Category Archives: Theatre Reviews

The Last Ship Review: Sting’s Musical Homecoming

It was announced last week that Sting’s Broadway musical The Last Ship will close early, three months after it opened on Broadway. I now feel all the more fortunate that I was able to see it, with Sting himself in a starring role, no less!

Sting fans will know that the rock icon was born in the shipbuilding town of Wallsend, and that he has explored his Northern roots musically. First there was Soul Cages (1991), a poetic and sorrowful album set in a Northern shipbuilding community, which Sting wrote to help him deal with his father’s death. Then came the concept album The Last Ship (2013) which, although it followed more than twenty years later, shares a setting and themes with Soul Cages and feels in many ways like its sequel.

And from this concept album now emerges a fully-fledged original musical that plays tribute to the shipbuilders of Northern England and deals with fraught relationships between fathers and sons. The Last Ship is part parable and part gritty realism, a melancholy musical with a dark colour pallet.

The vaguely autobiographical plot centres on prodigal son Sting Gideon, who is returning to his hometown of Wallsend after a fifteen-year absence. Gideon (Michael Esper) refused to become a shipbuilder like his father and left home to become a rock star sailor. Returning just too late to attend his father’s funeral, he tries to find his place in the community, and more specifically where he stands with Meg (Rachel Tucker), the teenage girlfriend he left behind. The wise and spirited Meg is now with the safe and steady Arthur (Aaron Lazar), and so the show presents a love triangle. Who will she choose?

Gideon arrives just as the shipyard is closing and we are asked to consider the fate of men who have been deprived of the dignity of work. The gang of testosterone-fuelled shipbuilders are led by their foreman, the tough and salty Jackie White. The role was originated by Jimmy Nail (of Auf Wiedersehen, Pet fame), but in the performance I saw was portrayed by Sting, in an ultimately doomed last-ditch effort to boost ticket sales. Local priest Father O’Brian (Fred Applegate) encourages the men to build one final ship which they themselves will sail; this mission will once more endow them with a sense of purpose and pride.

What makes this show a joy is Sting’s evocative, English folk-inspired music. Let it be known that The Last Ship is not one of those contemporary musicals with only one or two good songs; from moving love songs to rousing sea shanties, every number is breathtaking. Though I was already a fan of most of the songs through listening to the concept album, I was stuck by how wonderfully they transferred to musical theatre style. Since seeing the show, the cast recording has been playing almost non-stop in our house.

The performances are also terrific. Rachel Tucker, as Meg, was a standout. Sting, unsurprisingly, sings phenomenally, though as an actor, he lacks stage presence. As thrilling as it was to see Sting, part of me wishes we’d seen the originally-cast Jimmy Nail, who sounds incredibly charismatic on the cast recording.

Unfortunately, the script, by John Logan and Brian Yorkey, lets the show down. For a start, it’s cliché ridden. There is a salt-of-the earth matron, a women’s number dedicated to the fecklessness of men, even a character on his deathbed with cancer with final wisdom to share. I also struggled with the strange mix of parable and realism. Clearly, the ‘last ship’ the men are building symbolizes salvation. Yet the show is set in a real community whose men are out of work. I was left wondering whether they’d look for jobs when they got back to shore. Another problem is that the character of Gideon lacks depth. Even after fifteen years of sailing, he seems so immature and angry that it’s hard to see him as a viable suitor to Meg.

Still, the beautiful score makes it all worthwhile, and I think the show deserves more success than it has had. Here’s hoping it comes to the West End with a script rewrite.

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Merrily We Roll Along Review

The original 1981 production of the Sondheim musical Merrily We Roll Along famously flopped on Broadway, closing after just sixteen performances. This revival, produced by the Menier Chocolate Factory, and now enjoying a run on the West End at the Harold Pinter Theatre, gives the musical its dues.

Contrary to its light-hearted sounding title, Merrily We Roll Along is actually cynical and heart breaking. It is the story of three old friends: Mary, Frank and Charlie. They are creative types: Frank and Charlie are the composer and lyricist, respectively, of a song-writing duo and their friend Mary is a writer.

The play’s principle conceit is its backwards chronology: it begins in 1976, when the trio’s friendship is in tatters and they are cynical and jaded. The story then travels backwards, finishing at their first meeting in 1957, when they are still full of youthful optimism. The play charts the trajectories of their careers and friendship, and examines the betrayals and compromises that come with fulfilling our ambitions.

