The Cherry Orchard - The Old Vic - Wednesday 24th June 2009

Synopsis:

Early one May morning, after a long absence (during which she lived in Paris), the widow Madame Ranevsky returns home to her family estate to find that it has been heavily mortgaged to pay for her extravagances and that it is to be auctioned off. With her arrives her daughter, Anya, and Anya’s German governess, Charlotte. They are greeted by Varya, Ranevsky’s adopted daughter who manages the remnants of the once-grand estate; Gayev, Ranevsky’s brother; Lopakhin, a former peasant who has become a wealthy merchant and neighbour members of the staff; and other neighbors and friends.

Amidst her recollections of her girlhood nursery, Madame Ranevsky is reminded that the estate will be sold to clear debts in August, unless the family can raise sufficient funds. Generous and distracted, she seems incapable of recognizing andacting on her desperate situation. Lopakhin offers to lend Ranevsky 50,000 roubles to cover the debts and save the estate--if she will permit the land to be divided into lots for summer tourist homes. This, however, involves cutting down the estate’s famous cherry orchard, which Ranevsky loves dearly; and the plan is rejected as sacrilege. Several other ideas to save the estate also arise: Gayev will try to secure a loan, or perhaps Anya will visit her wealthy great-aunt, a countess in distant Yaroslavl, and be richly married. Nothing is resolved.

Later in the summer, courtship seems to preclude business. The new servant, Yasha, competes with the estate clerk Yepikhodov for the attentions of Dunyasha the maid; Varya tries to prevent a union between her sister, Anya, and the perpetual student Trofimov (former tutor to Ranevsky's infant son, who drowned at age six), and everybody assumes that Varya will marry Lopakhin, though there has been no proposal.

In the midst of this, Lopakhin tries vainly to get the family to be more practical, but Ranevsky confesses that she squandered her fortune on her unfaithful lover in Paris and is probably not capable of practical dealing with the immediate problem. Firs, an aged servant, longs for “the good old days” before the serfs were emancipated, but Trofimov dreams of progress. He is glad the estate will be sold, for to him every leaf in the cherry orchard tells of a serf’s complaints and sufferings.

August arrives, and the estate must be auctioned to meet the mortgage payments. Gayev attends the sale, hopeful that the great-aunt’s money will be enough to satisfy the creditors. At the mansion a farewell party is underway even though there are no funds for the orchestra. The household members dance and quarrel until Lopakhin returns with Gayev from the auction to announce that he has bought the estate where his father and other family members once was serfs, and he intends to carry out his plan for cutting down the orchard. Seeing Ranevsky’s sorrow, Lopakhin remorsefully wishes that “this miserable disjointed life could somehow be changed.” Anya comforts her mother, promising that together they will build a new, happy life.

In the autumn, with the estate and orchard now gone, Ranevsky readies for her departure to Paris, where she will live on the money from the great-aunt. Anya will accompany her and attend school. Gayev has a job as a bank clerk; Trofimov, as a translator. Lopakhin has failed to propose to Varya, so she will become a housekeeper for others. However, Lopakhin does hire Yepikhodov to work for him and promises to find a new position for Charlotte. Ranevsky is worried about the old and ailing Firs, but is told that he is in the hospital. Once the family and their entourage depart, however, Firs finds himself alone, locked in the deserted house. Axe strokes resound outside, as the woodsmen begin at last to cut down the cherry orchard.

Cast:

Ranevksya – Sinead Cusack
Anya – Morven Christie
Varya – Rebecca Hall
Gaev – Paul Jesson
Lopakhin – Simon Russell Beale
Trofimov – Ethan Hawke
Simeonov – Dakin Matthews
Charlotta – Selina Cadell
Yepikhodov – Tobias Segal
Dunyasha – Charlotte Parry
Firs – Richard Easton
Yasha – Josh Hamilton

Production Credits:
Director - Sam Mendes
Translation - Tom Stoppard

Set Designer: Anthony Ward
Costume Designer -Catherine Zuber
Lighting -Paul Pyant
Sound-Paul Arditti
Music-Mark Bennett
Music Direction-Dan Lipton
Choreographer-Josh Prince
Casting-Maggie Lunn & Nancy Piccione, C.S.A


To Waterloo on a broiling June evening, along with seemingly thousands of teenage girls dressed as jailbait, who booked tickets for this show not because they wanted to get to the bottom of Chekov’s enigmatic tale of a civilisation in decline and family angst, but because they wanted to swoon over Mr. Ethan Hawke, who is apparently an actor in moving pictures. No, I haven’t seen any of them, and no, I had only vaguely heard of him before. So I can’t tell you what all the fuss was about, except that teenage girls currently seem to be going for lank, beardy types who would look more at home in the kind of bar that has wooden floors, half-length louvre doors, a pianola playing honkytonk music in the corner and possibly Mae West sipping moonshine and tonic at one end of the counter while keeping an eye on her scantily clad burlesque dancers. Unfortunately for said teenage girls, Mr. Hawke’s appearances were mercifully brief so, during the longeurs between his scenes, they kept themselves occupied by doing their nails, texting their friends (“Chelsea and me is at featre c-ing Ethan he is well fit innit”), eating rapidly melting chocolate eclairs and shifting so much in their creaky seats that being in the Upper Circle sounded like being on board the Marie Celeste during a hurricane (of note is that quite a few of them were so obviously bored by the whole thing that they didn’t come back after the interval). The rest of the audience peered through the gloom trying to make out what was happening on stage (Lighting by “Desperately Underlit Theatre Productions, Inc”, once again), tried to ignore half the casts’ impenetrable American accents and steeled themselves not to storm the stage and strangle one of Chekov’s most irritating characters.

I’ve seen much better-directed Chekov plays than this (there was a fantastic – and probably definitive - Three Sisters at the National shortly before I started writing this blog) – and, admittedly, much worse (The Seagull, one of my first two or three reviews). This production just seemed to be a bit bland, a bit staid, and a bit lacking in depth, bite and ideas. Him Indoors wittered on about “naturalistic direction” – for which read “uninspired”. When I go to the theatre, I want to see something theatrical. And considerably better lit. For the scenes of the play which took place in the nursery, the stage was divided into alternate strips of darkness and light – presumably to represent the bars on the nursery windows and possibly the psychological prison in which most of the characters feel themselves trapped. Or something poncey like that. In practical terms, it just made the stage dingy and difficult to see.

