Category Archives: Theatre

London 2009 – Day 7 – Opportunities Lost And Found

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On which day does Pawn find himself locked in battle over a graven image, only to lose to priority and prosperity, yet discovers a different wealth in humility and a sanctity in perseverance. Further, upon accepting this loss, engages more fully in the game of life and in the possible rewards of that engagement. All whilst discovering the true nature of place, time and home.

Started the day online. This is the new normal, as they say in this post-911 world, where everything has to have a name, even acts and normalities. Online is the new normal for when one is separated from the old normal by thousands of miles and several time zones one seizes on whatever threads still connect to the homeland. London is my home, too. I have made that a part of my life these past two years, this effort to establish myself on two fronts, on two continents and two countries. I feel an intense, personal, intimate attraction to this other home of mine. It matters not that I rent temporary accommodations when here, home is not the house, home is the surrounds.

Online, too, is a home. It is a non-temporal and non-Euclidean, non-geographical location. It obeys different rules of contact and different time lines and systems of decorum. This morning it takes me to work, and while I enjoy my breakfast of quiche, streaky bacon and crumpet I am also trolling through my client’s troves of support requests and stalking their servers and systems for signs of malady. I am able to complete a couple of hours of work before X even arises from slumber. It helps that she is narcoleptic and I am insomniac, but that would be splitting hairs.

“I am off to the galleries to see if I can get my hands on that Dryden Goodwin photo,” I announce when X has finally roused herself and is nodding in and out of consciousness over her crumpet. “I am going to Leicester Square to score some theatre tickets for tonight, then up to Piccadilly Circus and Mayfair to check in at the Stephen Friedman Gallery and try to get that Dryden Goodwin piece. Then over to Hamilton’s Gallery on Carlos Place, and then I’ll be back.”

It was an ambitious plan. I knew that the Goodwin piece was likely beyond my reach. His technique is such that there would likely be no prints, just the original, and I guessed that it would fetch somewhere between $10,000 and $15,000. I hoped for a print which I could afford, but really it was an act of gall to go walking into a St. James gallery and ask to buy work by a listed artist. I was right about the cost, £7,000 ($10,500) but that hardly matters as the piece was already spoken for. No prints, this is a one-off. So, I have to be satisfied with a “Detail” print from the Photographers’ Gallery, and the memory of having been in the hunt of so grand a piece of art as this.

Onward, then to Hamilton’s Gallery, in Mayfair, to see Miles Aldridge’s latest portfolio. This is really High Fashion stuff, lots of make-up and anorexic models. There are a couple of interesting images, but all in all it reads like a work portfolio rather than art. That may sound harsh, but after just immersing myself in Dryden Goodwin’s inspired work, this is just advertising and little else.

At the Photographers’ Gallery, Katrina is happy to see me, and we quickly settle the deal and the print is mine. It will make a great addition to my collection, and every time I look at it I will see the whole, the greater piece of which it is a detail, and I will remember this day in St. James, Mayfair and Soho – my quest for an image. Back to the flat and a well deserved nap. X is off the the British Museum to lolly-gag with the Elgin Marbles for a spell while I nap. I have had a hard time sleeping for more than a few hours every night, and I am weary of being weary.

Tonight brought us to The Last 5 Years which was five years too long if you ask us. This was a two person concert, American Idol (or X Factor, for you Brits) version. Not so much a musical, 5 Years is the telling of the falling apart of a relationship told in retrospect through a series of songs sung by the two actors, the man and the woman (their names, Kathy and Jamie, are immaterial). They only ever interact once or twice during the 1:40 one act show, and even then the distance between them is palpable. The songs are, by and large, good. And the performances, singing (not enough acting to judge anything by) are good as well. This format is different, the book, such as it is, could fit on a bev-nap; it is probably no longer than ten or twenty lines.

In total, good thing we came on what appears to have been “Friends and Family” night, as they held up our end in the over-the-top ovation. The ovation which masked our hurried retreat. Take a pass on this one.

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 5 – Retrospective Analysis

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[Note: We started this post on 5 May, but have only just now gotten around to completing our review.  Please forgive this slide in our duties.]

Last evening we went to see “England People Very Nice.” A controversial new play premièring at the National Theatre. This is a difficult beast, social satire in a full length form, clocking in at 2:50 with interval.

We discussed it a bit last night, during and after, but were too tired to give it proper treatment here. We decided to let it be, sleep on it, and write in the morning. Here we are, so here goes.

England People Very Nice is an ensemble piece with a very large cast. The stage is spare, with a large wall of wooden construction occupying the centre rear of the stage and miscellaneous chairs and such scattered about. Prior to the start of the show a gentleman settles down into a folding chair centre stage with his laptop and his paper whilst the audience mills about and gets settled themselves. Suddenly a voice crackles over the house intercom, “Notes please. All assemble for notes.” And thus begins our play, we are soon to learn that this is a holding prison for inmates, illegal immigrants awaiting news of their status review, and they are putting on a show. Led by a liberal do-gooder, the inmates launch into a final dress rehearsal of their show, and we are along for the ride.