The entire cast is pitch perfect, every character clearly defined. I loved each member of the central trio. Jenna Russell is very, very funny as Mary, a cynic with an acerbic tongue even in her youth, who conceals an unrequited love for Franklin. Damian Humbley plays the lyricist Charlie, who is less flashy than Frank, moral and true. Mark Umbers is somehow likable as the composer Franklin Shepherd, despite the fact that we are to understand that he has betrayed his youthful ideals for commercial success. Umbers performance made his choices seem human and understandable.

Of course, the show’s main selling point is its gorgeous music, which is more accessible than any other Sondheim score that I’m familiar with. The singing is terrific. All the cast have impeccable diction. I could hear every word, which can’t be easy when you’re dealing with wordy Sondheim lyrics.

If I have one quibble about Merrily We Roll Along it’s that it could be more understated. It hits you over the head with its tender message of the savagery of time. But that’s a minor complaint.  If you’ve ever felt intoxicated by the past and musings about what brought you to your present position, this show will charm you.

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Review: Coalition at the Pleasance Theatre

Robert Khan and Tom Salinsky’s new political comedy features a familiar set-up:  a coalition government, formed of Tories and Liberal Democrats.  Coalition shows the point of view of the junior partner, the Liberal Democrats.  The year is 2015, and after five years, their unholy alliance is starting to unravel.

At this point, I will pause to explain to my American readers that the last British election, held in 2010, resulted in a ‘hung parliament;’ that is, no party won the minimum number of constituencies required to take control of the government.  Consequently, the Tories (Conservatives), who had won the majority of votes, entered into an unlikely partnership with the Liberal Democrats (a third party, the closest US equivalent is the Libertarians).  The result is the current Coalition government, Britain’s first coalition to have lasted for more than a few months since 1929.  David Cameron, the leader of the Tories, is Prime Minister and Nick Clegg, the Liberal Democrat leader, is Deputy Prime Minister.

So, back to the production at the Pleasance Theatre in Islington.  Coalition stars comedian Thom Tuck as Deputy Prime Minister Matt Cooper.  His character is obviously supposed to make us think of Clegg, but in fact bears little resemblance to him.  Cooper is a grubby and embarrassingly needy politician.  An early gag concerns how desperately excited he is to have his first meeting with the Prime Minister in months.  The plot charts Cooper’s downfall after his Energy Secretary refuses to back a Nuclear Power station.  Spectacularly incompetent, Cooper bumbles from one disaster to another, ignoring the advice of his far more capable subordinate staff.  The play suggests that, in the pattern of an Aristotelian tragedy, Cooper’s lust for power leads him to sacrifice his principles, which ultimately causes him to self-destruct.

My chief complaint about this play as it could easily have been forty minutes shorter.  Several unnecessary scenes are played out before the plot falls into place.  When the plot at last arrives, the evening becomes more enjoyable.  There are plenty witty zingers and amusing performances.

Ultimately, however, Coalition lacks bite.  Part of the problem is that Matt Cooper bears so little resemblance to Nick Clegg.  I guess we are supposed to dislike him because he is a smarmy, and a figure of foolish pride.  But that’s shooting fish in a barrel.  I suspect another thing that cripples this play is the fact that Britain does political satire so well already.  Coalition fails to be as impressive as an episode of Yes, Prime Minister or The Thick of It.

I suppose I was never going to warm to this play because I disagreed with its chief accusation that the Liberal Democrats, as represented by Cooper, have sold their souls in the name of power.  I can remember a pertinent episode of Question Time that aired shortly after the Coalition government had formed.  Both panelists and audience members made the same accusations as Khan and Salinsky, branding Clegg as ‘just another politician hungry for power.’  But surely, I thought to myself, gaining power was always the name of the game.  No one becomes a politician if they don’t want power.

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Merry Crimpness Everybody!

Review: In the Republic of Happiness by Martin Crimp, a Royal Court production

This play divides opinion.  A number of people walked out of the performance I saw, but I also heard a lot of appreciative hollering at curtain call.  I must admit, I entered the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs with a bias.  I am currently rehearsing a production of another Crimp play The Country (details here!) and I wanted to like his newest play, In the Republic of Happiness.

Both plays are, I think, about puncturing the current idols of the middle class and exposing their inherent artifice.  In The Country, Crimp shatters the idealization of country life by suggesting that the country is plagued by the same immoralities as the city.  In the Republic of Happiness is an assault on the westerner’s tireless pursuit of self-fulfillment, at expense of all else.