Part of the problem, I feel, is that the character of Ranevksya is extremely unsympathetic, constantly maundering on about happy times long gone and seemingly unable to agree to an idea which has been handed to her on a plate and which would solve all her problems in one go. I’m sure many of the audience were, like me, wanting to shout “For crissakes, just sell the fucking orchard and have done with it!” while applying both my hands to her throat and banging her head repeatedly on the floor. Presumably it is an indication of Sinead Cusack’ skill as an actress that I felt this so strongly. My feeling wasn’t helped by Simon Russell Beale’s portrayal of Lophakin, which seemed to have no “bite” whatsoever. Instead, we got the standard SRB portrayal of a shambling, avuncular, slightly camp apologist, forever wringing his hands, giggling and aspirating over everyone in the loud bits, nor by Selina Cadell’s bizarrely-accented governess (a seemingly completely irrelevant part, in my opinion). Of course, it might have been something to do with the translation by one T. Stoppard, Esq., who larded the text with phrases such as “Stop being such a noodle” – prove me wrong, but I’m sure no Russian ever said such a thing in 1904 – and smartarse Shakespeare misquotations such as “Get thee to a scullery”.

Apparently, in the first St. Petersburg production, the eponymous orchard was represented on stage, and audiences broke into cheers as the axes rang out. Sadly, this was rather how I felt myself, but contented myself with “accidentally” standing on the foot of a teenage girl who was holding up the exodus at the end by, at the top of the staircase and the top of her voice, telling her friends just how “awesome” Mr. Hawke had been.

New section! Theatre Geekery!
For your delectation and delight, and so that you can bore all your friends with your in-depth knowledge of theatre, I’ll now be including a couple of items of trivia about each show I review.

The Cherry Orchard is the only Chekov play in which a gun appears on stage but is not fired.

The first production opened in Moscow on 17th January 1904, Chekov’s last birthday (he died in June that year). It was directed by Constantin Stanislavski. Chekov hated it, considering it “under-rehearsed” – it was “only” in rehearsal for 6 months. Chekov’s wife played the lead.

What the critics thought:

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/the-cherry-orchard-the-winters-tale-old-vic-london-1702083.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2009/jun/10/the-cherry-orchard-winters-tale-review

http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/2009/06/01/review-the-cherry-orchard-old-vic

http://www.thelondonpaper.com/going-out/whats-new/theatre-review-of-anton-chekhovs-cherry-orchard-at-the-old-vic

Arcadia - Duke of York's Theatre - Thursday 4th June 2009

Synopsis:

The action takes place in a room on the garden front of a large country house in Derbyshire, but in two times, the present and the early years of the nineteenth century. Thomasina Coverly, a precocious thirteen year old, receives a lesson from her tutor, Septimus Hodge. The two are discussing Fermat's theorem, Newton and other matters of mathematics and physics when they are interrupted by Ezra Chater, a third-rate poet. Chater accuses Hodge of having been spied in a "carnal embrace" with Mrs. Chater, a charge Hodge makes little effort to deny. Meanwhile, Thomasina's mother, Lady Croom, is wrangling with her landscapearchitect, Richard Noakes, who wants to clutter the immaculately kept grounds with a gloomy hermitage and other gothic paraphernalia.

The second scene moves to the twentieth century. Coverly descendants still reside at the estate: young Chloe, mathematician Valentine and mute, mysterious Gus. They are also hosts to best-selling author Hannah Jarvis, there to research a history of the estate's gardens, and to literary scholar Bernard Nightingale, who intends to prove that Lord Byron, the great Romantic poet, visited Sidley Park and killed Ezra Chater in a duel.

Back in 1809, Thomasina translates a Latin passage about Cleopatra and then expresses her grief at all the knowledge lost during the burning of the Library at Alexandria. Hodge consoles her. Chater and his “second”, Captain Brice, arrive, demanding satisfaction for the stain upon Mrs. Chater's honor. Hodge agrees to meet them that afternoon for a duel with pistols. Hannah discovers one of Thomasina's notebooks, in which the girl describes an iterated algorithm. Thomasina's work in 1809 correlates to Valentine's modern-day study of grouse populations. He has the raw data, in the form of hunting logbooks, but he can't find the algorithm that defines the ebb and flow in the numbers of grouses. The logs, however, do prove that Byron did, in fact, visit the estate in 1809, a discovery that excites Bernard no end

Act Two opens with Nightingale reading his Byron lecture to Valentine, Chloe and Gus. Hannah arrives and is openly derisive, pointing out where Bernard has played fast and loose with his interpretation of history. Chloe goes out of her way to defend Bernard. Valentine also voices his objections to Bernard's unscientific methods, and Bernard rounds on him with a blistering denunciation of scientific progress. He ridicules Valentine's grouse research, causing him, Chloe and Gus to flee the room in anger, frustration and humiliation.

Nor does Hannah escape Bernard's tirade. He hands her a copy of the Byron Society Journal, which contains an article contending that the sketch Hannah used on her last book's dust jacket cannot possibly be Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb, as she assumed it was. After delivering this bombshell, Bernard makes a pass at Hannah, which she declines. He then reveals that he has been sleeping with Chloe. For this, he receives a sharp slap in the face. Unperturbed, he gives Hannah a small book, The Peaks Traveller and Gazetteer, which contains a reference to Sidley Park and the mysterious hermit who lived on the property. He takes his leave. Valentine returns, and he and Hannah read that the hermit was driven insane by "Frenchified mathematick"; Hannah suspects this hermit is none other than Septimus Hodge.

The action returns to 1809 to the morning of Hodge and Chater's duel. As it turns out, no one has been shot. Mrs. Chater, however, was discovered during the night in Lord Byron's room. The poet was sent away, and the Chaters have left for the West Indies with Captain Brice, who is, in fact, Mrs. Chater's lover. Lady Croom is indignant to have found two letters from Septimus Hodge. In one, Hodge professes his love for her. The scene ends with the suggestion that he and Lady Croom will soon consummate his passion.

Valentine and Chloe read the media's sensational reaction to Bernard's lecture about Byron. ('Bonking Byron Shot Poet'). Hannah arrives, and on his laptop computer, Valentine shows her "the Coverly set" (his thesis on grouse populations, which is based on Thomasina's equations). Valentine thinks that Thomasina should be famous, but it is revealed that she died in a fire on her seventeenth birthday. Suddenly, it's simultaneously 1812.

