Keeping Us on Our Toes
Dance Season
A feature by Mark Aspen
Mark Aspen Reviews often makes little pas de bourrée into the magical world of ballet, but this winter season we are making a grand jeté en avant to explore more deeply the world of ballet and contemporary dance.
The English National Ballet and the Royal Ballet, as well as the various touring ballets, all have a strong programme this season, which we are supplementing with a closer look at contemporary dance. One of the catalysts setting this in action is Resolution 2019. This is the thirtieth year that The Place, London’s powerhouse of dance development, has hosted Resolution, one of the world’s foremost festivals of new choreography. It covers a wide range of dance styles and explores exciting interactions with other genres.
The majority of British contemporary choreographers showcased their earliest work at Resolution, perhaps the best known being Wayne MacGregor. The most promising of emerging dance-makers are nurtured at The Place to progress towards professional choreography through custom programmes curated by leaders in the field. These programmes are not solely based around perfecting technical expertise, but include practical introductions to areas such as marketing and publicity.
Mark Aspen has been invited to join the team of reviewers for Resolution 2019, which includes dance critics from The Stage, The Daily Express, The Guardian, The Sunday Express and Dancing Times.
Resolution 2019 takes place from Friday 11th January to Saturday 23rd February. With no less than eighty-one productions from the best of today’s emerging choreographers, it promises to be an exciting season.
More widely, Mark Aspen’s Dance Season hopes to review first-class dance from classical ballet to cutting edge experimental contemporary dance. It should keep us on toes, or at least the edge of our seats, this winter.
Mark Aspen
January 2019
Photography by Vitorta
An Enthusiastic Ensemble Piece
Goodnight Mr Tom
by David Wood adapted from the novel by Michelle Magorian
Step on Stage Productions at Hampton Hill Theatre until 12th January
A review by Matthew Grierson
There is such an exuberance among the young cast of Goodnight Mr Tom that they seem at times to be racing through the children’s classic to get to the next set piece; but given the task of channelling their enthusiasm, directors Emma McCauley-Tinniswood and Maria Austin manage to ensure that the beats of the story are clear while also allowing us to warm to the characters.
Energy and choreography are alike apparent from the start, with the large ensemble briskly milling around on stage to signify the hustle of a railway station in 1939: parents are seeing their children off as they are evacuated to the countryside. Their enforced cheeriness comes through in a rousing chorus of Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye, one of a number of wartime standards that recurs throughout the production to showcase the all-round talent of the cast.
The mood is dampened by the appearance of Mrs Beech (Hope Groizard) like a stormcloud across the back balcony, and the singing falls silent as she escorts her son William (tonight, Jasper Simmons) on to the platform. This is another motif of the production: the nature of the war means that the music of everyday life is repeatedly interrupted by a minor chord, often in the form of a telegram bearing sad news of a loved one in Europe. Thanks to the impetus of the performances, though, we are never asked to dwell on these moments for too long, and we keep smiling through.
So once William is out of his mother’s shadow he begins to bloom, and in the care of elderly widower Tom Oakley (Andrew Rhodes), finds a place he can call home among new friends and surrogate family. As the titular Mr Tom, Rhodes may move briskly about the place with the vim of a man a fifth of the character’s supposed age, but this at least communicates his brusqueness and initial distance from his charge; and, once he softens, it means his relationship with William is that of an older brother with his junior sibling. The scene where Tom teaches William to write is where this begins to crystallise, and later in the play when Tom puts a friendly, consoling hand on William’s shoulder, the moment feels well earned.
That’s not to say that it’s all easy going in between. At the end of the first act William is returned to London to be reunited with his Bible-bashing mother on the pretext of her illness, and we learn why the boy lives in fear of her. Groizard’s performance as Mrs Beech is legitimately terrifying, irrationally snapping at her son and completely dismissing his story of friendly country folk (Londoners, eh?). It’s all the more impressive that both performers convince us of this unhealthy domestic dynamic when the sound cue for baby sister Trudy’s bawling are so loud as to drown out most of their dialogue. Even a visit from the Luftwaffe’s a couple of scenes later is quieter.
On the whole, however, production values are excellent: the staging is simple and flexible, with plenty of space to accommodate the large cast, whether they’re sat cross-legged for school assembly or, dressed as grown-ups, huddling in the Underground to avoid Jerry’s bombs. The balcony across the back covers Tom’s rooms below, and, when we return to London, these are shrouded with black-out curtains that also suggest the sombre mood of the Beech household and cut us off from the cosy countryside.
The lighting is likewise simple but effective, signalling changes in location and tone. As if responding to Tom’s reminiscence about his late wife’s painting – she said she would only ever need to paint the sky as it was always changing – the cues evoke a raincloud grey, a pink dawn, the sunny countryside and the Blitzed capital with precision. Equally adeptly, characters are picked out in a spotlight to suggest their isolation, as happens at various moments for Tom, William and the latter’s new friend Zak.
In some ways it’s surprising Jasmine Carmody, tonight’s Zak, requires lighting at all given how brightly both she and the character shine. William’s fellow evacuee is appropriately described as a ‘livewire’ in the script, and, in a nice touch, is an aspiring actor, born to play the lead in the village’s amateur production of Toad of Toad Hall. The conceit of the play within the play is a cheeky nod to the potential pitfalls of a play with a large, non-professional cast, though Step on Stage manage to discharge their responsibilities much more capably than their fictional counterparts. The set-up also allows aspiring directrice Miss Thorne (Scarlett Gladstone) the opportunity to rebuke the actual pianist, although when it comes to breaking the fourth wall I do wonder about the wisdom of having the cast hare around the auditorium waving wooden swords about. Maybe I’m just getting fussy with age.
Just as charismatic as Zak though in an entirely different way is Tom’s dog Sammy, clearly influenced by the National’s Warhorse. His careful handler Nils Collins (who alternates with Simmons as William through the run) brings the puppet to endearing life, winning considerable affection from characters and audience alike. Rounding out a strong supporting cast are Ginnie, Carrie and George, the village schoolchildren, embodied tonight by Freya Peltonen, Amelia Miedzinska and Jessica Jenner.