Unlike The Country, however, ItRoH is experimental in structure.  It begins conventionally enough, with a dysfunctional family Christmas dinner.  There’s a pregnant teenager, a porn-loving grandfather, a liberated grandmother.  So far, so familiar.  Festivities are interrupted by the arrival of Uncle Bob.  He and his wife Madeline are on their way to the airport, but he has stopped by to explain, in lurid detail, why Madeline hates every member of the family.

In part II, entitled ‘The Five Essential Freedoms of the Individual’, plot and characters are abandoned and things start to get weird.  The stage is transformed into a TV chat show set, and the actors face the audience to deliver narcissistic sermons.  They tell us, in the modern parlance of psychobabble, about their obsessions with therapy, modern technology and overcoming personal tragedy. Typical line: ‘I was angry with my partner’s cat.  I was angry with my partner’s body.  I had flashbacks’.

Structurally, this section is similar to Crimp’s best known play, the drama-school-favourite Attempts on her Life, in that there are no assigned parts for the scripted dialogue.  Instead, at every performance, the eight cast members speak spontaneously, not knowing which of them is going to deliver the next line.  According to Crimp, as well as keeping the performances fresh, this technique highlights that we are not the individuals we love to think we are; in our desire to be unique, we are all paradoxically the same.  The repetitiveness of the dialogue makes this same point, perhaps suggesting that we are socially conditioned to desire the same things.  We are members of a cult, all worshiping at the altar of the self.  It was during this section that audience members started to evacuate, presumably because of the repetitiveness and/or vulgarity of the dialogue.

Oh and there are some very enjoyable songs to break up the speech.  All the actors sing about themselves, X-Factor style.  Another platform for trite self-expression, I think.

Finally in part III, Uncle Bob and Madeline return and are in the titular Republic of Happiness.  In this dystopia, our obsession with individualism has been pursued to its toxic end.  Uncle Bob sings a ‘happy song’, but it’s clear that the long-sought happiness is phony.

Because I have focused on what I understood, I fear this review fails to capture the bizarreness of the play, and the absurdity of much of the dialogue.  I wanted to like this play, I really did.  And while I admire its inventiveness and incisiveness, I needed those old staples: characters and a plot, to hold my interest.  The blitz of self-obsessions in part II grows tiresome, though I guess that was the point.

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Peter Pan the the Starcatcher Review: A Peter Pan prequel

I have been a Pan fan since early childhood and so was excited to see Peter and the Starcatcher on my recent trip to New York City.  The new play, based on Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson’s novel, is an origin story for the legendary Peter Pan.  It makes use of many of the same enchanting elements found in James Barrie’s original play: pirates, mermaids, crocodiles, bedtime stories, mother figures and the pain of loss.  The play underlines the richness of Barrie’s myth, while still being a mirthful theatrical experience.

At the start of the play, the boy who will become Peter Pan is an unnamed orphan aboard a ship called the Neverland.  Flashbacks show us glimpses of his miserable past in an orphanage.  The Neverland is carrying precious cargo: starstuff.  As any child will tell you, stars have the power to make wishes come true.  Consequently, the star stuff must be carefully guarded so that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.  Lord Aster, the ship’s captain, is one of the world’s only starcatchers, who are entrusted with protecting the precious star matter.  Aster’s thirteen-year-old daughter Molly is a starcatcher-in-training, eager to aid in the mission of safely transporting a treasure chest of star stuff.  Conflict comes in the form of the pirate Black Stache (the future Captain Hook) and his crew, who are out to steal the starry treasure.

The fast-paced, madcap production runs like a well-oiled machine.  The first act is a bit confusing as the script works frantically to provide the necessary exposition.  But the show becomes sublime in the second act, when Aster’s crew are shipwrecked on a tropical island (future Neverland), with the pirates in hot pursuit.  For the Peter Pan expert, it is a pleasure to see many elements of the canon fall gracefully into place: the ticking belly of the crocodile, Hook’s missing hand, and the origins of his symbolic feud with Pan.

Peter and the Starcatcher is strongly influenced by British pantomime, a genre seldom seen in the US.  This is ironic given that Barrie intended for the original Peter Pan to elevate children’s theatre beyond the pantomime genre[1].  Men in drag, foppish villains, slapstick gags and innuendo are all in ample supply.  Perhaps the play’s most memorable image is a coterie of drag mermaids, sporting everything from funnels to teapots for breasts.  But unlike a panto, Peter and the Starcatcher is, like its source text, unexpectedly moving.  The production veers skillfully between hilarity and poignancy.

