorbo, one of the big brothers of the Baroque orchestra) played with redoubtable skill by continuo principal, David Miller.
In the end, Rinaldo has found his destiny, and his schoolboy alto ego has found his self-confidence. Bad has been vanquished by good, but everyone becomes reconciled and all promises (maybe) to be happy-ever-after. In the theatre, both the Glyndebourne company and the appreciative audience have enjoyed the wrapping of huge fun around this superb piece of Baroque artistry. Originally created for Glyndebourne in 2011 by Robert Carsen to celebrate the three-hundredth anniversary of Rinaldo’s first performance, this is clearly a production that continues to amaze and entertain audiences. It is definitely a Handel to hold on to!
Mark Aspen
November 2019
Photography © Glyndebourne Productions Ltd. by Bill Cooper
Proximity Switches
Meniscus at The Playground
by Ghost and John
Ghost and John et al, at Rambert, South Bank, London until 29th November
Review by Nick Swyft
The Rambert Company’s The Playground is a series of monthly events in which professional artists of any discipline can come and explore, collaborate, create and observe. This event was to celebrate the two year anniversary of The Playground.
For those used to seeing ballet performed in a theatre on a stage while sitting in an auditorium, this is a radical departure. It took place in three studios at Rambert’s premises on the South Bank, one of these being dedicated to an exhibition of figurative art. To illustrate the experience, the first event in the Linden Studio was a dance entitled Inside-Out by Ruth Mair Howard-Jones. For this, and all the performances, audience members could either sit on one of the seats or on the floor, or simply stand around the studio. The dancers were already in the studio, limbering up – no formal entries or exits – which in itself was interesting to watch. This performance was exciting and uplifting. One of the dancers in particular (Viktorijia Sibakovskyte) clearly knew what she was doing, bringing expression and enthusiasm to the piece. These are, after all, professional dancers, and it was exciting to be so close to them, to hear them breathing and see their faces clearly as they worked.
There were no programmes provided. Instead pieces of paper were blu-taked to the walls outside the studios, the intention being that if you wanted a wanted to know about the pieces, you photographed them on your phone.
This only became clear at the start of the final performance, Meniscus by Ghost and John. At the beginning, John called the audience forward, (getting us up off our seats!) to explain what was going on. He told us that it was about the dangerous global situation in terms of the environment and politics. Choreographers Ghost and John both hail from Hong Kong, so they know what they are talking about. Clearly, not printing programmes was one small but concrete gesture towards keeping CO2 levels down!
As John was explaining this, the dancers started moving amongst the audience. Each one had a QR code printed on their forearm, and we were invited to scan these with our phones, bringing the idea of proximity to the dancers to a whole new level. The QR codes directed us to websites which showed various works of art and texts, relevant to the message. Scanning a person’s arm was an intimate experience almost to the point of intrusiveness, and while it might be appropriate to thank them for enabling you to do that, such thanks generally went unacknowledged, since the performers were, after all, in character.
There then followed a series of dance sequences, some of which were very energetic, and even presented potential trip hazards! These brought the experience of proximity to the performers to a whole new level, with none of the restrictions that normally apply to conventional performances. For example photography was not only allowed, but it was actively encouraged. This was refreshing in a world generally tied down by rules and regulations.
All the dancers wore white, reminiscent of a religious cult. Religious cults rarely end well and such environmental movements as Extinction Rebellion, whose sentiments this performance supported, are generally keen to avoid that imagery. Greater individuality might have been more appropriate, although this may well have made the dancers indistinguishable from the audience.
This was created as an interactive multimedia experience, and in this it more than succeeded. Indeed it might be argued that the sheer breadth of the experience detracted from some of the message.
Other performances of note were Inside-Out, as already mentioned, and +44 7531 by Joe Adams, featuring the accomplished classical dancer, Sophia Clark. This was an intense and atmospheric piece, in which again the audience were encouraged to gather round in a small circle adding to the intensity. Firefly by Liam Francis was an interesting piece too, in which the two dancers were blindfolded, working with cues. There may have been others, but it was impossible to see every performance as they took place simultaneously in separate studios.
The whole event was innovative and exciting and further events are thoroughly recommended.
