Memento Non Mori
Dead Women’s Poetry Society
by Helen Bowell
National Poetry Library at the Southbank Centre until 6th November
Review by Heather Moulson
It is with some trepidation than one approaches a promised resurrection, albeit literary rather than literally. Therefore this looked like an exciting prospect, that of literary séances with forgotten deceased female poets.
Our host, Helen Bowell, an Education Co-ordinator at the Poetry Society, gave a very lively introduction to the event, and conveyed that its aim was to raise women poets from the dead, and keep their legacies alive. This project, the Dead Women’s Poetry Society, was founded in 2015 with this very aim.
Helen then read We Shall Not Escape Hell by Marina Tsvetaeva, a Russian poet who passed away in 1941. And so our frame of mind was set.
Séance number one was hosted by Ruth Sutoye, a creative producer whose work spanned across photography, poetry and film. She resurrected June Jordan (1936 – 2002), a Jamaican-American bisexual poet, essayist, teacher and activist, whose poetry was of a biographical nature, and who invited other voices. This collection included: Apologies To the Dead of People of Lebanon; then Poem About My Rights (confronting issues of patriarchy and of supremacy); and It’s Hard To Keep A Clean Shirt Clean. Ruth played us recordings of June herself reading these works, which really breathed life into the words. We caught her passion and meanings, for June’s poems were flawless. To conclude this talk, Ruth read her own work, Blood Sings, a very strong presentation, and a new respect gained for this previously forgotten writer.
The next speaker, Zahrah Sheikh, a British Pakistani poet from Ilford, resurrected and introduced us to Fahmida Riaz (1946 –2018), an Urdu writer, poet, human-rights activist and feminist. After a vibrant first resurrection, this section sadly dimmed. What could have been an exciting journey into Fahamida’s life, became badly read and ill-rehearsed. A pity, because this poet broke barriers and taboos, and was a formidable figure. Even when exiled to India, Fahmida was tireless and wrote very strong work, which continued to challenge convention. Poems read were: The Language of Stones, The Body Exposed , The Body Abject, Four Walls and a Black Veil , and concluded with Condolence Resolution. I came to my own conclusions that sometimes information is not enough, and justice wasn’t really done to this very brave poet.
Helen, in a closing speech, imparted the exciting information that Dead Women’s Poetry Society planned to tour England. This is very good news indeed for such an exciting project.
Do give the National Poetry Library a try at the Southbank Centre. Its catalogue of poetry is inexhaustible and it occupies a wonderful and accessible space. I certainly look forward to returning.
But now I was departing. Leaving a séance, even a literary one, is an odd sensation, and as I passed the looming edifice of the Royal Festival Hall I felt the spirit of Jordan and Riaz … were they forgotten?
Heather Moulson
November 2019
Photography by Madani Younis
Erudite Master Storytelling
The King and the Catholics
by Lady Antonia Fraser, in conversation with Anna Sebba
Duke Street Church, Richmond Literature Festival, Duke Street, Richmond until 6th November.
Review by Eliza Hall
An evening of gentle discussion which hinged on the book The King and the Catholics was led by Anna Sebba. Lady Antonia was introduced to the 300 strong audience, via her books and the amazing reviews they have all received.
Turning to the book to be discussed, we were given a glimpse of the opening scene of violence and bloodshed and the reason Lady Antonia wrote this as she explained that that it was in fact a bloodless time of emancipation during the reign of George III. Anna had asked Lady Antonia how she started the book, was it a scene that that she imagined or a real moment in history? This led to some interesting answers about how the author gains a feeling about the time and in particular the characters involved with the Gordon riots against Catholic Relief in 1780.
When Lady Antonia was asked to explain why there was such a depth of feeling against the Catholics she took us back in history to look at the background of fear of Catholic Europe and our wars against the Spanish and French, of Guido Fawkes’ attempt to blow up parliament – with a wry interjection from Anna about our present parliamentary situation. Lady Antonia was not drawn on this, but reminded us of the plaque placed on the Monument after the great fire of London which blamed the destruction on the Catholics. Taken down by James III it is now housed in the Museum of London. An historical event, she made very clear, should not be erased from history. It is fact and stands for a particular time in our history. She went on to explain that the Pope was seen as a ‘bogey man’ as he appointed the Catholic priests who were still present in England. Catholics were still not allowed to vote, hold commissions in the armed forces, or attend university. Catholic peers were not allowed in the House of Lords even though some peers were prepared to change their religion to Protestantism in order to take their seats.
Lady Antonia explained that she grew up a Catholic, having experienced her parents’ conversion. She was eight years old when her mother converted and when she was fourteen years of age Antonia did the same, attracted to the ‘choreography’ of the services or she described it, as ‘the smells and bells’, the music and the mystery of the religion, including the mystery surrounding the nuns at her school.
After this little reminiscence, which helped explain the context of her interest in Catholicism, she was asked what was her narrative drive in her books or how does she attempt to make history accessible to the reader. Again she brought us back to the characters and how in this particular book two heroes emerge, the Duke of Wellington and Daniel O’ Connell. Digging deeper into this, Anna asked about narrative history and Lady Antonia reminded us that her characters did not see what we see in retrospect and how one cannot tell a story if you review it from the present. It is the present of the historical situation and the characters, how they behave, that make the history.
