Tom, Dick and Harry at West Walls Theatre
Written by Ray and Michael Cooney
Directed by Lexie Ward
Farce is extremely difficult to get right. To do farce well requires pace and precision. There are no fluffy edges, short-cuts or gently rounded safety corners, it's very much an exact science. A complex structure that hangs together by a thread that, if broken, brings the whole experience crashing down.
Which is why my heart sank when, before the show was even underway, a dreaded announcement was made. "Due to illness the part of Tom will be played tonight by the director."
In professional theatre stand-ins and understudies are commonplace. They're well rehearsed and ready at a moments notice to fill the gap created by the absence of any member of the cast. Nine times out of ten you'd be hard pressed to spot the odd one out at all had you not been told as much by an announcement or a slip of paper surreptitiously stapled to the programme. Amateur theatre is a different kettle of fish entirely. Rarely are shows able to afford the the luxury of understudies and it's completely understandable to see why - It's a pretty thankless ask to expect someone to go to the lengths of learning an entire role when everyone in the company is hoping and praying that they will never get to utter a word and, unlike the professional world, there's no financial incentive to soften the blow. As a result, stand-ins in amateur productions are almost always uniformly awful. Invariably it's some poor soul who clearly doesn't want to be there fumbling around the stage with a script in their hand, trying their hardest to say the right lines and avoid reading out loud any stage directions. While audiences may start with sympathy in their souls, it's rare for it to last until the end of the first act. It's distracting, it's immersion breaking and, like watching England in the World Cup, falls perfectly in the gutter between frustration and disappointment.
What was most galling was that I had been looking forward to this production since it first appeared on my radar. Directed by Lexie Ward who's Boeing Boeing had been the slickest farce I had ever seen on an amateur stage, here seemingly using a much of the same cast, I had very high hopes for Tom, Dick and Harry indeed. Instead, I was now all but sulking in my seat as the realisation struck that not only were we burdened with a stand-in but it was for the main role. With suitably revised expectations, I gritted my teeth as the curtains opened.
Plot wise, Tom, Dick and Harry is perhaps Cooney at his most farcical. Tom (Seb Coombe, but here played by Lexie Ward) and wife Linda (Sarah Coyle) are in the process of adopting a baby, with the final adoption interview due any minute. Things are complicated as wheeler-dealer brother Dick (James Sparks) arrives from a Calais run (in typical Cooney style he naturally lives in the upstairs flat) with a van full of cigarettes and booze. Meanwhile other brother Harry (Pauley Heron), arrives at the house festooned with body parts, mindful of some plan to bury limbs in the back garden in order to reduce the house price. Constable Downs (Daniel Mason) is following up on Dick's escapades, when we discover that he brought more than contraband back from France as two Albanian immigrants appear on the scene (Michael Spencer and Caroline Robertson). With these pieces set in place it becomes the usual runaround business of building lie upon lie trying to keep the truth from Linda and, in the second act, adoption interviewer Mrs Potter (Emma Norgate), before things finally come to a head with the arrival of Russian Gangster Boris (Ben Jansz).
First things first. Despite my reservations and extremely low expectations, Ward was exceptional in covering the role. Were it not for the gender swap and the script in hand you could quite readily believe she had always been playing Tom. To even mention the script in hand is, frankly, a disservice. So confident was Ward you soon stopped noticing she was reading the lines at all. There was not a shred of hesitation, dubious inflection or break in character. An almost audible sigh of relief errupted when, only a few minutes in, the audience realised they were not going to suffer some horrendous cut and paste version of the production. The surge of applause and goodwill when Ward took her bow at the close of the show was one of the most remarkable noises I have heard from a theatre and I am quite happy to admit I was whooping and cheering with the rest.
All of which is not to say that the circumstances and Ward's extraordinary performance detracted in any way from what is probably the strongest cast the Green Room has assembled since, well, since Boeing Boeing, especially given that a large chunk of the cast was largely new to the West Walls stage. Sparks and Heron were perfect foils for both each other and for Ward, Sparks cheeky and confident, Heron dim, inventive and endearing. All three maintained the breathless pace of the narrative in very physically demanding roles with Sparks mimed explanation of the plight of the immigrants being a highlight. Coyle performed well in the largely thankless role of the 'straight [wo]man' in a Cooney farce, largely there to startle and get in the way of the antics of the men. Mason, Norgate and Jansz all had their moment in the spotlight with Norgate in particular impressing as the stern and severe Mrs Potter. How she managed to keep a straight face with the surrounding mania was quite an achievement, albeit one that Mason wasn't quite able to share. Watching him strain to hide his smirk was almost as funny as the material itself.
Finally, we come to the two most unusual characters in a script packed with oddballs; Andreas and Katerina, the Albanian immigrants. I've commented before that Robertson seems capable of stealing any scene she features in. Her presence on stage is almost magnetic with her ability to draw the eye and hang off her every word. She manages to achieve the same here and is equally matched by Spencer despite the handicap of not getting any English dialogue in the entire script. Every line uttered by the duo is in Albanian save for the occasional break into almost indistinguishable pigeon English and their performance is relentlessly hilarious. From their first appearance the already electric pace seems to kick up a gear, their presence magnifying and heightening everything that goes on around them. Spencer in particular seems to be in his element, stripped of humorous dialogue he makes the most of the physicality of the part throwing himself into pratfalls, Cossack dancing and, perhaps funniest of all, being squeezed into a sofa communicating only through cunning use of a kazoo.
Tom, Dick and Harry is certainly the silliest play I have seen in a very long time and stretches the limits of exactly how far a farce can be pushed, but director Lexie Ward always keeps the nonsense believable by setting such a lightening fast pace that the audience is never given the opportunity to think things through. It struck all the right notes throughout, the audience hooting with every new ridiculous plot development, while all the while emphasising with the plight of poor Tom who just wants the day to end. Character and pace in perfect unison. The Green Room has always had a reputation for being excellent at comedy but, if the current trend continues, it may well soon be known as the best venue for farce this side of the West End.
Friday 29 May 2015
Wednesday 27 May 2015
The 39 Steps - Theatre By The Lake - May 2015
The 39 Steps at Theatre by the Lake
Written by Patrick Barlow
Directed by Abigail Anderson
Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
I've been lucky enough to see a lot of theatre in my life both amateur and professional and, as a serial consumer, it's inevitable that a degree of repetition will be involved somewhere down the line. I've lost count of the number of 'Oliver!'s' I've seen but can tell you off the top of my head exactly how many 'Oompah's appear in that infernal song. I've born witness to so many iterations of Aykbourn's 'Time of your Life' I could happily play all seven versions of the waiter character without needing a script and feel I'm a veteran racing expert despite never visiting a racetrack thanks to endless performances of the relentlessly flogged 'Ladies Day'.
As much as I try to view each show with an open mind and to assess it purely on its own merits and flaws it's near to impossible to completely disregard any other versions I carry with me. It's human nature to compare like with like and, loathe though I may be to admit it, I'm only human after all.
This temptation to compare and contrast is thrown into even sharper focus when comparing amateur with professional productions. Amateur theatre with all its endless enthusiasm, energy, spirit and ambition can all too easily be overshadowed and made to look small or insignificant when considered against the big, slick, seemingly effortless professional affairs. This isn't a criticism. Amateur theatre (when done well at least) strives for the same standards and only falls short because of its own unique limitations; usually the overwhelming burdens of budget and space. And yet, despite knowing all of this to be true, despite making a mental note to judge a production uniquely on its own merits, I'll invariably find myself sat in a theatre having watched a professional show only for my first thought to be 'It was so much better...'
