A Magnetic Mine
Springing the Mine
celebrating 250 years since Garrick’s Shakespeare Jubilee of 1769
by Keith Wait
SMDG at Garrick’s Temple to Shakespeare, until 8th June
Review by Eliza Hall
“It was a sunny and blustery afternoon in early summer”, so the Narrator, played by director, Helen Smith, introduced the audience to hear and watch Keith Wait’s latest piece of writing come magically alive.
Springing the Mine was presented by the multi-talented and amazingly versatile SMDG (St Mary’s Drama Group). Each member of the group of twelve actor-readers held the audience spellbound and amused throughout the performance. In anticipation of a good afternoon’s entertainment, enlightenment and ‘Fun’ – the final word chorused by the entire company of actors – the small audience filled the Garrick’s Temple situated in the lawns leading down to the River Thames in Hampton.
Indeed, the director had appropriated the opening script to fit the moment of the imagined scene in June 1769, for it was indeed the sunny afternoon in early summer. It was here that the audience as invited to imagine two figures on the lawns outside, deep in conversation. One, the wife of David Garrick, La Violette, a ballerina of some distinction, played by Norma Beresford, and her companion, a friend, diplomat and successful dramatist, Richard Cumberland played by William Ormerod. The two are discussing both the successes and disappointments of both his and her husband’s writing. Almost immediately we are led to believe that Garrick’s writing, though influenced by his acting, may not have been as successful as his acting.
Whilst the characters discuss the wit of Mr Garrick, it is the writer of our play, Mr Wait who mocks jocundly the work of the famous actor and the ambiguity of the rivalry between business propositions in London’s theatre world, as well as a hint at plagiarism – or was it merely successful collaboration? By cleverly narrating the placement of character roles the players lead us into a taste of several Garrick plays. This is a clever and seamless manoeuvring by writer and actors both. The lively cameos woven into the narration illustrate to the audience both the style and humour of our Mr Garrick as well as the skill of both the playwrights, not to mention the actors.
The bawdiness and, more than a touch of, the restoration phase of English theatre are not lost, indeed they are played out in front of us, as the wit of the 18th century playwright mingles with the present narration and commentary on Garrick’s writing and his entrepreneurship rather than directly on his acting – this has been left to the talent of the present company to show us.
We, the audience are taught about the context and the complexities of writing in the 1760s, how Sheridan was influenced by Garrick’s writing of Mrs Heidelberg, played by Sue Birks, for his later creation of Mrs Malaprop, whose wit shines through, “I purtest there is a candle coming … and a man, too” as mor
e comic characters are introduced. The romp and bawdiness follows, where people are in the wrong place with apparently the wrong persons, one loves another who cannot reciprocate. It all foretells not only the work of Feydeau a hundred years later, but, as the narrator Graham Beresford reminds us, of the Whitehall farces of Brian Rix that were to become so popular two centuries years later. So through these vignettes we are informed of the collaborative elements of Garrick’s work, his creative developments, interests and motivations to write as well as act. “This is Georgian Romance at its most charming, over half a century before Jane Austen began to epitomise the style” the narrator tells us.
Another explains that his solo writing forays are not as successful as his collaborative endeavours. It is through his own merits and skill as an actor that he made Shakespeare’s characters known and loved. Through these performances he had become famous by bringing to public notice the exemplary and valued work of Shakespeare, but it also publicised his own creativity. His theatre in Drury Lane had been the venue for audiences to learn to love the bard. A shrewd businessman, indeed, to have won the public’s acclaim, as well as its money. It is later when we learn of the washout of the Jubilee Festival that we are told how Garrick is able to recoup his loss of money and to turn his fortunes around.
Keith Wait’s ability, beautifully brought alive by the actor-readers, weaves us through several more examples of David Garrick’s plays, whilst guiding us on a journey to Garrick’s Jubilee Celebration of Shakespeare in the market town of Stratford upon Avon, as somewhere almost unknown by London folk according to Richard Cumberland, in his conversation with La Violette.
So, having met other characters, including Mr Fribble – so foppishly portrayed by Graham Beresford – yet another excerpt of a play is introduced, so if the audience is lagging behind and has paused to contemplate, then onto the ‘stage’ bounces yet another loud and enthusiastic person played by this time as Captain Flash, played by Ron Hudson, with his several military metaphors and at last we are enlightened as to the title of this piece.
William Ormerod, who moves from being Cumberland and Garrick with such ease,
then explains that the term “springing the mine” was used by Garrick used to describe his acting method. “He himself is surprised by an upsurge of emotion in performance” , Garrick continues, “until circumstances and warmth of the scene has sprung the mine, as it were, as much to his own surprise as that of his audience”.
A narrator, Diana Bucknall, takes up the main question of the performance when she asks whether Garrick did succeed in “springing the mine” of his writing genius. We are informed that Garrick wrote some two dozen or so plays, and very few were performed. We are given several, but tiny, glimpses and certainly not enough for us in the audience and those attempting to critique this performance, based on some of his writing would dare to judge.
Once again we are directed back by the narrators, not to a discussion of his success as a writer, nor his undisputed skill as an actor, but to his entrepreneurial adventure that was the Shakespeare Jubilee, to be held in Stratford upon Avon. We are given another glimpse of another setting as description of the magnificence, pomp and the disastrous circumstances that befall those who travelled to this three day Shakespeare Festival. It is hard to separate the man from his creation, as we are informed of the 170 Shakespearean costumes – and characters, the prominence of David Garrick, the portrait painting of him in roles, transparencies painted on glass, the specially commissioned music and, of course, his recitation written for the occasion An Ode in Honour of Shakespeare, or “The Bard of Avon” as we are told by Mrs Garrick is the name he gives to The Playwright.
So, the audience is left with the question, whilst there is no doubt David Garrick’s acting filled with emotion, sprung the mine for both him and his 18th century audiences and gave them a love for the Bard of Stratford, his plays have their place in the history of the theatre and the development of English drama, but did we see that “springing of the mine” in his writing? Certainly we did in the SMDG performance.
We were enthralled by the presentation, and if some of us were sometimes lost in the weaving of the words, the multiplicity of characters, intricacies of plot and its focus, the production was a delight and a perfect way to spend a sunny June day by the river, away from the wind and the noises and bustle of 21st century England, to learn, be amused and be delighted by the local talent of acting and writing seen today, as well as 18th century Hampton.
