Theatre Review: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Musical

With chocolate waterfalls, oompa-loompas, glass elevators, riverboat rides, nut-seeking squirrels and television lasers, the sheer logistics of bringing Roald Dahl’s confectionary-celebration to life could be enough derail any production. Yet it’s the one thing that this new stage musical gets indisputably right.

The huge scale of the sets in this Sam Mendes produced extravaganza are something to behold, and the frequency at which Wonka and his child guests move from edible meadows to chocolate rivers to gum laboratories is quite astonishing. Complete with dancing oompa-loompas – animated by fully-grown dancers – the scale and ingenuity frequently dazzles. The cast move so swiftly from one set-piece to the next, it’s hard enough to keep up while sitting and watching, lord knows what it must be like to be back-stage.

 

What a shame then that all this excitement is jam-packed into the second half. The whole first half sees proceedings stuck at the Bucket family’s junk yard shack. Excepting interruptions from the TV, which brings the other ticket winners into their home, we remain there exclusively, listening to songs that highlight their pitiable poverty but love for each other.

Yes, the songs are not great. They’re not bad, it’s just that they’re entirely lacking in memorable hooks. The performers are able to bring energy and life to them – especially the ludicrously talented youngsters – yet one can’t help but be reminded of certain songs made famous by another chocolate factory production…

The well-known Gene Wilder vehicle is like an elephant in the room; when Charlie finally gets his ticket, you can’t help but think “I’ve got a golden ticket…" Alas, the writers seem to anticipate this, and bring you right back to that dowdy junkyard house and dishevelled family for a much drippier song. It’s no surprise that the most memorable tune in the whole production is the one that’s in the movie – and they leave it right till the end too (it’s Pure Imagination if you hadn’t guessed). 

Flawed though it is, it is carried with a great deal of enthusiasm, and the kick from first gear to fifth in the second half certainly keeps it lively. There are no big star names (you can easily believe they blew the budget on the sets), though reliable Nigel Planer is there as Grandpa Joe. Douglas Hodge plays a more softly whimsical take on the legendary chocolatier, less hysterical than Wilder, less peculiar than Depp. He has a more gentle demeanour, with elegant gestures, swift lyrical patter and, crucially, just a touch of spite around the edges.

It’s just a shame it doesn’t add up to much. The ending feels rather tacked on after the whirlwind of changing back-drops. Like the disappointing Burton/Depp version, it loses the story in amongst the set-pieces, reducing Charlie and Joe to spectators who win the big prize by staying out of trouble. This, alas, is no West End classic. Dazzling, but falling short of greatness.

Theatrama

The Ladykillers – Gielgud Theatre

The West End is filled will easy-money big stage productions of Hollywood hits, but at least The Ladykillers is slightly more risky material. Stories like Singin’ in the Rain and Top Hat are feel-good box office slam-dunks that you’d have to stage pretty sloppily not to hit the mark. But few West End headliners can claim to revolve around a gang of crooks and their inability to murder a kind old lady.

60 years on, The Ladykillers has lost none of its dark comic charm. It’s a very British film; one about flawed characters who are failures - villains who aren’t good at being villains. Graham Linehan, of Father Ted and IT Crowd fame, has elected, quite rightly, to avoid the easy route of putting the film on the stage line for line. Instead, he’s approached this the way a filmmaker might approach adapting a stage play for the screen and taken the opportunity to infuse it with new ideas and to explore angles untouched by the original.

With an expanded running time, Linehan builds the supporting parts into larger roles with greater comedic opportunities. Professor Marcus’ gang now includes a cross-dresser (Vicar of Dibley’s James Fleet) a pill-popper (up-and-comer Stephen Wright), an Eastern European with a child-hood fear of old Ladies (comedian Ben Miller) and a classic old-fashioned dunce (Clive Rowe).