This became more evident when she made a clear distinction between writing historical fact and historical fiction, which Lady Antonia said she did not read, but acknowledged that Hilary Mantel has probably brought more history than anyone and rekindled those who might have lost their taste for the past. When questioned about the film adaptation of Marie Antoinette by Sophia Coppola, she was complementary and enjoyed the interpretation.
She touched later on some specific incidences where she was challenged by history’s outcome, wrestling with the activities and decisions that people in power make, citing George III and the Act of Union with Ireland which he refused to sign, just as George IV had the same trouble in deciding if he should swear an oath to uphold the Protestant Church, where his life style did not help his decision making.
Antonia is very aware of the present political situation with Ireland and Brexit and could see certain resonances in today’s lack of tolerance , acknowledging that Jewish emancipation came much later, we still live in an intolerant society and exclaimed that to pass judgement on another’s religious habits, rituals, life style, she said ‘is none of my business’.
Two amusing little anecdotes were prompted by questions about her liking the characters she wrote about. She still dearly likes Mary Queen of Scots, and recalled the time when her mother, also an historian, said she would be writing about her, at which Antonia exclaimed to her mother, ‘No, she’s mine !’ On a much later occasion she started a book on the battle of the Boyne but realised she disliked Edward III and had to stop, saying to her husband ‘Harold, bin the Boyne’.
What fires her to write? She loves what she does and is able to be the captain of her own destiny: ‘I never became a writer, I was born a writer’. She recalled receiving an e-mail from Elton John who told her that she was his favourite historical writer. When he asked how long would she continue writing she replied to him ‘As long as I receive praise like yours, I’ll write’.
Spending an evening with Lady Antonina was fascinating. We all learned what we already knew of her – an erudite, objective, thoroughly-researched, master storyteller of our past.
Eliza Hall
November 2019
Photography by Holly Ibbs
Secrets and Lies in SW15
Things I Know To Be True
by Andrew Bovell
Putney Theatre Company, at Putney Arts Theatre until 9th November
A Review by Andrew Lawston
There can be no more foreboding sight to greet a theatre audience than a set depicting a well-kept family garden. You know that you’re in for two hours of intense drama and revelations. The better-kept the garden, the more intense your evening is likely to be.
And so it is with Andrew Bovell’s Things I Know to Be True, a relatively new play (2016) which has swiftly captured the imagination of UK theatre companies, and has now been taken on by Putney Arts Theatre in their spacious auditorium. Young Rosie Price has her heart broken on her gap year, and returns to the family home for solace, only to find a family on the verge of tearing themselves apart.
“This garden was the world” as various characters tell us throughout the play, and appropriately we never really leave it. Tom Sainsbury’s simple set comprises a single flowerbed filled with roses that bloom and wilt throughout the play according to the changing seasons, with a garden shed off to one side, and projected photos and video clips on the backcloth. Seating lines both sides of the stage, and the cast gamely make sure they play to all sides of the auditorium throughout the evening.
Director Frances Bodiam ensures that the cast make maximum use of the spacious playing area, and more. Characters frequently enter through the aisles, and from the back of the theatre, so the audience is never quite sure where the next revelation will come from. Frances also made the very sensible choice of asking her cast to perform in their own voices, rather than attempting Australian accents. As the programme notes, Hallett Cove is broadly similar to any suburb throughout the Western world. So while the setting remains Australian, with references to dollars, Sydney and Brisbane, the play’s themes are revealed to be truly universal.
After a tableau of a phone ringing at 3am, the phone call every parent dreads, Rosie opens the show with an upbeat performance by Natasha Henson, who talks about her gap year, and Berlin, in lively conversation with the audience as she roams the aisles and the full space of the stage. It’s a shame that, as her extended monologue draws to a close and she makes her way back to Hallett Cove in Adelaide, we never really get to see much of Rosie again as a character; she becomes the figure in front of whom much of the rest of the play unfolds.
As Rosie arrives back home, the family cluster around and there is a joyful reunion, though already tinged with ill-tempered sniping. Penny Weatherall’s powerful and dominant performance as Fran quickly establishes that the family is something of a matriarchy, while Aidan Kershaw gives a performance that is often wonderfully understated as Bob, the quietly proud retired working man who has long tired of his gardening.
As the other siblings come and go, we see the play’s funniest moments, well-observed exchanges about traffic, laundry, and the father being unable to operate the coffee machine, that will be familiar to many families. There’s an enjoyable pace, and the cast are in complete control of the material, as lines are swapped with huge energy, but crisply and with confidence. But there’s an edge to many of these interactions, when eldest daughter Pip (Emily Prince, in a tight and controlled performance that always seems to be on the point of cracking to reveal her character’s deep inner pain) becomes strangely upset at the discovery that brother Ben (Theo Leonard in a brilliantly manic turn, bounding around the stage with barely repressed nervous energy) still brings his washing home. And when Bradley White’s enigmatic Mark refuses to answer questions about his recent relationship break-up.