Eliza Hall
June 2019
Photography by Lewis Lloyd
Multi-Layered Mille-Feuille
Le Nozze di Figaro
by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte
The Grange Festival, The Grange, Northington until 30th June
A review by Mark Aspen
Multi-layered Mozart, majestic, mellow, musically exquisite, Le Nozze di Figaro opens The Grange Festival season in a stylish production that complements the Beaumarchais story told last year in Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia. It continues the adventures of Figaro a year of so on when the erstwhile barber now is in the service of Count Almaviva as his valet.
However, Mozart moves the mood on in Le Nozze di Figaro, from Rossini’s romp to something with much darker undertones. Both are opera buffa, but the comedy is now much blacker. Almaviva is no longer a romantic youth, but a despotic misuser of his household. Figaro and Susanna are about to get married, but Almaviva is planning to exercise droit de seigneur and claim her maidenhead. Rossini’s plot is quite simple, but Mozart’s librettist, da Ponte takes the plot along more twists and turns than the Stelvio Pass, and Mozart points up every hairpin turn in a gorgeous and witty interplay of unforgettable music.
The Grange production pulls out the complexity and the darkness from the story, without in any way undermining the thrills, the farce or the comedy in the story.
The Academy of Ancient Music, playing with period precision (barring a couple of wobbles) under the baton of the versatile musician Richard Egarr, is alive to all the nuances of Mozart’s score from the well-known breakneck presto of the overture to the intricacies of the wedding feast finale.
Designer Tim Reed creates a set that hints at the duplicity in the darker motives of the protagonists, heavily-rich colours, swags of foliage in the muted mellowness of an Old Master, something a bit sinister that smacks of Caravaggio. The sense of faded grandeur somewhat echoes the preserved distressed décor of The Grange itself. In its shadowing of the misuse of power unfolding on stage, it seemed to reference the closing days of the ancien régime that Napoleon himself noted about Beaumarchais’ play on which Le Nozze di Figaro is based.
Beaumarchais’ Figaro was seen to be so political subversive that it was banned in a number of European countries. Joseph II though was fairly relaxed about da Ponte’s libretto for Mozart’s opera buffa, as only the gentry went to the opera. Le Nozze di Figaro may be an Italian opera written for the Austro-Hungarian court, but its sentiment is still thoroughly French, a farce based on a mille-feuille of thwarted amorous desires. Its spectrum ranges from unbridled sex, to amorous love, to decorous marriage, but my goodness, everybody’s at it!
At the nasty end of this spectrum is Count Almaviva re-establishing his feudal rights of droit de seigneur which he had vowed to abolish. The wily Figaro, and his ever-resourceful bride Susanna, are however more than a match for their lecherous master.
Toby Gerling’s powerful baritone voice and forceful strutting body-language paint a picture not so much of an arrogant aristocrat but of a bull-necked pugilist, who will have his own way, and with Gerling’s strong stage presence the picture is of one not to be messed with. Figaro’s approach is ma, piano, piano (but softly, softly) as he determines to frustrate Almaviva’s intentions towards his bride. Se vuol ballare … sì, le suonerò (If you want to dance … I’ll play the tune) is Figaro’s short cavatina that sums up how he will “catchee monkee”. Bass-baritone Roberto Lorenzi, as an energetic Figaro, delivers the cavatina with a sense of tethered aggression. There is a barely disguised alpha-male squaring-up between the two men that is only restrained, resentfully, by valet Figaro’s deference to his master.
Here we have a version of Le Nozze di Figaro, which, in spite of its true to period setting and Kate Lyons’ authentic costumes, is certainly no chocolate-box whimsy.
On the sexual harassment front, we have another prospective predator, the pubescent pageboy, Cherubino, fired up with the rising sap of teenage testosterone. Wallis Giunta clearly relishes the breeches role, flitting around, goosing the gals below stairs, and mooning after the ladies above stairs. While the ladies are cross-dressing him, one of Figaro’s ruses, Cherubino explains his hormone affliction, “Voi che sapete che cosa e amor, Donne …” (You ladies know what love is …). Mezzo Giunta’s meticulous delivery of the aria has a plaintive appeal that is hauntingly captivating.
Ellie Laugharne’s Susanna is a woman who knows her own destiny. Despite her precarious position, she can balance guarded necessity against a slight amusement at the manly mayhem around her. As a smile flickers across her lips, you know that she is the brains behind the Figaro-Susanna conspiracies. Laugharne (whom we saw last season as Phyllis in ENO’s tongue-in-cheek Iolanthe ) has a clear soprano with a pleasing legato which softens even Susanna’s harsher pronouncements.
That director, Martin Lloyd-Evans has made this production of Le Nozze di Figaro a realistic and emotionally observed version, is very evident in the rounding of the character of Countess Almaviva. Ross
ini’s erstwhile chased (and chaste) Rosina, has in Mozart’s Figaro now become the Count’s neglected wife. Romanian soprano Simona Mihai picks up this approach, giving a tragic Countess who is really experiencing the pain of being passed over by her husband for other women. When we discover her, distraught, “Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro al mio duolo, a’ miei sospir …” (Grant, love, some relief from my sorrow, from my sighing … ), Mihai’s rendering is truly moving.
Almost as a visual metaphor Lloyd-Evans has a motif of flowers being offered, rejected and then accepted, echoing the continuing theme of sexual ambitions frustrated, reignited and then stymied (or redirected) that is the fate of so many if the protagonists. This continues through in the sub-plot of Dr Bartolo, the guardian of the Countess when she was in her minority, and his housekeeper Marcellina, who appear on the scene to redeem her contract with Figaro for a monetary loan, the default to which is the he must marry Marcellina. We are in very safe hands with the highly experienced pairing of Jonathan Best as a sullen Dr Bartolo and Louise Winter as Marcellina, who transmogrifies from acerbic harridan to maternal matron following the (pre DNA-testing era) discovery of their true relationship with Figaro. This, at first antagonistic, sub-plot is completed by tenor Ben Johnson (also seen in Iolanthe) as a preening Don Basilio, the Count’s musician.
The entrance of this trio forms the basis of the ensemble sequence in Act Two, as the plot takes one of its many turns. Also bursting in on the scene, via a ladder and open window, is the elderly gardener, Susanna’s uncle Antonio, complaining about the man (Cherubino!) who fell into his carnations. This part is a gift for the consummate character acting skills and rich bass voice of Richard Suart. The ensemble builds from trio to quartet, to quintet, to septet, in a technically demanding and musically intricate tour de force, in which each character expresses differing emotions, be it anger, sadness, hope or open glee: musically and dramatically impressive.