The crux characters, the Professor (the Thick of It’s Peter Capaldi) and Mrs Wilberforce (theatre veteran Marcia Warren) remain largely unchanged. Capaldi is more energetic and slippery than Alec Guiness, but Warren seems to channel Katie Johnson perfectly, bringing the same harmless, doddery indomitable innocence that can cause havoc but receive no reproach. They’re the stars of the piece, for sure, although the ensemble is so perfect, they all deserve a slice of the credit.

The set is ingenious – a forced perspective interior that allow us to see the crooks in their room as well as Mrs Wilberforce pottering about the home, an ever approaching threat to their plans. But the home spins on its axis allowing us a view of the roof and the bedroom window, where many of the cast will meet their fate, and the front of the house, where, in one of the biggest laughs of the piece, the robbery will be played out – as toy cards running on tracks with police radio broadcasts.

There are many highlights; perhaps the best is the music concert, in which the crooks’ attempts to play music are successfully passed off by the Professor as an experimental music piece, leading to an applause-inciting line about the middle-classes love of fake art. The Ladykillers is a brilliant night out, and a great alternative to well-staged but artistically dead, money-hoarding big movie adaptations.

Bingo – New Vic Theatre

A sparsely staged character piece, Bingo centres on Will Shakespeare in his Twilight years, as he attempts to live a peaceful life in retirement. His dubious contentment (he is distant to his wife and daughter) is disrupted by a wealthy local landowner, who wishes to consolidate his lands, moving away small farms and replacing them with larger operations.

Shakespeare has invested in the local land, and agrees to support the plans if his income is guaranteed throughout the changes. But of course, the redistribution of land has a consequence to the people who currently live there. This leads to violence, causing Shakespeare to reflect negatively on the moral consequences of his life.

The idea is that as an artist, Shakespeare has led a comfortable life, a complacent one. That while he practiced his art, constructed tales and worlds in his theatre, he paid little heed to those suffering in the world, and the he himself has contributed to that suffering; indirectly through complacency, and now directly by protecting his interests.  He has aimed through his life for his work to have enriched the lives of men, yet his security has now cost men dearly.

It’s a situation that’s clearly designed to makes us consider society as a whole, and not just the bard. That capitalism forces people to behave in ways that are unavoidably self-serving and to the detriment of others. Shakespeare discovers that his wealth and security have devastating consequences to the people he knows and cares for. And he also comes to realise, reflective in his old age, that he has passed these problems onto the next generation.

Throughout the play, he is dismissive and rude to his daughter, and neglectful and distant from his wife, who remains unseen. Later, while drunk, Shakespeare simultaneously berates and apologises to his daughter, who he sees as superficial and grasping, a consequence of his trying to buy her love. It seems a cruel attack, yet events prove his reproaches to be accurate.

Shakespeare is played by Patrick Stewart, and his performance is as good as you’d expect. Despite being silent for many scenes, his resigned posture and weary, frail frame gives him a constant appearance of mourning, even when he’s actually doing very little.

While there are scenes that amuse (a drunken encounter with his rival Ben Johnson is particularly entertaining) the whole thing is undeniably a bit of a drag. It’s an intelligent and insightful play, and performed with a sensible economy on stage, but its glumness, and downbeat conclusion, leaves little room for hope. The issues that trouble the bard remain unresolved, and the suffering and cruelty around him is simply left to go on. An honest end, I daresay, just not all that fulfilling.

Swallows & Amazons – Vaudeville Theatre

I’m a big fan of Neil Hannon and his Divine Comedy, so this was pretty much a must for me. An adaptation of Arthur Ransome’s children’s classic, it might seem troublesome as it involves sail boats and islands and the outdoors. But it’s actually an ideal production project, because it’s a celebration of children’s imagination.

The National Theatre sets all its action in what appears to be an attic, with the children taking objects - bit of wood, streamers, a lifebelt – and using them to bring their adventures to life. It gives the whole effort a rather charming, homemade appeal, which is just as well – as if any parent would allow their children to sail a boat on their own these days!