With his untucked shirt and slightly aloof attitude, Mark seems distinct from the rest of the family, even as the rest of its members begin to fragment and grow further apart as the play progresses. When the reasons for this detachment become clear later, he and his two parents enjoy a powerful scene filled with resentment, love, and quiet desperation. “Stop swearing!” bawls Bob at one point, unable to articulate his actual feelings, and resorting to his parental role to try and regain his footing in the conversation.
With a play that is so new, and so popular, it doesn’t feel appropriate to talk in detail about the plot, beyond mentioning that although there are frequent clues towards the problems and preoccupations of most of the characters, this is no soap opera, and their true secrets generally surprised the audience by being just out of kilter with our expectations.
The play is also a visual delight, both with the inventive images and clips projected by Tom Sainsbury, and with Carrie Cable’s costumes, which seem perfect for each character, from the manic Tom’s slim-fitting suit, to Bob’s dishevelled gardening clothes, Rosie’s floaty outfits, and Fran’s simple but elegant green dress, which somehow manages to perfectly mirror her nurse’s uniform with a brooch pinned in the place of her watch.
The masterstroke of Things I Know to Be True is that despite the many revelations and divisions between family members, the audience are never in any doubt that the characters all love each other deeply. This is a bold and assured new production of a play whose popularity is growing at an impressive rate.
Andrew Lawston
November 2019
Photography by Steve Lippitt.
Coitus Interruptus
Sex Cells
by Anna Longaretti
OHADS at The Coward Studio, Hampton Hill Playhouse until 9th November
Review by Eleanor Marsh
Anna Longaretti made her playwriting debut with Sex Cells in 2012. In a previous life Longaretti’s world was TV and the influence of that medium is prevalent throughout the play, which is a series of short vignettes delivered on a single set. The play could easily be an episode from a sitcom.
Set in the call centre of a sex aids business, (sex sells : a nice play on words for a play that speaks a lot about IVF – sex cells) the play is a gentle comedy with some real laugh out loud moments. It explores the hidden depths of emotion of its five characters; four women with very different issues and views and their hapless boss.
The performances are uniformly excellent. Sally Halsey’s matter of fact delivery and excellent comic timing belie the poignancy of her storyline. Her depiction of Lily, top sales person and star baker is pitch perfect. Darren McIlroy is superb as the sadly comedic Mr Causeway. It would be easy for this character to appear as a caricature, but McIlroy’s performance and debut director Joolz Connery’s sensitive direction give him real depth of character.
The remaining three characters are equally well-portrayed. And it is through these women that the complex relationships that women the world over have with sex, relationships and babies are channelled. Tiffany, played by Julie Davis is footloose and fancy free, enjoying her freedom and with no desire to “settle down”. Charlotte Pilbeam’s Sylvie is desperate to have a child, and Dionne King’s Janice is desperate to have some freedom from her large family of under 10’s. All perspectives are here in this one small office.
The play’s set is suitably minimal and functional. It could be any office anywhere, where the main subject of conversation in any given day is the quality of the office coffee. What makes the environment different is the merchandise that is dotted around the stage. The constant reminder of the fact that “sex” is linked to “fun” when juxtaposed with the definitely unfunny subjects of IVF, death and a complex mother-son relationship give the play a layer of depth that is surprising and effective.
But fun this play undoubtedly is. All the best tragedies have comedy running through them and we are treated here to some excellent one liners and visual gags with the props on loan from Ann Summers. It is a shame that it comes to a rather abrupt ending, but it is always a good thing to leave an audience wanting more. I’d urge anyone in need of a good laugh this week to go to Hampton Hill Theatre. You’ll not be disappointed.
Eleanor Marsh
November 2019
Photography by Jen Laney
Our friends in the Blitz
The Night Watch
adapted by Hattie Naylor from the book by Sarah Waters
The Original Theatre Company and York Theatre Royal, Richmond Theatre until 9 November
Review by Matthew Grierson
If we are to believe the wartime propaganda, carrots can help us see in the dark. Although there are no carrots in The Night Watch, darkness both literal and figurative sheds light on the small group of characters thrown together by love and other circumstances.
Alastair Whatley’s direction is an effective combination of atmosphere and detail. So well realised by designer Max Pappenheim is the terraced property that dominates the stage that it was not until the lighting changed that I realised it was transparent, serving first as its own interior and later as the bombed-out shell of itself. It is enough that we believe the house is there on the stage in front of us; or that the desk of the dating agency run by Viv and Helen becomes the roof of their building; or that a square of light is the cell in Wormwood Scrubs shared by Duncan and Robert.
Belief is not important only to us as the audience but is a central theme from the point Mr Mundy visits Christian Scientist Mrs Leonard for spiritual healing. Her insistence that the pain of his arthritis is imagined is well played by Izabella Urbanowicz, as is the willingness of the ironically named Mundy (Malcolm James) to believe in the otherwordly – and the clear distress of his companion Duncan (Lewis Mackinnon) to see him being exploited. But so much is sustained by belief in a time when one cannot depend on reality.
Even time is out of joint in The Night Watch: earlier I said ‘later’, but also meant ‘earlier’, for the conceit Hattie Naylor’s adaptation borrows from Sarah Waters’ wonderful novel is that its three acts progress backwards, from the London of 1947 to 1944 and then to 1941. This means we come weighted with the significance of details – the ring Kay gives to Viv, or the black market pink pyjamas she acquires for Helen – and only later become aware of how they have acquired that significance.