The first act is a telling, in foreshortened form, of the history of England. The arrival of the Romans, the Saxons, the successive waves of immigration from France, Ireland, Denmark and Holland. The humour is very broad, almost like a skit show – and like so many skit shows it suffers at times, when the the comedy fails the show has precious little left to stand on. A theme of repetition quickly develops. There are two characters, in the outer play they are Sanji, an illegal from Pakistan or Bangladesh or somewhere like that (no specifics) and Camille, an illegal from somewhere in the former Soviet block. These two, in each iteration of the waves of immigration, fall in love at first sight (and quickly couple), but are, of course, star crossed. Similarly, there is a bar maid, Ida and her boss, Laurie, who wryly observe the goings on. Ida, with the mouth of a cockney bar maid, begins each scene with a comment of the form, “Fecking Frogs,” where the pejorative term for whatever race is substituted for Frogs. It is this aspect of the show, its bald faced exposure of prejudice and hatred, which garnered it on-stage protests early in its run.

By interval we were up to roughly the turn of the last century, and took a break. I asked X what she thought.

—

Like Nic, I was at this point baffled by the uproar this play caused in sophisticated London (there was a protest early in the run in which attendees stormed the stage, and occupied it until the performance was canceled). What’s the big fuss? Drunken, incestuous micks, perpetually farting and mincing frogs, rapacious or anarchist yids, etc. Maybe if South Park still upsets you, but come on now. One recurring exchange that brought a reliable laugh from the audience was, “This is the closest we will ever get to paradise on earth!” with the disbelieving response, “Bethnal Green?????” What I liked most was the brilliant use of animation on the rough wooden structure behind the actors. As in any farce, there were endless exits and entrances and slamming doors and windows, but with the projections, you saw crowds running down streets, a shop become a church then transformed into a synagogue. Ida’s pub in the corner is a constant, with her marrying a wealthy and well established Jewish man, and her “regular” offering his comments. “Aye, I have them living upstairs from me, the…” [insert current disfavoured ethnic group here] The subversive element is the colorblind casting [or whatever the current term is]. An Indian actor plays a weaver from Norfolk, an Italian priest, a Jewish Russian printer, etc. OK, wine is drunk and the interval* is over.

*Travel tip: order your intermission cocktail before the play starts and it’s right there for you – drink efficiently, I say! xx X

—

Okay, another voice heard from. My take at interval was that this is a show that belonged in the ranks of Off-West-End, perhaps on a smaller stage up in Hackney or somewhere else on the East End or North London. But the National?!? This just reeked of PC over-reach to me. Guilty Liberal self flagellation and the like. But what was it doing here, and what did it really contribute to the national dialogue on immigration, and issue with which the British, like most of Northern Europe, are struggling (as I referenced last year: http://www.fortunespawn.com/2008/02/23/london-journal-day-12-a-close-up-view-from-abroad ).

We finished our wine, and whining, and repaired to the theatre for the second act.

First, however, a personal note. The first act shows the impact of the Jewish immigrant wave brought about by the Tzar’s pogroms near the end of the 1800s. This strikes a chord with me, as this is when my forebears, my great grandparent’s people, fled Ukraine for England’s promise. They settled in the Tower Hamlets district in the East End, and while I know little about that generation, my grandfather was the stereotypical Jewish furrier and tailor, with his workshop and home in Stepney Green until it was bombed in the Battle of Britain. My father, at this point entering medical school, worked as a corps man, collecting the remains of those who perished in the streets during the Blitzkrieg.

Act two begins with the onset of the second world war, and we see the members of the Indian Merchant Marine who worked so hard at the aid of the British to keep supplies moving in treacherous seas. Some are coming ashore on leave but others have swum ashore to strike out for work and a new life. In this half of the show we are brought face to face with the still entrenched class-ism and hostility to immigrants modern Britain is known for. In this half we follow primarily one story, the lives of a Bangladeshi immigrant, Mushi, and Deborah, the daughter of Ida, the bar maid. These two actors, Sacha Dhawan and Michelle Terry, have played the recurring love-at-first-sight characters throughout the show, but now they settle down into the same roles for the rest of the night. There is an odd bit of playing with the time line as the act starts with WWII and ends in a post-9/11 era, but in the character’s lives it is only about 30 years.

We see Mushi go from merchant seaman deserter to assistant to the Attar, to the invention of Chicken Tikka Marsala and, as a wealthy restaurateur, a leader of the Bangladeshi immigrant community in his part of Bethnal Green. Deborah, when we first meet her, is a 14 year old of questionable morals who proudly works in a factory making parts for something war related (she doesn’t know what, as is explained in a lovely ensemble musical number evocative of the burlesque hall style). She falls in love with Mushi, with whom she spends a night in a bunker during an air raid, but is already set to be married to Hugo, a criminal miscreant in her father’s gang. Ida (nee Houlihan), a black Irish lass is married to Harvey Klienman, a Jewish thief.

Mushi is destined, he believes, to sire twins with the daughter of a Christian and a Jew, thus bringing together the three faiths, Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Harvey is not convinced, nor Ida, so Deborah does get married to Hugo and tension develops between the now swelling populations of Indo-Asian immigrants from Pakistan, India, Bangladesh and the Irish, Jews, Jamaican and other cockney residents of the East End Burroughs of Bethnal, Bethnal Green, Spittlefields, Stepney; the “Tower Hamlets” they are called for their proximity to the Tower of London, which marks the eastern edge of the City of London.

The story progresses up to the modern day with the tensions between these groups increasing, the British born offspring of the first generation immigrants bridling under the oppressive hatred of the “natives” and the rise of the National Front (“Britain for the British!”). While the comedy continues, there is a much heavier tone to this act. The tension between the “tribes” in the first act was comical and absurd. Not any more. Now it is violent and vitriolic.