Why all this preamble? The very first review I posted on this blog was of Carlisle Green Room's production of The 39 Steps. It's fair to say I raved about it, going so far as to call it 'one of the finest productions I have ever seen, amateur or professional.' Not wanting to have to so quickly eat those words, I tried to banish any such thoughts from my head as I took my seat to enjoy Theatre by the Lake's interpretation. The stage was festooned with beautiful vintage props, knick-knacks and doo-dads. It took several minutes to take in every delicious detail of the set - on the surface Richard Hannay's flat mid decoration - but I couldn't resist jumping ahead and imagining how the scaffolding tower would be used in situ to represent the fourth bridge, how the chairs and piles of wooden planks would fit together to spontaneously produce a train or a plane and how locations from the length of the country would be woven from the adorning trinkets. Six white boxes this was not.
Curiously, rather than getting stuck into the story, director Abigail Anderson chooses to add an inventive framing device to the narrative. The flat is in fact not Hannay's at all, but belongs to a man and wife who have two decorators in. The Hitchcock film The 39 Steps is currently all the rage; all over the newspapers and on the radio, and with a little encouragement all four begin to act out scenes from the book which, in turn, morphs into the show itself. It's a sweet enough introduction but is ultimately unnecessary. The play is more than strong enough to stand on its own without needing propping up with extra material to justify its existence.
Johnny McPherson leads from the front as the charismatic and cool Richard Hannay. Suave and charming, he makes the part seem effortless. Even when surrounded by the larger than life characters of John Buchan's spy story, it's almost impossible to take your eyes off him for a second. Frances Marshall's turn as Hannay's trio of love interests is sadly less successful. While she certainly looks the part as beautiful English rose Pamela, her barely Germanic Anabella and quietly Scottish Margaret fail to leave much of an impression. Patrick Bridgman and Richard Earl fare better as the duo tasked with filling every other role in the plot. Both are clearly very skilled actors as they manage to create 20+ readily identifiable characters each and both are clearly having a ball with their clowning but, similar to Marshall's performance, I felt they could have pushed it a lot further. Certain characters were played with an almost subtle, nuanced eye and, in a farce as ridiculous as The 39 Steps it's a case of go big or go home. I wonder if this was a deliberate move on the part of Anderson. By adding a framing device and having these characters deliberately played by actual people rather than simply revelling in the meta nature having two poor actors play dozens of characters, was the point to produce a more subtle, justified interpretation? Is this a delicate souffle version of a usually hard and fast farce? If this is indeed the case then I can't help but feel that Anderson has very much missed the point.
This is compounded by the fact that the silliest bits of the production that are by far the most effective. Using miniature train and plane models to sell the ludicrous chase sequences, having the actors move through and interact with the audience during the Palladium scenes, the ludicrous Producers-Esq 'Hop-Clop' dance routine that merges into a Goosestep and, perhaps most hysterically of all, having an actor stand on stage for no other reason than to 'Moo' for the duration of the Crofter's scene. It's silly, it's stupid and it's what makes it spectacular. It's this silliness that should be the heart of the show. To worry about justification and subtlety meanwhile is a waste of time.
Which brings me to the elephant in the room.
As I said at the opening of this review, hindsight it a wonderful thing. If I had seen the Theatre by the Lake's production before I had seen Carlisle Green Room's, I would have written something very different. I tried not to compare the shows. I didn't think it would be fair. And it isn't.
Because Carlisle Green Room's was far, far superior.
It's not just the way the production approached its characters, though it would be remiss of me not to explicitly state that Robertson, Spencer and Sparks presented far and away more memorable and amusing interpretations and, excellent though McPherson was, I could not claim him to be 'better' than Coombe.
No, the reason for my thinking can be summed up in just one word: PACE.
Carlisle Green Room's production didn't pause for breath. From the moment Hannay encountered Anabella in the Theatre, to the closing snowy moments at the end, the pace was relentless. Not a single moment or heartbeat was wasted. In stark contrast, TbtL's production moved at a saunter. There was no sense of urgency, no frenzied hysterical mania pulling you forward through the story. Everything apologetically took as long as it took. Minutes at a time would be spent shifting props, constructs and costumes killing stone dead any sense of pace. Had I not so recently seen such a relentlessly speedy version of the show I'd likely have known no better and thought nothing of it, but here I found myself actually looking at my watch wondering how long it would take to move on. By my estimations, the TbtL production lasted some 25 minutes longer than the Green Room's. Allowing perhaps 10 minutes for the unnecessary bolted on beginning and end, that's 15 whole minutes of watching scenery move around. Having beautifully constructed scenery is all well and good, but if that's the price you pay I'll watch painted white boxes any day.
I read an article in The Stage recently that claimed the gap between amateur and professional theatre is rapidly closing. Now more than ever I can see that to be true. TbtL may offer style over substance, but Carlisle Green Room has both in spades.
Written by Patrick Barlow
Directed by Abigail Anderson
Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
I've been lucky enough to see a lot of theatre in my life both amateur and professional and, as a serial consumer, it's inevitable that a degree of repetition will be involved somewhere down the line. I've lost count of the number of 'Oliver!'s' I've seen but can tell you off the top of my head exactly how many 'Oompah's appear in that infernal song. I've born witness to so many iterations of Aykbourn's 'Time of your Life' I could happily play all seven versions of the waiter character without needing a script and feel I'm a veteran racing expert despite never visiting a racetrack thanks to endless performances of the relentlessly flogged 'Ladies Day'.
As much as I try to view each show with an open mind and to assess it purely on its own merits and flaws it's near to impossible to completely disregard any other versions I carry with me. It's human nature to compare like with like and, loathe though I may be to admit it, I'm only human after all.
This temptation to compare and contrast is thrown into even sharper focus when comparing amateur with professional productions. Amateur theatre with all its endless enthusiasm, energy, spirit and ambition can all too easily be overshadowed and made to look small or insignificant when considered against the big, slick, seemingly effortless professional affairs. This isn't a criticism. Amateur theatre (when done well at least) strives for the same standards and only falls short because of its own unique limitations; usually the overwhelming burdens of budget and space. And yet, despite knowing all of this to be true, despite making a mental note to judge a production uniquely on its own merits, I'll invariably find myself sat in a theatre having watched a professional show only for my first thought to be 'It was so much better...'
Why all this preamble? The very first review I posted on this blog was of Carlisle Green Room's production of The 39 Steps. It's fair to say I raved about it, going so far as to call it 'one of the finest productions I have ever seen, amateur or professional.' Not wanting to have to so quickly eat those words, I tried to banish any such thoughts from my head as I took my seat to enjoy Theatre by the Lake's interpretation. The stage was festooned with beautiful vintage props, knick-knacks and doo-dads. It took several minutes to take in every delicious detail of the set - on the surface Richard Hannay's flat mid decoration - but I couldn't resist jumping ahead and imagining how the scaffolding tower would be used in situ to represent the fourth bridge, how the chairs and piles of wooden planks would fit together to spontaneously produce a train or a plane and how locations from the length of the country would be woven from the adorning trinkets. Six white boxes this was not.
Curiously, rather than getting stuck into the story, director Abigail Anderson chooses to add an inventive framing device to the narrative. The flat is in fact not Hannay's at all, but belongs to a man and wife who have two decorators in. The Hitchcock film The 39 Steps is currently all the rage; all over the newspapers and on the radio, and with a little encouragement all four begin to act out scenes from the book which, in turn, morphs into the show itself. It's a sweet enough introduction but is ultimately unnecessary. The play is more than strong enough to stand on its own without needing propping up with extra material to justify its existence.