The audience and various characters learn that Ezra Chater died of a monkey bite in the West Indies some years after he was supposed to have been shot by Byron. Bernard will be a laughing stock now that Hannah has sent a letter to that effect to The Times. It is revealed that Thomasina foresaw the implications of the second law of thermodynamics and that on the eve of her seventeenth birthday she finally declared her love for Septimus. . Finally, Gus proves Hannah's hypothesis about the identity of Sidley Park's hermit by silently bringing her Thomasina's sketch of Septimus.

Past and present merge as Septimus and Thomasina, Hannah and Gus whirl around the stage to the strains of a waltz, separated by centuries yet united by the mysteries of chaos and attraction.

Producer: Sonia Friedman Productions/Robert G Bartner/Roger Berlin
Director: David Leveaux

Design: Hildegard Bechtler

Costume: Amy Roberts

Lighting: Paul Anderson

Sound: Simon Baker

Cast:
Samantha Bond (Hannah)

Nancy Carroll (Lady Croom)

Jessie Cave (Thomasina)

Neil Pearson (Bernard)

Dan Stevens (Septimus)

Ed "My Deddi Wrote This Play" Stoppard (Valentine)

Trevor Cooper (Richard Noakes)

Sam Cox (Jellaby)

Lucy Griffiths (Chloe Coverly)

Tom Hodgkins (Captain Brice)

Hugh Mitchell (Augustus/Gus Coverly)

George Potts (Ezra Chater)

Sometimes, a play is better on the page than it is on the stage. On the page you can pause, go back, re-read, sort out any minor tangles in the plot in your head and admire the erudition of the playwright. If there’s a cast list from the first production, you can mentally people the play with those actors. If the play touches on a particular interest of yours, you can sit there and revel in the little bits of interesting trivia and feel smug that you and the writer know the same sort of useless things. Occasionally, you can feel even smugger when the playwright gets the “insider details” completely wrong. You can quote bits of the play and feel erudite.

And then a new production of the play is launched. You rush for your diary and your credit card, spend more than you can really afford on tickets and hug yourself in anticipation. On a steaming summer night, you cram yourself into a seat which isn’t quite big enough for your and jiggle about in your seat with excitement. And then the curtain goes up and within 30 minutes you are thinking “Jesus Christ, this is a dreary play”. And you drag home afterwards feeling depressed and disillusioned.

And so, Dear Readers, all of the above came to pass with the new production of Arcadia – Mr. Stoppard’s foray into the world of garden history. I was sooooo looking forward to this. I quote from the play in a couple of my lectures. I love the period half of it is set in. I’ve got a postcard of Rufus Sewell looking shagable and Byronic in the original production. And I haven’t got any illusions left any more. This is a DREARY play. Very little of it is about what I thought it was about. The story is typically Stoppard – overlong, pretentiously erudite and very, very, very wordy with very little action. I can’t see how any director could make it anything other than very static. Maybe, with the right cast, the dialogue crackles with learned wit as we are drawn deeper into the mystery of what happened that fateful night at Sidley Park (Lord Byron in the Gazebo with a pistol). But this isn’t the right cast, and I’m not altogether sure it’s the right play, - or the right time for a revival. Maybe I shouldn’t have been expecting so much out of it. But I left the theatre feeling robbed – of the cost of the tickets and of my enthusiasm for the play itself. I found myself getting desperately bored with all the waffle about chaos theory and Boyle’s law of thermodynamics, iterated algorithms and academic posturing. It obviously wasn’t just me – throughout the first half, gales of laughter drifted up from the stalls while, up in the circle, there was a stony silence. Him Indoors theorised that it was because the “posh people in the stalls got more of the academic jokes” (as if having the wherewithal for expensive tickets equals educational ability) – I maintain it was because the dialogue was far more audible closer to the stage; there did seem to be an awful lot of muttering going on, or perhaps we were all rather confused by the odd acoustics. Certainly the number of people in the circle dropped by 50% during the interval (which at least made it less cramped, but no less unpleasantly hot, about more of which anon).

The Regency costumes were generally badly researched – the designer went for “the obvious” rather than “the correct”. There wasn’t a single pair of correctly period shoes on the entire stage, and hairstyles were abysmally modern. Correct me if I’m wrong (and I’m sure someone will because I’m sure all my Readers are clever people and know all sorts of stuff) but I don’t think the Alice Band was a staple of Regency hairdressing,. Jessie Cave, as Thomasina, wore one over long hair which was hanging down straight, and this really looked completely wrong. The modern-day costumes were an odd blend of 80s, 90s and Noughties.

There were some OK performances, but none, I think, that came anywhere near what those in the original performances must have been (I didn’t see it, so admit that this is pure supposition). But Sarah Bond just ain’t in the same league as Felicity Kendall, nor does Neil Pearson have the academic weight or dry wit of Bill Nighy. However much I may refute Him Indoors’ scathing dismissal of Mr. Pearson as merely “Women’s Television Totty”, I don’t think he is right for the part of Bernard Nightingale. Dan Stevens made a good job of the role of Septimus but, you know, gazing at my postcard of Rufus Sewell, can’t help but think the latter would have been more Broodingly Byronic. Nancy Carroll seemed to take a good long while to get to grips with the role of Lady Croom and her final scenes were very well done, but I kept imagining Harriet Walter in the original production and thinking……hmmmmm. Ed Stoppard, aside from the obvious charges of nepotism which are undoubtedly going to be levelled at him (and with good reason), did a good job but, you know, Sam West played that part…..OK, OK, I have to stop this business of comparing everyone on stage with those that were in a production I never saw, but I just can’t help thinking that they would have done it better….

On the subject of it being extremely hot in the theatre, those of you who are connoisseurs of the absurdities of modern life will no doubt enjoy this extract from an exchange during the interval with a staff member who opened the fire exit doors to let some fresh air in. Him Indoors showed a surprising turn of speed and managed to nip past and onto the fire escape, prompting the response “You can’t go out on the fire escape because its against Health and Safety Regulations”. The Devil whispered in my ear and I asked whether this would be the case during a fire? I got a sour look in exchange. The Theatre Manager then walked past and went on to the fire escape. Desperately anxious to prevent a staff member breaking their own Health and Safety Regulations and leaving themselves open to possible litigation should there be an accident , I told him “You can’t go onto the Fire Escape, its against Health and Safety……” Two sour looks…… and a “tick” for today. (another arrow in the side of pompous officialdom!).