—

We’re writing this several days later, and the impact of the second act, and the play as a whole lingers with me. Now, the animation washes over the wooden structure and the ceiling above. The bombs of the Blitz, the roar of the 9/11 jets, the graffiti covered buildings of Brick Lane, the skinhead scrawls on walls, the church/synagogue now a mosque…the laughable racism of the past now dead serious. The audience quiets, able now to laugh only at “themselves” – the wealthy, white couple who move in with the hope that the area is going to gentrify. The woman carries a Whole Foods grocery bag, and, after the man is mugged and beaten by a gang, believes that as a liberal he can only blame himself. – X

London 2009 – Day 6 – Solo Wanderings

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In which Pawn finds new inspiration, is exposed to much art, and spends some time alone, wandering in Soho.

We are still working on our biting and insightful commentary on “England People Very Nice,” but wanted to get an update up anyway.

Yesterday brought some work for Pawn so whilst he hunkered down to that, X went off to wander London on her own, a shopping list in hand. When she returned, around noon, we were off almost immediately to Leicester Square. We queued at the TKTS booth and got ourselves a pair of cheap seats to “Spring Awakening” evening show, 2nd row seats for ½ price! Not bad. Then a quick bite at a noodle house – £5.50 for more than we could eat – share one box next time!

Notice that Coraline in 3D opens on 8 May, both of us missed it in Milwaukee, so maybe we can see it here.

Now off to “Madame de Sade” over at the Whyndam’s Theatre. Dame Judy Dench is stellar, so graceful, so poised, and surrounded by some of the brightest talent on the British stage today. This play, translated (by Donald Keene) from Yukio Mishima’s original Japanese script is a tour de force for female actors, offering no shortage of powerful soliloquies and heated dialogue. Rosamund Pike is due special attention for her spectacular performance as Rne, Madame de Sade.

Also worthy of mention is Francis Barber’s delicious turn as Contesse de Saint-Ford, a “dissolute woman” who is as fascinated and titillated by the acts of the infamous Marquis as the other, more polite, women are appalled. She delights, however, in making these proper women realise how drawn they, too, are to these appalling acts. In one delightful scene, early in the show, she delivers an extended gazette of the Marquis’ acts to the quite pious Baronesse de Simiane, who is continually flustered by the quandary of whether to cover her ears or cross herself at this bawdy account.

Fiona Button, lastly, provides a more than capable Anna, Rene’s younger sister. Her interplay with both Rene and the Contesse is a delight. Pawn had the pleasure of seeing Ms Button in last year’s “Ring Around the Moon” in which she gave pleasingly light performance.

The staging; lights, set, soundscape, were all well above grade. The soundscape, by Adam Cork, was a driving force at many points, tho suffered from a damaged speaker on house right (shame, that). Neil Austin’s lighting dovetailed expertly with Lorna Heavey’s luscious video projections. All in all one of the finest days at the theatre one could imagine.

X went back to the flat whilst I struck off towards Oxford Circus to search out the Photographers’ Gallery in its new home on Ramillies Street. I enjoyed their old location off Piccadilly Circus during my visit last year, and was looking forward to seeing the new facility. It took quite a while to find them, Ramillies Street is only one block long, darting north off of Great Marlborough Street above the Carnaby Street pedestrian arcade. The side street, Ramillies Place, dead ends into a stairway up to Oxford street. This is subtle stuff.

Finally found the gallery and while I did enjoy The Photographic Object, the current exhibition, I was really eager to check out the print sales galleries. One of the great features of the gallery is that if you see something you like there is a very good chance you can buy a copy here. I was almost immediately struck with a fine image I saw high up on the main display wall. Titled simply “Cradle (detail)” by Dryden Goodwin, it shows a woman’s face with fine lines and curves etched into it:

The entire image is quite large, at 63″ tall by 43″ wide, and shows the woman in a street setting:

I have a chat with Katrina, of the gallery staff, and find that while they have only the detail print for sale (and will ship stateside) Goodwin is represented by the Stephen Friedman gallery by Piccadilly Circus. Put a visit there on the list.

Back out on the street I amble down through Cambridge Circus and on to The Strand. I’m to meet X at the Theatre Novello for the 7:30 show of Spring Awakening and get to Adwych over an hour early. Luckily, Cristopher, an American café and Martini bar is right there, offering real Martinis for £8(!) amazing not only for a reasonable price, but for the dearth of real Martinis in London. This gives me a chance to examine the Dryden Goodwin book I picked up at PG bookshop, and to catch up on my messages.

The show, Spring Awakening is an American import, having wowed on Broadway in 2006 and transitioned to the West End via a short stop in Hammersmith. Our reaction at interval was, “High School Musical meets Caligula” but it became much more serious in the second act. All in all quite impressive. The sets and lighting were spectacular, the choreography inspired, the actors energetic and engaging. The story, based on a 19th century book by Frank Wedekind, is about teenage angst and sexual discovery. It delivers both in ample shares. I would certainly recommend this for a rollicking night out at the theatre.

Another stop in at Christopher’s and then back home. Plenty of correspondence to catch up on.

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 2 – Uncommon Parallels

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In which Pawn having extricated himself from his day to day life for interval finds that just as life imitates art, so does art imitate life. Furthermore, during this discovery, finds that such mirrors, when held up to one’s life, can provide variously valuable lessons and frequent opportunities for sheepish laughter. Armored with said knowledge, and feeling especially humbled and foolish having just seen his life held up, thusly, for examination, resolves to strive for less drama and less comedy in life, or at least for better drama and comedy, if it must be there.