Johnny McPherson leads from the front as the charismatic and cool Richard Hannay. Suave and charming, he makes the part seem effortless. Even when surrounded by the larger than life characters of John Buchan's spy story, it's almost impossible to take your eyes off him for a second. Frances Marshall's turn as Hannay's trio of love interests is sadly less successful. While she certainly looks the part as beautiful English rose Pamela, her barely Germanic Anabella and quietly Scottish Margaret fail to leave much of an impression. Patrick Bridgman and Richard Earl fare better as the duo tasked with filling every other role in the plot. Both are clearly very skilled actors as they manage to create 20+ readily identifiable characters each and both are clearly having a ball with their clowning but, similar to Marshall's performance, I felt they could have pushed it a lot further. Certain characters were played with an almost subtle, nuanced eye and, in a farce as ridiculous as The 39 Steps it's a case of go big or go home. I wonder if this was a deliberate move on the part of Anderson. By adding a framing device and having these characters deliberately played by actual people rather than simply revelling in the meta nature having two poor actors play dozens of characters, was the point to produce a more subtle, justified interpretation? Is this a delicate souffle version of a usually hard and fast farce? If this is indeed the case then I can't help but feel that Anderson has very much missed the point.
This is compounded by the fact that the silliest bits of the production that are by far the most effective. Using miniature train and plane models to sell the ludicrous chase sequences, having the actors move through and interact with the audience during the Palladium scenes, the ludicrous Producers-Esq 'Hop-Clop' dance routine that merges into a Goosestep and, perhaps most hysterically of all, having an actor stand on stage for no other reason than to 'Moo' for the duration of the Crofter's scene. It's silly, it's stupid and it's what makes it spectacular. It's this silliness that should be the heart of the show. To worry about justification and subtlety meanwhile is a waste of time.
Which brings me to the elephant in the room.
As I said at the opening of this review, hindsight it a wonderful thing. If I had seen the Theatre by the Lake's production before I had seen Carlisle Green Room's, I would have written something very different. I tried not to compare the shows. I didn't think it would be fair. And it isn't.
Because Carlisle Green Room's was far, far superior.
It's not just the way the production approached its characters, though it would be remiss of me not to explicitly state that Robertson, Spencer and Sparks presented far and away more memorable and amusing interpretations and, excellent though McPherson was, I could not claim him to be 'better' than Coombe.
No, the reason for my thinking can be summed up in just one word: PACE.
Carlisle Green Room's production didn't pause for breath. From the moment Hannay encountered Anabella in the Theatre, to the closing snowy moments at the end, the pace was relentless. Not a single moment or heartbeat was wasted. In stark contrast, TbtL's production moved at a saunter. There was no sense of urgency, no frenzied hysterical mania pulling you forward through the story. Everything apologetically took as long as it took. Minutes at a time would be spent shifting props, constructs and costumes killing stone dead any sense of pace. Had I not so recently seen such a relentlessly speedy version of the show I'd likely have known no better and thought nothing of it, but here I found myself actually looking at my watch wondering how long it would take to move on. By my estimations, the TbtL production lasted some 25 minutes longer than the Green Room's. Allowing perhaps 10 minutes for the unnecessary bolted on beginning and end, that's 15 whole minutes of watching scenery move around. Having beautifully constructed scenery is all well and good, but if that's the price you pay I'll watch painted white boxes any day.
I read an article in The Stage recently that claimed the gap between amateur and professional theatre is rapidly closing. Now more than ever I can see that to be true. TbtL may offer style over substance, but Carlisle Green Room has both in spades.
Friday 22 May 2015
Robin Hood - Carlisle Green Room Club - December 2014
Robin Hood at West Walls Theatre
Written and Directed by James Sparks
As the curtains closed on the Green Room's annual pantomime production the overwhelming thought running through my mind was of helping students prepare for their exams.
Bare with me, I'm going somewhere with this.
In the subjects where an essay length answer was required the paper would invariably be split into multiple questions with equal marks available for each answer; 30 points for part A, 30 for part B, etc. I would go to great lengths to drill into any and all that would listen to 'Read the whole test and give yourself time to answer every question'. After all, you could give the most analytically sound, insightful and well considered answer for part A, but if you've then only left yourself time to write a couple of sentences for part B and then little more than a few words for part C, you're going to struggle to achieve a passing grade no matter how perfect your initial answer may have been.
Robin Hood did some things very well indeed. I think it may be the most gag stuffed pantomime I have ever seen. Certainly there wasn't a single minute went by which didn't feature at least one pun, one-liner or outright joke and, as such, you'd be hard pressed not to find yourself laughing regularly. 30/30 in that regard. Equally, the production heralded the much atnicipated return of the 'outside broadcast.' A filmed excerpt featuring the heroes running around Carlisle landmarks, packed with effective slapstick chuckles.
But the none stop barrage of humour came at a cost, leaving almost no room left for musical numbers. Besides the obligatory opening and closing of the show routines, there was a sum total of one tune for the cast to sing and dance along to. This would have been hugely disappointing on its own, but what really rubbed salt into the wound is that the 'If I were not upon the stage' music hall routine, featuring the majority of the characters lamenting what their lives would be were they not engaged in the show with brilliantly synchronised actions, was so good and undeniably a highlight of the show! Gags are all well and good, and quite rightly form the lifeblood of any pantomime. But a show can't survive on wit alone. The musical numbers exist to break up the pace, to give the audience a rest from verbal cleverness and foolery. A stopgap to enjoy some visual stimulus instead of being overwhelmed by an unrelenting barrage of jokes. And it's not just for the audiences benefit - the cast themselves seemed filled with a renewed sense of energy during the song, relishing the opportunity to deliver something other than dialogue.
The cast were strong throughout, helped by a core of stalwart members well seasoned in the rigours of pantomime performance. Leading the charge was James Sparks who, as you'd expect, gave a commanding performance as Lord Percy, father of Maid Marion - basically the character played by Warren Clarke in Blackadder the Third, right down to the 'Never has love crossed such boundaries of class' routine. Seb Coombe made for a delightfully villainous if unusually nasally Sheriff of Nottingham, ably backed by the seemingly rubber faced Sarah Coyle as nice-but-dim Deputy Dawn. Daniel Spencer succeeded in making the thoroughly unlikeable variation of the titular hero suitably endearing while 'Merry Man' Lisa Moffat all but stole the show with her deranged but hilarious performance of Wilma [sic] Scarlett. Special mention must also be given to newcomer Joe Desborough, whose unexpectedly Northern Irish take on Friar Tuck managed to make the most of a slim part.
Something which has only occurred to me as I sit thinking back - usually a sure-fire sign that I'm either talking nonsense or have just finished a bottle, often both, and should likely be ignored- is that none of the characters were particularly likable, which strikes me as unusual in pantomime. By all means characters should have depth and as anyone who has seen my dye-less locks recently will know I'm all for shades of grey, but I can't think of another show I've seen where there isn't at least one character that you want to root for. The usual suspect here would have been Robin, but in this instance he's presented as a self centred know it all. An interesting twist and credit where it's due for telling a non-traditional variation of the story. But the issue here is that no other character particularly takes up the mantle of being the one you 'want to win'. The nearest is probably Marian herself (Emma Lowry), but she is given so little to do it's difficult to form a bond or see things from her point of view.
The set is particularly worthy of special praise as in addition to the traditional curtain affair the wings were painted with resplendent woodland scenes, in turn giving rise to two of my favourite gags from the show; a wanted poster quite literally drawing Robin in an unflattering light and a naughty squirrel with suitably large accompanying nuts.