The role of Barbarina is usually a background one, but for me Rowan Pierce stands out clearly from that background in this role of Antonio’s daughter and one of the girls of the household who has to run the gauntlet of the Count, and of Cherubino. Pierce is an up-and-coming soprano who has commanded a plethora of awards, including the inaugural the Grange’s International Sin
ging Competition. She is a captivating and effective actress, bringing a gamine charm to the role of Barbarina. The sweet bell-like innocence of her singing was beautifully illustrated in the Act Four aria L’ho perdita, (I have lost it). She emerges from under the wedding banquet table, ostensibly referring to the pin that Susanna has used to seal her honey-trap note to the Count, but we know that she has also lost something definitely more irreplaceable under that table.
Of course the Count gets his come-uppance and Figaro gets Susanna as his unmolested wife, and we head towards the happy ever after ending. However, in spite of its traditional period presentation, our Nozze di Figaro has a twenty-first century fizzle of scepticism.
The Count may be ashamed and full of remorse as he pleads on his knees “Contessa perdono!”, but in Gerling’s delivery of these words there is a hint of … until the next time. The Countess may forgive her errant husband and her “Più docile io sono” (I will be more kind) may have been heart-rending, but Mihai’s slant loaded it with ambiguity.
Lloyd-Evans’ Le Nozze di Figaro may have the period chocolate-box wrapping, and indeed its contents are rich, smooth and fulfilling, but they are those fashionable contemporary ones, with the piquant flavours of chillies or crushed peppercorn … sweetness with a bite.
Mark Aspen
June 2019
Photography by Clive Barda
Gasp Inducing Dream World
Cinderella In-the-Round
by Christopher Wheeldon, music by Sergei Prokofiev
English National Ballet at the Royal Albert Hall until 16th June, then on tour until 26th October
Review by Suzanne Frost
Christopher Wheeldon has won his reputation as a master storyteller with Alice in Wonderland and his Shakespeare adaptation A Winter’s Tale for the Royal Ballet, but proved himself equally at home in the world of commercial entertainment, winning a Tony Award for An American in Paris on Broadway. His Cinderella, originally a standard proscenium arch production created for San Francisco Ballet, has now been transformed and upscaled for the vast Royal Albert Hall, to be played in the round, marrying classical ballet and large-scale entertainment. Entering the spectacular auditorium, the excitement is palpable and, unlike at the Coliseum, there are a good few evening gowns to be spotted. Looking around I felt that my ticket in hand was much like my very own invitation to the ball of the year and everyone from London’s dance scene showed up.
Wheeldon uses the prologue to show us a young Cinderella with her happy family before her mother succumbs fast to an incurable illness and so, within minutes, we are emotionally involved. Unlike ever in fairy tale history, we also get to see the young prince growing up, dashing around the palace with his friend Benjamin, two very unprincely balls of little-boy energy, clowning around and breaking a priceless Royal Wedgwood vase. I always love how Wheeldon uses children not as cutesy gimmicks for grandma but as proper characters within the story.
The recent Disney live-action adaptation by Kenneth Branagh made a huge point of Cinderella being kind rather than pretty, emphasizing that true beauty comes from within. Wheeldon has embraced this celebration of kindness and this suits perfectly for Alina Cojocaru, tiny and unassuming, there is a warmth and humility in her every gesture. Consistently, the two “ugly” stepsisters are actually far from ugly, Edwina (Emma Hawes) statuesque and coquettish, the bespectacled Clementine (Katja Khaniukova) more goofy. Tamara Rojo as Cinderella’s stepmother is glamorous and saccharine sweet – as long as you don’t push her. For Cinderella’s father to fall so severely under the spell of his new family, it makes sense that the ladies all seem rather charming, their uglier side, their vanity and cruelty only revealed when it is too late.
As the prince’s best friend Benjamin, Jeffrey Cirio is a joy to watch, executing breakneck choreography with flawless precision and a real sense of fun. Helping his buddy out, who has been pushed by the king to hand-deliver all the ball invites, the two friends swap roles, Benjamin introducing himself as the prince (immediately to be fawned over by the stepsisters), and the prince himself disguised as a poor beggar. This little trick allows us not only to witness Cinderella’s innate kindness in action, as she alone welcomes the urchin into the house, but also gives our two heroes time to actually get to know each other. Rather than trying to convince us it’s love at first sight at the ball, these two make a much more believable couple, as we see them having fun together and a very obvious, real connection.
Just like in An American in Paris, Wheeldon uses projection instead of scenery to transport us, at times to spectacular effect, when the young prince gets a history lesson from his father the king, walking all over a large-scale map of the world or studying a gallery of grim-looking ancestors’ portraits. Rather than a “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo” fairy godmother, Wheeldon goes with the original much more gothic Brothers Grimm version, where Cinderella’s dead mother watches over her, growing a huge magical tree on her grave from her tears.
The four spirits who accompany Cinderella’s every step I found less successful and occasionally distracting, but they have the benefit of, whenever fate calls, making Cinderella literally fly. There is a Cirque du Soleil aesthetic to the dance of the seasons, partly due to the arena feel of the Albert Hall, and partly from the saturated colours of the spectacular costumes, elaborate headdresses and outlandish makeup. While for Summer, Wheeldon doesn’t quite capture the lazy heat of Prokofiev’s music, he creates a real whirlwind of canon choreography for Autumn. His shtick with canon can occasionally look messy in group scenes, but for in-the-round ballet it is clearly the way to go, giving every seat in the house something to look at. There is so much space here, and so many soloists relishing the leeway with travelling jumps and joy of movement. There are magical creatures galore, dancing chestnuts and a corps de ballet of feathered herons (costume and set design by Julian Crouch) that are beyond fantastic and barely on stage for five minutes. Cinderella’s dress is so beautiful it gave me tingles all over and that carriage… I wouldn’t want to spoil it but a child behind me audibly gasped and you lean back with that satisfaction of knowing a new recruit has been converted to the magic of theatre.
The ball then ups the scale to complete phantasmagoria and left me feeling like I landed headfirst in a Disney technicolour masterpiece. Prokofiev’s sumptuous dark-velvety grande valse was literally made to be danced by 24 lavishly dressed couples. It is the sign of a fantastic supporting cast that I was touched by goofy Clementine timidly introducing her crush Benjamin to her dad and Tamara Rojo relished her comedic role getting royally drunk and giggly.