Day 2, at a decent hour, X launches herself from bed with all the speed and grace of a three toed sloth and after a breakfast of rashers and eggie-weggs your intrepid citizens plummet out of the apartment and into the day, already started without them but showing no signs of waiting for their participation.

We alight first at the Tottenham (pronounced Tot-nam) Court tube to procure our Oyster cards. Much fuss with the machines, which don’t really work but serve to distract people who would otherwise be queuing for the single gate agent and complain about the length of queue, so they instead complain about the failed machines and get into a now shorter queue after those who belligerently stayed on queue in the first place have been served and on their way. I pity the poor TFL wage slave whose job it is to convince people to un-queue and use the machines instead, just to have to watch, powerless, as the machines fail to do anything useful. [but he did resemble Robert Carlyle, so some were grateful for his attentions – X]

Once cleared through what feels like a more rigorous and grueling process than cross-border customs, we are being rocketed south through the Northern Line underground to Southbank and the Hayward Gallery. Two exceptional exhibits are in right now, Annette Messager “The Messengers” and, closing Tuesday, “Mark Wallinger curates The Russian Linesman: Frontiers, Borders and Thresholds.” [overheard, “Is it like “The Wichita Line Man?” – X] Whoa Nellie, hold onto your hat! It is hard to imagine two more different shows for this venue, and it is hard to imagine two shows which could exceed any expectation you might bring to the Hayward. Where to start?

Annette Messager is a collector and a purveyor of collections. She uses a multitude of media; sketch, oil, acrylic, collage, fibre, fabric, motion control… the list goes on and on. She builds collections of objects, concepts, thoughts, guilty pleasures, embarrassments, revelations, whimsy, and finds ways to display them so that we can enter into her world, or not, engage or remain aloof; our choice. But, even if we remain standoffish, we are inside her head, or a model of her head, and we start to understand her world view.

Her work is not always comfortable, and we sometimes find ourselves wondering if a particularly difficult image or installation is real, or sarcastic or ironic. There is much violence and much shame in her work, and while sometimes it may force the viewer to confront the presence of violent or shameful behaviours or thoughts in their own hearts, sometimes it may just leave the viewer cold, hurt or dumbfounded.

There is much remarkable within this exhaustive retrospective. Of special note to Pawn were:

  • How My Friends Would Do My Portrait: A collection of dozens of portraits of the artist in a variety of media showing just how differently we may be viewed by all of those people in our lives.
  • Collection To Find My Best Signature: A collection of over a hundred small framed works, each featuring up to 10 different takes on the artist’s signature, arranged in a large diamond shaped grid.
  • The Men I Love, The Men I Don’t Love: This is part of the Room of Secrets, a sort of meta-collection of collections, displayed as a room into which holes have been cut at different heights and positions, allowing the viewer a glimpse inside a woman’s private study, as it were, to see what she collects and what does that really say about her. There are dozens of collections in this room, including Voluntary Tortures, a look at the things that women do to themselves, or allow to be done to them, in the name of beauty.
  • Gloves – Head: A large installation piece in which hundreds of knit gloves, with coloured pencils inserted where the finger tips would be, are arranged on the wall to make the image of a face. The gloves bulge out, all stuffed, making their sharpened coloured-pencil fingernails seem quite vicious and threatening.
  • The Exquisite Corpse [le Cadavre Exquis]: A human pelvis, spine and skull to which are attached, via long cords, moulded claw-like hands and feet, and a beakish proboscis. This is all suspended in air from a scaffold and the hands and feet are moved about like those of a marionette by means of motors and winches, trolleys and suchlike, all while strikingly lit from the sides and above, casting ghoulish shadows all about. The effect, accompanied by Philip Glass-ian music, was hypnotic, to say the least. The guard, a strikingly beauty in an Audrey Hepburn kind of way, just stared at this spectre the whole time we were there.
  • And a room of slowly inflating, writhing and collapsing lush fabric shapes, organic and carnal, yet so enticing I wanted to be among them, just another gently respirating member of this eternal/internal seraglio – X

We could go on, but you’ve already stopped reading, so what’s the point. We finally took our leave of Annette Messager and trundled upstairs to The Russian Linesman.

You know what? This is just too much to disgorge all at once. I will say this; the Russian Linesman was a superbly curated show, very inventive, very revealing, and it will be closed before you could ever hope to see it, so what does it matter anyway?

What’s next, you ask? [Well, it’s a leisurely walk along the Thames, with stops for photography, sand castle construction, coffee, mocking of tourists, etc., suddenly turning into a speed walk that rivalled Chairman Mao’s Long March under Nic’s whip, as we realized we might well be late for the play at the Barbican. Which is a 1970’s mixed use labyrinth in itself, especially when you we arrive three minutes before curtain (not that there was a curtain). – X ] Well, it’s “Andromaque,” by Jean Racine. Written in the 17th century, this is the tale of what happened after the Trojan war. What happens after Achilles and Agamemnon and Helen and all go back home and try to return to life as usual. More specifically, what happens to their kids, when they grow up, and have to deal with the overturned landscape which had been in place for generations. What happens? Well, they are all wrapped up in ridiculous love triangles, requited and unrequited, and with all of the subtlety of a soap opera and the plotting side kicks from your favourite Shakespeare play…well, all hell breaks loose.