Robin Hood is doubtless a worthy addition to the Green Room's roster of pantomime and is best viewed as a brave if not entirely successful attempt to try something different with the format. I can only applaud its efforts in both trying and succeeding to generate laughs, but hope next year a slightly more balanced approach is taken to aim for full marks across the board.
Written and Directed by James Sparks
As the curtains closed on the Green Room's annual pantomime production the overwhelming thought running through my mind was of helping students prepare for their exams.
Bare with me, I'm going somewhere with this.
In the subjects where an essay length answer was required the paper would invariably be split into multiple questions with equal marks available for each answer; 30 points for part A, 30 for part B, etc. I would go to great lengths to drill into any and all that would listen to 'Read the whole test and give yourself time to answer every question'. After all, you could give the most analytically sound, insightful and well considered answer for part A, but if you've then only left yourself time to write a couple of sentences for part B and then little more than a few words for part C, you're going to struggle to achieve a passing grade no matter how perfect your initial answer may have been.
Robin Hood did some things very well indeed. I think it may be the most gag stuffed pantomime I have ever seen. Certainly there wasn't a single minute went by which didn't feature at least one pun, one-liner or outright joke and, as such, you'd be hard pressed not to find yourself laughing regularly. 30/30 in that regard. Equally, the production heralded the much atnicipated return of the 'outside broadcast.' A filmed excerpt featuring the heroes running around Carlisle landmarks, packed with effective slapstick chuckles.
But the none stop barrage of humour came at a cost, leaving almost no room left for musical numbers. Besides the obligatory opening and closing of the show routines, there was a sum total of one tune for the cast to sing and dance along to. This would have been hugely disappointing on its own, but what really rubbed salt into the wound is that the 'If I were not upon the stage' music hall routine, featuring the majority of the characters lamenting what their lives would be were they not engaged in the show with brilliantly synchronised actions, was so good and undeniably a highlight of the show! Gags are all well and good, and quite rightly form the lifeblood of any pantomime. But a show can't survive on wit alone. The musical numbers exist to break up the pace, to give the audience a rest from verbal cleverness and foolery. A stopgap to enjoy some visual stimulus instead of being overwhelmed by an unrelenting barrage of jokes. And it's not just for the audiences benefit - the cast themselves seemed filled with a renewed sense of energy during the song, relishing the opportunity to deliver something other than dialogue.
The cast were strong throughout, helped by a core of stalwart members well seasoned in the rigours of pantomime performance. Leading the charge was James Sparks who, as you'd expect, gave a commanding performance as Lord Percy, father of Maid Marion - basically the character played by Warren Clarke in Blackadder the Third, right down to the 'Never has love crossed such boundaries of class' routine. Seb Coombe made for a delightfully villainous if unusually nasally Sheriff of Nottingham, ably backed by the seemingly rubber faced Sarah Coyle as nice-but-dim Deputy Dawn. Daniel Spencer succeeded in making the thoroughly unlikeable variation of the titular hero suitably endearing while 'Merry Man' Lisa Moffat all but stole the show with her deranged but hilarious performance of Wilma [sic] Scarlett. Special mention must also be given to newcomer Joe Desborough, whose unexpectedly Northern Irish take on Friar Tuck managed to make the most of a slim part.
Something which has only occurred to me as I sit thinking back - usually a sure-fire sign that I'm either talking nonsense or have just finished a bottle, often both, and should likely be ignored- is that none of the characters were particularly likable, which strikes me as unusual in pantomime. By all means characters should have depth and as anyone who has seen my dye-less locks recently will know I'm all for shades of grey, but I can't think of another show I've seen where there isn't at least one character that you want to root for. The usual suspect here would have been Robin, but in this instance he's presented as a self centred know it all. An interesting twist and credit where it's due for telling a non-traditional variation of the story. But the issue here is that no other character particularly takes up the mantle of being the one you 'want to win'. The nearest is probably Marian herself (Emma Lowry), but she is given so little to do it's difficult to form a bond or see things from her point of view.
The set is particularly worthy of special praise as in addition to the traditional curtain affair the wings were painted with resplendent woodland scenes, in turn giving rise to two of my favourite gags from the show; a wanted poster quite literally drawing Robin in an unflattering light and a naughty squirrel with suitably large accompanying nuts.
Robin Hood is doubtless a worthy addition to the Green Room's roster of pantomime and is best viewed as a brave if not entirely successful attempt to try something different with the format. I can only applaud its efforts in both trying and succeeding to generate laughs, but hope next year a slightly more balanced approach is taken to aim for full marks across the board.
Thursday 21 May 2015
The Importance Of Being Earnest - Carlisle Green Room Club - February 2015
The Importance of Being Earnest at West Walls Theatre
Written by Oscar Wilde
Directed by Caroline Robertson
Poetry in motion. A sumptuous feast for the soul. I could go on for hours and hours utilising every expression I have ever learnt to extol the virtues of the Green Room's latest production The Importance of Being Earnest, but, as per most things in life, Wilde pipped me to the post so I'll use his words instead; '[This production] seems to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection'.
Earnest is one of those rare productions where absolutely everything comes together perfectly. Excellent actors cast in perfect roles, a wise, witty and prosaic script, engaging story, gorgeous staging, exquisite costumes and, on the night I attended at least, an entranced audience utterly captivated by the spectacle.
Unusually, I must comment on the staging and scenery first and foremost. The all black and white art deco inspired set created by Sarah Waters is one of the finest and most striking I have ever seen created for amateur theatre. A strong original concept beautifully crafted into reality. Even if nothing had happened on the stage for two hours, I'd still have considered the production little short of a masterpiece for it's design qualities alone.
The Green Room is blessed by having an incredibly talented pool of actors and actresses to call upon and first time director Caroline Robertson has managed to assemble an impeccable cast to breathe new life into an old classic.
Michael Spencer brings his trademark physical humour to the role of Jack Worthing, a part traditionally played more uptight and still, but pulls it off with a performance so thoroughly earnest there could be little doubt as to what his true name would be uncovered to be in the closing moments of the show. He rattles through Wilde's occasionally lengthy dialogue without the slightest hesitation and at remarkable pace, especially in scenes alongside Seb Coombe's laid back and debonair Algernon. If ever there was a man born for a role then surely Coombe was always destined to play frivolous and foppish Algernon, maintaining a self satisfied charm that was resilient to even the most inconvenient of plot development. The pair shared a delightful chemistry with beautifully subtle vocal and physical similarities eluding to their shared history. Two finer leading men you'd struggle to find.
As foils to the gents, Lexie Ward and Emma Norgate as Gewndoline and Cecily very nearly succeed in stealing the show. Ward perfectly pitches Gwedoline as an up-and-coming Lady Bracknell in waiting. A sweet and gentle veneer concealing a sharp and waspish soul unleashed at the slightest provocation. Norgate meanwhile frames Cecily as a sickly sweet butter-wouldn't melt child with the conniving heart of a sulking and dangerous teenager. Both are brought into sharp focus during the most passive aggressive tea serving scene in the second act one could wish to witness. The sheer venom being spat backwards and forwards between the girls while on the surface politely enquiring about cake was a joy to witness and had me almost squirming in my seat with delight.
The supporting cast all perform admirably in their roles, David Bamford delivers perhaps the slowest dialogue I have encountered outside of a Pinter play, but can be forgiven for making the most his material. Jenny Pike as Miss Prism I feel may have been slightly unwell the evening I saw the performance as she was unusually quiet in her role as the handbag losing Governess, but battled through courageously.