Goodnight Mr Tom successfully conjures the spirit of the home front with its sense of pluck and resolve. If there are deaths and darkness the production does not ignore them, but soldiers on all the same, hoping for a bright future – as, one imagines, are many of its cast.
Matthew Grierson
January 2019
Photography courtesy of Step on Stage Academy
Classic Éclat
Swan Lake
by Derek Deane after Marius Petipa , music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
English National Ballet at the London Coliseum until 13th January
Review by Suzanne Frost
Swan Lake was my first ballet, as I’m sure it undoubtedly is for many people, and seeing a matinee performance with lots of families in the audience, it seems it will continue to be that perfect introduction to the art form. ENB’s Swan Lake, choreographed by Derek Deane after Petipa, was first created in 1992 to be played in the round at the Royal Albert Hall and remains, slightly scaled down for the classic proscenium stage of the Coliseum, London’s most rock-solid traditional production.
The curtain opens on a leafy clearing with lovely warm autumn colours. I love a muted colour palette! Nevertheless, the costumes seem to be thrown together from various epochs, a bit of medieval, a bit of renaissance, a touch of baroque, as if the briefing was “something period” – and most of the people around at Prince Siegfried’s birthday party seem to be peasants. The prince himself, Francesco Gabriele Frola, is a dashingly handsome Italian, on loan this season from National Ballet of Canada and definitely someone to watch.
As a first highlight, the pas de trois is perfectly lovely and very well danced; the exceptionally long legged Erik Woolhouse has entrelacé that just soar. Initially, the production seems to go easy on the miming and mostly aims to speak through dance alone. It is very busy choreography though and a lot of bodies on stage. Having recently been to Matthew Bourne’s contemporary version, I recall that at this time in the score his prince had already been to countless ribbon cutting ceremonies, been emotionally neglected by his mother the Queen, got himself an inappropriate girlfriend, got papped by paparazzi at a dodgy bar and attempted suicide – all in the same time and music. In this traditional production, we barely got the story started and we don’t get a chance to find out very much about the handsome prince. He seems sad and a bit like a bystander to his own life. Ballet never cares to explore much depth in male leads, which is a shame.
Wanting to test his birthday gift, a crossbow, Siegfried is off to the forest and Derek Deane’s production opts for a break, closing the curtain down to push some scenery around. The result is a dramaturgical disaster! Not that we have established much stage magic just yet but whatever spell was there is broken, as people start getting up, walking about, getting their phones out and taking selfies. When conductor Gavin Sutherlands tries to pick back up, the orchestra is barely audible and the most magical, powerful part of Tchaikovsky’s score is drowned out in chatter. People literally don’t realise the shows continues until the curtain opens again – on another forest. All this mess for some different trees and a few puffs from a smoke machine. Traditional is all fine but I am just reminded of a friend of mine, a stage hand, who proudly performed a two-second scenery change for Yerma – during a blackout…
Anyway, back in the forest we are where we meet the sorcerer Rothbart, wearing a giant cape that allows for a very limited variety of ‘evil sorcerer’ movement. The beautifully fragile Erina Takahashi gives us an Odette that isn’t just shy but positively terrified. Her suffering is tangible and her technique flawless. Her balances are so endless she forces lead violinist Matthew Scrivener into ritardandos close to slow motion. His weeping violin is a perfect match with Takahashi’s interpretation of a traumatised princess close to giving up. She really fills those well-known steps with individuality. When she falls, she really falls, when she pulls away she really pulls, shifting her axis, taking risks. I like a risk taker in classical ballet, it feels much more real, like something is actually at stake for Odette. The ‘white act’ in the original untouched Ivanov/Petipa version is flawless, always has been and always will be and there’s very little you could do wrong. My only qualm would be that the stage again seems very busy. Twenty-four swans isn’t unusual per se but here, a line of decorative corps dancers often feels in the way, obstructing our main couple that could have easily filled the space all by themselves with their artistry.
Whenever a ballerina excels as the lyrical Odette I can’t wait to find out what she will do with Odile. Unfortunately, Deane, just like Liam Scarlett at ROH, opts for the version where the black swan’s entrance in immediately interrupted by the character dances. I’m never a great fan of cutting off a storyline for more divertissement but most of them are fine, the whirlwind Hungarian dance actually fantastic. When we finally get back to Odile, the music is too slow for my taste and there is no light change, to switch into a dreamlike state for the adagio – I know these are details but I like my Swan Lake just so and I suppose to get the perfect version that hits all your queues you probably have to stage your own…
Erina Takahashi has everything I’d want though from a black swan, all malicious smiles and perfectly mimicking, even mocking the mannerisms of Odette. Rothbart is interfering far too much in the iconic pas de deux for my taste but it gives the impression that rather than an impostor this could actually be the bewitched, obsessed Odette, which in a dramaturgical sense would kind of redeem Siegfried for not falling into the simplest of traps. The dashing prince finally gets to show some moves in his solo, which is flawless and points out even more what a thankless role Siegfried actually is. I think we haven’t seen half of what the handsome Italian actually would be capable of.
The pas de deux is very very well danced. People always clap at the 32 fouettées because they’ve heard about them – sure they are hard but the tours à la seconde that followed were spectacular! For all their tricks and stunts though (and boy that man can do great turns) they both never forgot to tell the story. You can see Siegfried falling in love and the betrayal that follows is truly heart breaking. Nobody in my audience needed that second interval. At this moment we were all, kids and grownups, invested in the story. In the last act I stopped taking notes. Something happened. The magic finally happened. The prince was genuinely, heart-breakingly sorry. In a most touching gesture, Odette made clear that not just her life was ruined, but that she is responsible for the fate of 24 cursed girls whom she graciously leads away before committing suicide, followed closely by the unlucky prince. Not a happy ending so. As it should be. I hate when they try to turn Swan Lake into a happy story.
So still, it seems, a perfect introduction to ballet. My last mention goes to Francesca Velicu, a lovely dancer who stood out for me in every role, from pas de trois to cygnet to princess, mostly for her graciously lyrical neckline and beautiful musical phrasing. Since ENB does such a wonderful thing as their Emerging Dancer People’s Choice Award, and she is among the names nominated, she gets my vote today.