This play is presented in the original French, with super titles. In the Silk Road theatre in the Barbican complex, this is a problem. This is a lovely, intimate, proscenium theatre, but with the steeply raked seating section so popular during the 1970s. Why is this a problem? Because for all but those in the very rear rows this means that the audience are constantly having to look up to the super titles and then back down to the actors. This deprives the audience of the opportunity to really watch the actors’ craft, and deprives the actors of the undivided attention of the audience. In a less steeply raked theatre, the super titles would not have had to be placed so high up, and more of the audience would have been spared this difficult choice. [Except for the lady in front of us who spent the interval reading the play in French…show off! – X]

The show itself was wonderful. It was beautifully lit, staged, acted and produced. Two thumbs up! We do not single out any one performance, for this was truly an ensemble piece. [Not quite, says X, The king, Pyrrhus and Helen’s daughter, Hermione, “If there had been any scenery, they would have chewed it!”]

Okay, where do two pagans go from there? To church, of course. We bused and trudged from Barbican, in The City, down to Waterloo, and then back to Victoria Embankment and up to Trafalgar Square, to St. Martin-in-the-fields to acquire tickets to a concert of Vivaldi, “Four Seasons by candlelight,” in the nave of St. Martin-in-the-field. We got two in pews, restricted views (WTH, it’s music, not dance) and caught a quick bite to eat in the Crypt. Pork and leek sausages over potato mush with boiled red cabbage and a red wine/gravy reduction; £7.99. Quite good, despite my general loathing for British sausage. These were moist and tender, and delightfully tasty in the gravy. [and consumed at tables set over the graves of English worthies of centuries past, whose early departures from this world were probably due to a similar diet. – X]

The concert was about what we expected; top 40 classics played by the Belmont Ensemble of London:

  • Bach – Brandenburg Concerto No. 3
  • Vivaldi – Concerto for Two Violins
  • Bach – Air on the G String
  • Pachelbel – Canon in D
  • Vivaldi – Sinonia ‘Alla Rustica’
  • Mozart – Salzburg Symphony No. 2
  • Handel – Arrival of the Queen of Sheba

While the whole program was good, and hung well together, there were some disappointments. There was something wrong, in the first portion, with the sound from the viola. This was not a performance issue, but simply that the sound of the viola was “boxy” in its upper registers. Maybe a misplaced bridge or a bad tuning. [too embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know there WAS a viola until Nic made this perceptive comment. – X] Hard to say, but after interval it was all good. The Mozart, especially, and the Handel were quite strong, and led to a partial ovation. [And quick exit by your correspondents, with no genuflecting. It was a long day, and the Scotch, the Scotch was calling. – X]

This type of ”Pops classics” show is quite common these days in large European cities, but they do deliver what the audience really comes for: an opportunity to hear familiar music in an exceptional venue, played by competent, and sometimes even inspired, musicians. A nice night out, but nothing to write home about (oops, guess that means I have to erase those last several graphs!).

Back home now, [via Charing Cross Road. Number 84 is vacant, next to a Subway sandwich shop and across from “BARGAIN BOOKS OFFICIAL SEX SHOP” – X] taking turns at the keyboard (X is editing and contributing) and getting ready for bed. Lot’s of new photos, will post those shortly.

Ta!

London Journal – Day 27 – One Last Review

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Postcards from god - The Sister Wendy MusicalA little over a week past I heard an interview on BBC with Gay Soper, a frequent habitué of stage and screen here, on the subject of her latest show, The Sister Wendy Musical. The title was all I needed to hear, I ordered a ticket right off.

For those of you unfamiliar with Sister Wendy, she was a nun who made a vow of hermitage, lived in a caravan on the grounds of a convent, and turned into possibly the most influential television art critic ever. She was treated with contempt by many in the art world for her naivete, but greeted with joy by many more laypeople who welcomed her singular enthusiasm for art and her almost evangelical fervour. I couldn’t pass this up.

The show is at the Hackney Empire Studio, by Hackney Central station. This is a couple of stops past the Dunston/Kingsroad station which serves Arcola Theatre, so a bit of a haul. On a Sunday night, when the overground trains run only every half hour, this is significant. I got there with plenty of time, and had the chance to have a quick bowl of chow mein before the show. That was my first mistake.

The show was poorly attended. It had opened while I was gone, and I hadn’t read any of the reviews. Now that I have I can tell why. It was not well received. I can agree with much of what has been written by the critics, although I feel that some of them (Guardian, Times) brought their critical bias against Sister Wendy to bear upon the production as well. I think that unfair. That being said, however, the show was weak.

The book and lyrics are good, as is most of Gay Soper’s performance, though she must learn her lines better — a shortfall shared by many in the cast. It is the direction, staging, music and enthusiastic but amateurish supporting ensemble which drag this otherwise uplifting show down with the weight of their failings.

Staging a broad musical in an intimate setting (the theatre seats only a few dozen) is difficult. The broad strokes with which most characters in a musical are painted look cartoonish and foolish to a viewer only ten feet away. No adjustment for this was made, excepting on Soper’s part, and the result was a disappointment. Were this a fund-raising performance by a church group, it would have been impressive. As an off-West End show, with tickets going for £12, it failed. The blame for this, I feel, can be laid at the feet of Okai Collier company who produced the work. Omar Okai, direction/staging/choreography deserves much of this, though with an obviously thin budget one feels Simon James Colier gets his share of blame, as well.