And speaking of handbags, finally I must come to Lady Bracknell herself. Or himself, perhaps. I'm not normally a fan of needlessly gender swapped roles but, on this occasion, I must admit I was completely and totally won over by Green Room veteran John Metcalfe's performance. It took precisely the amount of time for Lady Bracknell to walk the length of the stage and take a seat for me to completely forget I was witnessing a man take on the role at all. For all there may have been occasional stutter or slight dialogue fluff, Metcalfe's expression and wordless delivery of the plays most famous line was worth the price of the ticket alone.
The Importance of Being Earnest has long since been one of my favourite plays to see on the stage and the Green Room's production ranks as amongst my favourite interpretations of Wilde's masterpiece. Considering this is Robertson's first attempt at leading a production, one can only wonder how she could possibly top it next time.
Written by Oscar Wilde
Directed by Caroline Robertson
Poetry in motion. A sumptuous feast for the soul. I could go on for hours and hours utilising every expression I have ever learnt to extol the virtues of the Green Room's latest production The Importance of Being Earnest, but, as per most things in life, Wilde pipped me to the post so I'll use his words instead; '[This production] seems to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection'.
Earnest is one of those rare productions where absolutely everything comes together perfectly. Excellent actors cast in perfect roles, a wise, witty and prosaic script, engaging story, gorgeous staging, exquisite costumes and, on the night I attended at least, an entranced audience utterly captivated by the spectacle.
Unusually, I must comment on the staging and scenery first and foremost. The all black and white art deco inspired set created by Sarah Waters is one of the finest and most striking I have ever seen created for amateur theatre. A strong original concept beautifully crafted into reality. Even if nothing had happened on the stage for two hours, I'd still have considered the production little short of a masterpiece for it's design qualities alone.
The Green Room is blessed by having an incredibly talented pool of actors and actresses to call upon and first time director Caroline Robertson has managed to assemble an impeccable cast to breathe new life into an old classic.
Michael Spencer brings his trademark physical humour to the role of Jack Worthing, a part traditionally played more uptight and still, but pulls it off with a performance so thoroughly earnest there could be little doubt as to what his true name would be uncovered to be in the closing moments of the show. He rattles through Wilde's occasionally lengthy dialogue without the slightest hesitation and at remarkable pace, especially in scenes alongside Seb Coombe's laid back and debonair Algernon. If ever there was a man born for a role then surely Coombe was always destined to play frivolous and foppish Algernon, maintaining a self satisfied charm that was resilient to even the most inconvenient of plot development. The pair shared a delightful chemistry with beautifully subtle vocal and physical similarities eluding to their shared history. Two finer leading men you'd struggle to find.
As foils to the gents, Lexie Ward and Emma Norgate as Gewndoline and Cecily very nearly succeed in stealing the show. Ward perfectly pitches Gwedoline as an up-and-coming Lady Bracknell in waiting. A sweet and gentle veneer concealing a sharp and waspish soul unleashed at the slightest provocation. Norgate meanwhile frames Cecily as a sickly sweet butter-wouldn't melt child with the conniving heart of a sulking and dangerous teenager. Both are brought into sharp focus during the most passive aggressive tea serving scene in the second act one could wish to witness. The sheer venom being spat backwards and forwards between the girls while on the surface politely enquiring about cake was a joy to witness and had me almost squirming in my seat with delight.
The supporting cast all perform admirably in their roles, David Bamford delivers perhaps the slowest dialogue I have encountered outside of a Pinter play, but can be forgiven for making the most his material. Jenny Pike as Miss Prism I feel may have been slightly unwell the evening I saw the performance as she was unusually quiet in her role as the handbag losing Governess, but battled through courageously.
And speaking of handbags, finally I must come to Lady Bracknell herself. Or himself, perhaps. I'm not normally a fan of needlessly gender swapped roles but, on this occasion, I must admit I was completely and totally won over by Green Room veteran John Metcalfe's performance. It took precisely the amount of time for Lady Bracknell to walk the length of the stage and take a seat for me to completely forget I was witnessing a man take on the role at all. For all there may have been occasional stutter or slight dialogue fluff, Metcalfe's expression and wordless delivery of the plays most famous line was worth the price of the ticket alone.
The Importance of Being Earnest has long since been one of my favourite plays to see on the stage and the Green Room's production ranks as amongst my favourite interpretations of Wilde's masterpiece. Considering this is Robertson's first attempt at leading a production, one can only wonder how she could possibly top it next time.
Wednesday 20 May 2015
Accidental Death of an Anarchist - Carlisle Green Room Club - March 2015
Accidental Death of an Anarchist at West Walls Theatre
Written by Dario Fo
Directed by Stewart Grant
Being fortunate enough to see two great shows on the run is a very rare and special thing indeed. For an amateur club or society to be able to maintain the energy, enthusiasm and goodwill from one production to the next which can be anything from six weeks to six months later requires a very dedicated team, a strong sense of vision and, I'd imagine, a certain level of ambition.
While I don't doubt these qualities were all present in spades, I can't say I was in any way surprised when the Green Room's second show of the year, tasked with the unenviable job of trying to follow the feast of delight that was The Importance of Being Earnest, failed to hit the mark.
This I must stress is in no part due to a lack of effort from the cast. I have no doubt that the vague sense of boredom that radiated from the principle policemen involved in attempting to cover up the suspicious death of an anarchist in their custody was a deliberate character trait and not simply generated from being unfortunate enough to be burdened with such thankless parts in a thoroughly tedious script.
Despite spedning most of the play in their company, Author Dario Fo makes little to no effort to flesh out these characters. You can easily imagine the only note that featured in their biographies was the single word 'Corrupt'; Not much for the poor Seb Coombe, Nigel Banks, Jason Munn or Paul Hayton to go on. Cursed with such one dimensional characters, there was little else to do for the foursome but shout when shouting seemed appropriate and look either concerned or conniving for the remainder. A waste of talent that have proven themselves of far better things elsewhere.
Perhaps the principle reason for such uninspired supporting characters is that Anarchist is largely a one man show. 'The Maniac' is the driving force behind everything that happens. A force of nature that, for his own amusement, takes control and alters everything and everyone around him. A character that grabs you kicking and screaming by the lapels from his first moment on stage and doesn't let go until the curtains close, never for a moment allowing you a moment to question what on earth is going on, happy to break the fourth wall all the way.
At least, that's how it was intended. Unfortunately, Andrew Keogh falls somewhere short of this in his performance. Again, it's not due to a lack of enthusiasm. From the moment he appears he's brimming with energy and he manages to maintain the level throughout which, rarely leaving the stage, cannot have been easy. But the Maniac has more to him than that wide eyed energetic mania. For all he comes across as an insane lunatic, the character jumps at every opportunity to take control of every satiation he finds himself in, usually via means of a disguise. This element of cunning and control was completely absent from Keogh's performance. The perceived change of character was rarely matched with much of a change of vocal tone or personality. Had the costume not changed on every occasion you'd have almost no way of telling he was supposedly impersonating someone else. The sum effect of this lack of variety was that, rather than keeping the audience on their toes, the performance soon became boring and, towards the end, almost wearisome. A tremendous shame when it was abundantly clear how much energy was being expended.
The production was not entirely without merit however, thanks to some ingenious fourth wall breaking moments - the cast singing an Italian ditty playing ukuleles while the words appeared on a screen sing-along style was a particular highlight, as was the brilliantly realised destruction scene when the bomb explodes in the second half. Rarely has a Green Room production used technology to such great effect.
Accidental Death of an Anarchist was unlikely to ever become one of my favourite plays, and the Green Room production did little to change my opinion. I can only praise the cast for trying their hardest with largely thankless material but in this case no amount of enthusiasm could disguise that anarchy doesn't equal entertainment.