Nick Swyft
November 2019
Photography by Dominic Farlam
Ruminations on Loss
Living Memory
by Genni Trickett
Q2 at The National Archives, Kew until 30th November
Review by Melissa Syversen
I have been to a handful of site specific performances in my day but seeing a play at The National Archives in Kew is definitely a first. I live a good way away in North London but when this play and intriguing location and came my way I had to accept.
Fitting the nature of its venue, Living Memory is a new play about the nature of memory, how it can be saved and rediscovered after seemingly been lost. In this newly written play we meet two couples, both of whom are recovering from the loss of their child. The story takes place in the same room, but is split between two timelines. One is in the present where Jo and Jerry (Mia Skytte and Matt Tester) have just relocated to the village from London following the death of their baby. The other is Ruby and Frank (Felicity Morgan and Craig Cameron-Fisher) who in 1945 are still struggling with the loss their son who died in combat two years earlier during WW2. Lines are blurred when Jo discovers an old trunk in the attic that once belonged to Ruby.
Genni Trickett has both written and directed this piece, a double duty which is not an easy task. As a director she handles the two timelines nicely, transitions are smooth and the focus is well-balanced when characters from both timelines are on stage at the same time. Writing wise, it is more of a hit and miss. The first act could benefit from a bit of a trim. To establish the parallels between the two stories and between Jo and Ruby, scenes are essentially repeated in each timelines. This leads to a double dose of clunky exposition, and it does get repetitive. The first act is essentially over and hour of set up and no narrative drive. The second half fares better as the stakes come into play along with two new characters. Gracie (Andrea Wilkins) is Ruby’s chin-wag-loving sister-in-law and Russell (Hugh Cox) Jo’s boss … and former lover. Together they bring a new energy and interesting dynamic to the story.
Though I appreciate that rehearsal time can be tricky to come by for an adult amateur drama group, balancing as we all must, full time work, children and other obligations (and especially in the run up to the holidays!) Living Memory would have benefited from a few more hours in the rehearsal room. Not so much because the prompter had to que a few lines, that happens to the best of us. The issue is that chunks of texts are ploughed through without much intention. The dialogue is also mostly played quite literally and at face value. There are passages of dialogue that have some nice layers of subtext and it is left mostly untouched. What a person says isn’t always what they say, if you know what I mean. When you add that to the fact that characters’ motivations sometimes seem to change on the drop of a hat depending on what needs to be done within that second in order to create drama or snappy dialogue, it can create moments of genuine confusion. An example is when Jo first is shown the house after Jerry has spent ages refurbishing the old cottage. At first she excited by the thought of an attic full of things to rummage through. Then she reprimands Jerry for leaving the task of cleaning out the attic to her, but then turn back around to being excited about the trunks in the attic and what she might find. The reproach might have been intended as banter by the writer but, as it is played straight, it all just comes across as strange. That said Genni Trickett has had a fun idea for a plot and there are moments of clever execution. For instance, Jo speaking to her sister Rachel (Simone White) through speaker phone worked really well. And being an amateur dramatic group, Q2 Players has shown great theatrical ambition and bravery in staging a full length play of new writing and for that I do commend them.
The story of Living Memory doesn’t necessarily offer much new in regards to story or character, there are plenty of tropes to be had during the two hour plus running time. However, what it does offer is a wonderfully original venue, and some lovely ruminations on the weight of grief and the pain of losing a child. Add in some quirky performances from its supporting cast and a heartfelt and hopeful ending of finding strength and comfort in each other, Living Memory does come together in the end. I just wish all of the pieces came together a bit sooner.
Melissa Syversen
November 2019
Photography by Cat Lamin
Regrets of the Casting Couch
Rigoletto
by Giuseppe Verdi, libretto by Francesco Maria Piave
Glyndebourne Opera, New Victoria Theatre, Woking until 30th November, then tour continues until 7th December.
Review by Mark Aspen
“Cut! Wrap; we’ll reshoot tomorrow.” How wonderful it would be if you could re-run the bits of your life that went wrong like a film-shoot. Regret is one of the themes that runs through Rigoletto and this is the inspiration for director Christiane Lutz to interpolate a Charlie Chaplin persona onto Verdi’s court jester in Glyndebourne’s new (and first ever) production of Rigoletto.