A disappointing evening, all in all. It went on for far too long, basically and, I think, has failed to catch the mood of the times. 15 years ago, this type of play was all the rage. Now, in these hard-pressed times, I think people are going to the theatre for escapism, a night away from the dreariness of all modern life's problems - which may explain why lightweight stuff like Sister Act and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, are doing so well. Arcadia, I think, will struggle to find an audience this time round.

What the critics said:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturecritics/charlesspencer/5505474/Arcadia-at-Duke-of-Yorks-Theatre---review.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2009/jun/07/arcadia-theatre-review

http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/24613/arcadia

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/first-night-arcadia-duke-of-york-theatre-london-1697419.html

Much Ado About Nothing - Open Air Theatre @ Regents Park, Monday 25th May 2009

Synopsis:

The war is over. Pedro Prince of Aragon, with his followers Benedick and Claudio,visits Leonato, Duke of Messina, father of Hero and uncle of Beatrice. Claudio falls in love with Hero and their marriage is agreed upon. Beatrice and Benedick despise love and engage in comic banter. The others plot to make them fall in love with each other, by a trick in which Benedick will overhear his friends talking of Beatrice's supposed secret love for him, and vice versa. Meanwhile Don John, the prince's misanthropic illegitimate brother, contrives a more malicious plot with the assistance of his follower Borachio: Claudio is led to believe that he has witnessed Hero in a compromising situation on the night before her wedding day – in fact it is her maid Margaret with Borachio. Claudio denounces Hero during the marriage ceremony. She faints and on the advice of the Friar, who is convinced of her innocence, Leonato announces that she is dead. Beatrice demands that Benedick should kill Claudio. The foolish constable Dogberry and his watchmen overhear Borachio boasting of his exploit and the plot is exposed. Claudio promises to make amends to Leonato: he is required to marry a cousin of Hero's in her place. When unmasked, she is revealed as Hero. Beatrice agrees to marry Benedick.

Cast:
Peter Bramhill : Borachio
Sean Campion : Benedick
Silas Carson : Don Pedro
Eke Chukwu : Watch/Messenger
Nigel Cooke : Leonato
Simon Gregor : Verges
Tim Howar : Balthasar
Sarah Ingram : Ursula
Chris Jared : Conrade
Ben Mansfield : Claudio
Mark McGee : Watch
Harry Myers : Watch/Sexton
Anthony O'Donnell : Dogberry
Anneika Rose : Hero
Annalisa Rossi : Margaret
Samantha Spiro : Beatrice
Tim Steed : Don John
Kate Tydman : Waiting Woman
David Whitworth : Friar Francis



Creative Team:
Director Timothy Sheader
Designer Philip Witcomb
Costume Designer Deidre Clancy
Composer David Shrubsole
Choreographer Ann Yee
Lighting Designer Simon Mills
Sound Designer Fergus O'Hare
Casting Director Ginny Schiller
Voice Coach and Text Consultant Barbara Houseman
Language and Verse Consultant Giles Taylor
Assistant Choreographer David Grewcock
Assistant Director Kate Sagovsky

Ah, the sounds of the English summer. The plop of tennis balls at Wimbledon, the crack of leather on willow followed by the subdued clack-clack-clack of polite applause at Lords, the chink of champagne flutes during the Glyndebourne interval, and the incessant pitterpatter of raindrops falling on umbrellas at the Open Air Theatre, Regent's Park.

I've now lost count of how many times I've seen this play. I've seen brilliant versions, indifferent versions, so-so versions and feckin' awful versions. The opening gambit in this year's OATRP season is perhaps best described as Shakespeare-by-numbers - safe, tidy and gently trimmed back, rather like the exhibits at the Chelsea Flower Show. All the T's crossed and all the I's dotted. Nothing too controversial, nothing that will upset visiting relations from out of town or tourists from other lands. Pretty costumes, a minor "star name" showing us that she can do the Classics, a couple of sets of safe Shakespearian hands in supporting roles. Even a couple of gags about the weather. All very nice. Very Regent's Park. Penny plain and tuppence coloured.

Still, it was nice to see that this was a vaguely period production. I have absolutely no time for modern-dress Shakespeare, as regular readers will no doubt remember. An interesting permanent set, of wiggly wooden paths leading in and out of the shrubbery at the back (which this year includes a viciously pollarded plane tree looking like something from Lear's blasted heath), with an all-purpose "orange tree" planted in the middle - this is Messina, remember. At various points, people sit on the swing hanging from this and, at some point in the season, that tree is going to crack, you mark my words - it bends alarmingly. Quite how the cast are going to incorporate that into the show I have no idea.

Samantha Spiro did an OK job with Beatrice, but it wasn't until after the interval that she really seemed to get the bit between her teeth. She clowns well, but there was little of the light and shade that Zoe Wannamaker achieved with the role back in December 2007 at the National. She was essentially a merry Beatrice rather than one with healed-over wounds, and only occasionally threw any kind of weight into the part. Sean Campion (a devotee of the Simon Russell Beale "spit all over everyone" method of vocal delivery) also seemed to lack something in the oooomph department and his was a rather one-dimensional Benedick as a result. Silas Carson, however, glittered in a slightly dangerous fashion as Don Pedro, playing the role rather sexier and younger than I believe is usual. Ben Mansfield was everything you want in a Shakespeare prince - floppy haired, doe-eyed. lean, hairy and gorgeous ; the kind of man that makes me want to rack up a gram and shout to my obedient flunkies "Have him stripped, washed, handcuffed and sent to my tent. Actually, no - don't strip him; I'll do it myself. With my teeth". Quite honestly I was enjoying watching him too much to actually take much note of his acting (pauses to wipe dribble off the keyboard). Among the minor principals, Annalisa Rossi is notable for two particular reasons. I think the word that Shakespeare would use is buxom. And of course, there was the obligatory Member-of-The-Cast-Known-To-Him-Indoors; this time Sarah Ingram making a good fist of the somewhat thankless role of Ursula.

Particularly of note in this production is the skill with which Anthony O'Donnell paints Dogberry. Perhaps unique among all the Dogberry's I've seen, he actually managed to make his scenes funny. Ably assisted by the rest of the Watch, I think I truly enjoyed these scenes for the first time ever. Perhaps Mr. O'Donnell might pop down to the National and give some "Shakespeare Clown" lessons?