The ensemble cast are all fantastic, but my favourite was Celia Keenan-Bolger as Molly.  The only female in the cast of twelve, she was endearing and delightful as the spunky and precocious heroine.   Also brilliant is Matthew Saldivar as the future Captain Hook.  A camp and outrageous villain, he had the audience in hysterics from his first appearance, with his tongue lolling and eyes rolling.  And as two lost boy prototypes, Eric Peterson and Carson Eldor charmed with a comedic style that would not be out of place in a Judd Apatow film.

The show is also delightful for its minimal props and imaginative stagecraft.  We are asked to believe that flapping yellow glove is a bird (or perhaps a fairy?), that a piece of rope is a doorway or a ladder, that a string of bunting is a row of crocodile teeth.  I was reminded that theatre audiences really will believe whatever you tell them, unlike film audiences, who are hyper sensitive to poor special effects.   This play made me realize that the story of Peter Pan and the theatre share a dependency on the magic potion of belief.  Yes, I do believe in fairies, and I also believe in theatre.



[1] Barrie, J. M.. (1995). Introduction. In: Hollindale, P., Cordner, M., Holland, P., and Wiggins, M. Peter Pan and Other Plays. Oxford: Oxford University Press. xii.

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Jumpy: Whatever happened to feminism?

The Royal Court’s production of April de Angelis’s Jumpy, which just finished a celebrated run at the Duke of York Theatre, depicts a turbulent mother/daughter relationship. Like de Angelis’s The Positive Hour (a play I have read but not seen), Jumpy deals with female empowerment and the legacy of feminism.

Tasmin Grieg (previously only known to me from the TV show Episodes) stars as Hilary, the modern, socially-liberal mum of Tilly, a monstrous, over-sexualized sixteen year old.  Hilary and her girlfriend Francis were feminist crusaders in the early eighties and the play indirectly asks the question, what has the feminist movement achieved?  Has Hilary’s hard-fought battle for women’s lib won her daughter the right to her stilettos and loud sex with her boyfriend in her mother’s home?  Are Tilly’s sexual liberation and Hilary’s friend Francis’s burlesque dancing manifestations of female empowerment, or signs that feminism has lost its way?

But all that makes the play sound more pious and less enjoyable than it is.  In fact, wonderfully witty dialogue and very funny performances made Jumpy a most enjoyable evening.  Tasmin Grieg is phenomenal as the idealistic but fraught Hilary.  Her performance found a truthful balance between comedy and pathos.  Doon Mackichan is also outstanding as Frances, Hilary’s comically desperate single friend.  Though I found Tilly (Bel Powley) too unrelentingly garish to become a three-dimensional character.

As in de Angelis’s The Positive Hour, the male characters are flat and pathetic.  Admittedly, Richard Lintern gave a memorable performance as the self-obsessed father of Tilly’s boyfriend.  Ewan Stewart as Tilly’s husband Mark, was likable but wasn’t given much to do.  The play’s other male characters, are, as far as I can tell, only there to be objects of female desire.

On the whole, however, the production was so enjoyable that it was hard to notice that de Angelis’s script often threatened to veer out of control and belie credibility.  A pregnancy scare, marital breakdown, a gunshot wound, menopause, burlesque and the consequences of David Cameron’s austerity measures were all thrown into the mix.  That the play cohered is a testament to excellent direction and some well-judged performances.

 

 

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The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs (Edinburgh Fringe Festival Review)

The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs was one of the hottest tickets at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival.  Playwright Mike Daisy, a former Apple aficionado, based the one-man show on his real life experiences.  Daisy had found on his brand new iPhone test photos taken inside the Apple factory.  He began to wonder about the people who made his beloved Apple products and decided to undertake a pilgrimage to China to find out.  His findings became The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs.  Daisy has toured the US since 2010, performing the monologue himself.  The production at the Fringe Festival was directed by Marcus Roche and performed by Grant O’Rourke.

The monologue presents the interlocking stories of the remarkable career of Steve Jobs, and the Apple factory workers in China.  The play also developed the metaphor of Apple as a religion.  I have been interested in this phenomenon since the outpouring of grief after Steve Jobs’ death, so I enjoyed seeing it dramatized.  I continue to wonder why Apple inspires a uniquely fervent devotion and also a sense of identity among its consumers.

Predominantly, however, the play is interested in the conditions of the Chinese workers at the Apple factory. The details are disturbing, as they are meant to be.  We learn that all Apple products are assembled by hand, and that they include pieces as small as a human hair.  Employees start work from as young as twelve.  By the time they are in their early twenties, many have lost the use of their hands.  At the time of Daisy’s visit, the factory’s management had installed nets on the outside of the building to deal with the persistent problem of the employees committing suicide.  In a country where unions are illegal and democracy does not provide an alternative course of action, the elevated suicide rates are comprehensible.