In this setting, the Duke of Mantua’s court becomes a Hollywood film studio, the Duke a movie mogul called Duca, Rigoletto his star of silent screen comedy. Christian Tabakoff’s set design is an open and stylish representation of a 1920s studio with a multi-level stairway rising on heavy wooden stanchions, a brick wall with a loading bay door, and plenty of room to truck in elements such as the Duke’s office suite. Natascha Maravel’s costumes chime nicely against the crispness of this background.
Verdi’s brief and ominous orchestral preludio, which prefigures the theme of the curse on Rigoletto, is accompanied by a projection in silent film style (by video designer Anton Trauner) of a snippet of an interview Chaplin gave to the BBC in 1954. In response to the question of was there anything he would change if he had his time over again, he replied, “Oh no, I don’t even want to go back, I just want to go keep going forward, forward, forward…” An aged Rigoletto-Chaplin agitatedly strips to his underclothes and repeatedly scribbles in in spiral on the floor the single word “forward”. In spite of this assertion, the Actor (played by Bailey Pepper) is a recurring presence throughout this production, as he looks back with regret and growing horror as his previous life unfolds. His ubiquity however, does not so much inform the sentiment of the plot but rather distracts from the action. This is especially so in the finale where he is even joined by an equally aged spirit of the Duke and bathos belittles the shock-horror ending.
The Rigoletto-Chaplin concept does however create a new layer of intrigue over the plot created by Verdi’s librettist, Piave, which in turn he based on Victor Hugo’s Le roi s’amuse. It is a plot set in motion by a curse put on both Rigoletto and the Duke by Count Monterone after the Count had accused the Duke of seducing his daughter, who had consequentially died of shame. (In fact, the opera’s original title was La maledizione, that is The Curse, until the censors objected to it for some unknown reason.)
In this production, Christiane Lutz has Monterone’s daughter commit suicide by throwing herself from the topmost fly-levels of the film studio to her death in front of the horrified Rigoletto. The death fall is effected with beautifully balletic poignancy by aerialist, Farrell Cox as if it were a slo-mo film sequence. Rigoletto snatches up the new-born baby and holds her protectively as he runs off.
However, Lutz’s tweak to the plot is that the baby is Gilda, who is presented conventionally as Rigoletto’s daughter, and whom the Duke also seduces seventeen years later. This has different implications depending on how one interprets the paternity of Gilda. If Rigoletto is the father then it certainly explains why Rigoletto is so appalled by Monterone’s curse, but also this squares with Chaplin’s womanising reputation of trying to seduce any women (under-aged girls preferred) whom he meets, including those he worked with. Shades of Harvey Weinstein, this would set the Me Too Movement postings going viral. The alternative implication however, that Rigoletto has adopted Gilda as his own and that the natural father is the Duke, leads to the proposition that the Duke, seventeen years on, is unwittingly committing incest. This audience were left struggling to reconcile this dilemma with the already melodramatic original.
On press night Nikoloz Lagvilava, who was cast in the role of Rigoletto, was unwell. Verdi has been described as “a god to baritones”, so that was a loss to this performance, but more importantly Rigoletto is a role that demands to be acted out. The role was sung off the score by Michael Druiett, a resonant bass-baritone who did a sterling job from the forestage, whilst Jofre Caraben van der Meer followed the on-stage movements.
However, the situation did enable the other characters to be brought to the foreground and particularly highlighted the other principals. As the Duke of Mantua, Matteo Lippi cuts a suave and handsome figure, belying his proclivity toward sexual predation, as he blatantly besieges the wives of his courtiers. Lippi’s well defined tenor voice adds a dashing vigour to the role. Notwithstanding that he has sung an aria questo o quella (this one or that), women as flowers to be plucked and discarded, with Lippi’s interpretation we too can almost believe that the Duke has a genuine love for Gilda.
Rigoletto has Gilda hidden away in a small house away from the Duke’s court, and she doesn’t even know Rigoletto’s name, but nevertheless the Duke has been having secret assignations with Gilda, whom he has deceived into thinking he is an impoverished student called Gualtier Maldè (which hints at maledetto, cursed). Strangely though here, having borrowed a chauffeur’s uniform, he arrives in a rather splendid sports car, reminiscent of a 1930’s MG TA, a silent electric lookalike; green yes, but impoverished?