What the critics said:

http://www.whatsonstage.com/index.php?pg=207&story=E8831243939009

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturecritics/dominiccavendish/5442435/Much-Ado-About-Nothing-at-the-Open-Air-theatre---review.html

http://www.thelondonpaper.com/going-out/whats-new/review-of-much-ado-about-nothing-open-air-theatre

Carousel (also known as Lesley Garrett is bustin' out all over) - Savoy Theatre - Thursday 21st May 2009

Synopsis:

Two young millworkers in freshly industrialized 1870s New England visit the town's carousel after work. One of them - demure Julie Jordan - shares a lingering glance and suggestive touch with the carousel's barker, Billy Bigelow. Julie's friend Carrie Pipperidge presses her for information, but Julie is reticent about the encounter. Eventually satisfied, Carrie confides that she has a beau of her own: local fisherman Enoch Snow. A policeman appears and warns the women that Billy has taken money from other women. Carrie goes off, but Julie stays. She and Billy, now alone, can talk freely, but neither can quite confess the growing attraction they feel for each other.

Despite the incommunicative start, Julie and Billy are married shortly thereafter. When we next see them, Julie is confiding to Carrie that Billy, now unemployed, is unstable and occasionally violent. Carrie has news, too - she and Mr. Snow are officially engaged and looking forward to their idealized notion of married life. As they and the town's other young folk prepare to attend a clambake, spitfire Carrie pokes fun at the local boys, cheered on by the local girls. Julie's cousin Nettie Fowler leads them all in a celebration of spring before they leave for the clambake. Meanwhile, Billy has fallen in with the unsavoury sailor Jigger, who tries to recruit him to help with a robbery. Billy is initially uninterested — but then Julie tells him of her pregnancy. Overwhelmed by the news, and determined to provide for his future child, he decides to be Jigger's accomplice after all.

After the clambake the townsfolk head back to town. Carrie's fiancé walks in on some innocent flirting between Carrie and Jigger, and declares, as Jigger jeers, that he is finished with her. Julie, meanwhile, places her self-doubt aside and resolves to accept and love Billy as he is. Jigger and Billy play at cards, with the stakes being shares of the forecasted robbery spoils. Soon Billy has lost his entire stake in the robbery; the robbery is aborted; and Jigger escapes while Billy is caught. Distraught, Billy kills himself — Julie arrives too late to save him. .Nettie and the townsfolk comfort Julie and we follow Billy to heaven. There, a pair of blunt-spoken angels explain that he must attempt to solve the problems he left behind. They send him back down to earth, fifteen years after his suicide.

His and Julie's daughter, Louise, is now an angry and rebellious teen He manages to give her a small gift, and finally confess his love to Julie. Having thus made amends, he wins entry to Heaven.

Cast:

Carrie Pipperidge: Lauren Hood
Julie Jordan: Alexandra Silber
Mrs. Mullins: Diana Kent
Billy Bigelow: Jeremiah James
Nettie Fowler: Lesley Garrotte
Enoch Snow: Alan Vicary
Jigger: Graham McDuff
Starkeeper: David Gollings

Production Credits:
Director: Lindsay Posner
Choreography: Adam Cooper
Sets: William Dudley
Costumes: Deirdre Clancy (fab name!)
Lighting: Peter Mumford
PA to Lesley Garrotte: Ania (no, I don't know why her PA gets a mention in the "Production Team" list in the programme, nor why she only appears to have one name)

I admit that I have major problems with this show. I don’t mind the first act, although it has its longeurs, and the first half of the second is OK, but after that it all gets very, very silly, as if Oscar Hammerstein suddenly paused from his inky scribbling of the libretto and thought “Shit, I’ve run out of plot and there’s still 30 minutes left of Act 2”). Also, I’m not the world’s greatest fan of La Garrotte (‘Ullo love, I’m from Doncaster!!”), her incessant mugging on stage and her fudged top notes. Still, there was now’t on t’telly and the seats were cheap (two for ‘alf a crown and change left over for a barm cake each on the way ‘ome from t’pit). In fact, from the crush in the auditorium, it seemed that there were quite a lot of other people who had somehow managed to get cheap tickets as well (the technical phrase is “heavily papered, dharling”). I think I was probably the youngest person in the place – there seemed to be a lot of coach parties from Hastings in; Rogers and Hammerstein have got a bit of a reputation of being SYCSTYMT (Something You Can Safely Take Your Mum To).

Mind you, in retrospect we were extremely lucky to actually get into the theatre, there having been a slight contretemps with a security guard outside over the placement of a “no smoking” sign. I was actually outside the theatre, but standing under the canopy of the Savoy Hotel having my pre-show cigarette (the show is a whopping 3 hours long, so I needed to top up my nicotine level before going in) when I was ordered to put it out. I queried where the “no smoking under the canopy” sign was – and it turned out to be inside the theatre. Not having yet been inside, I obviously hadn’t seen it. The security guard took my pointing this out as a challenge to his authority, as those with limited intelligence tend to do. So me and Him Indoors were suddenly subject to a “random bag search” by way of reprisal, and an argy-bargy ensued, which then led to threats of being chucked out. I bet the West End Whingers never have to put up with such treatment. The excitement continued inside when Him Indoors, having asked the woman in the seat next to him to stop talking during the overture, got clobbered round the ear with her programme. Another argy-bargy ensued, and I had visions of being dragged from my seat by usherettes wielding tazers disguised as Cornettos and lobbing small grenades cunningly hidden inside Maltesers. Fasten your seatbelts, its going to be a bumpy night!

Anyway, the orchestra were on top form (from what we heard of the overture above intimate details of Carol-next-door’s hysterectomy) – its extremely rare these days that there’s 19 people in the pit. No expense spared there. Where the production did spare expense was in its constant use of back projections – not a single backcloth to be seen. It seems that, recently, ingeniously designed and clever scenery is on its way out. There’s little left of stage magic – everyone’s copping out and using film techniques instead. Sorry chaps, but if I want to see want moving images projected onto a screen I’ll go to the cinema. This cheapskate illusionism even extended here to the carousel itself. OK, it was a full-sized, elaborate, whirling image – but that’s not what I want (particularly as all the horses were empty!) when I’m at the theatre. This technique was used once again during Act 2 for the ascent to Heaven – this was a supremely naff animated “galaxy” tracking shot, during which I half expected to hear Oliver Postgate narrate the opening sequence from The Clangers. This then turned into a syrupy version of the famous “Stairway to Heaven” sections from A Matter of Life and Death. And right at the end, the graduation ceremony was backed by an animation of the Stars and Stripes waving against a cloudless sky. C’mon fellas – this isn’t stagecraft, this is lazy!