Written by Dario Fo
Directed by Stewart Grant
Being fortunate enough to see two great shows on the run is a very rare and special thing indeed. For an amateur club or society to be able to maintain the energy, enthusiasm and goodwill from one production to the next which can be anything from six weeks to six months later requires a very dedicated team, a strong sense of vision and, I'd imagine, a certain level of ambition.
While I don't doubt these qualities were all present in spades, I can't say I was in any way surprised when the Green Room's second show of the year, tasked with the unenviable job of trying to follow the feast of delight that was The Importance of Being Earnest, failed to hit the mark.
This I must stress is in no part due to a lack of effort from the cast. I have no doubt that the vague sense of boredom that radiated from the principle policemen involved in attempting to cover up the suspicious death of an anarchist in their custody was a deliberate character trait and not simply generated from being unfortunate enough to be burdened with such thankless parts in a thoroughly tedious script.
Despite spedning most of the play in their company, Author Dario Fo makes little to no effort to flesh out these characters. You can easily imagine the only note that featured in their biographies was the single word 'Corrupt'; Not much for the poor Seb Coombe, Nigel Banks, Jason Munn or Paul Hayton to go on. Cursed with such one dimensional characters, there was little else to do for the foursome but shout when shouting seemed appropriate and look either concerned or conniving for the remainder. A waste of talent that have proven themselves of far better things elsewhere.
Perhaps the principle reason for such uninspired supporting characters is that Anarchist is largely a one man show. 'The Maniac' is the driving force behind everything that happens. A force of nature that, for his own amusement, takes control and alters everything and everyone around him. A character that grabs you kicking and screaming by the lapels from his first moment on stage and doesn't let go until the curtains close, never for a moment allowing you a moment to question what on earth is going on, happy to break the fourth wall all the way.
At least, that's how it was intended. Unfortunately, Andrew Keogh falls somewhere short of this in his performance. Again, it's not due to a lack of enthusiasm. From the moment he appears he's brimming with energy and he manages to maintain the level throughout which, rarely leaving the stage, cannot have been easy. But the Maniac has more to him than that wide eyed energetic mania. For all he comes across as an insane lunatic, the character jumps at every opportunity to take control of every satiation he finds himself in, usually via means of a disguise. This element of cunning and control was completely absent from Keogh's performance. The perceived change of character was rarely matched with much of a change of vocal tone or personality. Had the costume not changed on every occasion you'd have almost no way of telling he was supposedly impersonating someone else. The sum effect of this lack of variety was that, rather than keeping the audience on their toes, the performance soon became boring and, towards the end, almost wearisome. A tremendous shame when it was abundantly clear how much energy was being expended.
The production was not entirely without merit however, thanks to some ingenious fourth wall breaking moments - the cast singing an Italian ditty playing ukuleles while the words appeared on a screen sing-along style was a particular highlight, as was the brilliantly realised destruction scene when the bomb explodes in the second half. Rarely has a Green Room production used technology to such great effect.
Accidental Death of an Anarchist was unlikely to ever become one of my favourite plays, and the Green Room production did little to change my opinion. I can only praise the cast for trying their hardest with largely thankless material but in this case no amount of enthusiasm could disguise that anarchy doesn't equal entertainment.
Monday 18 May 2015
The 39 Steps - Carlisle Green Club - May 2015
The 39 Steps performed at West Walls Theatre
Written by Patrick Barlow
Directed by Lexie Ward
Full disclosure: Alfred Hitchcock's The 39 Steps is one of my favourite ever films. For that reason alone I have always avoided going to see the play whenever it has been staged. I'd heard vague mentions of it being some hideous pastiche version. A cannibalised mockery of the original Hitchcock classic, and that was something I had no wish to see. There's nothing funny about watching the good old days ripped apart by a modern eye's lampooning.
As per most things in life, I was proven to be completely and totally wrong.
When I read in the Green Room Club's season brochure earlier this year that they would be staging the play I was my usual cynical self and planned my usual avoidance tactic. This held firm until just a few weeks ago when the inevitable media kicked in about the production. The play was being directed by Lexie Ward - the same director of the brilliant Tom, Dick And Harry last year and the sublime Boeing Boeing the year before. The cast was also to be made up of regulars from those very shows including the never less than exceptional Caroline Robertson and, perhaps bravely, the chap who fell ill during the run of Tom, Dick and Harry and had to be replaced on the evening I saw the play by the director herself.
With this collection of reliable hands I felt that even if I was unable to enjoy the show, I would at least be able to take something from the performances and so swallowed my pride and booked a ticket.
The plot follows Richard Hannay, something of a charming everyman as he becomes embroiled in a sinister spy network after a chance encounter with a foreign agent while enjoying a night at the theatre. How I've often wished to be so fortunate! When the agent is killed, Hannay must traverse the length of the country hotly persuaded by the law to find a contact in Scotland in the hope of uncovering the truth behind the mysterious '39 Steps'. The contact proves to be the very spy that ordered the death of the original agent so Hannay is forced to track back to London where he discovers the source of the plot was in the very show he was watching in the first place.
If this makes the plot sound ridiculous quite simply this is because it is. It is however also an exact duplicate of Hitchcock's film version. While I was worried the story would be ripped to pieces for humorous ridicule, in fact it proved to be a lovingly accurate telling of the original plot. So much so that I'm reasonably sure great chunks of the dialogue are lifted directly from the original film. Certainly I felt myself mouthing along with certain scenes!
So, if this was a faithful re-telling of the original film where does the 'high octane humour' come in? Simple. Despite the enormous collection of characters met by Hannay on his quest, the cast comprised of only four members.
As a result, as the story licked on at an extraordinary pace, three members of the cast dashed in and out at breathtaking speed playing every single individual our hero encountered. All 50+ of them.
Seb Coombe played Richard Hannay from beginning to end and despite almost never leaving the stage for the entire duration you couldn't help but feel that he had the easiest job up there. Not that his performance isn't worthy of the highest possible praise. From the moment he strode purposefully on stage as Big Ben struck the hour (more on Big Ben later) to his final kiss with his third love interest of the evening, Coombe exuded a debonair charm that one can only assume must come from a lifetime of being one of the most handsome men in any given room. His performance was sharp and crisp, poised and heroic yet all the while never less than charismatic. I believe I commented in my review of The Importance of Being Earnest that Algernon must surely have been the role Coombe was born to play. I was wrong. I can't believe I'd have found a more perfect Richard Hannay if I'd have trekked the length of the country to see a show at the West End.
Hannay's three love interests over the course of the play, the sly and sexy Germanic Anabella, timid and lovelorn Scottish Margaret and stiff and uptight English rose Pamela were all played with barely disguised relish by Caroline Robertson. Playing three such contrasting characters, Robertson imbued each and every one with a distinct voice, tone, and physical presence that seared each of the individuals into the mind of the audience so there was never any chance of forgetting the trail our hero left in his wake. Despite only appearing in the first two scenes, you could never forget witnessing the stern tones of the raven haired Anabella seduce Hannay only to die in his arms moments later, or the ever so sweet pigtailed Margaret lose herself in talk of Hannay's life and allow herself to be swept off her feet. (At what cost I wonder? The play wisely chooses to ignore poor Margaret's likely unpleasant face at the hands of her fearsome husband). For me, it was uppity Pamela that stole my heart, not least thanks to two pieces of superbly choreographed japes involving handcuffs and a field gate, followed by handcuffs and the removal of stockings. Out of context this probably says more about me than it does the performance, but suffice to say the expressions on Robertson and Coombe's face as Hannay's hand slapped against Pamela's thing only to seductively be dragged down her leg almost brought the house down.