There is a deliberately, and effectively, mannered quality to the first act, portraying the way the characters are struggling to resume the straitened lives they imagine the war has merely interrupted. This is seen in the drawn fragility of Kay (Phoebe Pryce) as she sustains a haunted version of the masculine independence she enjoyed during the war. Similarly, when Robert (Sam Jenkins-Shaw) unexpectedly comes across Duncan working in a factory, their strained exchange speaks volumes about the awkward circumstances of their original encounter in prison earlier/later.
As the first act ends, it sets us up thematically if not causally for the second when it makes Viv (Louise Coulthard) the unexpected agent of happiness for both Robert and Kay, setting them on a hesitant but hopeful path into the future. With the beginning of the second, we are back in 1944 with feelings running stronger and clearer: Robert is fantasising about his perfect woman, and Kay is in love with hers but soon to suffer the double devastation of thinking Helen (Florence Roberts) dead in an air-raid before finding her safe in the arms of Julia (also Urbanowicz).
The further back we go into this war the more we realise the extent it has exploded supposed convention, like the piles of debris that frame the forestage. Helen and Julia relish the freedom they have to flirt in the dangerous streets of the Blitz, while Kay wins promotion for her diligence as an ambulance driver as Mr Cole (Jenkins-Shaw again) tells her she’s more of a man than many of her colleagues will ever be.
Ironically, the moment Cole realises that Kay is gay is also the moment that Kay and Julia’s own relationship starts to collapse. This means the three years in which The Night Watch’s bombshells land are the angles of the love triangle between Julia, Kay and Helen. Roberts’ performance as Helen is especially well nuanced, delighting in her chivalrous rescue by Kay from a bombed house in 1941, while in 1944 we have already seen her accusing her girlfriend of wanting to save everyone. This is again a different Helen to the woman who in 1947 shares a guarded chumminess with colleague Viv, or, anguished, suspects Julia of having an affair.
Similarly forceful to these lovers’ confrontations are the scenes in which Viv’s abortion and Duncan’s suicide attempt are discovered, with Coulthard and Mackinnon respectively evincing the distress into which their mistaken beliefs have carried them. Again, this intensity of emotion is all the more effective for being in tension with our experience of the characters so far.
The skilful depiction of the main characters’ facets is complemented by the play’s discreet use of doubling in the supporting actors, proving that this is a cast adept in versatility. As fussy, blustering dating agency client Mr Wilson Malcolm James is unrecognisably the peculiar prison warden Mr Mundy, and with his bluff, Welsh good humour, Jenkins-Shaw is believably a different man to conscientious objector Robert with his Oxbridge tones. Mara Allen is likewise excellent both as Kay’s foil, the mechanic and ambulancewoman Mickey, and she practically steals her only scene as factory manager Mrs Alexander.
In dark times it’s a dangerous proposition to take us back into the Blitz. But as the presiding spirit of Mrs Leonard tells the cinema-going Kay, we are enthralled by the lit-up fictions before us. So believe me when I write that The Night Watch is victorious.
Matthew Grierson
November 2019
Photos © Mark Douet
A Peek Behind the Cumulonimbus
Rewriting the Climate
by Matthew Griffiths
Arts Richmond, Richmond Literature Festival, Hampton Hill Theatre, until 2nd November
Review by Heather Moulson
A thoughtful and sedate event presented by Matthew Griffiths and Polly Atkin with guest readers, Malisa A Elliott, Stephen Leslie and Heather Montford, this thought-provoking evening was introduced gently by Matthew who explained his angle on one of the greatest issues of our time. Matthew explained how he was driven to produce his new collection, The New Poetics of Climate Change and elaborated on the innovative mix of modern poetry that is vital to comprehend such a complex subject.
In the first half, a scale of eclectic poems were read, with nicely paced explanations in between, and alternated by Matthew and Polly. The first being The Greenhouse Effect by Fleur Adcock, read by Malisa A Elliot. Malisa’s strong delivery drove home, and the lyrical works of Adcock’s poems focused on, simple things such as looking out to sea. Matthew talked about the very common term, The Greenhouse Effect and the many layers of its meaning. Stephen Leslie gave a strong reading of an excerpt from the immortal Wasteland by T S Eliot – The Burial of the Dead. Matthew chose this because of the clamouring of voices, and several landscapes, and felt it should be discussed about the way we see nature.
We welcomed back Malisa as she read My Heart Soars by Chief Dan George, from a collection of Canadian nature poems. Poetry Performance favourite, Heather Montford read The Poems of our Climate by Wallace Stevens. Heather’s gentleness and tone made these vital words from Stevens ring clear. The Leaves of a Dream and the Leaves of an Onion by Arthur Sze, an amazing Chinese American poet, was read by the talented Malisa. This was the most significant message, as Matthew elaborated how this poem provoked such multiple images, for instance the concept of separating things. Stephen breathed life into the words of Windscale by Norman Nicholson. Then the three effective poets were reunited to read the extraordinarily hard hitting The Imaginary Iceberg by Elizabeth Bishop. Heather then read Ordinary Details by Jane Cooper, which was anything but. The trio reformed for the final poem, Positive Feedback Loop by Jorie Graham.