What made this laziness harder to countenance was an example of just how effective traditional sets can be if they are lit effectively. The dockyard scene in Act 2 was fabulously realised, with old tarpaulins draped over a series of huge packing cases. Add lighting worthy of Rembrandt himself and you’ve got True Theatre Magic. This scene, so simply done, was stunningly beautiful; very static but supremely effective and a true example of the Lighting Designer’s craft. Well done, Mr. Mumford.

For all my dislike of the show itself (because of the daft “Heaven” section and the supremely pointless 10 minute ballet – which always makes me think that Rogers thought “Sod it, it worked in Oklahoma, I’ll stick a ballet in here”), I have to say that the choreography was excellent, the entire show was very well paced (there is a long, static scene right at the beginning which can be excruciating to sit through but it was very well done here) and there were some wonderful performances. Alexandra Silber was truly amazing as Julie – restrained, completely believable and expertly pitched throughout. She has a singing voice of such incredible purity and charm that it puts La Garrotte to shame. She also outstrips her in acting technique – but then that’s not difficult. Jeremiah James was completely believable as Billy Bigelow. This is a completely unsympathetic role – Bigelow is a drunk a waster and a wife-beater, yet he somehow managed to get the audience to believe that there was a better person somewhere underneath. Again, excellent vocally – although his costume bears more than a passing resemblance to that worn by Marcel Marceau, which is distracting. Graham McDuff gave a performance of genuine villany as Jigger - a combination of The Childcatcher and Bill Sykes. In fact, he actually gets booed at the curtain call – a sure sign of a perfectly pitched performance of nastiness. .Alan Vicary gave a very rounded performance in the somewhat thankless role of Mr. Snow – I’m not sure whether he wears a wig in the show but, if so, it needs attention; when he pulls of his hat he looks like Ralph Wiggum from The Simpsons. Lauren Hood was just slightly too shrill to be perfect as Carrie Pipperidge – her performance is in danger of becoming too broad and needs reining in slightly lest it tip into caricature. And Diana Kent gives a wonderfully warm, restrained performance as Mrs. Mullins.

And La Garrotte? Well, I think I loathe her even more than I loathe Alan Titchmarsh. She’s on for a spit and a whistle in this show, yet seems determined to steal every scene she’s in by mugging, gurning and playing completely to the audience – just like she did in The Sound of Music. She is a most ungenerous performer, relentlessly trying to upstage everyone else on the stage. She goggles and grimaces through June is Bustin’ Out All Over like an over-excited teenager, rather than the matronly, dignified but always ready to let down her hair and kick up her heels, Aunt-Eller-like character that Nettie Fowler should be. And of course, she wouldn’t be Lesley Garrotte if she didn’t milk The Big Number (You’ll Never Walk Alone) for everything its worth. This comes for the first time in the show halfway through Act 2, when Nettie comforts the grieving Julie after Billy’s death. It should be a quiet, dignified hymn which builds to a crescendo with the promise of calm in the middle of a maelstrom of emotions. But no, we could have been on the terraces at Anfield. All it needed was a stripy football scarf and a dodgy meat pie. And her behaviour during the curtain calls was unforgivable – gurning and wiggling her not inconsiderable bosom at the audience and detracting from everyone else on stage. Shame on you, woman. There are finer actresses (with better quality singing voices) on stage, so just get back to Doncaster where you belong. I’ll pay your train fare. This is a classic case of miscasting - transposing a big name draw from one performing genre into one in which they are ill-suited and out of place just in order to sell tickets. Well, I tell you, this show would be that much better without her.

Thankfully we did not get accosted by security guards or attacked by mad women brandishing programmes on the way home.

What the critics said:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2008/dec/03/carousel-savoy-london-theatre-review

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/theatre/show-23581509-details/Carousel/showReview.do?reviewId=23596274

http://westendwhingers.wordpress.com/2009/01/14/review-carousel-without-lesley-garrett-savoy-theatre/

http://www.musicomh.com/theatre/lon_carousel_1208.htm

Listen to La Garrotte murdering the phrasing in this!

All's Well That Ends Well - National Theatre

Synopsis:

The play begins with Bertram assuming the title of Count of Rossillion upon the death of his father. Helena is the orphaned daughter of a great doctor, and for years has lived in the Rossillion household under the care of Bertram's mother, the Countess. Over the years, Helena has developed a secret love for Bertram. The Countess, however, is well aware of Helena's feelings (and indeed approves of them).

Against this backdrop, the King of France has been taken deathly ill. Bertram leaves to attend the King's court. Helena soon follows him to Paris, and cures the King with the medicinal knowledge she learned from her father. The cure earns her the gratitude of the King, who gives her a costly ring in gratitude and also offers her the pick of the bachelors at his court. Helena, of course, picks Bertram, who is quite put off by the prospect. To Bertram, Helena is beneath him and unworthy of his notice. Nevertheless, Bertram is ordered to marry her. He assents to the marriage under protest, then slips off to a war in Tuscany with his cowardly companion, Parolles.

Helena returns to Rossillion and the Countess. Bertram sends word that she may not call him husband until she gets from him a ring (which he always wears) and can bear him a child—not a simple task, especially given that Bertram is in Italy with no intention of ever consummating their marriage. Helena once again takes matters into her own hands and sets out to follow him. She arrives in Florence in the guise of a pilgrim and lodges with a widow whose daughter, Diana, is the newest object of Bertram's affections. With Diana's help, Helena aims to trap Bertram into marriage.

She gets Diana to accept Bertram's advances. Bertram, however, must agree to give Diana his ring before they share a bed. At the crucial moment, Helena takes Diana's place in the dark. She also exchanges the ring given to her by the King for Bertram's, accomplishing both terms of Bertram's challenge. When a rumour is spread of Helena's death, Bertram assumes that he is clear of any responsibility for the wife he never wanted, and returns to France. However, the King easily recognizes the ring he bears as the one he had given to Helena; when Bertram is caught in a series of lies, the King has him arrested on suspicion of having murdered her. Adding to Bertram's misery, Diana and her mother arrive demanding justice, which exposes even more lies. Helena finally appears— wearing Bertram's ring and carrying his child— leaving him no option but to marry her, to his mother's delight.

