Decadent Dangers of the Demi-Monde
Manon
by Kenneth MacMillan, music by Jules Massenet
English National Ballet at the London Coliseum until 20th January
Review by Mark Aspen
Power, money, sex, the primordial drivers of the human psyche. If you play with fire, don’t use these as your toys. This is the moral of Manon, the ballet retelling of Abbé Prévost’s story of tenderness versus lust. In its reimagining of Kenneth MacMillan’s 1974 version, the English National Ballet’s production is an exquisitely spirited piece of storytelling.
Manon’s Coliseum production was germinated by the Royal Danish Ballet. Its crisp design by Mia Stensgaard counterintuitively uses the clean simplicity of twentieth century Danish style to portray the baroque of eighteenth century Paris, yet without any loss of period veracity. So panels slide to reveal the arrival of barouches and landaus bringing the wealthy to the fashionable salons. It is a Paris where, between lush luxury and bleak poverty, there floats a seedy demi-monde.
But to the young, adventurous and inquisitive Manon this is an exciting world where a frisson of danger may be the harbinger of many opportunities. Begoña Cao opens up an eloquent exposition of the contradictions of Manon’s character, swinging from caprice to caution, from romance to reason, licentiousness to licence. She pushes the boundaries of her allure in one direction after another, for she has an almost intuitive skill in flirting: the eyelids flicker, she floats off in a series of bourrée en arrière, a sudden turn …
Nevertheless, manipulating the man’s world of pre-revolutionary France is fraught. Here women may be seen merely as chattels, witness a caged cart of tarts drawn through the crowds at the beginning of this ballet. Manon’s brother, Lescaut, has no compunction about cashing-in on the assets of his young sister by pimping her to the highest bidder, at first an Old Man (in a comic cameo by Michael Coleman), but soon to be trumped by the wealthy and ruthless Monsieur GM. No-one could argue that Lescaut is not a slimy sleazebag and Ken Saruhashi is compelling in his characterisation of Lescaut as depraved, ill-mannered and arrogant. Saruhashi’s precise and powerful performance portrays the cocky confidence of the corrupt fixer. Percussive jetés battus and highly defined movements speak of Lescaut’s misplaced self-assurance, whereas Saruhashi’s drunken dance as Lescault has hit the bottle injects a moment of comic relief. Maybe ruthlessness has a dark attraction, for Lescaut has a loyal mistress. Crystal Costa’s interpretation is charming and vivacious, with beautifully adept solos. One feels she is too good for the likes of Lescaut.
A monopoly in wickedness is not however held by Lescuat: try the domineering and volatile Monsieur GM. Here is a man not to be crossed. Whatever he wants he buys, with money, or … well, there’s the boys. Junor Souza cuts an imposing figure as a truly menacing Monsieur GM and, in a dangerous mix, he is both short tempered and vain. He struts like a peacock exuding an air of invulnerability. However, it is Manon who is the bird he wants to catch. Manon knows she is a bird flying into a gilded cage, but if the choice is hungry penury or comfortable courtesanship it is worth the risk. Cao shudders as she portrays Manon accepting GM’s furs and diamonds: a shudder of horror or of excitement? In a voluptuous pas de trois, she luxuriates in the risk she is taking as Lescaut and GM pass her back and forth. Equally in the later brothel scene, she clearly enjoys the power of her own allure as she is passed seductively from man to man, drifting in Massenet’s quasi-oriental musical sway. As she is lifted and lowered, we see it allegorises her adoration and inevitably her eventual degradation.
Nevertheless, Manon has found true love, love with the scholarly and serious student Des Grieux. Aitor Arrieta paints a picture of the innocent abroad as Des Grieux wanders into this stewpot of sleaze. But for him, and for Manon, it is love at first sight. He, literally and figuratively, sweeps her off her feet, and we are treated by Cao and Arrieta to a gorgeous series of pas de deux that are variously playful or erotic, but always with the urgency that comes with being in love. Arrieta’s performance speaks tenderness, Cao’s an unwonted vulnerability, but always with a sense of joy. This joy has a crowning moment as, when Des Grieux has just left, she leaps ecstatically onto their bed. However, when he returns, Manon has been abducted by GM. Arrieta’s display of DesGrieux’s anguish is palpable.