Suzanne Frost
January 2019
Photography by Laurent Liotardo
Winter Distillation of Delight
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
by Irita Kutchmy, adapted from C.S.Lewis
Dramacube Productions at the Hampton Hill Theatre, until 23rd December
Review by Thomas Forsythe
Spiritual, magical, fantastical, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe blends everything that impinges on the imagination of a child … and of an adult. The essence of C.S.Lewis’ allegorical story distilled into a children’s musical thus not only makes an inspired choice for Dramacube’s Christmas family show, but has inspired the imaginations of the child performers to create a seasonal delight.
Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia have had an enduring popularity since they were first published in the 1950’s, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the first in the series, has the distinction of being the most common book that adults have also read as children. As an allegory for the Christian belief in redemption through the sacrifice of Christ, it has a huge resonance at Christmas, but, whatever their beliefs, Dramacube’s audience warmed to the story that was so touchingly told by the young actors.
The production seen by your reviewer was performed by the Twickenham Blue Cast, but one can easily believe that all of the ensembles of under-fourteen actors were as equally capable, committed and convincing as this team.
The black and white set, by Christine Osborne, makes economical use of the Hampton Hill stage. Simple and crisp, it has a precision suited to the wintery concept of Narnia, the land of mythical creatures that the White Witch has sequestered in snows a century deep, never to enjoy the respite of Christmas. This is the Narnia that is entered by chance through the back of an old wardrobe by each of four children, siblings evacuated from (a posh part of) wartime London to an old country house. The house, belonging to Professor Kirk, is historic enough to attract groups of visitors, who are shown around by a reluctant housekeeper, Mrs Macready, played by a suitably prickly Sejal Khadakkar. The distraction of the visitors provides the opportunity for the exploration of the fateful new surroundings in the Professor’s pile and the discovery of the mystical wardrobe.
The transition from the urbane Professor’s mansion to the oppressed and barren Narnia is effected by Francois Langton’s lighting and the music of William Morris delivered by the spirited keyboard of Dan Turek. How wonderful it is to have live music once more in a children’s show, with the tighter cueing that this brings.
The youngest child, Lucy, is the first to discover the way into the land of Narnia. Rosa Bruce-Ball gives an attractive interpretation of the innocent Lucy, lost in wonder in a strange world. Her first encounter is with the kind-hearted Mr Tumnus, a talking (and singing) faun, who befriends Lucy. Monty Appleton pictures Tumnus as a reticent, diffident creature, but one who can trip a nice pas-de-deux with Lucy. There are quite a few well-executed and well-timed dance sequences in this production, witness K’ja Young-Thomas skilful choreography. However, Mr Tumnus suffers dearly for his kindness, with the dawn knock on the door from the White Witch’s secret police, led by Maugrim the wolf, who is played by Ashwin Natarajan-noronha with a certain predatory glee.
Edmund, the second-youngest of the siblings, the next to enter Narnia, is seduced by the White Witch and her promises of unlimited supplies of Turkish Delight. However, these are far from non-conditional and Edmund, already the black sheep of the four children, becomes their quisling, betraying them to the White Witch. Jake McGowan portrays Edmund with animated naughtiness, but streaked with spite when in the thrall of the White Witch. Daisy Allen is exceptional as the White Witch, powerful and commanding. Menacing in her blue lippy, she steps into the character and lets it rip. As always with baddies, she gets some great musical numbers too, leading in Turkish Delight and The White Witch of Narnia Rules, OK! with malevolent gusto (even showing a flash of “sleigh-rage” when a prop encumbers her preferred means of transportation). When Edmund is eventually shaken from his entrapment and filled with remorse, he asks “What shall I do?” as Jake exhibits a fine singing voice in Edmund’s Song.
Significantly, it is the two older siblings who are the least easy to persuade about the magic of Narnia. Peter, the eldest, is a sceptical rationalist while Susan is judicious and protective of the others. Ethan O’Keeffe played Peter with authority, contrasting with Florence Gardner’s nurturing Susan. Amongst the first creatures that they meet in Narnia are the plucky Mr and Mrs Beaver, staunch friends of Mr Tumnus, who share his revulsion at the icy grip of the White Witch. Hattie Allen and Sophia Renahan, make a compelling castoral couple as the Beavers.
The children (“sons and daughters of Eve”) are harbingers of Aslan, the Lion. Perpetual winter begins to give way to spring. They are greeted by Father Christmas, who has been excluded from Narnia by the now-waning Witch’s magic. Finn Bralow’s assured Father Christmas is accompanied by the cheeky Robin, pertly played by Leila Simpson. He brings each child a present which proves invaluable in the forthcoming battle of Good versus Evil.
At this point, an aside to mention the great costumes designed by Akshy Marayen should underline the resplendent mane for Aslan and the neat solution to Father Christmas’ beard, often a big bushy problem with child actors.
Aslan is of course the analogue for Christ in C.S.Lewis’ allegory. The Witch invokes her magical rights to slaughter Edmund for his treason against her. Aslan denies her claim, but negotiates secretly with her to lay down his own life for Edmund’s. In Dramacube’s production, the sacrifice of Aslan is truly touching and majestically played out between Daisy Allen’s Witch and Isla Holmes, who plays Aslan with a gentle confidence. The execution of Aslan was brutal and drew a gasp with the audience. (Daisy had already shown that she has a good line in slapping, and now upped the stakes!) Isla acts the resurrection of Aslan with great presence (and she has an impressive roar!).
Director Matthew Bunn has kindled an imaginative fire in Dramacube’s young company which pulls out the deep messages in the lovely parable for Christmas, but perhaps the last word should go to Professor Kirk. Harry North puts across the kindliness and the discerning insight of the Professor as he says “What do they teach children in school nowadays?” with a knowing wink to the audience.
Thomas Forsythe
December 2018
Image courtesy of AnimalSake.