Cinderella’s entrance has to be some of the most magical music ever written and it feels like the whole world stands still. Her variation is one of my favourite solos and Alina Cojocaru acts it beautifully, starting so modest and plain and culminating in sheer abandonment as she succumbs to the joy of falling in love. The dashing Isaac Hernandez shows us a prince visibly growing up and becoming a man in front of our eyes. Although Wheeldon hardly invents a step that isn’t classical ballet, his use of dancers’ bodies is always surprising, with transitions and lift never seen before or deemed possible. While fireworks go off in the background, our heroes are oblivious to all the pomp, absorbed in each other, looking like the kind of couple who will likely never run out of things to talk about or steps to dance.
For the next morning, Prokofiev gives us that glorious drunk music that sounds like the coarse voice and achy feet you only get after a really good party. And his happy end is underscored with music so melancholic, it just knows that great happiness can only exist in the world because of great pain and heartache, as we see our young couple dance under the shadow of the tree growing on her mother’s grave. My heart is full with fairy-tale fuzzy feelings.
I recently happened to see Baz Luhrman’s Moulin Rouge! again and was reminded of the song Spectacular Spectacular: “So exciting, the audience will stomp and cheer! So delighting, it will run for 50 years!” – Thinking of what this lavish extravaganza production must have cost ENB, I certainly hope so. And may generations of kids get the chance to gasp and dance all the way home to the tube station because that’s what Cinderella is all about: believing your dreams can come true. What ENB has here is the ultimate fairy tale ballet.
Suzanne Frost
June 2019
Photography by Ian Garvin
Poignant, Gentle, Moving
Goodnight Mr Tom
by David Wood, adapted from the story by Michelle Magorian
Edmundians at the Cheray Hall, Whitton until 8th June
Review by Eleanor Lewis
Goodnight Mr Tom, written in 1981 by Michelle Magorian and adapted for the stage by David Wood is destined to become a children’s classic. 100 years from now when WW2 is pure history and no longer an actual memory for anyone, there will still be children reading it, fascinated by what passed for normal with 1940s children.
Edmundian Players’ performances of Goodnight Mr Tom took place in the Cheray Hall behind St Edmund’s Church in Whitton. This hall, the programme tells me, is the same hall used as a temporary place of worship after a German bomb hit the original church in October 1941. You couldn’t get much more of an appropriate setting than that.
In this small village hall, a large cast backed up by a similarly large team of props and scenery designers and builders, managed to create and populate both Central London in the midst of the Blitz, and the relative peace and quiet of the West Country. Amateur productions always involve people who are doing ‘real’ jobs the rest of the time. Clearly a lot of work had gone into this production and credit must be given to everyone involved in it
Goodnight Mr Tom is not the easiest of stories, despite being aimed at children, as the childhood experiences of William Beech, until he meets Tom Oakley, are far from ordinary and definitely not pleasant. Accordingly, playing the two central characters is a challenge: the general ‘thawing’ of both the older man and the terrified child must be handled slowly and with care. Matt Power as Tom Oakley was perfectly cast. His performance was poignant, gentle and witty without ever slipping into sentimentality. Oakley is also on stage most of the time, with the most to do. Matt Power was line perfect and never out of character.
Tom Melia as William Beech gave a suitably hesitant and guarded performance, moving gradually into a more relaxed, happy boy, as he began to trust the man who had taken him in. His critical moment (actually one of his critical moments) when he accepts the baby Mrs Hartridge hands him to hold, after his appalling experiences with his mother, was suitably moving.
Aside from the two central characters the ensemble cast worked well together and were perfectly costumed in 1940s outfits. Directors Jackie Howting and Terry Bedell had made good use of the space, allowing entrances to be made from either side of the stage and from the back of the hall which produced an inclusive atmosphere. The scene in which a meeting took place and several characters sat at the front of the audience was particularly effective.
There were several particularly well-judged, smaller character roles: Theresa McCulloch as the Billeting Officer and Mrs Fletcher managed to be both brisk and endearing; Terry Bedell as the Doctor was a suitably reassuring presence, and Paula Young by contrast, as the damaged and dangerous Mrs Beech was an appropriately unnerving presence on stage.
Ellen Smith, playing the exuberant Zach was a treat and quite an achievement as Ms Smith was convincing as a boy despite occasional hair issues, and the sudden, terrible loss of the character was as shocking as it was intended to be because Smith had created such an appealing and eccentric child. The other children: Kathryn Bedell, Mary McGrath and Charlie McMaster were equally strong, delivering their lines naturally and unselfconsciously.
Special mention must, of course go to Becky Halden for handling the puppet dog, Sammy. The objective with a puppet on stage is always to focus audience attention on the puppet and not the handler and Ms Halden achieved this to great effect.
The action as a whole would have benefited from quicker scene changes, some were quite lengthy and this interrupted the pace of the whole piece which was in fact moving quite well. I wondered too at the treatment of the death of Zach which would arguably have been better handled indirectly i.e. if his death had simply been reported to other characters who were then required to react to the information, but I suspect this is an adaptation issue rather than anything to do with the performance.
Edmundian Players should be pleased with their treatment of this marvellous story, the audience on Friday night was totally engaged with what they saw and rightly so as the commitment of everyone on stage produced a great evening’s entertainment.
Eleanor Lewis
June 2019
Photography by Devizine and Jessica Young
Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears a Crown
King Charles III
by Mike Bartlett
Wild Duck and Barnes Community Players Co-Production at Kitson Hall, Barnes until 8th June
Review by David Marks
When Mike Bartlett’s Modern Shakespearean history opened in 2014 is was nominated for every award going on both sides of the Atlantic and won the Critic’s Circle and South Bank Sky Arts Best New Play Awards. It was subsequently presented as a radio play on BBC Radio 3 in 2015 and the ninety-minute TV version was screened by BBC2 in 2017. These dates are important. The play has only relatively recently been released for general performance and I fear it is past its sell by date already. It was written pre-Brexit, pre-Trump and, probably most importantly pre-Meaghan Markle as a response to the News International phone hacking scandal.
The play is set in the near-future and imagines the political fallout and social unrest likely after the death of HM the Queen when the new King Charles refuses to play the Government’s political game. Needless to say the wider issues that the play tackles are mirrored in the family scenario of the royal household. As well as echoes of several Shakespearean devices to complement the blank verse, King Charles III has a very impressive moment as King Charles II. The play is clever and very ambitious. It is also very long and was made longer by the addition of a guest appearance by a local choir at the beginning of the piece and the many, lengthy scene changes throughout the play.