Des Greux though has some spunk, and is off to the chaos of Madame’s house of ill-repute, with its dissipated debauchery of its clients and catty wantonness of its harlots. Here the cock-a-hoop Monsieur GM is showing off Manon as his prize. Stensgaard’s restrained exoticism is evident in her caustic pastels contradicting the gaudy spirit of the scene. The corps de ballet populates this scene of frenzied decadence. The atmosphere is incendiary and finally ignites when Des Greux beats Monsieur GM at baccarat and runs off with the winnings and with Manon.
Still, we all know that this will end in tears. Des Greux’s aborted arrest by Monsieur GM and his subservient constables gives a great show of athletic fencing, culminating in the fatal shooting of Monsieur GM. Unjustly though, it is Manon who is captured, tried and sentence to deportation. Dao’s transparent rendering of Manon’s abject dejection is heart-breaking. Shorn, grey and heavy-headed she is the antithesis of the former self. The faithful Des Greux has followed her to New Orleans, but too late to rescue her from the licentious intentions of the The Gaoler, forcefully danced by Daniel Kraus. The Gaoler knows who is in control and his violation of the weakened Manon is sickening. Des Greux wreaks lethal vengeance on The Gaoler and, only just in the nick of time, they make their escape.
It’s out of the frying pan and into the fire of the Louisiana swamps (impressive superfog from the Coliseum’s techies!) where “the past flashes before her eyes” as the enfeebled and exhausted Manon succumbs to the vicissitudes of the tropics. The final moments of the ballet, the passion of Manon’s death, are visceral.
The dancers are indisputable fantastic storytellers, but a co-star is Massenet’s music so beautifully delivered by the English National Ballet Philharmonic under the controlled and consummate baton of Orlando Jopling with such balance and grace.
The delicacy of Massenet’s score contrasts bitingly with this story with no happy ending for the damaged Manon. She plays with fire and loses. We may reflect, which of those three toys is the most damaging, power, money, or sex?
Mark Aspen
January 2019
Photography by Laurent Liotardo
Tweaking the Triangle
Lies Low
by Rian Flatley
Clariann Productions at the Coward Studio, Hampton Hill Theatre until 19th January
A review by Eleanor Lewis
Lies Low, on the face of it, is a love triangle. It is the usual love triangle format, a man and two women and it occurs to me in passing that I can’t recall a love triangle drama involving a woman and two men and it’s probably time someone wrote one, but I digress.
Love triangle aside, there is a great deal more to the lives of the three characters in Lies Low than their relationship issues, which is quite frustrating because the potentially interesting plot lacks the required pace. It lacks a director.
I suppose every reviewer has their ‘thing’. This one currently has two: the biggest being directors (please get one if you’re doing a play); the second props. Directors have specific skills and they’re really useful. They haven’t written the play which makes them objective about it and therefore likely to produce it in the most effective way. If you’ve written the play you’re protective of it (as you should be) but as the writer, your role is to produce the food while the director gives the dinner party.
Lies Low has the type of story arc that requires a build-up of tension and a drip-feed of information. Whilst attempting to achieve this, it rather crawled through a couple of lengthy sections in the middle which served mainly to produce some heroic acting from Clare Gollop who was left alone on stage, more than once, with little to do other than look around a flat, for what felt like a very long time.
Similarly, towards the end of the piece, Kate Winder’s reaction to discovering the truth about her lover suggested that the direction she’d been given amounted to: “just really shout a lot”. Understandable, but dramatically there are a lot of opportunities for channelling your venom as a scorned woman and really getting under his skin at this point rather than just yelling as loud as you can.
Andrew McDonald’s portrayal of a confused rather than particularly complex middle aged man was a little black and white which again, may be due to direction (or writing).
Mr McDonald stumbled a little with his lines and this may have been first night nerves but beyond this, his character’s relentlessly aggressive and irritated attitude towards his wife needed a little tempering in order to make him sympathetic in any way at all.
Producing theatre, particularly new writing on a low budget, is both difficult and a good thing to do. It helps though, if you can iron out the details. Scene changes in this work took longer than was ideal and seemed to be governed by when the keyboard player providing the soundtrack had finished his agreed section of music. This would be better the other way round, with the actors dictating when the change is finished, it would help maintain pace. The soundtrack itself was an asset, being gentle and complimentary to the drama, as was the lighting which darkened effectively at appropriate moments.