Now, I've written all this and mentioned only four characters. There's a simple reason. Every other character in the production is played by just two men. Referred to as 'Clowns' in the programme, which might be the most apt description of the duo I've come across. If that sounds insulting, it really isn't meant to. I mean clown's in the most traditional sense - people who are quite literally born to entertain. Michael Spencer and James Sparks play, over the course of two hours, what must be 40+ characters and every single one of them was unique. Each had a different costume - or at the very least a different hat! - as well as a different voice and a different personality. They'd switch accents in a heartbeat - most impressively during a hilarious scene where Hannay is accosted by two underwear salesmen on a train to Scotland, only to arrive to find a newspaper boy, porter and policeman on the platform all practically talking at once. That this was achieved by the pair simply moving a few steps around the stage and swapping hats was like watching a perfectly constructed army drill, with each peace slotting seamlessly together and the pace not slowing for a single breath. It has become easy to assume Spencer and Sparks can turn their hand to any accent, over the last few years alone they've been Albanian, Cockney, Yorkshire, and Geordie to name just a few, but to see them flit so effortlessly through such a cavalcade of voices was undoubtedly impressive all the same. As we've come to expect, their comic timing throughout was flawless, riding a crest of energy that surged from their first appearance until their hysterical snow scene at the end.
I understand director Lexie Ward was recently awarded for her direction of last years Tom, Dick and Harry. Watching The 39 Steps it is no mystery as to why. I've tried desperately to find some aspect of this production with which to pick fault, having nothing but relentless praise feels so unlike me. And yet, I can't. Two moments particularly worthy of praise were the remarkable effectiveness of the Fourth Bridge scene - our hero Hannay is left hanging from the bridge in question having jumped from a train, cunningly constructed with just a few painted boxes that only moments before hand been the very train itself - only to be followed by an ingenious aeroplane chase in which Hannay is fleeing from a fighter plane, brought to life simply by Coombe running hell for leather in a spotlight, while Spencer and Sparks done pilots attire and waggle around on a vintage bicycle. The resulting crash in which they practically launch themselves into the audience produced such hysterical applause it was impossible not to be swept up by the sheer ambition of it all. The lighting was inventive, sharp and used to enhance the production to its fullest effect. The sound effects were so precise there was never even the slightest doubt in the audiences mind that the 'slip ups' were ever anything less than deliberate, and the sound scape itself effectively filled in the blanks of creating the lost and empty moors or rushing intensity of a train carriage. Several sound cues were so effective as to produce laughs all by themselves whether they be subtle as a brick murder stings or hilariously upbeat party music playing from the villain's house.
Finally, I must mention the set itself. The Green Room sets have been going from strength to strength recently, and The 39 Steps must surely be the icing on the cake. On one side of stage is a beautifully drawn express train with, unless I was very much mistaken, the profile of Hitchcock himself lovingly rendered in the smoke, while on the other stood a painting of Big Ben - impressive enough a piece of design on its own - but as the play opened and the clock chimed, its face lit up and the hands began manically spinning. Even if they remainder of the audience didn't join me, I applauded right there and then. With the ensuing production that followed I'd haven been quite happy to continue until I had nothing left but gristly stumps.
All in all, an absolute triumph of a production that stands tall amongst the very best shows I have ever been privileged enough to see be they amateur or professional. The fact that I had no intention of ever seeing it in the first place simply stands as irrefutable proof that I truly know nothing about anything.
Written by Patrick Barlow
Directed by Lexie Ward
Full disclosure: Alfred Hitchcock's The 39 Steps is one of my favourite ever films. For that reason alone I have always avoided going to see the play whenever it has been staged. I'd heard vague mentions of it being some hideous pastiche version. A cannibalised mockery of the original Hitchcock classic, and that was something I had no wish to see. There's nothing funny about watching the good old days ripped apart by a modern eye's lampooning.
As per most things in life, I was proven to be completely and totally wrong.
When I read in the Green Room Club's season brochure earlier this year that they would be staging the play I was my usual cynical self and planned my usual avoidance tactic. This held firm until just a few weeks ago when the inevitable media kicked in about the production. The play was being directed by Lexie Ward - the same director of the brilliant Tom, Dick And Harry last year and the sublime Boeing Boeing the year before. The cast was also to be made up of regulars from those very shows including the never less than exceptional Caroline Robertson and, perhaps bravely, the chap who fell ill during the run of Tom, Dick and Harry and had to be replaced on the evening I saw the play by the director herself.
With this collection of reliable hands I felt that even if I was unable to enjoy the show, I would at least be able to take something from the performances and so swallowed my pride and booked a ticket.
The plot follows Richard Hannay, something of a charming everyman as he becomes embroiled in a sinister spy network after a chance encounter with a foreign agent while enjoying a night at the theatre. How I've often wished to be so fortunate! When the agent is killed, Hannay must traverse the length of the country hotly persuaded by the law to find a contact in Scotland in the hope of uncovering the truth behind the mysterious '39 Steps'. The contact proves to be the very spy that ordered the death of the original agent so Hannay is forced to track back to London where he discovers the source of the plot was in the very show he was watching in the first place.
If this makes the plot sound ridiculous quite simply this is because it is. It is however also an exact duplicate of Hitchcock's film version. While I was worried the story would be ripped to pieces for humorous ridicule, in fact it proved to be a lovingly accurate telling of the original plot. So much so that I'm reasonably sure great chunks of the dialogue are lifted directly from the original film. Certainly I felt myself mouthing along with certain scenes!
So, if this was a faithful re-telling of the original film where does the 'high octane humour' come in? Simple. Despite the enormous collection of characters met by Hannay on his quest, the cast comprised of only four members.
As a result, as the story licked on at an extraordinary pace, three members of the cast dashed in and out at breathtaking speed playing every single individual our hero encountered. All 50+ of them.
Seb Coombe played Richard Hannay from beginning to end and despite almost never leaving the stage for the entire duration you couldn't help but feel that he had the easiest job up there. Not that his performance isn't worthy of the highest possible praise. From the moment he strode purposefully on stage as Big Ben struck the hour (more on Big Ben later) to his final kiss with his third love interest of the evening, Coombe exuded a debonair charm that one can only assume must come from a lifetime of being one of the most handsome men in any given room. His performance was sharp and crisp, poised and heroic yet all the while never less than charismatic. I believe I commented in my review of The Importance of Being Earnest that Algernon must surely have been the role Coombe was born to play. I was wrong. I can't believe I'd have found a more perfect Richard Hannay if I'd have trekked the length of the country to see a show at the West End.
Hannay's three love interests over the course of the play, the sly and sexy Germanic Anabella, timid and lovelorn Scottish Margaret and stiff and uptight English rose Pamela were all played with barely disguised relish by Caroline Robertson. Playing three such contrasting characters, Robertson imbued each and every one with a distinct voice, tone, and physical presence that seared each of the individuals into the mind of the audience so there was never any chance of forgetting the trail our hero left in his wake. Despite only appearing in the first two scenes, you could never forget witnessing the stern tones of the raven haired Anabella seduce Hannay only to die in his arms moments later, or the ever so sweet pigtailed Margaret lose herself in talk of Hannay's life and allow herself to be swept off her feet. (At what cost I wonder? The play wisely chooses to ignore poor Margaret's likely unpleasant face at the hands of her fearsome husband). For me, it was uppity Pamela that stole my heart, not least thanks to two pieces of superbly choreographed japes involving handcuffs and a field gate, followed by handcuffs and the removal of stockings. Out of context this probably says more about me than it does the performance, but suffice to say the expressions on Robertson and Coombe's face as Hannay's hand slapped against Pamela's thing only to seductively be dragged down her leg almost brought the house down.