I’ve always thought Neil Hannon was at best when working with a touch of literary pretension – as opposed to when he’s being earnest – and again it shows. His songs are infectious, catchy and often very funny indeed; his anthem for the Amazon pirates - “raised by our mum on the banks of the Amazon delta/ With only the clouds and a four-bedroom house for shelter” - is a particularly memorable toe-tapper. But there’s no grand orchestrations, the songs are arranged simply for a small band in keeping with the plays rather intimate presentation.

The kids are all played by rather youthful looking grown-ups, which doesn’t jar with proceedings much, despite the fact the youngest is also the biggest, and has a beard. Somehow actor Stewart Wright’s size manages to make his strops, his shyness and clumsiness that touch more funny.

Although special mention has to go to the gobby Blackett children, played by Celia Adams and
Sophie Waller, whose foot-stomping, gizzard-bothering Amazons found the most favour with the audience. They’re probably also a more recognisable character type for kids anyway, much more relatable than the old-school goodie-two-shoes Walker children.

Kids are probably the toughest audience to keep fixated, but with this cosy production, they were engrossed from the off. It was brought off with warmth and gentle humour, and had respect for the material and never cocked a sneer at the anachronisms of its time. It’s a wonderful celebration of the wonder and pleasures of play and imagination, and proof again that kids can love more, and deserve more, than noisy CGI robots.

The Theatre Round-Up Rises

Doctor Faustus - Shakespeare's Globe Theatre

One doesn’t usually imagine a tale about a man who makes a deal with the devil and is condemned to hell to veer towards a Carry On. And indeed it shouldn’t. While comic scenes are part of the play, they ought to be what they are, interludes, breaks from the main action. They should not leave a more lasting impression than the dramatic scenes, but alas, they do.

And this is in a story of damnation – there are few ideas which ought to be more powerful, and dramatic. Paul Hilton and Arthur Darvill (who proves that he has a wider range than dopey time and space travelling boyfriends) strut their stuff, reciting verse and looking cool with the clipped beards and fine robes, but handsome though they look, neither manages to make you really care about the other.

Despite some dramatics with good and bad angels fighting for Faust’s soul, they seem rather to breeze through it. In the second-half Darvill seems to have little to do other than stand sneering and leering about.

The hijinks unfortunately leave a stronger impact. You don’t expect fart jokes to pop up in a 16th century text, nor do you expect one of the characters to have an extraordinarily large package. I’m not that familiar with Marlowe’s play, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that’s likely from the text, nor in the spirit of it. With these added cheap laughs, it’s hard to know when to take other matters seriously. When a man has his tongue wrenched out by a scheming Pope, it’s giggles we get from the crowd, not tense unease.

The designs are impressive, the costumes and presentation striking – the demons on stilts, the black-spectacled spirits, Lucifer, not an evil seducer, but a wretched creature too weak to stand without support from his minions. But it’s too lightweight to really make an impact – when Faustus finally goes down, it’s seriously underwhelming.

At the end of the play, the cast do a merry dance, which ends with Darvill and Hilton pretending to play their lutes like they’re rock guitars. They’re clearly not taking it all very seriously – and it shows.

War Horse – New London Theatre

War Horse is very much in the tradition of Watership Down and When the Wind Blows – a nominally family-friendly story that really doesn’t hold back any punches. War Horse is set in the brutal trenches and devastated fields of WW1. And people die; in fact, most of the young characters die. And some of the horses too.

War Horse is about Albert Narracott, a simple earnest farmer’s son whose best friend is his horse Joey. His father is poor, however, but is absolutely determined to succeed on his own, and to prove to his arrogant brother he can survive without him. His obsession causes him to become callous and he sells Joey to the army as a cavalry horse after the war starts. Albert is heartbroken, and keenly joins the army himself. What follows is their journey across war torn Europe, the people they meet, and the horror they must endure before finally becoming reunited.