Photography by Bomi Cooper Photography
Suburbia Fragmented
Absent Friends
By Alan Ayckbourn
Questors at Questors Studio, Ealing until 5th January
A review by Eleanor Lewis
It’s not often you find yourself pleased by how aggressive a shirt is. And it’s probably wrong to feel like a bit of a rebel reviewer because you’re starting with the costumes. It must be said however that both costumes and set – but especially costumes – were pretty near perfect in Questors’ production of Alan Ayckbourn’s Absent Friends. Everybody on stage was cleverly dressed from the aforementioned aggressive shirt (thick brown with an angry orange stripe) worn by the bullying Paul, to the bold striped pullover sported by the uncompromising Evelyn which was almost a warning of the less-than-pliable womanhood which was just beginning to emerge in the ‘70s. This in direct contrast to the domesticated, shopping, giggling Marge in her relaxed, floral frock with incompetently hair-sprayed ‘flicks’. I could happily go on but it’s simply that the importance of costume design is often overlooked, particularly in domestic drama and the care that had been taken by Clare Malyon in this case was impressive.
Michelle Weaver’s 1970s living room set glowed with ‘burnt orange’ punctuated by a couple of ‘cooling’ leather chairs, a throbbing fire-effect fire, and was dressed with the type of hideous brown tea set, the teapot of which could have provided inspiration for Shrek in years to come. There was too, a Battenberg cake, white bread sandwiches and cheese and pineapple on sticks. Set, props and costumes take a bow, outstanding!
Absent Friends was written in 1974. It is essentially a drama about people trying and failing to conform to a social model that was no longer working. Five people calling themselves friends but who are more accurately described as people who know each other, assemble in Paul and Diana’s living room to have tea with their sixth friend Colin, whose fiancée died in a drowning accident some time before. The tea party is therefore for an ‘absent friend’ but in fact there are no real friends present.
Two and a half couples are present: Diana’s husband Paul sleeps around, she knows and makes noble but unsuccessful attempts to contain her fury; Marge, a happy character, enjoys domesticity but for her needy and constantly ill husband Gordon, present only by phone. Evelyn sits by the bar chewing gum, engages with no-one unless forced to, sleeps with whoever she pleases including Paul and rocks her baby with unconcealed contempt for the assembled company. Evelyn is married to John who is under no illusions about his wife but is probably sticking with it in the absence of a better offer. Into this mix comes Colin, the type of warm happy-go-lucky character who is initially attractive until you realise he is oblivious to the conversational needs of anyone else.
What follows is the fragmentation of the suburban, social ideal as the three couples are revealed as increasingly dysfunctional. Without reproducing a plot synopsis, Diana is forced to confront the extent to which Paul is uninterested in her, and her breakdown, as she remembers her childhood dream of joining the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and contrasts it with what her life has become, is both tragic and comic. Nina Flitman gave an understated and poignant performance as Diana that struck precisely the right tone. Lesser actors and directors would have laboured the comedy. It is Ayckbourn’s particular skill to write comedy and tragedy at the same time: performing it is challenging to say the least.
David Hovatter as the aggressive, bullying and wholly insecure Paul provided a suitably intimidating, presence on stage with a highly physical performance which gave the impression he would spark electricity if touched. Again, this was a controlled, and therefore effective, performance. Though Paul’s character was dominant, Hovatter’s performance did not dominate the other five.
It’s interesting that there is a natural focus on the women in this play, women as they were in the 50s and 60s and women as they were going to be in the 70s and 80s, but in 2018, there is also a focus on the type of man who is no longer acceptable. The bullying Paul was still tolerated in the 70s: he would not be today.
Colin, the only happy character in the mix, as played by Mark Redrup, was an ambiguous presence. His single status and his delight in his memories of what might have been had his fiancée not been lost to him was unnerving to the others. But the others at least had the ability to feel something. Colin was oblivious to the deep unhappiness of those around him, even as Diana poured cream over her errant husband, and if Colin cannot see other people’s feelings, can he really connect?
Ceri Jones as Marge was a hugely sympathetic, attractive character, restricted by her needy husband but constantly optimistic until exhaustion pins her down. She was a comforting relief from the palpable tension between the other characters. James Burgess as John was beautifully irritating with his constantly bouncing knee when he could be got to sit down, and his only partly successful decision to ignore his wife’s shortcomings. Clare Purdy as Evelyn, arguably the most straightforward to play, was blessed with a wealth of sarcastic facial expressions. These were all well observed, well-crafted performances.
I wonder how much we have moved on from the more fraught elements of 1970s suburbia. Simon Snashall’s careful direction, the skilled performances of every actor on stage and the superb support from all elements of the production staff made for an excellent production of a fascinating play. Highly recommended.
Eleanor Lewis
December 2018
Photography by Peter Collins
Flat-Pack Fun
Sleeping Beauty
By Ricky Coussins
The OSO Panto Players at OSO Arts Centre, Barnes until 22nd December
A review by Ian Nethersell
The Old Sorting Office is a popular and busy venue. The staging area is small with very limited wing space akin to that of ‘above pub’ theatres. This however, did not hamper the creation of the atmospheric and versatile setting of an outside garden/glade/forest defined and backlit by a very well-crafted tree which reached up to the ceiling, neatly dressed with some fake grass, a platform shelf and a branch which reached across the stage.
Steve Weeks “OSO Barnes”
The script, written by Ricky Coussins, sat well in this environment and each worked with the other. This helped to create a feeling of congruence and honesty which allowed the audience to inhabit a place rather than look at a set.
The action opened with a plummy narrator played by Jonny Danciger, who also took on the demanding role of Musical Director. In this role he managed to put together some good singing with harmonies and even graced us with accompaniment on the accordion. The first scene also introduced us to the palace’s general handyman, Peter Pooey. Will Jarvis brought great energy and even pathos to this part, continually engaging with the audience, especially the row of young children sitting on the floor at the foot of the playing area.
Our dames of the piece were neatly played by two fairies, Flora and Dora, portrayed by past director Joel Coussins and Frankie Brickman. There was good chemistry, facial hair and interplay between them and they delivered the only nod to inuendo when Flora entered with a small wand, and it wasn’t that cold in the auditorium!
Our villain was Grumblebum, a wicked fairy, confidently portrayed by Hana Jarrah, who worked against the unrelenting barrage of boos and banter from our young audience, a task she seemed to relish in, just on the border of corpsing which also gave great fun. Her downtrodden side-kick, Jackass Grease-Smog was beautifully played in an understated way by Daisey Jones. It was easy to feel for this character through the way Daisey played it, using physical posturing and facial expression. In the spinning wheel scene we were treated to some wonderful visual comedy with the implement arriving in flat-pack form.