I do feel I must address the seeming inconsistency in my opinion of this piece, with the amateurish appearance of so much of it, and my glowing review of The Grapes Of Wrath, which had a similarly amateurish cast. Well, where to begin… For one thing, Only Connect was right up front that they are a non-professional company. They are almost boastful of this, and of the nature of their work. I went into that performance not expecting anything better than a church fund-raiser. This show, in contrast, was promoted as an off-West End show, and I approached it with that level of expectation. Only Connect are a charity, and the show, besides its own good works factor, is a fund raiser. I gladly dropped a twenty in the basket on the way out, confident that it would be put to good use. Lastly, even though it was not a musical, the music in Grapes was better, better performed, and had a much greater impact in the show than anything in tonight’s show.

In all fairness, I must admit to having had to leave the theatre about 20 minutes before the end of the show (see the chow mein, above). I cannot believe, however, that any miracle prevailed in fixing the many flaws in the production that I witnessed while I was there. The final twenty minutes of a show may redeem an apparently weak script, but cannot make up for a poor performance or conception.

My final word? If you have £15 or less to spend on theatre in London, go see any of the other off-West End shows I have reviewed on these pages; Thin Toes, Last Living Unknown Soldier, A Prayer For My Daughter, The Harder They Come or even Double Portrait. Or, see a show in a bigger venue, like The Peacock where Sadler Wells stage its big productions, with a ticket from the half price booth in Leicester Square.

I wish Okai Collier well on their future productions, but hope they rethink their approach.

Oh, and a final note – as penance I had to wait nearly half and hour in the cold for the train. 🙁

London Journal – Day 26 – Grey Day

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When I left London for Prague the sunniest, and one of the warmest, Februaries on record had just ended. It was in the mid fifties and sunny as I rode the train to Gatwick. Not any more! It is still warm, got up to 50F today, but windy and drizzly. Tomorrow will be worse. It is predicted that we will have gales up to 80 mph by evening. People are being told to stay home, and the home office just hopes that the worst is over before the Monday morning commute.

And I have a ticket to see a musical treatment of the life of Sister Wendy in Hackney! I hope I don’t get blown off the platform waiting for the overground.

Today I went by tube to Monument to take a stroll by the Tower of London, across Tower Bridge, to visit the Design Museum. Monument (Bank and Monument) is so named for the monument to the Great Fire of London found next door. Not too much to look at right now:

Monument

I liked the walk down Lower Thames to Custom House and then along the embankment to the visitor centre for Tower of London. The Tower itself is more interesting to me for what the site and architecture hold than for the inners. I’m sure this comes as no surprise to those who have been reading these accounts for any time at all. I walked the perimeter of the site and took loads of snaps. Check the Day 27 Gallery for more shots.

After crossing Tower Bridge in a brisk wind I strolled along Shad Thames and the southern embankment to the Design Museum. They are hosting two shows, “Jean Prouvé: The Poetics of the Technical Object” and “Brit Insurance Design Award Winners, 2008.” Both good exhibits. I particularly enjoyed the award winners. This was quite the contrast to the unfulfilling show I saw in Prague.

I then high-tailed it up to the Barbican Theatre for a matinee of The Harder They Come, a new musical based on the 70’s movie of the same name. What a good time that was. I was lucky to check the web site this morning and get a last minute 5th row seat in stalls for only £10! The book has its problems, but the staging was innovative, the cast energetic and enchanting, the music expertly played and sung, and the whole works was lushly lit. High praise, and the longest standing ovation I have witnessed here, from a standing room only crowd.

Susan Lawson-Reynolds (Pinky) and Roland Bell (Ivan) in The Harder They Come

That standing room only crowd was part of “2008 East: a festival championing the best of East London” This comprises dozens of arts groups, shops, restaurants, museums, etc. all trying to bring focus to the lively arts, entertainment and life styles of this vibrant part of the city. I thoroughly enjoyed my part of it, and would have gone to another show, “Marilyn and Ella” in Stratford, but with train works going on, and the weather threatening, I thought better of it and headed home. A quick stop for Kabob and then settle in to write and listen to the Beeb.

I’ll leave you with this interesting view of a shop window being (un)dressed in The City:

Window (un)dressing

Ta!

London Journal – Day 25 – Double Portrait

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Double Portrait

Back in the UK and I spent only a brief time in the flat before heading up to Hackney, and the Arcola Theatre again, this time for another piece of new theatre, “Double Portrait” written and directed by Tom Shkolnik, a young film maker. This is a two-hander starring Jodie McNee and Nicole Scott in a tense character study.

The script is spare, the production interesting, and the acting is above par. What is missing is an end — there just isn’t one. The whole piece has the feel of a test, like Shkolnik is trying out some story ideas, and wanted to do so with audience support. The story is simple enough, and all too complex. A pair of sisters are separated by miles, and by lives lived. Nicole is a teacher in London, Jodie is wayward in Liverpool. Jodie is suicidal and misses her sister, who has taken care of her during the ugly split of their parents. Nicole is gaining independence away from home, and just starting to recover from a broken relationship.

To watch these two spiral both towards and away from each other is difficult, but we are drawn. McNee’s performance as Jodie is haunting and powerful. Her neediness is palpable, and the opening scene literally made me shiver, something which no other theatre experience has done on this trip. Scott’s performance as the more responsible sister is just as moving. She is a giver, in her family, her job and her relationship. In a telling scene she has an awkward visit from her ex, come to pick up his stuff. He wants to comfort her over Jodie, but she finds the strength to send him packing and stand on her own. This is a difficult scene under the best of circumstances, but made more so here by the fact that Scott must play the scene with a non-existent partner.