Matthew’s summary of this array of poems was articulate and full of insight, genuinely making us re-think our concepts of Climate Change. Matthew’s choice became clear, full of illustration and strong images and provoking a response in all senses, and making us realise that these were carefully researched and well-chosen poems.
The second half brought a discussion between Polly and Matthew. They talked about motives for their work and theories, and the beginnings of their interests in Climate Change. This was followed by questions from the audience, for example – Who were the new eco-poets? Many names came up, including Frances Presley, an important and significant British poet, whose writing is very relevant to our issues. Another point came up about schools and young people, and Polly explained that she runs workshops with schools and community groups. Children are very concerned about climate change.
To conclude the evening, Polly read her own poems including the thought provoking, Bluebell Season and Hunting the Stag. The climax of the evening was Matthew reading his work consisting of the haunting Bearing Myself, Cod Philosophy and Metaphor, the latter from his pamphlet How to Be Late. I would sincerely recommend Matthew’s current collection about these issues and we thank him for such an insightful and innovative evening.
Heather Moulson
November 2019
Photography by BA Tipping
Fabulous Witty Art Deco Escapism
The Mikado
by W.S Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan
English National Opera, London Coliseum until 30th November
Review by Eleanor Lewis
Any Gilbert and Sullivan fans sensitive to snobbery must have a tough time, as it’s fair to say that for some Gilbert and Sullivan falls into that small space between ‘too highbrow for musical theatre fans’ and ‘far too popular for opera fans’. Most G & S fans I’ve come across though don’t waste their time fretting about snobbery, preferring to spend it enjoying the fabulous, witty entertainment provided by this enduring canon of work.
There is an argument for updating the Savoy operas though. Another production of HMS Pinafore appropriately costumed and set is well and good but it will attract the “dated” label. On the other hand, directors such as Sasha Regan with her all male Pirates of Penzance, reinvigorate the work and give it a whole new lease of life, and a production of The Mikado created by Jonathan Miller in 1986 and revived by Elaine Tyler-Hall and team, with the ENO orchestra and chorus is really only going to work spectacularly.
ENO’s Mikado is a beautiful production that provides two(ish) hours of total escapism to a lovely Art Deco land full of carefully crafted silliness. Stefanos Lazaridis’ cream and white grand hotel set, and Sue Blane’s monochrome costumes are visually stunning. Chris Hopkins’ conducting keeps the pace sufficiently brisk, doing full justice to Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music, but steady enough for all of W S Gilbert’s lyrics to be heard.
Characters in this happy land are carefree and eccentric. Richard Suart’s Ko-Ko minced about the stage happily living in the moment. Unsurprisingly our current Prime Minister (at time of writing) is on his Little List, as are the Sussexes, vegans, and the overly politically correct.
Elgan Llyr Thomas was a very sweet Nanki Poo paired perfectly with Soraya Mafi as Yum Yum. Soraya Mafi having achieved a perfect combination of teenage ego, an instinct for self-preservation and childlike insouciance in equal measure.
Andrew Shore’s Pooh-Bah was another comic creation, attempting to accommodate other characters whilst politely remonstrating with Chris Hopkins about the volume of the drums. Yvonne Howard’s Katisha was both intimidating and poignant with her gently drooping, single feather headdress and her crystal clear mezzo-soprano voice. John Tomlinson, navigating the stage in his huge costume like a small galleon on the seas, gave a rather arch element to the Mikado himself.
The details perfect the picture. Dancing maids and camp bellboys appear at appropriate moments, grinning winningly and dancing at a speed that brings to mind the first black and white films. When Yum Yum, Pitti-Sing and Peep-Bo sing together, but are static at one side of the stage, a maid struggles to carry laundry across the background and shortly afterwards another, drinking from a bottle staggers across too. In a random, (and possibly niche) way I was reminded of Bill Forsyth’s 1981 film Gregory’s Girl and the penguin in the background at various points in that film.
It’s probably stating the blindingly obvious to say that Jonathan Miller fully understands what Gilbert and Sullivan were about. They were indeed pointing out the flaws of The Victorian society in which they lived but doing it by creating a satire set in the faraway country of Japan where flirtation is punishable by death and a lot of very attractive characters can play out an entertaining storyline and everyone enjoys themselves. This, after all, is what theatre is about.
Eleanor Lewis
November 2019
Photography by Geneviève Girling
A Delight of Wit, Talent and Charm
The Pirates of Penzance
by W.S Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan
HLO Musical Company, Hampton Hill Theatre until 2nd November
Review by Eliza Hall
This talented and popular company, until recently known as Hounslow Light Opera Company, has chosen to change its name to HLO Musical Company. The company says that the new name more readily matches themselves, their long history and more truly reflects what they perform. Indeed it does as we, the audience, were presented with a delightful night of song, dance and recitative of exceptional brilliance.
From the moment the overture began when Lee Dewsnap, musical director and one man orchestra, who had arranged the full score for the company and conductor Matthew Newton sounded out the first of the familiar songs from the show, feet were tapping and the audience were engaged but eagerly anticipating the moment the curtains were lifted.