Grant O’Rourke is excellent as the Apple disciple who began to question his religion.  He has the sardonic techie persona down to a tee.  His performance was captivating and even funny, no easy feat in a play about corporate responsibility.   As I was leaving the theatre, a man offered to give me his iPhone.  I call that a successful show.

 

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Bitch Boxer (Edinburgh Fringe Festival Review)

At the beginning of Bitch Boxer, a young actress sprinkled white chalk on the ground to create the square of a boxing ring.  The disembodied voice of a ring announcer declared the start of a fight to determine which woman would represent Britain in Olympic boxing.  The pumped young fighter then proceeded to tell us what had brought her to that moment.  What followed was an hour-long performance of astonishing power and emotional intensity.  This superb one-woman show was the best production I saw at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

Bitch Boxer was produced by Old Vic New Voices, an initiative which supports theatre professionals aged 18—30.  Charlotte Josephine both wrote and performed the play and Bryony Shanahan directed.   As the 2012 Olympic Games in London were the first Olympics in history in which women were allowed to compete in the sport of boxing, a play exploring the psychology of a young female fighter from east London was well timed.

The show’s venue at the Fringe, the Underbelly Cowgate, suited the material perfectly.  The austere setting, with exposed pipes and corrugated iron, suggested an underground boxing club.  A chair, a gym bag and its contents were the only props, which left ample space for the powerhouse performance.

Charlotte Josephine was utterly convincing and captivating as Chloe Jackson, the titular boxer.  During the hour-long play, her energy never flagged.  The emotional rawness of her performance consistently brought a lump to my throat.  But what impressed me most about Josephine’s characterization was its complexity.  She showed us the strength and tenacity of her character, but also the vulnerability underneath.  I believed Chloe was a tough and determined fighter with serious street cred.  But I also saw that she was a daddy’s girl, and a young woman who carried a great deal of pain, which drove her addiction to boxing.  Absorbing and heart-rending.

 

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Singin’ in the Rain at the Palace Theatre

When a visiting friend asked to see a West End musical during her visit, I jumped at the chance to indulge my addiction and booked us tickets to see Singin’ in the Rain, currently playing at the Palace Theatre.  The production is slick, and wonderfully serviced by its musical score, which remains as joyful as ever.

For anyone not already familiar with the plot from the classic MGM film (is there anyone?), Singin’ in the Rain recounts the fortunes of silent film stars when the talkies take over.  Leading man Don Lockwood has the vocal chops to survive the transition, but leading lady Lina Lamont, with her screechy Brooklyn accent, will be out of a job.  Enter the fresh-faced starlet Kathy Selden, who is called upon to dub Lina’s voice and save the picture, but not before falling in love with Don.

Theatrical remakes of hit films are doomed to one of two fates:  they are either condemned for lack of originality, or they are lambasted for needless betrayal of the sacred original.   This review falls into the former category, I’m afraid.   At this point, I must confess that I have seen the film many, many times.  If this were not the case, I suspect I would have enjoyed the unflaggingly loyal production at the Palace a great deal more.  Throughout the show, I was distracted by a parallel performance of the film that ran in my imagination and prevented me from relaxing and losing myself in the performance on the stage.

Now, I realize this might sound fussy, but one of the theatre’s gifts is its ability to reimagine material afresh.  Unlike films, which remain frozen, theatre can reinvent the same show for each new audience, finding new interpretations and layers of meaning.  This production of Singin’ in the Rain, though polished to perfection, played it safe.

And ultimately, Adam Cooper, Daniel Crossley and Scarlett Strallen, as Don, Cosmo and Kathy respectively, fail to come out from behind the massive shadows cast by Gene Kelly, Donald O’Connor and Debbie Reynolds.  I concede that Strallen had a sunny pertness reminiscent of, well, Debbie Reynolds; though her American accent hit a few false notes, which grated my ear (sorry).  Only Katherine Kingsley, as the squawking Lina, made me forget all about her cinematic predecessor.  Her show-stealing performance brought new complexity to the role by suggesting that insecurity lay behind Lina’s wicked behaviour.

Yes, the set design is beautiful.  Yes, there are gallons of water for the title number.   And yes, the show is a delightful spectacle of singing and tap dancing.  But then so is the movie.

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