The production at Kitson Hall is a joint venture between Wild Duck and Barnes Community Players. Like the Curates egg it is “good in parts”. Daniel Wain is a totally believable King Charles, giving us a realistic portrayal of the real man without falling into caricature. Likewise, Richard Scott’s Harry is a delight. The stage came alive every time either of these actors inhabited it. Director Susan Conte has done a fine job in finding a “royal family” with more than a passing resemblance to their real counterparts who can also deliver blank verse and have decent comic timing. The supporting artistes of various politicians, bishops and commoners battle with varying degrees of success with the verse and their characters. Emily O’Mahony’s Prime Minister and Chris Mounsey’s Leader of the Opposition have a particularly difficult time here as they are portraying fictional characters in a world inhabited by household names and faces. They both manage admirably and their individual scenes with King Charles are some of the best in the play.
As to the actual production – much more attention could have been paid to details that are easy to overlook but make such a difference to the verisimilitude and integrity of such a piece. For example – the Prime Minister and Princess Diana would never be seen out without wearing tights or stockings, Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge would never have a hemline four inches or so above the knee, and everyone in a ceremonial role in a cathedral would polish their shoes. These are tiny things but they make a real difference when the audience is virtually part of the action. Equally, one more technical rehearsal might have negated the immersive nightclub experience of not being able to hear a word and an errant spotlight that could not make its mind up whether it was on or off.
The director has chosen to present the play in the round and this works well. The cast use all the space and the audience never feel excluded. However, this format works best with little or no set changes and the action, which moved along at a nice pace in individual scenes, was slowed down considerably by the scene changes that added considerably to the running time.
In summary, this production has a lot going for it. A collaboration between companies is always a positive thing and to be brave enough to take on a piece of this magnitude is worthy of praise indeed. A brave choice but I am not sure the right one. In these uncertain times there is something at this that seems a little unsavoury about imagining life after HM Queen.
David Marks
June 2019
Photography by Marc Pearce
A Steamy Toe Tapping Affair!
Nell Gwynn
by Jessica Swale
The Questors at The Judi Dench Playhouse, Ealing until 8th June
Review by Viola Selby
‘Let not poor Nelly starve’, those were Charles II’s famous last words and Jessica Swale has certainly not let her do so by creating this raunchy, regal feast of comedy and talent. Nell Gwynn, through its cast and crew, manages to transport its audiences back in time and tell a tale based mainly on historical fact about a ‘Protestant Whore’ who stole the heart of the king.
From the very start, the audience are greeted with a sense of regal pomposity, similar to that of a West End theatre. This is all thanks to the creative genii of Set Design Advisor Alex Marker and his team of scenic painters and prop makers. Although the centre of the stage has been kept bare, not only emphasising the role of the stage in Nell’s life but also allowing the audience to use their imagination, the backdrop is stunning with painted statues, marbelsque columns and red velvet curtains. This same high level of artistry is maintained throughout the play by Carla Evans’s fantastic use of shape, material and colour in her period costume designs. Each piece perfectly matches its character and helps to bring this period to life. From the rainbow of colours worn by Charles and Nell to the sinisterly black outfit of Lord Arlington, a sneaky game-playing foreign minister and chief adviser to the king – played so realistically by Philip Sheahan you would have thought he was one of our current MPs!
Although this play is set hundreds of years ago, the cast effortlessly manage to make it a story just as entertaining and relevant for today’s audience as it could ever be. From phones being thrown in buckets of water, tit jokes and naughty ditties to perfectly planted puns and the very honest responses from Nancy, performed by the wonderfully witty Wendy Megeney, the audience are kept laughing throughout. If you are a fan of the Carry On series or Black Adder, then this would definitely be up your alley! However, this is not a pantomime with unrealistic characters. Even the bitchy egocentric Edward Kynaston, an actor who plays female roles, is not performed as a two dimensional dame. Instead Julian Smith is captivating, both in his dresses and as an actor whose very purpose on stage is now being taken over by a woman and he just cannot accept giving up the limelight. But what a woman to give up the limelight to! Nell Rose gives both a sensual and feminist edge to the title character, proving she is not just a woman out to grab herself a title by ‘lying back and thinking of England’, like Lady Barbara, or Louise de Kerouaille, both brought to life by the brilliance of Maya Markelle. No, Rose’s Nell is a woman achieving her career goals and an advocate and role model for female advancement, telling Dryden, an anxiety-prone playwright, tremendously played by Tim Pemberton, to stop writing such flimsy pathetic female characters as ‘we’re as knotty and tangled as you’. Whilst it is through Rose’s chemistry with both David Hovatter, a heartthrob of an actor who plays leading actor Charles Hart, and Mike Hadjipateras, regally sublime as Charles II, that truly makes this play one steamy toe tapping affair!
Viola Selby
May 2019
Photography by Carla Evans and Marissa Hahn
Ready Player Juan
Don Giovanni
by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto Lorenzo da Ponte
Rogue Opera at Hampton Hill Theatre, until 1 June, then on tour until 9th June
Review by Matthew Grierson
Setting itself in the Milanese fashion scene, and a post-#MeToo world in particular, this production of Mozart’s tragicomic opera exhibits a sharp dress sense and sharper satire.
When we arrive, the Hampton Hill stage is furnished with clothes rails, a trolley of champagne and design sketches, as well as a selection of mannequin torsos and legs that signify the objectification of women we are to witness from the saturnine young antihero (Theo Perry). For a moment, all is bathed in the violent violet light of a nightclub toilet, ready to disclose his crimes clinically and coldly.
The show opens as Don Giovanni anoints himself with fragrance while preparing a parade of models for the catwalk, to the accompaniment of MD Guy Murgatroyd’s piano overture. But it’s clear that the Don has his mind less on the women’s clothes than their bodies, and before long he is menacing Donna Anna (Alexandra Cowell) in her dressing room in a manner that leaves no doubt about her lack of consent.
As he leers over her prone form, his assault is interrupted by her father the Commendatore (Ian Shenstone), and after what is an oddly underpowered fight Giovanni is mirroring his earlier pose, this time leaning over the dead body of his victim. Once he has fled and the crime is discovered, the corpse is wittily hidden by the other cast members using a clothes rail – as with the title character, horror is clothed in well-cut jackets and trousers, and I felt the show might have made, and indeed wanted to make, more of this conceit in its staging.