No one could be disappointed by that first view of the set, the colours, costumes or with the singing of the opening number, set on a rocky cove on the coast of Cornwall. Strong mature voices were joined by the balcony choir and the pounding of the song celebrating the birthday of Frederic, a pirate, but not by choice, who having reached twenty-one years of age was able to end his ties with the pirates.
Kevin Chapman (Frederic), Felicity Morgan (Ruth) and Steve Taylor (Pirate King) set the scene and the story line, explaining the context to the ensuing tale with conviction, humour and strong voices. Delightfully successful harmonies with Felicity’s acting, her persuasive attentions were funny and sad and true to the G&S formula of pathos, the ridiculous and the cajoling of the audience into half believing the impossible. So the story enfolded, every scene a joy to behold. The choreography of the daughters of the Major General, chaperones and maids was clever and gentle. Singing supplemented by the balcony choir allowed for freer movement on stage for those acting, dancing and singing.
Mabel, played by Johanna Chambers, demurely glittered. Her astounding vocal range and strength of vocality along with clear diction, was a delight and she was so easily the seductress that Frederic was seeking. Her talent shone throughout the production and, like Felicity Morgan’s Ruth her voice was the perfect foil to Kevin Chapman’s Frederic.
Clever little choreographic details meant the audience was constantly watching for expressions and individual reactions whilst keeping the whole movement and position together as a chorus. As they pointed to the upstage left, awaiting the cue for the entrance of the very model of a modern major general he pussyfooted in, downstage right. Such little, clever devices kept the audience laughing, applauding and attentive as the familiar music and rhythms could so easily have lulled the audience into false securities.
Tony Cotteril’s Major-General Stanley was what we all wanted to see – witty, weak, diminutive. Considering he is not small, he portrayed the figure convincingly and his many clever ad libs were such a valuable addition to the role, including his little reminder of HMS Pinafore. He ran the gauntlet with Steve Taylor’s Pirate King, the two making amazing music and repartee that kept the audience amused, quite amazed and full of admiration. Some excellent acting by both brought much well deserved applause.
The scene having been set and the dilemmas explained, we anticipated Act Two with delight. So, a word about the costumes and lighting before we return to the auditorium. The set (by Wesley Henderson Roe and team) and the lighting (Patrick Troughton) were of the usual high standard that audiences have come to expect from HLO Musical Company. Serviceable but appropriate as well as attractive, bearing in mind the large company and the growing number of people on stage – as we were to discover in Act Two. Lighting was used to change the mood, as well as depict the time of day or night, and was effective. Three lights at the very top of the backdrop were fine when they were sometimes blue, but from the back row downstairs were a little too hard on some of the older members of the audience whose eyesight becomes more sensitive with age. Just a thought when bearing in mind the needs of an audience. They may have been acceptable upstairs as I don’t think they would been seen. Comments from those sitting lower down in the stalls where the lights were more obvious seem favourable and not intrusive. Nevertheless, having made this little concern, the stage was very well lit and nothing could be missed – no one would want to miss any of the meaningful glances and expressions that worked their way through the storylines between characters. Some telling expressions added and supported the dialogue itself. Sound was good, well placed microphones were not intrusive and effective.
Costumes were very convincing. A chorus line of Kate Greenaways at the beginning of the song Climbing Over Rocky Mountains and led by Edith (Andrea Wilkins ) with the other daughters, chaperones and maids in this and the following Stop Ladies Stop were all enchanting . Singing and dancing at the same time was well coordinated and supported well by the choir on the balcony. The colours of these ladies outfits were complementary and demure and added to their role rather than breaking the flow of action on stage. Even the outstanding Mabel was not dressed to impress, but matched the others’ attire, leaving the focus entirely on her singing and acting. How delightful to see the chaperones in dignified and elegant gowns and matching bonnets, that were also individual but did not overwhelm the audience’s attention from the chaperones’ part in the production.
The outstanding costumes of the King of the Pirates and Major-General Stanley were flamboyant and commanding and fitting for their personalities- as well as actually fitting well. Velvets and silk dressing gowns, army style worsted and navy police uniforms; all good tailoring all round. Even Frederic scrubbed up impressively in Act Two. Fabrics were appropriate, even down to the stereotyping of Pirate’s socks and knickerbockers. Ill-fitting uniforms and helmets were just as delightful and equally appropriate on the Policemen, adding to the comedy and enjoyment.
Personally, I found Ruth’s pirate costume the best. A touch of the swashbuckling pantaloons combined with a picture book nursery rhyme dress. Felicity wore it as a female but pranced as a male and enabled her to look and play her part. Feminine enough and boyish enough to work for her character really well in her attempt to persuade Frederic that 47 was a good marrying age.
Choreography came into its own in the second act. A big applause of respect should be awarded to Karen Munday as well as her assistant, Faye Ellingham. We were in for several treats, the librettos and trios between Ruth, Frederic and Pirate King lightened up entirely by the entrance of the police corps and their wonderfully choreographed routine. Bellies to the fore and with perfect chorusing, enabled them to be united in their singing and disunited in sizes, shapes and their smaller actions. Very funny, they were the most comical part of the evening, they nearly stole the show but then the Sergeant of Police, who sang with force (excuse the pun) 
and conviction, Paul Chambers, is (Mabel’s) Johanna Chamber’s real father and he surely would not want to steal (!) her glory, even though he made an engaging sergeant and used his voice well.