Now, I've written all this and mentioned only four characters. There's a simple reason. Every other character in the production is played by just two men. Referred to as 'Clowns' in the programme, which might be the most apt description of the duo I've come across. If that sounds insulting, it really isn't meant to. I mean clown's in the most traditional sense - people who are quite literally born to entertain. Michael Spencer and James Sparks play, over the course of two hours, what must be 40+ characters and every single one of them was unique. Each had a different costume - or at the very least a different hat! - as well as a different voice and a different personality. They'd switch accents in a heartbeat - most impressively during a hilarious scene where Hannay is accosted by two underwear salesmen on a train to Scotland, only to arrive to find a newspaper boy, porter and policeman on the platform all practically talking at once. That this was achieved by the pair simply moving a few steps around the stage and swapping hats was like watching a perfectly constructed army drill, with each peace slotting seamlessly together and the pace not slowing for a single breath. It has become easy to assume Spencer and Sparks can turn their hand to any accent, over the last few years alone they've been Albanian, Cockney, Yorkshire, and Geordie to name just a few, but to see them flit so effortlessly through such a cavalcade of voices was undoubtedly impressive all the same. As we've come to expect, their comic timing throughout was flawless, riding a crest of energy that surged from their first appearance until their hysterical snow scene at the end.
I understand director Lexie Ward was recently awarded for her direction of last years Tom, Dick and Harry. Watching The 39 Steps it is no mystery as to why. I've tried desperately to find some aspect of this production with which to pick fault, having nothing but relentless praise feels so unlike me. And yet, I can't. Two moments particularly worthy of praise were the remarkable effectiveness of the Fourth Bridge scene - our hero Hannay is left hanging from the bridge in question having jumped from a train, cunningly constructed with just a few painted boxes that only moments before hand been the very train itself - only to be followed by an ingenious aeroplane chase in which Hannay is fleeing from a fighter plane, brought to life simply by Coombe running hell for leather in a spotlight, while Spencer and Sparks done pilots attire and waggle around on a vintage bicycle. The resulting crash in which they practically launch themselves into the audience produced such hysterical applause it was impossible not to be swept up by the sheer ambition of it all. The lighting was inventive, sharp and used to enhance the production to its fullest effect. The sound effects were so precise there was never even the slightest doubt in the audiences mind that the 'slip ups' were ever anything less than deliberate, and the sound scape itself effectively filled in the blanks of creating the lost and empty moors or rushing intensity of a train carriage. Several sound cues were so effective as to produce laughs all by themselves whether they be subtle as a brick murder stings or hilariously upbeat party music playing from the villain's house.
Finally, I must mention the set itself. The Green Room sets have been going from strength to strength recently, and The 39 Steps must surely be the icing on the cake. On one side of stage is a beautifully drawn express train with, unless I was very much mistaken, the profile of Hitchcock himself lovingly rendered in the smoke, while on the other stood a painting of Big Ben - impressive enough a piece of design on its own - but as the play opened and the clock chimed, its face lit up and the hands began manically spinning. Even if they remainder of the audience didn't join me, I applauded right there and then. With the ensuing production that followed I'd haven been quite happy to continue until I had nothing left but gristly stumps.
All in all, an absolute triumph of a production that stands tall amongst the very best shows I have ever been privileged enough to see be they amateur or professional. The fact that I had no intention of ever seeing it in the first place simply stands as irrefutable proof that I truly know nothing about anything.
Why this blog is here
Hello Internet. My name's William, I'm in my mid sixties and hail from the windswept land of Cumbria.
I'm also, much to my surprise, apparently a serial theatre reviewer.
I love the theatre. Always have done. One of my earliest memories as a child is my parents taking me to see our local amateur group perform a production of a musical, and it's fair to say I've been hooked ever since.
I call myself an enthusiastic amateur not because I've ever dared 'tread the boards' myself, but because I've always been surrounded by am-dram. I'm lucky enough to live in a part of the world where there is a keen theatrical vein and I always support it in the best way I know how - By turning up to watch.
More recently, since I hit my 60's, I've been keeping a diary. Apparently it's good for the grey cells. I've yet to see any improvement in my ability to solve crosswords, but I find it quite therapeutic all the same. What I'd also started doing, quite without realising it, is writing reviews of every show I went to see. Not with the intention for anybody to ever read them, just for my own satisfaction.
Jump forward a few years and a delightfully nosey daughter is caught reading my diary and laughing heartily. When I query what part of my general bemoaning all that is life has caused her such amusement she shows me the page. One of my reviews.
"Dad," she says, "You've got to let people read these. They're brilliant!"
Now, I'm no fool. I know she was probably sucking up to me because I caught her red handed. But the idea was now in my head.
The following week I was discussing this breach of privacy with a friend. Much to my surprise, he suggested the very same thing.
"Amateurs get so little feedback other than from the people they know. I'm sure they'd love to read a genuine, amusing and insightful critique of their work."
He'd know. He's an am-dram performer himself. He'll also remain nameless as, much to his surprise, he'll actually turn up in some reviews!
And so, here I am. My plan is to transcribe old reviews as and when I can be bothered - I have at least 5 years worth of shows in my diaries to get through so I can't promise a schedule - but, unless a new whim overtakes me sometime in the future my aim is certainly to get through them all. Meanwhile I'll also now post any new shows I see straight on here, rather than writing them out longhand first only to transcribe later. That's the plan. We'll see if I stick to it.
I'll post my first review soon. If anyone is actually reading this, please let me know. I'm used to my words not being read, but it'll be interesting to see if anyone genuinely grasps the opportunity!
William.
An Enthusiastic Amateur.
I'm also, much to my surprise, apparently a serial theatre reviewer.
I love the theatre. Always have done. One of my earliest memories as a child is my parents taking me to see our local amateur group perform a production of a musical, and it's fair to say I've been hooked ever since.
I call myself an enthusiastic amateur not because I've ever dared 'tread the boards' myself, but because I've always been surrounded by am-dram. I'm lucky enough to live in a part of the world where there is a keen theatrical vein and I always support it in the best way I know how - By turning up to watch.
More recently, since I hit my 60's, I've been keeping a diary. Apparently it's good for the grey cells. I've yet to see any improvement in my ability to solve crosswords, but I find it quite therapeutic all the same. What I'd also started doing, quite without realising it, is writing reviews of every show I went to see. Not with the intention for anybody to ever read them, just for my own satisfaction.
Jump forward a few years and a delightfully nosey daughter is caught reading my diary and laughing heartily. When I query what part of my general bemoaning all that is life has caused her such amusement she shows me the page. One of my reviews.
"Dad," she says, "You've got to let people read these. They're brilliant!"
Now, I'm no fool. I know she was probably sucking up to me because I caught her red handed. But the idea was now in my head.
The following week I was discussing this breach of privacy with a friend. Much to my surprise, he suggested the very same thing.
"Amateurs get so little feedback other than from the people they know. I'm sure they'd love to read a genuine, amusing and insightful critique of their work."
He'd know. He's an am-dram performer himself. He'll also remain nameless as, much to his surprise, he'll actually turn up in some reviews!
And so, here I am. My plan is to transcribe old reviews as and when I can be bothered - I have at least 5 years worth of shows in my diaries to get through so I can't promise a schedule - but, unless a new whim overtakes me sometime in the future my aim is certainly to get through them all. Meanwhile I'll also now post any new shows I see straight on here, rather than writing them out longhand first only to transcribe later. That's the plan. We'll see if I stick to it.
I'll post my first review soon. If anyone is actually reading this, please let me know. I'm used to my words not being read, but it'll be interesting to see if anyone genuinely grasps the opportunity!
William.
An Enthusiastic Amateur.
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