Cast:
Helena : Michelle Terry
Bertram : George Rainsford
The Countess of Rossillion : Clare Higgins
King of France : Oliver Ford Davies
Diana : Hasina Haque
The Widow : Janet Henfrey
Parolles : Conleth Hill
Violenta : Cassie Atkinson
Gentleman Astringer : Jolyon Coy
Interpreter : Robert Hastie
Lavatch : Brendan O'Hea
Mariana : Sioned Jones
1st Lord Dumaine : Elliot Levey
2nd Lord Dumaine : Tony Jayawardena
Rynaldo : Michael Mears
Lafew : Michael Thomas
Ensemble : Oliver Wilson, Ben Allen, Tom Padley, Rob Delaney, Alex Felton

Production credits:
Director: Marianne Elliott
Designer: Rae Smith
Lighting Designer: Peter Mumford
Music: Adam Cork
Movement Director: Laila Diallo
Projection Designers: Gemma Carrington and Jon Driscoll
Sound Designer: Ian Dickinson

Believe me, there’s nothing so bad as Bad Shakespeare. And gadzooks, is this Bad Shakespeare. Officially it’s one of his “Problem Plays” – because they don’t fit into any of the established categories, because they are ambivalent in material, tone and/or treatment, written when he was feeling old and crotchety, or because he was running out of ideas to steal from other sources. Or all of the above. In layman’s terms, piss poor plays.

All’s Well That Ends Well is, quite simply, a piss poor play. It takes a great production to transcend the material. It needs actors at the height of their game. It needs a “concept” – something to pin onto the play to make it come alive in the minds of the audience and make it work. It needs that indefinable spark. And this production hasn’t got any of them. It’s not only Bad Shakespeare – its Bad Bad Shakespeare.

It took me a while to work out what the “concept” was for this production. Initially I thought it was Gormenghast, but it turned out that its Gormenghast, designed by Arthur Rackham, as retold by The Brothers Grimm, with lighting by The Badly Lit Stage Company and stage effects by Lots Of Dry Ice, Inc. At least in the first half. The Countess of Rousillion presides over an eerie, snowbound realm, huddling under scudding clouds and skies full of ravens. There are servants in knee breeches and powdered wigs, there are blood-red velvet cloaks and sparkling, glassy footwear. Irascible kings with crooked sceptres wear floor length robes and high pointy crowns. There are quests to undertake with rings in reward for potions delivered. There are silhouettes and shadow-plays. Mirrored doors covered with bronze flowers open and flunkys unroll red carpets using brooms. It all looks very, very pretty – at least, what you can see of it through the gloom and the dry ice. But it’s all a coathanger for a very thin garment.

After the interval, the “The Concept” seems to have been completely abandoned and the whole thing becomes Rydell High School 1954. There are strings of fairy lights, leather jackets and frogged uniforms open to the waist, and women in 50’s frocks and “sexy vixen” costumes from Ann Summers. Frankly, its all a bit of a mess. There are back projections of creepy woods – at one point an owl lands in a tree and gets a bigger laugh than the “comedy” going on in front of it. Which is a Bad Sign.

The play isn’t helped by the fact that the early scenes contain an enormous amount of speechifying – earnest, declamatory speeches that go on and on, delivered from someone standing in the centre of the stage and which don’t really add anything to the plot. The kind of speech that Victoria Wood always hoped would be interrupted by the sound of trumpets and the entrance of a messenger: “My Lord, the sofa has arrived!” Quite a lot of the early speechifying is inaudible – either because of bad diction or lack of projection - and some of it is SO AUDIBLE AT THE BACK OF THE CIRCLE that it makes your ears bleed. Some of the speechifying is delivered by a character so unsympathetic that its amazing he isn’t booed on a nightly basis. And then there’s the character that always fills me with dread: The Shakespeare Clown. It can be a horrendous job playing a Shakespeare Clown – busting your gut trying to get a laugh out of “jokes” that weren’t funny in 1604 while biffing people over the head with a pig’s bladder. But oh my days, (and leaving aside the individual performance, which is frankly as piss poor as the play itself) this particular Clown is a rotten example of the species.


Clare Higgins fails to impress as the Countess, mainly because a lot of her dialogue is poorly delivered, rendering her all but inaudible (and thus incomprehensible). As much of her early speechifying sets up the plot for the audience, this is unforgivable. Brendan O’Hea is so dreadful as Lavatch (the “clown” role) it simply beggars belief that such shoddy acting can be countenanced by the National Theatre. I’ve seen better acting by MPs trying desperately to explain their expenses claims. Conleth Hill is wildly miscast as Parolles, seems incapable of extracting any meaningful characterisation from the role and becomes increasingly desperate for laughs, which the audience don’t provide him with. George Rainsford takes on the (admittedly unsympathetic) role of Bertram with no previous Shakespearian acting experience. He sets himself low standards and its obvious by the end of Scene One that he’s not going to reach even them. In fact, he’s so forgettable that his biog has been missed out of the programme and appears on a paper erratum slip tucked into the front. Michelle Terry tries her hardest to inject life into the role of Helena, but its only Michael Thomas and Oliver Ford Davies (Lafew and the King of France respectively) who succeed in bringing their characters fully to life.

Everybody tries hard to overcome the many shortcoming of the play. But its an unenviable task. I’ve had haemorrhoid surgery that I enjoyed more than this production (given that, in the play, the King of France is suffering from a fistula, this is not a gratuitous comparison). The “comedy” scenes are greeted with a stony silence, the dramatic scenes with apathy and the whole evening falls dead in the water. Quite simply, the best epithet for the entire production (described by the NT as “full of fairytale logic”) is “Grimm”.

What the critics said:

http://www.wharf.co.uk/2009/05/review-alls-well-that-ends-wel.html

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/theatre/show-23606465-details/All

http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/24550/alls-well-that-ends-well

http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/104177/All

La Cage aux Folles - Playhouse Theatre, Monday 4th May 2008 (re-review, production originally reviewed December 2007)

For synopsis, see original review December 2007

Cast:
Albin- Roger Allam
Georges - Phillip Quast
Jean-Michelle - Stuart Neal
Jacob - Jason Pennycooke
Anne - Alicia Davies
Cagelles - Ben Bunce, Darren Carnell, Nicholas Cunningham, Nolan Frederick, Gary Murphy, Dane Quixelle, Adrian der Gregorian

Only under very rare circumstances would I advise going to see a show for a second time - lightning never strikes twice, they say (unless you're very unlucky). And on second viewing, I'm afraid that this production of La Cage aux Folles missed quite a lot of marks.