As more of the company filled the stage the tempo, the tension and the resolution were reached. Pathos and poignancy mingled as in so many of G&S’s operettas and this company managed to do just this. Whether it is experience and confidence or just excellent directing, it is difficult to pull the production apart to discover. There is no doubt that the director , Gareth Bevan, brings both excellent credentials in experience and success, understands singing, production and enjoys working with the accomplished team that constitutes the HLO as a whole. His enthusiasm for Gilbert and Sullivan, and in particular, Pirates of Penzance shines through. Here, he has worked with a team of experts in their own right, from a cast where some of the singers have small parts, Isabel (Harriet Muir), Kate (Anne Pringle) and the equally convincing Samuel, played by Paul Huggins, to the lead singers, all have lists of successful contributions to both HLO and elsewhere and come with a joy of Gilbert and Sullivan that is evident in their performances. No weak ones here. All contribute to making this a professionally acceptable and delightful production, the full chorus with no speaking parts have plenty to offer in their singing and acting, particularly the policemen – and the small one on the back row with an over large helmet just make this performance a delight and a refreshing evening of wit, talent and charm.
The Finale arrived too soon for us Gilbert and Sullivan fans. Richard Stockton explains in the programme that changes were made to include the original version of the Finale as performed in New York and London where some songs were reinstated. In this way, links to Act One are heard and tie in well, completing or resonating words are cleverly made. Sighing Softly by the River sung by the Major-General and the Pirates leads seamlessly into the Finale with a crowded stage and for the audience this is a satisfactory end to the production. A significant achievement by the director and musical director and the whole of the cast for the team work and the dedication to make the production a success was clear, the harmony was not just in the singing, dancing and acting – and there was plenty of that – but in the whole of the production and cast. Pirates of Penzance is one not to be missed.
Eliza Hall
October 2019
Photography by John Malone
‘Murder generally isn’t funny’
Agatha Crusty and the Village Hall Murders
by Derek Webb
Theatre West Four at the Questors Studio, Ealing, until 2 November
Review by Matthew Grierson
Why is Agatha Crusty so hung up about her surname? Expressing something not unlike Hyacinth Bucket’s disdain, she insists that it should instead be pronounced ‘Crewstay’. Surely she can’t share the opinion of the PM (at the time of writing) that ‘Crusty’ is an insult? In any case, Agatha Crusty and the Village Hall Murders is more hoary than crusty … but no less fun for all that.
The premise of the plot – well, I say ‘plot’, it’s more of an excuse for a string of themed scenes – is that the titular crime writer (Judy Ramjeet), whoever she’s based on, happens to be spending a few days in the country when a string of themed murders takes place, and she is pitted against the dimwittedly literal DI Twigg (Alex Molloy as the plod who thinks ‘metaphorically speaking’ means talking about the weather) in trying to resolve them, with hilarious consequences.
If you thought that sentence meandered, then maybe this play isn’t for you. In keeping with the fictive rural setting of Chortleby, it takes a relaxed pace to life, and for that matter death – nothing will stave off the terror of multiple homicides like carrying on with knit club, or cookery club, or rehearsing the panto. For all of these serve as the basis of successive scenes in which the village hall committee attempts to keep calm and carry on, only to be capped with another grisly offstage death. Thank heavens there are so many Godots to bump off; in fact when we do see our first corpse of the evening (Julian Young), it takes a moment to register.
Were it not so far-fetched, I’d be tempted to say that play serves as a harrowing depiction of a community’s worsening trauma as it is compelled to repeat the same conventional inanities in the face of mass murder. Yvonne Austin, who gives a perfect performance as strait-laced committee chair Miss Wagstaff, could sum this up when DI Twigg asks whether a shotgun accident ended in death: ‘I should think so!’ she replies haughtily, as though it would have been poor form to remain alive in such circumstances.
Yet the fact that the murderer, once eventually revealed, is given such a convincing – and convincingly played – motivation gives it an unexpected grounding in the horrors of actual human experience rather than those of Christieland pastiche. The dénouement is thus the only moment in the play to follow the exhortation of caretaker Harry Nott (Jonathan Simmons) to Agatha to be more ‘realistic’ in her novels, when he mansplains the ground rules of crime writing to her in the opening scene.
The village’s relaxed attitude to murder extends beyond the fiction to some of the technical discipline of the production: a number of times actors stumble into or talk over their pick-ups, or step into view only to hurry back into the wings to await their cue. Similarly, the lighting can’t make its mind up whether it wants to be late or early, with the deliberately stilted scene-ends, à la Police Squad!, strung out longer than necessary to make the joke, or the house lights coming up before the cast has cleared the stage at the interval.
This all makes the script’s attempts at self-awareness – ‘I haven’t done any drama since school!’, ‘He’s murdered a few scripts in his time,’ etc. – a bit risky. But it would be unfair to put too much emphasis on this, because in truth I found myself as relaxed as the cast, and enjoying proceedings as much as they clearly were.