Daisey Jones doubled as Queen Camilia while King Charlie Chump was played by Joel Coussins who brought caring yet strong demeanour to the role.
Our Beauty and Prince of this script, Meghan and Harry, played by Alex Payne and Alex Hill respectively, worked well together and gave a beautiful rendition of the Little Shop of Horrors song ‘Somewhere That’s Green’, re-written as ‘Somewhere Near Barnes Green’ – a very nice touch.
To protect Princess Meg from the evil machinations of Grumblebum she is squirrelled away for safe keeping with Flora and Dora until she reaches her 18th birthday and it is in this setting that Prince Harry stumbles and meets Meg. The unmade flat-pack is brought on and Grumblebum manages to coerce Princess Meg in to pricking her finger by picking up one of the strewn parts. Princess Meg falls asleep and Flora and Dora put a spell on the kingdom for all to sleep for a hundred years, or until Meg’s true love wakes her with a kiss, which of course is what duly happens.
Grumblebum is hit with a custard pie which sets Peter Pooey up to lead the company and audience in a chaotic re-written version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’. Now we all like it when the ‘wheels fall off’ and this number delivered chaos in spades with the whole company falling apart and Peter Pooey desperately trying to keep it together till he finally gave in. This led us in to the closing number of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’, and with our required happy ending achieved, the evening came to a close.
Ultimately this is a well written, well directed panto aimed squarely at a family audience with younger children. It has plenty of ‘It’s behind you’ and ‘Oh no it isn’t’ jokes, custard pies and is engaging and fun. At just over an hour there is no opportunity for the youngsters to become bored. Plenty of Bottom references, up to date songs and children’s television character names allowed the younger audience to engage and the politically satirical – rather than innuendo-based – script allowed this staunch Liberal Democratic heartland to relish in gibes about both major parties, so a merry time should be had by all.
Ian Nethersell
December 2018
Photography by Caroline Silfverling
A Magical Journey for Young and Old
Hansel and Gretel
by Ciaran McConville, adapted from the fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm
RTK Productions at The Rose Theatre, Kingston until 6th January
We asked one of our younger reviewers to share her thoughts on Hansel and Gretel, to complement Mark Aspen’s review.
A review by Milly Stephens (Aged 13)
Hansel and Gretel is a vibrant Christmas show with a funny, dark, magical twist. Hansel and Gretel (Oliver Smith and Sylvie Varcoe) take you on a magical journey through the great forest, meeting lots of familiar fairy-tale characters: a bar-maid Cinderella, a feisty Red Riding Hood, a sassy Rapunzel, a brave Snow White, a flirty prince frog and an Italian speaking Pinocchio.
The choreography by Aimee Leigh was outstanding. The dances were pulled off brilliantly, by a mix of professional and talented youth cast, with precision and energy. The original songs by Eamonn O’Dwyer matched the feel of the play perfectly. With the catchy finale song “happy ever after” leaving the audience on a high.
The costumes made by Juliette Craft and her amazing team and designed by Peter Todd were fantastic, with the traditional costumes with a twist. And of course there is Pinocchio’s nose, which when he told a lie appeared out of nowhere. And the bear (Devon Black) who was extremely tall, was suspended on stilts.
I recommend this for both the young and the old, whether you have grandchildren or grandparents, for you can never be too old for a fairy-tale.
Milly Stephens
December 2018
Photography by Mark Douet
Magic and Menace
Hansel and Gretel
by Ciaran McConville, adapted from the fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm
RTK Productions at The Rose Theatre, Kingston until 6th January
A review by Mark Aspen
As a Christmas bonus, one of our younger critics, Milly Stephens (aged 13) has also offered her thoughts on Hansel and Gretel . You can read Milly’s review here.
As a frequent visitor to Germany’s Black Forest, albeit in an open car in summertime, the setting of Hansel and Gretel should seem familiar, but in the winter of the Great Famine in fourteenth Century must have seemed a very different place. In the Rose Theatre’s production, the Black Forest of Hansel and Gretel takes us to a place of magic and of menace.
In 1812, the Brothers Grimm published Hansel and Gretel as part of their gathering of word-of-mouth folk tales. The Rose Theatre expands on this short snippet to bring a riveting story to the stage, a story that is both frightening and touching in equal measure, “a story about the magic that is in all of us”.
“Once upon a time”, starts all good fairy tales, and this one is no exception. As the play opens, a book, fully the height of the tall Rose stage, slowly opens to reveal a townscape outside the town hall. As the story progresses it transforms, as panels slide across each other and videoed images of exquisite examples of the illustrator’s art create a series of enchanted landscapes in a whimsical style somewhere between Aubrey Beardsley and Maurice Sendak. Set designer Adam Wiltshire and his team of lighting designer, Amy Mae, and video designers, Daniel Denton and Letty Fox, have created a mise-en-scène that is as delightful as it is inspired.
It is Christmas Eve in the walled town and the townsfolk celebrate their good fortune in having plenty to eat whilst neighbouring areas are badly affected by the famine. Gerhart, the town’s mayor, is popular with all, for this day is the day that he sends children of the deserving poor off on generous scholarships to improve their future. Or does he, for we hear him saying to himself, sotto voce, “What is the sacrifice of a child or two”? J.J Henry plays Gerhart as a man very ill at ease, enjoying the adulation of the town’s people, but wrestling with an inner guilt.
We next see J.J Henry, doubling in an entirely different role, that of the Blue Fairy, one of the inhabitants of Grub, a refuge in the forest where lost characters have a stockade, relatively safe from the tribulations of the forest. The motley band includes many ejected from their own fairy tales, including Rapunzel, Snow White and Pinocchio. Food parcels may occasionally flutter mysteriously in on colourful parachutes, but all are constantly fearful of attack. One protectoress of Grub is Red Riding Hood, hard-bitten, if only figuratively, by her encounters with the wolf, now fiercely self-assured, with a caustic wit cloaking a tender fidelity. Vanessa Fisher’s Red is a feisty action-woman, whilst Henry, nicely differentiated from Gerhart, plays Blue as a gentle giant, pragmatic but cautious, who sings that “life is never a fairy tale”, and warns that true life is “pretty Grimm”.