Having moved from the cosy (some would say "cramped") Menier Chocolate Factory, the show has lost quite a lot of the somewhat shabby intimacy that made it so enjoyable. The Playhouse have tried to compensate for the larger space by creating a "stage within a stage" - a second, smaller proscenium set back from the permanent one. Four or five cafe tables are set across the front row of the auditorium (where the orchestra pit would be if there were one) so that unwary patrons can be flirted with and generally embarrassed by the cast, but where at the Menier these tables were more or less on a level with the stage (allowing all sorts of outrageous olive-feeding, hair-ruffling and drink-stealing), they are now so far below stage level that nothing can be acheived by the cast without practically getting down on all fours. This may appeal to those who enjoy doing whatever they do doggy-fashion, but its now so difficult to acheive this naturally that any attempt feels extremely forced and looks even worse. The cast are now divorced from their audience and the intimacy and immediacy has gone.

The change of venue also means that the feeling of entering a small, slightly seedy nightclub has completely gone; at the Menier this was expertly contrived by having the audience come down the stairs from the bar and through a swagged velvet "tunnel" hung with fairy lights - exactly how it would be done if "La Cage aux Folles" was a real place. Here, that feeling of verisimilitude has gone; you're walking into a "proper" theatre and the atmosphere has disappeared completely. To quote Pope, there is no "genius of the place" any more, and the overall feel of the production has changed accordingly. It feels sterile, vacuum packed.

Of the original Menier cast, Philip Quast has recently returned as Georges, and is as louche and wonderful as ever, but has to battle hard to overcome the new sanitised atmosphere. Jason Pennycooke has stayed with the production all the way since it opened at the Menier, and is now coming dangerously close to over-egging the pudding as Jacob, almost parodying the role to the point of incomprehensibility. All the gestures are bigger, the "franglais" more pronounced (several times I couldn't understand a word he was saying) , the facial expressions that bit more tortured. It doesn't work - its merely irritating. The Cagelles have also "upped" their performance, with the result that they now border on the macabre. At times they resemble dancers from the infernal regions. There are few smiles, only rictus grins. They've changed from drag queens to twisted monsters from some members-only freak show. Scary, scary, scary.

Roger Allam, it must be said, made a bit of a fist of the role of Albin. OK, it was his very first performance in the role, but he slipped over quite a few lines, was unsure of a lot of the choreography and practically threw I am what I am away for nothing. I saw little of the personal struggle and triumph that Douglas Hodge brought to this song - no lump in my throat this time round.

I'm so glad I saw this back in December 2007 when it was fresh. The best of times was then - whats left of La Cage is but a faded rose.

Parlour Song - Almeida Theatre - Saturday 1st May 2009

Synopsis:

Demolition expert Ned lives in a nice new house on a nice new estate on the edge of the English countryside. He loves his job. Barbeques.Car Boot Sales. Outwardly his life is entirely unremarkable. Not unlike his friend and neighbour Dale. So why has he not slept a wink in six months? Why is he so terrified of his attractive wife Joy?And why is it every time he leaves on business, something else goes missing from his home?

Cast:

Amanda Drew - Joy
Toby Jones – Ned
Andrew Lincoln - Dale

Production credits:

Jez Butterworth - Writer
Ian Rickson - Director
Jeremy Herbert - Designer
Peter Mumford - Lighting
Stephen Warbeck – Music
Paul Groothuis - Sound
Steven Williams - Video

Talk about running the gamut. From a classic 50’s play at the National Theatre to a new three-hander in the depths of Islington in two nights. I know which one I enjoyed more though, and it wasn’t the new three-hander. I’d be hard pressed to say why. Although I know where I stand on such deeply polarising issues as Last of the Summer Wine, Peanut Butter and Alan Titchmarsh (i.e. I loathe them all), for some reason I just didn’t feel swayed by this play into “loved it” or “hated it” territory. It was OK, and nothing more. It was reasonably well written, competently acted, adequately directed. I don’t know – has the “darkness behind surburbia’s net curtains” been done before? Yes, and by better playwrights than Jez Butterworth. Has the “My wife’s having an affair with my neighbour” been done before? Yes. The “mid-life crisis” drama? Yes. In fact, to misquote Lady Bracknell, everybody has more or less said what they wanted to say – which for the vast majority of them was not much in the first place. I don’t know what this play was trying to say. It would best be described as a “comedy thriller” – a dreadful catch-all phrase usually used to describe something which is neither a comedy or a thriller but the misbegotten bastard child of both.

Yes, there were some good performances –the scene in which Ned is listening to an oral sex instruction tape and, caught by his wife “doing the moves”, has to pretend that he’s listening to Eric Clapton, would bring a smile to the face of a statue (although heaven only knows what some of the Islingtonites in the audience were thinking: “Fellatio? Isn’t he a character in The Comedy of Errors?”) and the weightlifting scene was worthy of every laugh it got. And yes, Andrew Lincoln was spot on as Dale, the dimwitted, muscle-bound “Wigger”. ButAmanda Drew was incredibly irritating -she seemed to be doing an impersonation of Brenda Blethyn in Secrets and Lies all night. And there were also long, unnecessary tracts of dialogue where I itched to get out my blue pencil – Ned’s tediously long description of the purchase of the birdbath being one of them; it went on and on and on and I became painfully aware of just how uncomfortable those dreadful double tip-up seats at the Almeida are.

There were also many questions left unanswered by the end. Is Ned going slowly mad or are his possessions really disappearing? If you were stealing things to fund your elopement, would you steal things as obvious as a lawnmower? If you had someone as horny as Dale in your bed, would you really waste time playing Scrabble? What's the meaning of the play's title? And what exactly is the point of Alan Titchmarsh?


What the critics thought:

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/theatre/show-23598380-details/Parlour+Song/showReview.do

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2009/mar/27/theatre

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturecritics/charlesspencer/5061618/Parlour-Song-at-the-Almeida-review.html

http://www.hamhigh.co.uk/content/camden/hamhigh/whatson/story.aspx?tCategory=whatson&tBrand=northlondon24&itemid=WeED16%20Apr%202009%2013%3A07%3A37%3A690&category=whatsontheatre