South African newcomer Vuvu Mpofu is outstanding as Gilda, her acting is superb and her fine lyric soprano has that light innocence ideal for the role, but she can delicately decorate it with coloratura when the mood of the piece calls for it. For example, after the departure of “Maldè” her rendering of the well-known Caro Nome aria is quite arresting, as she dreamily (and ironically) reminisces of that “dear name … engraved on my heart”. Earlier, in her meeting with “mio padre” Rigoletto has very touching moments, even though Mpofu’s duets are without a fully realised Rigoletto.
Vuvu Mpofu has been catapulted to a principal role, and Glyndebourne’ first Gilda, having only appeared in one previous production, as third nymph in Rusalka. Before being recently awarded the John Christie Award for most promising young singer, she had never even heard of Glyndebourne. Such are the “talent-spotting” skills of Glyndebourne, which in the past have netted the likes of Felicity Lott, Alfie Boe and Willard White. In last year’s Cendrillon, the eponymous lead, Alix La Sure, came via a similar route.
But back in Hollywood, Rigoletto is about to lose Gilda. The courtiers dupe him into taking part in the abduction ostensibly of Countess Ceprano (Eirlys Myfanwy Davies) but actually of Gilda, whom they believe to be Rigoletto’s mistress. Cue some clever Chaplin-esque slapstick with the scaling ladder, which distracts Rigoletto as Gilda is delivered to the Duke. Even with Rigoletto’s performers split between stage and wings, his devastation, disgust and frustration comes powerfully thorough, as he impotently and tearfully rages against the courtiers who stand in his way, even as his beloved Gilda, questo fiore this flower, is being ravaged by the Duke. Rigoletto rages against all this cursed clique of courtiers, Cortigiani, vil razza dannata.
If regret is one of the opening themes of Rigoletto, then its concluding theme is revenge, as the concept of vendetta gains increasing momentum. The curse of Monterone, whom we see in an impressive bass-baritone explosion by Aubrey Allicock, triggers the vendetta in Rigoletto’s mind, and he has already visited the hitman Sparafucile. Pari siamo, muses Rigletto, we are so alike; the cutthroat kills men with his dagger, the jester with a tongue of malice. Now is the time to call on Sparafucile’s lethal expertise.
When we first see, or don’t quite see, Sparafucile, he is camouflaged into the brickwork of a dark alley. His emergence from the brickwork is a testimony to the skills of lighting designer, Benedikt Zehm and Maravel’s cleverly realised brickwork camouflage costume. Sparafucile is a man elusive and dangerous and Russian bass Oleg Budaratskiy is a threatening presence, his resonant voice underlining his menacing matter-of-factness.
Now the moment has come. The Duke is to be lured into Sparafucile’s inn by his comely sister Maddelena, a bait that they know he will be unable to resist. Mezzo Madeleine Shaw is magnificent as Maddalena. We can almost feel the conflict of conscience as Maddalena goes about her blood-stained business as the lure that catches the pike.
Verdi calls for a stormy night and he certainly gets it with Glyndebourne. Zehm’s lighting sets the background, the sinister humming of the off-stage chorus (a Verdi masterstroke), and the whole doom-laden atmosphere conspire towards a feeling of tragic inevitability.
Conductor Jonathan Bloxham takes the Glyndebourne Tour Orchestra on the full switchback ride of Verdi’s score, following every nuance of the plot musically and balancing the moods that range from loving lightness to impending black bleakness.
With a murdered body in the bag, Rigletto believes the vendetta is compete. But then we hear the Duke singing a reprise his jaunty of his la donna è mobile aria. Who has been reeled in instead of a pike? Monterone’s curse has tragically been fulfilled.
As Rigoletto loses everything, the Chaplin conceit has a fleeting relevance, the ironic pathos that permeates many a silent movie. As the remorseful Chaplin-Rigoletto weeps over his loss, we realise the irony that, whereas regret might have prevailed over revenge, revenge has triumphed over regret.