Blue may well so warn, for life has already rung true for Gerhart’s chosen children, the orphans, Hansel and Gretel. Gretel is open to the opportunity that Gerhart offers, but Hansel smells a rat. (Sibling spats and squabbles will stalk their escapades throughout this story – as always with brothers and sisters.) They are put in charge of Otto the Huntsman, who will guide them in the forest. However, before the magic storybook backdrop transmogrifies into the enchanted forest, snow falls in projection on the buildings and we see a rat scurry past.
Otto has immense misgivings about his task, now repeated many times, as he knows that he must leave the children at an appointed spot in the forest, and there give them a sleeping draft, abandoning them to their fate. This time it is doubly difficult for Otto as he knew their mother. He confides in them that their mother was a good witch who fought against evil in the world. Elliot Fitzpatrick not only accurately portrays Otto’s conflicted conscious in his body language, but has a rich baritone singing voice, “The magic is there”. Nevertheless, protection is there, for as the children sleep their Mother appears in a dream to reassure that within them is the strength they need: goodness and love. Devon Black, as Mother, puts across the nurturing softness that is the essence of the maternal instinct, always there.
Elliot Fitzpatrick also doubles to reappear as chief henchman to the baddies, Kabeljau, a deliciously dipterous picture of hunched veniality in a black winged costume with large compound eyes, like Ben Jonson’s Mosca on steroids. Baddies always wear black and he heads up a truly frightening dark pack of assorted avian and wolf-like monsters who scamper menacingly around the theatre. These are the forces of the arch-baddie, Circe the Witch. She is a sardonic, sassy and sensuous sorceress with a great line in zapping and zinging with her taser, a zany zigzag of a wand that she uses to cow her captive children to her wishes. More darkly, the wand has the power to transform by sucking the goodness from its victims. Georgina White tackles the role of Circe with some relish, but without losing the character’s mystery, and intriguingly adding a sense of vulnerability to round out Circe’s character.
Fortunately Hansel and Gretel acquire a number of magic items on their journey which get them out of a few scrapes, a crystal, a set of pan-pipes, and a broken mirror which tells the truth if questioned in rhyme à la Snow White. The Voice of the Magic Mirror finds a fitting celebrity cameo role for Jane Horrocks, appropriately of Little Voice fame.
All these actors are experienced performers, but they form less than a quarter of the full cast of Hansel and Gretel, which is complemented by twenty-one young actors from the Rose Youth Theatre, working on an equal basis. Indeed, the eponymous roles of the two orphans are the largest and principal roles, are taken on with equanimity by Oliver Smith and Sylvie Varcoe, who work together in well balanced harmony in two fluently confident performances. Gretel is a brave and spirited young lady with the gall to outmanoeuvre Circe by subterfuge and flattery. Sylvie’s portrait of Gretel is very assured and has the true force of her character. Hansel has both courage and insight, but with a quick wit. Oliver’s Hansel is very securely played with chirpy and audacious bravura. Both young actors understand their characters with veracity and accuracy.
The Rose Youth Theatre is superb both as a team and as individuals. They work well in a self-controlled ensemble. It is hard to spotlight individuals but three exemplars will illustrate their achievements. Frankie Oldham’s Adelbert, one of Circe’s captives, a boy who was led to believe he was going to university, makes a marked emotional journey and pulls a lot of characterisation from his smallish part. Tom Stephens is outstanding in the comic cameo of Pinocchio, from Grub’s lost fairy tales. Physically the stiff movements of the carved puppet are all there, and his broad Italian accent, with a hint of caricature, made me wonder if he might be Italian. Nancy Whitworth really sparkles as Peppi, the Peregrine Falcon, with a lightness of touch and a vivacity that creates an easily likeable personality for her character.
The style of the production is also enhanced by the Rose Youth Theatre with an ubiquitous trio who play three Fairy narrators, Nyx (Jack Hadman), Freya (Anna Pryce) and Skrat (Francis Redfern). They open up the sense of place and action with poetic descriptions; and they motor the plot in the way that a Greek chorus might, but with a more serene approach.
The poetic style of the piece is further enhanced by the music-box filigree sounds of composer Eammon O’Dwyer whose music and lyrics once again illuminate the Rose’s Christmas show. Equally the seasonal return of puppetry director Yvonne Stone brings an innovative flare to animate the design using shadow and carnival puppets. The Robber Wolf is terrifyingly impressive in its realism.
Director Rosie Jones crafts a storytelling tour de force that has a sculptured delicacy in spite of its black themes. Its themes of redemption and restitution through goodness and love chime well with the Christmas story.
And of course, there is the delicious gingerbread house … enough to make anyone live happily ever after, for “happily ever after”, ends all good fairy tales, and this one is no exception.
Mark Aspen
December 2018
Photography by Mark Douet
You’ll be Hooked
Peter Pan
by Alan McHugh and Jonathan Riley, adapted from original by J.M.Barrie
Qdos Entertainment at Richmond Theatre until 6th January
A review by Mark Aspen
Panto is theatre writ big, and they don’t come much bigger than Qdos’s Christmas pantos. With three dozen pantos across the country this year, Qdos is becoming a staple of the Christmas theatre season. Richmond’s turn this year is with Peter Pan, and we go straight in with BIG: glitter balls, chasing lights, lasers, pyros, front gauzes: the full-on opening razzmatazz sets the pace for a show with go.
Whence comes the go? In a panto without (purists turn away) a dame (!) or a thigh-slapping principal boy, it comes from the high energy ensemble, motored by the turbo-charged principal performers. Peter Pan is billed as “the high-flying pantomime adventure” and indeed Peter makes his first entrance (and most of his entrances) flying. Tinkerbell is more down-to-earth and spends the whole show on roller skates.
Things move so quickly that even our noisy popcorn-strewing audience finds it hard to keep up and miss several “oh, no he isn’t” and “he’s behind you” moments. Still the gags, verbal and visual, do come thick and fast, so you really have to concentrate to follow the ruder of the triple-entendres.