An especially effective device in this production is the presence of the two characters on the same stage (set by Agnes Treplin) the same space, but separated by hundreds of miles and their own, very different needs. This is especially effective under Neil Brinkworth’s thoughtful lighting design. These sisters do need each other, and the director makes us feel this deeply by placing them so close together on the stage while the distances between them grow.

This is a good bit of theatre, but it is only a bit. Presented in the smaller Studio 2 of Arcola’s unique energy-efficient building, such a short and as yet under realised production really should have been promoted more as a work in progress, and billed accordingly. The performances and directing would hold a longer show well, all that’s needed is the rest of the script.

Praha Journal – Day 2 – Happy Happy

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I have just returned from “Argonauti” at Laterna Magika (been misspelling that all along). It is hard to explain what Laterna Magika is. I can give you a list of what is in it: Theatre, Ballet, Modern Dance, Cinema, Stage Effects, Black Theatre, Music, Lighting and more. By the way, Black Theatre refers not to the race of the performers, but to a uniquely Czech form of theatre which utilizes darkness, black drapery, costumes, lifts and prop handlers to produce effects such as levitation, flight, animation, etc. Laterna Magika combines all of these forms in their own special synthesis. Grand scenes play out with cinematic projection onto multiple screens which are often integrated into the setting. Characters seemingly materialize in front of or behind these screens and leap from celluloid to life.Argonatica was produced by commission of the 2004 Athens Olympic Games. You may have seen parts of it if you watched the opening ceremonies. It tells the tale of Jason and the Argonauts, with an entirely new score, choreography, etc. It is simply stunning. If ever back in Prague I will go to see whatever Laterna Magika is staging.

On the way home I grabbed a late night bite from a street vendor on Vaclavski Namesti (Wenslas Square) and ate it while walking home. This path, from the Narodni Divaldo (National Theatre) to Municipal Hall to my hotel, is a major shopping strip. It is like an arcade of arcades, or a mall of malls. The large buildings lining the sides of Narodni are each Palladium of shops, or else large department stores. I must confess to not having ventured too far into these. Some of them have large central courtyard, and into some I have gone, simply to look at the inner vaults of the blocks. This is much like visiting Mew, Close or Alley shops in London.

I was quite exhausted before the theatre. I got up early and, after the hotel breakfast, was out on the streets before 08:00. My trek, briefly described in my earlier posting, was very long this morning. I set out to go get a ticket for Laterna Magika, which would entail going West to the Vltava and then south to Narodni. I decided that I would rather dodge north a short way to the east-to-west leg of the Vltava and then follow its big bend around Josefov (Jewish Quarter) and Old Town to the theatre. This was a good plan, but then I saw Smermuv Most (bridge) and had to cross. On the north bank there is a steep slope above Nabrezi Edvarda Benese, the corniche, to Ledenske Sady, the largest public greenspace in Prague. The views from the top of this embankment are spectacular.

A path extends west from Ledenske Sady to Prazsky Hrad, Prague Castle. Within the castle walls are St. Vitus’s Cathedral and several other architectural gems. Most of the buildings are open to the public, with entrance fees of about $10 per building. I demurred. I have so little time here that the last thing I want to do is spend it couped up in byzantine buildings with immense crowds of people, which is what these sites draw. There were hundreds, if not more, just at this one place. As it was I spent over an hour within the castle walls, without ever stepping into a building, other than the coffee shop to get a hot chocolate.

Then back down a winding path into the Little Quarter and back across the Vltava. On the eastern end of Manesus Most is the Rudolfinum, a grand hall, the Museum of Decorative Arts and the Old Jewish Cemetery. There was a concert underway in Rudolfinum, so I gave it a pass. Next was the Decorative Arts Museum. I am a big fan of Bohemian pottery, and Art Nouveau in general. There was a mass of young people outside the entrance. I figured they were waiting to go in, but soon realized that they were just hanging out. I have no idea why, but even though there are wide sidewalk on either side of the entrance, these kids just crowded onto the stairs smoking cigarettes, eating baguettes and chatting or texting. The whole thing made no sense to me. Pedestrians were forced to walk into the street to get around this mass.

Whatever. I went in. Turns out the new exhibit opens on Thursday, so I decided to just see it all tomorrow so I only have to pay one admission.

Next was the Jewish Cemetery. Oh my gosh, once I found the entrance I gave up on that. There were easily a thousand people just waiting on line to get in. There was no way I was going to join that line. On to the theatre and my ticket! Since I was so close to Old Town Square and it was almost noon I ventured there to see the clock again, and then went southwest on Narodni to the theatre.

Here is a sculpture set into the facade of a building on Narodni, it celebrates the success of the Velvet Revolution on 17, November, 1989:

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As I have already noted, I got a good seat, and enjoyed finding my way in the hustle and bustle of the noontime crowds. That done, I went in search of a meal. By the time I got to a restaurant it was already 14:30! I had certainly taken my time. Part of this was simply trying to familiarize myself with the area, the layout of streets, etc. I had a good time. I also missed the heaviest snow of the day – a flurry that lasted about a half hour. My meal was very nice, and then back into the street and home. I got to take a brief nap from 17:00 to 18:00 then left to get to the show on time. I got to theatre early enough to have a cognac at a nearby bar first.