Mark Aspen
November 2019
Photography © Glyndebourne Productions Ltd. by Richard Hubert Smith
Culture Shock
The Entertainer
by John Osborne, adapted by Sean O’Connor
Anthology Theatre, Simon Friend and Curve co-production at Richmond Theatre until 30th November
Review by Mark Aspen
What do you do when the world is changing so fast that your world cannot catch up … when the world you know, and love, is becoming irrelevant?
This is the predicament that Archie Rice, our anti-hero in John Osborne’s comic tragedy The Entertainer finds himself. One response could be anger, and Rice has more than a fair sprinkling of that. Osborne was in his mid-twenties when he wrote his best known play, Look Back in Anger in 1956 one of the earliest “kitchen-sink” drama. (It was reported that audiences “gasped at the sight of an ironing board on stage”.) The producers described Osborne as an “angry young man”. The phrase soon became inseparable from the genre itself. However, when The Entertainer premiered a year later and Osborne was asked if it was an “angry” play, he answered awkwardly, “I suppose it might make some people angry”.
Osborne set The Entertainer in 1956 against the background of the Suez Invasion, but director Sean O’Connor has moved this production forward in time by about a quarter of a century to the Falklands War … but one has the uncomfortable feeling that it could be speaking about today. The question is begged, whom might it make angry today?
You see the play is an allegory on the state of Britain, a metaphor for social unease, and underlines the increasing political divergence in the country. The play is also about failure. Here maybe O’Connor’s adaptation is out of kilter, for Suez was perceived as a failure, where the Falkland’s was perceived as a success: today … who yet knows!
If the twentieth century’s humour of the variety stage is not your cuppa, then you may have to cover your ears for most of the show. For Archie Rice is a variety entertainer playing a summer season somewhere up-North. The jokes come thick and fast, they are a less-than-subtle repartee with the audience, crude and sleazy, they hit on the mother-in-law, on racial differences and on foreigners. PC they definitely are not; today’s moralists would label them “inappropriate” at the mildest and more likely have them reaching for the “hate crimes” law book. Interestingly, the press night audience at Richmond Theatre had a mixed reaction, some uneasy, some laughing broadly.
Nevertheless, by the early 1980s Archie Rice’s humour had passed its sell-by date. Biting satire had replaced the saucy postcard humour, and comedians’ jibes now targeted politicians and the establishment instead of the foreigner or the poor old ma-in-law. Archie’s dancing, singing and wisecracking is now outmoded, and tragically, although Archie knows this, he cannot let go of the life he knows. He can see he is going under and is even indifferent to pulling his own family down the plughole with him, as he tries to convince himself that his next new act will revive his fortunes. Although tired and punch-drunk with his own efforts, he can’t quite bring himself to give it all up.
The set itself takes a wry look at the declining world Archie and the Rice family are in. It is all muddily mismatched wallpaper and curtains, cheap 1960s furniture clashes with the Victorian upright ol’ johanna now relegated to the corner as the telly takes the centre stage of their seedy digs, where the Poles upstairs and the black ballet dancer downstairs knocking on the partitions curtail their sing-song. The family seems alienated from the world, as their own fading world is parenthesised between these neighbours.
This alienation is most acutely felt by the granddad, Billy Rice, an old trooper of the remnants of the music hall tradition, a staunch royalist true to his country. A cross between Alf Garnett and Albert Steptoe, his nostalgia for the standards of the past, “when everybody wore a hat, and doffed it when they passed the cenotaph, even on a bus” slips easily into xenophobia, boldly and volubly expressed. Today’s thought police would have given up on him, but the elderly can away with all sorts of things. Pip Donaghy etches a portrait of Billy Rice and his character with studied precision, from his shuffling gait to his shrugs of feigned indifference, to his explosions of rancour. Here is a man marooned in a receding past, conflicted between mildly accepting things and railing against the injustice of a system that robs him of his own culture and forces him to accept one he sees as alien and cannot understand. “Bloody foreigners, I ‘ate ‘em all” he fulminates in his opening speech. Easy to decry, but Billy has lost most of what he holds dear in his own way of life.