Certainly the production makes adept use of two wheel-mounted screens that the cast seamlessly turn to change scenes from a swanky bar to Giovanni’s penthouse, complete with art gallery. Stage right, one screen also becomes the studio for Giovanni’s valet-cum-tailor Leporello, its corner lined with blown-up measuring tape. Leporello also carries such a tape around his neck showing that, even when he connives to with his master to ensnare women, he has his measure. As the manservant, André Andrade’s performance is a highlight among a strong cast, treading with careful footsteps between comedy, collusion and caution.
In this respect, he is as equivocal about his boss’s behaviour as the unfortunate Donna Elvira (Anna Sideris) is about her quondam paramour. As we are introduced to her, she is ripping pages from a fashion magazine and swearing to do the same with Giovanni’s heart, but cannot be rid of her attraction to him all the same. The parallel between the spurned lover and reluctant retainer is established in the first act as he recounts the list of his master’s conquests to the unfortunate woman, all the time counting off their numbers on the measuring tape he holds against her; I was reminded not so much of a dressmaker as an undertaker, preparing to bury her romance. But by act two, both Elvira and Leporello are back under the Don’s sway, as he invites his manservant to take advantage of the blindfolded woman in his stead.
There’s always a hint of a smile before Sideris sings, giving the unpleasant suggestion Elvira finds the relationship as much of a game as Giovanni does; and yet we know from her arias that this is not the case, with the added detail in this production that she is carrying both his child and an ultrasound image of the foetus. But if this production wants to highlight the agency of women then seeking to marry Giovanni, despite his evident errancy, for the benefit of their baby doesn’t speak to Elvira’s good judgement.
Greater independence is demonstrated by the model Zerlina: though not a player in Giovanni’s league, she is no sooner betrothed to photographer Masetto than she is flirting with the Don himself, and in Maya Colwell’s playful performance she dances and sings in convincing chemistry with both men. Plaudits are also due to Edwin Dizer as her hapless fiancé: the sweet dance that signifies their engagement is soon after recapitulated with steps that I can only describe as sarcastic, thanks to Michelle Buckley’s capable choreography. Just to confirm Dizer’s physical comedy credentials, he is also given the opportunity for some fine drunk acting – and singing – opposite the Don in the second act.
As the titular character, meanwhile, Perry cuts a dark, lithe young figure. Although perhaps lacking the rakish gravitas and presence an older actor would bring to the role, he describes the inevitable arc of Giovanni’s dissolution and descent into hell with a gradually ratcheted mania, and there is scope in his aria early in act two to see him pathologising himself as a sex addict. He also has a believable appeal as a brooding hipster that convinces us he has bedded as many women as Leporello claims – and this bearing in mind that the only two instances of ‘seduction’ to which we are witness can only euphemistically be called such, especially given that the first is the attempted rape of Donna Anna.
Occurring so near the start, this episode serves as the thematic overture to this production, and resonates strongly with our contemporary consciousness. As Donna Grierson pointed out to me, the surtitled translations do not deal with an antiquated concept of honour but rather talk in terms of crimes against women themselves. With such an emphasis, the death of the Commendatore is merely confirmation of Giovanni’s criminality rather than representing his tragic overstepping of the mark.
All the same, it’s around this one man’s death rather than subjugation of women that the campaign to bring Giovanni to justice is organised by Ottavio. As Anna’s fiancé, Hugh Benson makes for a sympathetic ally – even though Ottavio makes some poor choices about the timing of his proposals – and by the end of act one, he has put word out on social media of Giovanni’s crimes, and the culprit ends up surrounded by the accusing light of an array of smartphones.
While the surtitles have been used sneakily to flash up Giovanni’s hook-ups on dating app ‘Findr’, this clever device is not used sufficiently to establish it in the audience’s imagination, so when Anna and Ottavio first spread word of the crimes it’s the reaction among Milan’s fashionistas that tells us rather than any projection across the top. Similarly, although Giovanni’s art collection is stripped away at the end to reveal a string of damning hashtags, it’s not clear why these too aren’t conveyed by the more contemporary digital medium.
For a production supposedly set in the world of haute couture, it’s an odd decision too to make the cast sport an improbably unfashionable get-up combining wedding hats and graduation gowns when they assume the role of chorus. The staging also seems to miss a trick in that the mannequins, so long a place where Giovanni and Leporello can project their fantasies and desires, become in turn a locus for their frightened subconscious when the ghost of the Commendatore raises the arm of one into an accusatory gesture. With the opera’s famously figural ending in mind might more have been made of this, or would it have been too technically difficult to achieve?
As it is, it is Shenstone as the statuesque spectre of the Commendatore that drags Giovanni off to hell. Does the ending, abrupt when it does come, deny human justice or embody it? Honour seems to be finally at stake when it hasn’t been before, although there is a sense that Giovanni has, in taking up the ghost’s invitation, having to consent to his own doom, when he hasn’t been seen to seek the consent of the women he pursued.
There’s no doubt that, for all its small scale, Don Giovanni is thinking big. While it doesn’t always have the impact it might, director Bronwen Stephens-Harding and the Rogue team are to be commended for their ambition.
Matthew Grierson
May 2019
Photography by Cristina Schek
The Music of Time
joinedupwriting
by Roger McGough
Arts Richmond Book Picnic at May Fair Marquee, Richmond, 12th May
Review by Greg Freeman
Time was when Roger McGough was regarded as one of the voices of a new poetry generation. As one of the Liverpool Poets, with Brian Patten and Adrian Henri, he encouraged thousands to have the confidence to believe that they could write poetry, too.
These days the calm, soothing voice of the presenter of BBC Radio’s Poetry Please has something of the bedside manner of a trusted, if somewhat older, family doctor. But although McGough may have just eased into his 80s, he certainly doesn’t look it. Dressed in a bright blue boilersuit, he delivered an entertaining set based around his latest collection, joinedupwriting, at an Arts Richmond event to celebrate a poetry competition that he had judged – on the theme of Time.
A poem called The Cure for Ageing begins: “There is no cure for ageing.” Commissioned by Age UK, it had its generally mature audience roaring with laughter. It is, in fact, a fabulously upbeat poem, containing spry advice such as: “Think yourself younger than you really are: / On a crowded bus or tube, offer your seat to a young man / Help a traffic warden across a busy road / Grow cannabis in the commode”.
Another, The Living Proof, offered more wise words: “The earth need not move, no call for / fanfares and fireworks. The perfect day / can be as ordinary as a stroll by the river, / as simple as the absence of bad news.”