Here is a shot of Narodni Divaldo from my earlier treks.  This view is looking west down Narodni with the Vltava in the middle distance and the Divaldo on the left:

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So, I was walking home with my late snack, nearing Municipal Hall, which marks the junction between the big modern shopping street, Old Town Square and Revolucni, the street my hotel is on. An attractive woman in a fur coat asks me for a light, in heavily accented English. I don’t have one I tell her. She asks where I am from. “America,” I tell her. “Oh, that is nice city,” she replies, “Where you going now?” “My hotel.” “So soon?” “I got up early.” “Don’t you want some happy happy?” That’s it, I have just been propositioned in not just a new city, but a new country and continent as well. I walk away shaking my head not looking back.

The coat was the first clue; it was obviously a gift from a man who neither loved her nor knew her well, the way it matched her hair in a most unflattering way.  That and the fact that she spontaneously spoke to me on the street, that’s a clue too.

That said, I did successfully give directions to a young Frenchman today!

Speaking of French, I wanted to share this photo of a sight on the bluffs to the west of town.  This is called “The Trifle Tower” by locals.  It is a 1/3 scale replica of the Eiffel Tower built for an exposition:

trifle-tower.jpg

When I got to the hotel there was a throng of female Italian college students, 18 and 19 year olds if I had to guess. There were so many of them all packed into the entrance it was like the mess at the museum earlier in the day. If it weren’t for the chaperone stepping in and shooing them over to one side they would not have even let me in.  Lots of “Scusi” and “‘Grazie” involved here.

Good night, more tomorrow.

Ciao ciao!

London Journal – Day 20 – Home Front Readers

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UK readers now make up 10% of this blog’s readership, compared to 50% US.  I at least find that interesting.  Those posts most commonly read by Brits are the theatre and arts reviews.  One of these, of Thin Toes, is now prominently featured on that show’s Facebook page.

Thanks for the attention ladies!

It does make me think that perhaps I should have said more about some of the shows I have seen.  In particular, A Prayer For My Daughter, at the Young Vic.  I mentioned the show, but never said what I thought of it.  I will correct that now.

The script for Prayer, by Thomas Babe, takes us back to a grubby police office in 1970’s New York.  Two detectives bring in a pair of suspects and try to get them to crack while agonizing events are unravelling outside the office and inside the characters.  This is a tense piece, and gives the audience little time to breathe.  The set is perfection; Fourth Of July, and the detritus is all around.  A well crafted soundscape and pitch-perfect lighting complete the illusion.  The peculiar space of the Young Vic studio space is used to its utmost here.

The performances?  Where to begin.  The program says “brings together some of the strongest acting talent.”  True, true.  I give a special nod to Colin Morgan for his performance as Jimmy Rosebud.  He is captivating and lets his character build from within over the length of the show, until he has the other characters, and the audience, completely roped in.  Then he explodes in a tour de force soliloquy in which the force of his blubbered monologue is even more daunting than the weapon he brandishes.  Keep your eye on this young man.

Colin Morgan

My dream show — How about Colin Morgan and Helen Millar in Mamet’s The Woods?  Hand out smelling salts in the lobby!

London Journal – Day 20 – Please Reboot: Diversion Ends

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Please Reboot

Mother’s Day falls on 2 March this year in the UK, so I celebrated by having a bag breakfast in Paddington Street Gardens with a copy of the Independent On Sunday (free DVD of Luis Buñel’s Viridiana today).

On my way from Paddington Street I stumbled across a really nice little market. London is dotted with farmer’s markets every weekend (and some weekdays) and this one in Marylebone had everything you could want. There were bee keepers selling honey and dairymen selling cheeses, butters and creams, livestock keepers selling pork, beef, lamb and poultry, every vegetable and salad green imaginable, the list goes on and on. I picked up a lovely smoked cheese, but otherwise controlled myself – I leave for Prague in a day and a half I cannot fill up the fridge before I do. I will find another market when I return.

I then had a leisurely stroll down to Leicester Square and got a 10th row seat for Insane In The Brain by the Bounce Street Dance Co. at the Peacock Theatre. Along the way I saw the sign above over Piccadilly. Note the mouse pointer lurking middle bottom. This sign needs a reboot.

Then I simply wandered about trying to decide what to do. What did John Lennon say, “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans…” Well, that was my day. I wandered from Leicester Square to Covent Garden where I watched one busker sing opera and another sing James Taylor (quite well). Then up to Hoborn and Bloomsbury and all around there. Back down to The Strand and Fleet Street, and finally back to the Lycium Tavern for a cognac before my matinee show.

Insane In The Brain is a retelling of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, as a street-dance ballet. Highly charged doesn’t begin to cover it. The music is Hip-Hop and loud, the dance is gravity defying and energetic.

The telling of the story is very well done. I haven’t seen the film in a long time and kept finding myself going “Oh yeah, I remember this part.” There was a cute, cheeky bit, during the illicit drinking scene, where they paid homage to Flash Dance and Fame. The send up was effective but well intended too. The audience ate it up. I enjoyed the show greatly.

Well, one does get hungry at these late matinees, so it was back to the neighbourhood and Sunday Roast at The Volunteer. Lamb today, not as good as The Green, not by a long shot, but very cheap and still good. Cauliflower in cheese sauce, I like that!

I’ll end with this street sign I found laying flat on the tarmac

Diversion Ends