Archie has been following in his father’s footsteps treading the boards as the singing, dancing, comic and variety front-man. The problem with Archie though is that his stage persona follows him home. His coarseness, his misogyny and his insensitively are his off-stage self. His long-suffering wife, Phoebe is the butt for his barbs, as are the rest of his contrarily loyal family. Shane Richie, well-known for cornering the market in lovable (and not so lovable) rogues in TV and stage roles, is outstanding as Archie Rice, where his is earlier careers in stand-up and in musicals stand him in good stead. In fact he is so good that one wonders whether, like Archie himself, he is cast to type. But not so, in interviews he comes over as mild mannered and thoughtful (and has an elegant London accent). As Archie, the Double-Diamond loving geezer is all there, as is the showman, glitzy jackets, constantly dancing feet, thrusting shoulders. Richie also has a great singing voice.
Beneath the uncaring Archie, though, there is a certain sadness, and Richie creates a three-dimensional character. His misogyny is a reaction to loss. His mother died when he was a young boy and his first wife died a short while after his daughter Jean was born. Ironically, Archie craves a woman’s love, but can’t see he could have happiness with Phoebe, if he allowed himself. All Archie’s energy goes into trying to revive his failing stage career. Archie is driving the car of his ambition with his foot to the floor, even though he has run out of road, while his travel-weary family hold on tight, wishing they could get off. Eventually he runs out of fuel.
Archie steps thorough the fourth wall (an odd conceit in a realistic play) and tells the audience, “Look, see behind these eyes, I’m dead”. Richie’s exhausted sighs speak volumes; Archie had nothing left to give … and he knows it.
Sarah Crowe, as the frazzled and hollowed-out Phoebe, says all about her state of mind, even in her body language. It is the drained, etiolated look of one who has tried hard for too long, but without success. Crowe puts across the nervy edge of a woman on the verge of imploding, as she tries to keep the lid on the bickering cauldron that is her family.
Things come to a head when news comes from the Falkland Islands that their son Mick has been taken prisoner by the Argentinians. Their younger son Frankie is rattled by news as he feels guilty that he has not “done his bit” … quite the contrary. These tensions are exacerbated by the later news that, in spite of his release having been brokered, Mick has been killed. Christopher Bonwell, as Mick, shows the uneasy awkwardness of an unwilling piggy-in-the-middle, a discomfiture later assuaged in drink.
Indeed alcohol does nothing to mollify the sniping and bickering in the Rice household, Double Diamond for the men and gin for the women, or even gin and Dubonnet (The Queen Mother’s tipple) for special occasions.
The special occasion for most of the play is a rare visit from Jean, Archie’s daughter. She is on a surprise weekend visit, but really wants to break the news that her engagement to a successful lawyer is finished, news that seems to wash over most of the family when she tells them early in the play. Jean has been leading a middle-class life away in London and her left-wing pacifist and anti-establishment views run quite contrary to Archie’s and Billy’s, but by-and-large they just ignore her views.
Billy ignores Jean’s views because she is his only granddaughter, and his love for her is clear. One the play’s most touching moments is a brief fond embrace between grandfather and granddaughter: beautifully acted, their mutual love shines out. Diana Vickers bring a feeling of fresh hope as Jean, in a balanced and well-nuanced performance, which rides the roller coaster of the emotions that Jean expresses or supresses. Within her stay with her family, she has to come to terms with her broken engagement, the death of her half-brother and the increasing disintegration of her father.
In spite of the acerbic in-yer-face dialogue and the rawness of the Rice family’s situation, there is a subtly in the acting by the whole cast, from which one has the feeling that from time to time it is possible to see through the cracks in each character’s hardened façade, to catch a fleeting glimpse of warmth.
Billy dies, and in a moving episode we see his culture metaphorically passing with him, in a stylised scene with his coffin draped in a Union Jack whilst the same flag forms the stage jacket of Billy, who stands outside, performing his last turn. Jean is with him.
Perhaps this is where the feeling of hope is seen in Jean, for no matter how reprehensible her socio-political views are to the rest of the family, she is still one of them and still all want to make the family thrive.
The Entertainer is a powerful metaphor for a culture under siege. It may have been so in the Suez Crisis, or during the Falklands’ War; it certainly is the state of the nation at the close of 2019. Are you keeping up with your world, or is becoming irrelevant? Are you angry?
Mark Aspen
November 2019
Mark Aspen 