So we go quickly to the quiddity of the plot: the Darlings Senior have already gone and Nanna the dog waves goodbye as Wendy and her brothers go to meet Peter Pan. Vikki Bebb makes an engaging Wendy, nicely prim and proper and sounding oh so much like Princess Elizabeth before she became Queen. She often says “orfen”. Smee says “she is so posh, she spells *art with a ph”. Bebb later has a chance to demonstrate a lyrical singing voice with “Remember me when I’ve gone”. Isobel Hathaway, as Wendy’s rival for Peter’s unrequited love, is a well-seasoned Tinkerbell, having played the role in many productions, but maybe not all on roller skates, a consummate skill that extends to vigorous dancing on her flashing wheels. Her Tinkerbell is a balanced blend of purity and petulance.
When Peter Pan (quite literally) drops into Wendy’s life, the promised adventure is perhaps a bit more then she bargained for. Harry Francis brings a bold boyishness to the eponymous role as the fearless and undaunted “boy who never grew up”. Francis has a wide portfolio of nimble physical skills to bring to the role, including adroit flying sequences, stage fighting and excellent dancing (in a Matthew Bourne style gleaned from Sadlers Wells), as well as superb singing and acting. Francis is a scion of a well-known local acting family (his father had a lead role at Richmond Theatre this June).
When they reach Neverland they find a realm of extraordinary exotics (and not just the plants), peopled by Native Americans and the Lost Children (equal opportunity Lost Boys), the remarkably agile dancing ensemble and The Young Set respectively, all beautifully choreographed by Paul Robinson, whose skills we saw at Richmond in Aladdin last Christmas. Keisha Marina Atwell’s charming Tiger Lily, caught up in the middle of all these goings-on, seems a little bemused but musters all her high-kicking troops in defence of Neverland at the call of a conch shell.
Also often to be found on the “shell-phone” is the Mimi, the Magical Mermaid, the epitome of piscine pulchritude, “38-22-and £1.43 per kilo”. Sassy Rachel Stanley brings her own sauce to this fish. Stanley may be fresh from filming Les Misérables, but there is nothing sole-full about her bubbly character. And isn’t it great to hear a genuine London voice back on the London stage. Mimi is the go-between twixt Neverland and the Pirates, so we swash our buckles and go to sea.
Smee, the Jolly Roger’s befuddled boatswain is also unsure which side he should be on. He only got the job after “coming second in Neverland’s Got Talent”. By coincidence, Jon Clegg who plays Smee, was a popular finalist in a television show with a similar name and is a great favourite with our panto audience. Clegg has real rapscallion rapport with said audience, culminating with the staple singalong, Old MacDonald Had a Farm this time, where some of the youngest members of the audience on press night gave him a real challenge with their choice of (farm??) animal noises. Try a wolf (to music) … or a dolphin! These were a tough test even for an outstanding impressionist who had just amazed the television aficionados in the audience. Clegg appeals equally to his more sophisticated Richmond audience at the start of his shopping trolley punning gag, saying that the only meat he could buy in Waitrose was venison, and that was too deer!
However, for wide audience appeal Robert Lindsay’s versatility, ranging from Sophocles, via a stack of Shakespeares, to Gorky on one hand, and the television sitcoms My Family and Citizen Smith on the other, must be the sine qua non (… on one hand … the mutt’s nuts on the other). Believe it or not this Peter Pan marks Robert Lindsay’s pantomime debut, so after BAFTA, Tony and Olivier Awards, he can now claim Captain Hook. This is from a man who celebrated his birthday on press night, and entered his seventieth year! And what a commanding Hook it is. This Hook takes over the stage; a hand gesture or a sideways glance is enough to have the audience in stiches as he spits sardonicisms like a sharp-shooting sniper. The comic timing is all there, even with puns that would make a Christmas-cracker writer blush. (Try, “where are your buccaneers” – “on the side of me bucking face”.) Lindsay’s musical theatre experience also stands him well, particularly with the parody numbers, such as “You’ve gotta pick a Pirate on two”. The problem is, as my lady companion put it, “his ruthless sexiness”. (Even one of his dancing – male – pirates’ timbers are shivered … raising a Hookian eyebrow from Lindsay.) Isn’t Captain Hook meant to be downright utterly wicked? This Hook has at least half the audience on his side.
Director Jonathan Kiley has nicely balanced the mood of the pantomime audience and there is something for everyone in this Peter Pan. Even the jokes range from in-yer-face to subtly under-the-counter. He packs in the pizzazz with the help of his designers, Mike Coltman on costumes, Nick Sagar on sound, and Pete Watts on lighting, whose pop event credentials show in the exuberance. All this energy is underpinned by the five strong musicians under musical director Pierce Tee, who play a wide variety of instruments, including a flugelhorn, whose timbre brings an unusual sense of menace to the dastardly deeds of Hook’s crew.
One slight niggle is that the balance of voice and music is not always optimised making the jokes in the lyrics difficult to catch. Oh, and then there’s the Baby Shark Challenge, this years’ panto Zeitgeist, which is an earworm I can’t displace, so I have given up and am getting my granddaughter to show me the actions. Pinkfong has a lot to answer for!
But if you don’t want to find yourself dancing in the aisles or laughing until you cry, then don’t go to see this Peter Pan, for if you do … you’ll be Hooked.
Mark Aspen
December 2018
Photography by Craig Sugden
An Essential Injection of Fresh Voices
Dispatches 3
OSO at OSO Arts Centre, Barnes until 6th December
A Review by Georgia Renwick
Writing for the stage is not an art form that is intrinsic, but one that is honed. The ‘scratch night’ format provides a platform for writers to try out their work in front of a live audience, gauge their responses and to see how it can be interpreted creatively by directors and performers. Perhaps they uncover something new they had not hitherto intended, perhaps it’s onto the London fringe, or maybe it’s back to the drawing board. Whatever the outcome, it’s an important part of the process that unequivocally influences the work of the writer.
The Dispatches scratch night returns to the OSO for the third time after debuting in March of this year, led by ambitious young producer Justin Treadwell. This return – and the fact that it is packed out once again – serves to show that ‘scratch’ is not only important, it is popular, too. Dispatches has garnered that popularity by presenting a diverse collection of new work, selected from hundreds in an open submission process.