So what if Mick Cawson has failed to complete his switch from Oliver to Olivia between scenes and has to tie his headscarf over an obvious wig while upstaging the rest of the cast? His/her hair flicks just add to the general mirth. And Ashley Brown’s turn as the Rev. Bishop, a christening milked in his interview with the untwigging Twigg, is a particular hoot. Brown’s blend of commanding and camp in his performance, as is clear, respectively, in his confrontations with the dullard DI and flirtations with the ladies of the parish, always livens things up. To write in the spirit of the script, he makes for an arch Bishop.
Elsewhere, the cast are engaging and generally manage to strike the right comic note. As Agatha, Ramjeet is properly prim and preening about her reputation, but, never fazed by the absurdities of village life, sees her way through them to solve all the crimes in one fell swoop. In her practical approach, she is ably supported by her local contact Natalia Sirotkina as Alice Fogg, who keeps things grounded throughout. Meanwhile, Molloy’s leaden copper deadpans to excellent effect from the start; who would have thought a character so blunt would make such a good foil?
But props in particular to Veeda Ray as artist’s model Mandy, who makes a couple of scene-stealing cameos. She is subbed late into the village panto as Snow White (a strangely compelling scene already, with Austin giving free rein to her wicked stepmother) to demonstrate excellent comic timing in refusing a gift of fruit – ‘I don’t like apples’ – before hamming it up with the rest of them when she eventually succumbs to the poison.
And despite the hit-and-miss timing elsewhere, the jokes are not lacking in rhythm. They are strung through the script so liberally that there’s no chance you’re going to go a minute or two without chortling, or even guffawing, as we found ourselves doing. And yes, you may not like wordplay, and you’d be entitled to your opinion; but you’d be wrong.
For so cold-blooded a set-up, Agatha Crusty manages to be a warm-hearted production whose shortcomings are as nothing to the charm and enthusiasm that overcomes them.
Matthew Grierson
October 2019
Photography by Ellie Hopkins
What a Piece of Work Is Woman!
Hamlet
by William Shakespeare
Richmond Shakespeare Society at Mary Wallace Theatre, Twickenham, until 2nd November
Review by Louis Mazzini
Though it is billed as a “radical Scandi-noir production”, Richmond Shakespeare Society’s latest version of Shakespeare’s most famous play is on surprisingly traditional lines other than the gender reversal of several characters including the eponymous prince – there was a time when that might have been regarded as radical but it is not so unusual these days as explained in a fascinating programme note by Dr John Buckingham.
As the Princess Hamlet, Francesca Ellis brings to the role an edgy charisma and a near acrobatic athleticism while, in the opening scenes, her phobic reaction to Claudius, played with seedy power by Chris Mounsey, hints that something even darker than suspicions of murder might also lie behind Hamlet’s aversion to her uncle.
While Ellis is immediately credible in the most famous male role in theatre, some of the other switches are less effective, in particular the char
acters of Hamlet’s friend Laertes and his doomed sister Ophelia. As Laerta, Nicola Doble is initially compelling but her performance becomes less plausible in the second half, while Hamlet’s feelings for Laerta’s brother simply do not ring true when so many of the lines – even subtly reworded – were plainly written with a sister in mind. For the same reason, Jamie Barker struggles to convince as Orpheus. On the other hand, Susan Reoch brings dignity and gravitas to Polonia, the siblings’ mother, without compromising the essence of Shakespeare’s Polonius and as Horatio, Rosencrantz and Guildernstern, Emily O’Mahony, Jessica Warrior and Pete Messum make more believable friends for Hamlet than is sometimes the case.
Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother, is played by Jane Marcus who has little to do but does it very well, especially in the confrontation with Hamlet which is compelling and touching though robbed of the ambiguity that comes when Hamlet is male.
As for the others in the cast, a key element of Hamlet’s plot to avenge his father’s death concerns a travelling theatre company here led by Simon Bartlett, appropriately histrionic as The Player King. The two other members of the company are played by John Gilbert and Cath Messum – both of whom appear to good effect in other roles. And there is also Francis Abbott, as the ghost of Hamlet’s father, exciting and threatening despite a curious choice of costume.
Even with cuts, as have been sensitively made for this production, Hamlet is a long play and Susan Conte’s direction wisely keeps up the pace albeit sometimes at a cost to the characterisation as well as some of the comic elements. Marc Pearce’s lighting and sound design is excellent, and the special effects work well, while Joe Evans’ filmic music adds tension and atmosphere to the external scenes and bears comparison with the work of Ólafur Arnalds and other contemporary composers.
The costumes, bar a jumpsuit or two, are well chosen and effective and by any standards, the set – painted by Francesca Stone and also designed by Marc Pearce – is spectacular, with a beautifully rendered multi-coloured marble floor and Carrara walls, broken up by arches and dominated by a red velvet arras between two superbly lit windows.
This is an effective retelling of Hamlet and Francesca Ellis’s performance should silence anyone who still believes that Shakespeare’s most compelling character cannot be portrayed by a woman.
Louis Mazzini
October 2019
Mark Aspen 