The lunchtime marquee event, part of the bustling May Fair on Richmond Green, had a carnival air at times, with the strains of a carousel hurdy-gurdy almost drowning out the more regular overhead refrain of Heathrow jets coming in to land. All this going on as we listened to a poem called The Full English, a pointed comment on immigration and heritage, even if it didn’t mention Brexit by name.
There was a lament, I Hear America Sighing, after Walt Whitman, for what America has become: “Flags furled, insults hurled, banners waved in anger. / In Times Square the wind moans, and all around the sound / of groaning, the earth trembling as the screen fades to black. / Stop sighing, American, start singing. Time to come back.”
The last poem in the latest collection, which Roger McGough also read on Richmond Green, has the air of a belated confession. So Many Poems, an Apology looks back on “being twenty, runningallthewordstogether / and thinking, There must be more to it than this.” Another ‘apology’ is for “trying to prove that, if not for everyone, / it is for anyone.” No need for apologise for that, Roger. It’s why you are still loved by so many.
The competition that he judged was won by Jenny Martin. Her poem, Disaster in Silence, oddly enough talks about a carousel’s horses after some nameless catastrophe “petrified mid-gallop … open-mouth shock on their faces, such that it seems they were once alive”. Jenny was unable to make the occasion and it fell to me to read the poem – twice – as the carousel played outside on the green. You can find the competition winners and the commended poets on the Arts Richmond website. An anthology of forty competition poems will be launched on 29th June.
One other thing. Is there a statute of limitations on poetry plagiarism? If so, what is the time period? At the risk of being ungallant, I should say that we are talking more than forty years ago. During a Q&A session after Roger McGough’s reading, my wife finally unburdened herself of a sense of guilt that she had first mentioned to me two years ago, when we had seen him perform with Little Machine – that at the age of seventeen she had largely plagiarised a McGough poem that was published to great acclaim in her school magazine. She chose to make this confession in public, in a tent full of people. Mr McGough absolved her, of course. What a gent!
Greg Freeman
May 2019
Photography by Arts Richmond, Calvery Parkside and Totally Richmond
This article was first published on the poetry website Write Out Loud www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=90647
The Royal We
Handbagged
by Moira Buffini
Teddington Theatre Club, Hampton Hill Theatre until 24th May
Review by Andrew Lawston
The 1980s are back. Hampton Hill Theatre’s stage is littered with portable televisions and VCRs, while a single giant screen hangs above a faded Union Jack backdrop and plays Cyndi Lauper videos. Meanwhile a corner set with wonderful cut-down walls features a suitably regal tea set. The stage is set for the figure who, for good or ill, embodies the 1980s for many in Britain.
When Margaret Thatcher strides on stage with a triumphant wave, in trademark blue suit, the audience isn’t quite sure how to react. There are a few boos, and a few nervous laughs at the booing. It’s telling that almost two decades after her resignation as Prime Minister, and six years after her death at the age of 87, people are still unsure whether it’s safe yet to boo Margaret Thatcher.
Teddington Theatre Club’s ambitious new production of Moira Buffini’s play Handbagged is well aware of the iconic status of its two central characters. The play imagines the weekly meetings between the Queen and Thatcher more or less chronologically throughout the course of the Iron Lady’s premiership, with their younger and older selves standing side by side, commentating on and often contradicting their counterparts’ attitudes. It is speculative, educational, and very funny indeed.
The lead characters here are striking evocations of the real people depicted, without ever descending into caricature. Tracy Frankson and Heather Stockwell portray the older and younger Queen Elizabeth II as a concerned and compassionate monarch, who seems constantly to be repressing a wicked sense of humour, expressed in part through Heather Stockwell’s frequent literal winks to the audience. The continuity between the two performances strikes a chord with Frankson’s repeated observation as the older Queen that she has seen so many Prime Ministers come and go, over the long years of her reign.
There is more of a contrast between the younger “Mags” in a playful performance from Helen Geldert and the more controlled “T” played by Jane Marcus. While both make use of the same vocal mannerisms and gestures, the older Thatcher is more rigid, calcified, hard-baked into our collective image of the Iron Lady. Her character’s development is referred to frequently by the text, and is also signalled by the evolution of her wardrobe, courtesy of Zoe Harvey-Lee. Helen Geldert’s sleeveless blue jacket and colourful blouse as Mags is almost casual next to the buttoned up iconic blue suit of Jane Marcus’s T. In general, the older characters seem to depict our public perceptions of these two powerful women, while their younger counterparts are an attempt to convey their personal characters.
The two Thatchers and two Elizabeths are supported by Actor 1 (Lizzie Lattimore) and Actor 2 (Jim Trimmer), who take on an impressive repertoire of parts ranging from Dennis Thatcher through to Kenneth Clarke, but they squabble over who gets to play Neil Kinnock. When the full cast is on stage, arguments break out over which events deserve to be narrated, highlighting what a divisive time the period was for British society. Actor 1 tends to cast a historian’s eye over proceedings, for the benefit of members of the audience who didn’t live through the events depicted, while Actor 2 is a world-weary figure who presents his own perspective on the period.
It should also be noted that Lizzie Lattimore is additionally credited as the voice coach, and this must have been something of an undertaking in itself for a play which requires not just the two Queens and Thatchers, but also creditable Scottish, Irish, Welsh, American and Australian accents (and more than a couple of regional English accents) for Actor 1 and Actor 2.
Between scenes the central screen lights up with clips from the evening news and contemporary music videos, grounding the discussions in their era even more firmly than the performances of these well-known figures. One small technical glitch aside, the production is slick and runs at a blistering pace, with Harri Osborne’s stage management team keeping things moving around the small cast. This is no mean feat given the impressively ambitious set designed by Patrick Troughton, which offers many surprises throughout the show.
Ben Clare’s direction ensures the cast make full use of the set’s potential, and the show’s pace is relentless with all six performers on top of their cues throughout.
As this is a comedy dealing with such a divisive figure, Handbagged strikes a difficult balance in order to avoid sliding into either Spitting Image mockery or mawkish hagiography (there is no danger at all of this latter). Undeniable achievements such as the end of the Cold War are alluded to, and tragedies such as the 1984 Brighton hotel bombing offer a glimpse of humanity in Thatcher, but there is no shying away from the times when the Iron Lady was on the wrong side of history, most clearly with the poll tax riots and the reluctance to take a tougher line on Apartheid in South Africa. By the end of the performance I’m still not sure whether it’s safe yet to boo Margaret Thatcher, but finally we are able to laugh at her.