Tonight’s selection is a series of eight pieces, each ten minutes long. Like a skilful short story, the ten-minute play is a tough art to master and I was pleasantly surprised by just how eloquently a good proportion of the writers achieved it. There were some very neat – and some shocking – twists. Although no overarching theme has consciously been decided upon, there were noticeable similarities in the topics being explored. Our attitude to death, intimacy (or lack thereof) in modern relationships and family secrets inadvertently tie all eight together. One of the most satisfying things about watching scratch work is that hot-of-the-press quality. Typically a play you are watching on the stage has spent years in development and programming to get where it is – these are fresh voices writing, right now.
The One, written by Lindsey Rose and directed by Alex Stenhouse, sets an appropriate tone for the evening; sharp, funny and a little bit strange. It concerns a dating agency who in their dedication to providing a fully customised service, have signed their young male client up with a stalker. Turning down the option of an ‘anxiety cuddle bunny’ Chris goes ahead with the match. He just wants someone to look his way and it turns out Anna, the girl he is matched with, just wants to be seen. Abbey Gardner and Joseph Thomas make a sweet pairing and I would like to see more of how their match plays out. Rose has tapped into a very current anxiety, and with impersonal apps like Tinder continuing to frustrate, perhaps a return to matchmaking services (of the more extreme and kind) is the natural next step. But I think I would probably rather take the bunny.
Taking a sharp turn towards the strange, writer William Patterson’s A Gradual Incline is an absurdist sketch concerning two men who, in classic absurdist fashion, aren’t sure who or where they are, or where they ought to be going. It feels rather like a quite skilful pastiche of Pinter’s memory play period, but in only ten minutes there is not a lot of space for it to develop. Patterson’s writing is at its most effective when it is searching, questioning, and the rushing in of more concrete details is to the piece’s detriment. Nonetheless, Michael Davies and Dominic Upton are engaging to watch.
Scratch nights are quite often dogged by last minute dropouts (such is the lifestyle of the early-career actor) but The Talk, by Jonathan Hughes carries on regardless. Set in a ‘good, Protestant’ household in Northern Ireland, father and son both find themselves in an awkward position around the breakfast table. They must ‘come-out’ to each other about their secret identities – the son about his sexual identity, and the father, his political one. Sounds serious? Well, nobody does dark humour quite like the Irish. Hughes’ writing and Megan McArthur’s direction bring out the comic in the perverse, and that final line… a stroke of comic genius! Samuel Chapman has a stab at the Northern Irish accent, which given he stepped in last minute (he will appear later on in the night, too) is worthy of a mention. Mike Duran and Ali Perotto are naturals at the bickering and thinly-veiled quiet resentment of a long-married couple.
Monologue all the men who used to text me back takes the most confessional tone of the night. Painfully honest, it’s hard sometimes to know whether to laugh or wince at some of descriptions writer Michelle Barnette has come up with. Lydia Bradford is to be commended for getting some of those words out with a straight, and endearing, face! Barnette’s structure has been thoughtfully rendered, and as Bradford concludes her tale of dating woe there is a touching moment of revelation to conclude the squirming, laughing melee. The title is a little misleading as there is just one man, perhaps there are more squirm-inducing stories yet to be recounted? I know most women have at least a couple such dating stories just waiting for a ready audience!
Onto act two, and there’s some uncomfortable truths to be found in the opener, dystopian Scheduled Transition by Emma Griffiths. In her searching piece, euthanasia has become legal, but at this corporate clinic, are their customers really getting the end they wished for? Who is really pulling the strings, and what do they seek to gain from it? Ella Jarvis makes for an eerily ice cold employee, who melts, troublingly, as she is flustered by Mike Duran’s relaxed but probing questions. Perhaps a little too relaxed for someone who has chosen to die, but then this is a future that is potentially not so far away – so who knows! Director Daniel Toye skilfully handles ‘the moment’ itself with a tactful swivel chair, a well-considered choice.
In or Out, Nicky Denovan’s tale of a robotic cat, is delightful light relief. Moggy Mr Twitchem’s believes he is the only light of his owner’s life, when a robotic rival arrives in a cardboard box. The intruder has technological advancement, but can Mr Twitcham’s outsmart the competition and win back his owner’s affections? Performed as a rehearsed reading and without a director due to another last minute drop out, the two cats are performed with voice only. Charming and hilarious in itself, it would be even more of a treat to see them move around. To stretch out a paw to clean their whiskers, or bask in the sunny spot from the window. This charming piece is certainly ripe for another performance, heck, I would take Mr Twitchem’s home with me and listen to him all evening if I could! Alice McGregor will also pop back later – but not through a cat-flap this time.
There is a delicious nostalgic quality to the penultimate piece of the night, Candyfloss. Brian Eley has captured that divine magic, reminiscent of ‘The Go-Between’ or ‘Great Expectations’, in his telling of a childhood tale with the sobering perspective of an adult. Samuel Chapman (seen earlier in The Talk) plays the writer in the tale in a meta-theatrical twist, as well as the principal male characters with a captivating fluidity, whilst Alice McGregor’s performance as ‘the actor’ assisting him in his retelling has a visual fluency that is irresistible to the eye. That this is a highlight of the evening, in performance and in writing quality, I am in no doubt. Aran Cherkez has kept things simple in his direction, and the work speaks for itself.
Ending on Can You Dig It makes sense when you see the construction that goes into it, but then levels are called for when you’re literally digging a grave and Sophie Storm Killip has brought them! Poppy Cleere’s imagination has sure been to some deep, dark places to dream up this little gem of a dark comedy. A lone woman digging up a grave in the dead of night; why is she there? And what’s in the bag? She is rudely interrupted in telling us by a stranger, who has his own reasons for digging alone by lamplight… Beth Watson is at once endearing and untrustworthy, it’s a tricky combination she brings to life with gusto. Eoin McAndrew is profoundly creepy, there’s no other way to describe it. One to watch.
Dispatches is an essential injection of fresh, vibrant voices to the OSO and to South West London’s theatre scene. Variety, in essence, is what it offers the casual theatre goer but to writers, performers and directors it offers a springboard. You may have missed them this time, but remember their names… whatever the outcome, they’re going places.
Georgia Renwick
December 2018
Photography by Laura Sedgewick
Mark Aspen 