Granted, props are not top of the priority list, but boy can they spring to the forefront sometimes! A small brown carrier bag which is apparently full of sandwiches but is evidently full of nothing at all has an annoying ability to draw attention to itself, particularly in the small space that is Hampton Hill’s studio. Empty sandwich wrappers stuffed with paper would suffice but sending it on empty makes it surprisingly noticeable. (Though this isn’t unusual, I’ve seen many actors, pro and amateur, breezily lifting apparently full suitcases as though they’re tissues plucked from a box).
All of which is rather negative, and that’s a shame because Lies Low has quite a lot of potential but would greatly benefit from some tweaking and trimming. The middle section moves very slowly. The revelation of everyone and everything at the end is rushed and the interesting explanation as to why one of the characters has a gun is given away almost casually. Sort out those elements – get a director! OK, OK, I’ll stop now – and a nice little thriller will hopefully emerge.
Eleanor Lewis
January 2019
Photography by Clariann Productions
Confined Conflict
Resolution 2019 (Triple Bill 1)
Void Blacklist No Sudden Moves
by Jane Chan by Joshua Nash by Victoria Fox
Jane Chan, Joshua Nash and TRIBE// at Resolution at The Place, Euston, 11th January, The Festival of New Choreography continues until 23rd February
A review by Mark Aspen
Tension, conflict, aggression. Surging into The Place, London’s sanctuary of contemporary dance, it could be the zeitgeist of the opening days of 2019. The triple bill that formed the first night of Resolution 2019, introduced three new choreographers with the unstated theme of conflicts of identity.
Void, performed by Hong Kong choreographer Jane Chan has a frustrated fluidity as its narrative illuminates the entrapment of a failing mind struggling within the encompassing coils of Alzheimer’s disease. For Chan this has a personal resonance as her grandmother succumbed to this dreaded and dreadful affliction. White clad within a cell of white light, she writhes within the blockades of its burgeoning assaults. Her hands clutch; clutching at straws. Chan barely moves from centre stage, a prisoner. Then an agitated move dislodges the knot of her bodice, a light streams in from offstage. Her arms stroke the air in confusion, and there is a sense of agonised release. It is as if the voids in the mind seek a transubstantial void.
There is a more visceral attack in Joshua Nash’s Blacklist. Two dancers, naked to the waist, strut around each other, with the watchful aggressiveness of a pair of cockerels. How are they related? They look the same, same mannerisms, same topknot. They may be brothers, but Nash’s co-performer, Jordan Douglas, emerges as his alter ego. This is a story of three parts. The kinked kinetics of Krump suddenly hit a different note (as does the music) and the inner conflict becomes explicit aggression in a stylised fight sequence, which is smooth and fluent. Then, in another contrast, the triptych reverts to a street-dance fusion; as the protagonists lose their isolation, top-knots free into deluges of dreadlocks. The stomps and pops are still there, but focussed towards a feeling of reconciliation and unity.
There is a distinct feral feel in No Sudden Moves, a dystopian piece by Brighton-based TRIBE//. A huddled pile of unkempt bodies opens the piece, which explodes into high energy exposition of urgent menace. The five dancers include the choreographer Victoria Fox, who has created impressively tightly coordinated expressions of surging masses, restless and lawless. They are joined on stage by sound designer, Jeph Vanger. Evident in hic sonic presence, he seems to pull the strings, an all-pervading éminence grise. Even before the thrashing of a stylised fight sequence, the air of danger permeates the air. Some of the characters are impelled to hide behind a strange cut-out of a caravan, which is moved around the stage. (Possibly a symbol of impermanence, it would be better in its absence.) In its ominous and changing dynamics, No Sudden Moves successfully conjures up a disquieting picture of post-apocalyptic insecurity.
The first three offerings for Resolution 2019 make a very strong and varied start to a season of dance. These three however do beg the question should dance inform the music or music inform the dance. Diaphragm resonance should not distract from a visual art-form that is dance, and certainly here are three works that deserve to be seen.
Mark Aspen
January 2019
Photography by Simon Richardson and Camilla Greenwell
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
Mark Aspen 