This opening night coincided with this year’s Eurovision Song Contest, and as such it certainly deserves to be awarded douze points.
Andrew Lawston
May 2019
Photography by Cath Messum
Cornucopia of Joy
Easter Anthems
music by G.F. Handel, J. Rutter, C.V. Stanford and S.S. Wesley
St Mary’s Extended Parish Choir, St Mary’s Church, Hampton, 12th May
Review by Mark Aspen
In a secular world, it is easy to forget that Easter is not a single weekend’s binging blast of fluffy bunnies and chocolate eggs, but is a celebration that lasts the whole of Eastertide, right up to Whitsunday, nine days into June in 2019. How appropriate then, half way through Eastertide on the Fourth Sunday of Easter, to be celebrating the Resurrection with another blast, a joyous musical binge, from a cornucopia of outstanding voices, and majestic organ music.
First out of this cornucopia sprang Johann Sebastian Bach’s Little Organ Book, which was opened for us by guest organist Nat Keiller at BWV 630, Heut’ triumphieret Gottes Sohn (Today, God’s Son triumphs). Bach’s Orgelbüchlein is an anthology of short chorale preludes for organ, composed in Weimar while Bach was Capellmeister to his Serene Highness the Prince of Anhalt-Cöthen in the early 1700’s. Albert Schweitzer described the Orgelbüchlein preludes as, “ … the most simple imaginable and at the same time the most perfect”. Keiller, an accomplished Royal College of Organists graduate, fulfils this description, and fulfils it … well, simply and perfectly. As an aside, Schweitzer also enigmatically describes Bach’s style in composing these preludes as “Dürer-like”. Perhaps he was likening them to the precise execution of an engraver’s artwork.
Then the extended St Mary’s Choir launched into the gist of the evening with This Joyful Eastertide, George Ratcliffe Woodward’s translation of an old Dutch carol, Vrüchten (Fruits) in an 1894 musical setting by Charles Wood. Joy is perhaps the overarching adjective for this service, and followed through the whole choice of the hymns and anthems assembled by Choir Director, David Pimm, who is building a reputation amongst music lovers and worshippers alike for his occasional series of choral music, requiems and oratorios. Another theme evident in Woodward’s carol that recurred throughout the service is the musical interaction of male and female voices, a natural complementation that enhances both the music and the concept of words.
This interdependency was clearly evident in Blessed Be the God and Father by Samuel Sebastian Wesley, where after muted opening phrasing, the second verse introduces men’s voices only. These are then displaced in the central section of the work, which is effectively a dialogue between the soprano chorus and a soprano solo. As the solo voice, Lucy Fernando was outstanding, her accurate bell-like soubrette soprano floating charmingly across the accompanying organ. The soprano dialogue is then underlined by the returning male voices culminating in ‘But the word of the Lord endureth forever’, before the drama of a fanfare on full organ announces the final fughetta for full choir. All this is impressively powerful stuff!
Samuel Sebastian Wesley wrote Blessed be the God and Father for the Easter Day service in 1832 at Hereford Cathedral, where he had just been appointed Organist at only 21 years of age. Only the boy choir was available and the Dean’s fishmonger was drafted in as the sole bass voice. The St Mary’s arrangement substitutes sopranos for the boy trebles.
(As an aside, there are a number of connections between Samuel Sebastian Wesley and St Mary’s church. The organ, built by J.C.Bishop in 1831, was a gift from King William IV, who as Duke of Clarence attended the church. The present church building was consecrated on 1st September that year, exactly one week before William’s coronation. The King was keen that the inauguration of the organ should be by some eminent organists and these included the composer Thomas Attwood, a pupil of Mozart, then the King’s organist; and 21 year old Samuel Sebastian Wesley, who had been regarded as a child musical prodigy while a chorister in the Chapel Royal. A few months later Samuel Sebastian was appointed the youngest ever Organist to Hereford Cathedral. There he later married the sister of the Dean, John Merewether. Merewether had been the effective priest in charge at St Mary’s during the twenty year incumbency of Dr Samuel Goodenough, who spend most of his time in Carlisle, where he was a canon and his father was bishop. Merewether was a polymath, had much practical involvement with the church rebuilding, and would have had close-hand experience of the musical skills of his brother-in-law to be.)
Apart from the musical interaction of male and female voices, Easter Anthems as a whole had another linking theme; that of reaching across time. The choice of Christ the Lord Is Risen Again is a case in point. Moravian pastor, Michael Weiße, a contemporary and supporter of Martin Luther, wrote Christus ist erstanden in 1532, based on an earlier Bohemian hymn. Catherine Winkworth translated it from the German in 1878, and in 1971 John Rutter composed the version sung by St Mary’s choir. It opens with a lively bouncy passage and then that discourse of men and women’s voice breaks in, rising to the crux line of the anthem, “Christ has broken every chain”. It is quite a whirlwind of a piece with a crisp finale.
In contrast Reginald Sparshatt Thatcher’s Come, Ye Faithful, Raise the Strain is stately and measured in its opening, before it too uses the technique of contrasting the voices of the men and lady singers. This reaches even further across time as it uses the words (as translated by JM Neale) of St John Damascene, an eighth century Syrian monk, in a setting written during the Second World War: and is there a hint at conflict in the music?
The choral conclusion of our cornucopia was an excerpt from George Frederic Handel’s majestic masterpiece Messiah, appropriately that sublime climax of the central section of that work that takes the theme of Passion right into Eastertide, the Hallelujah Chorus. What an opportunity to fill the church with voice and organ music! From the back of the nave, one could see the congregation taking the musical grandeur into their very bodies. One was moved physically as well as emotionally by the sheer grandeur of the piece.
But the organ had more to give. David Pimm had regaled us last year with the music of Sir Charles Villiers Stanford and for Nat Keiller Stanford’s Postlude No.6, Op 105, gave an opportunity to show the capabilities of the Bishop Organ, and us an opportunity to admire Keiller’s skill. The opening is gloriously expansive, but about a third of the way it becomes very soft and gentle, opening into a lyrical almost bucolic theme. It appears to take an easy journey, light and joyous and its destination is triumphant, open and opulent. Its finale is a sustained and confident crescendo. It’s stirring and inspiring music.
Eastertide continues, but thankfully, by definition, a cornucopia can never be emptied. A full choral evensong is promised for mid-July and you can be sure that the music, the inspiration and the joy will continue to flow.
Mark Aspen
May 2019
Mark Aspen 