Horses on stage seems like a recipe for disaster, but far from it. The expertly realised horses are by far the most endearing aspect of the show. At first the horse Joey is operated by three fairly visible men, with great grace and care – but a little distracting if you’re on the wrong side of the auditorium. However, once adult, a toweringly large life-size creature appears, with two puppeteers inside, stomping and thudding across the stage in movements barely indistinguishable in sound and motion from the real thing. And the puppet is now strong enough for a cast member to ride. Joey is awe-inspiring in size, but later they bring on a rival, Topthorne – an even larger beast, dark and intimidating at first, but a friend to Joey soon. The fact that both horses show distinct persona is a testament to just how skilled the puppeteers are.

Warhorse is about the horrors of war, of which no one escapes. There are no villains: (with the exception on one minor character) British, German, French, they all suffer the price of war. Even the feud between Albert’s father and uncle subsides when Albert’s cousin disappears in action. Next to the simple, but endearing Albert, the most instantly likeable character is a young German officer, who cares for the horses when separated from their riders, and who tries to disguise himself as their handler to escape the front line.

The grim landscape is realised in the most minimal of fashion, the stage is black but for a rip-shaped screen, which realises gloomy clouds, jagged rubble or the passing of the landscape. The cavalry officers ride out into no man’s land and are helplessly wiped out by shells, and at one point, by a giant cardboard tank the size of household bedroom. The technology of warfare has changed – men on horseback with swords are absurdly pitted against the might of brutal metal killing machines.

It’s an epic story, one that does not hold back in its depiction of warfare. But its story is, of course, hopeful, as ultimately the simple affection between Albert and his horse bring them both back together. Both changed, but lucky to still be alive. It’s an incredibly moving experience, brought together with stark, vivid and brutal simple imagery. But of course, no one will be talking about any of these aspects once they leave the show. They’ll just be talking about how much they liked the horses.

Spielberg is finishing his version of the play (so catch it now in case he spoils it), and even he’s had to admit that the real horses he’s used have just not been as good as the ones on stage.


Elixir of Love – The London Coliseum


A comedy opera? Well, I suppose there’s no reason why you can’t have such a thing. It’s not all death, revenge and large women with pigtails. As a story, it’s pretty light and fluffy: Nemorino loves Adina, but never says anything about it until Belcore, a sergeant, marches up to her a practically asks her to marry him on the spots. She says she’ll think about it; prompting Nemorino to confess his dying love, but she doesn’t take him seriously.

Adina is obsessed with the Tristan and Isolde story. Nemorino meets a phony medicine seller who sells him a love potion (fake), just like in the story. It will take a day to work - enough time for the seller to leave town. Nemorino becomes over-confident and appears nonchalant in front of Adina. She decides to make him jealous by accepting the Sergeant’s proposal – but he must leave for a new battle. They must marry that night – before the potion will work!

Jonathan Miller’s production is set in an American diner, with Adina as a roadside café owner, Nemorino as a mechanic, Belcore a yankie soldier, and the medicine man a Barnham-style seller of miracle cures, whose elixir can even help women of a certain age to “tighten-up”. Andrew Shore’s perfectly timed comic performance as the medicine seller would pretty much steal the show if Sarah Tynan as Adina wasn’t so absolutely bloody stunning.

This 19th century work fits surprisingly will into desert Americana. The lyrics are not too incongruous, though there are some updated for time and place – at one point the sergeant really does sing about giving Nemorino “a knuckle-sandwich”. It is funny, with a touch of carry on humour, and a few knowing nudges and winks. It’s padded, if it were not for the operatic vocalising of each emotion, it would be over in an hour. But it is bright, sunny fun, with a touch of old Hollywood glamour and a few moments to melt the heart. A pleasant operatic surprise.

Bette & Joan: The Final Curtain – Jackson’s Lane Theatre


Bette Davis and Joan Crawford hated each other – their feud was gloriously venomous: Davis ; “She slept with every male star at MGM except for Lassie”; Crawford: “I don't see how she built a career out of a set of mannerisms, instead of real acting ability”. They appeared in one film together, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, in which Davis got to push Joan down the stairs in a wheelchair and got to kick her in head – Crawford had to get stitches!

This play by Foresight Theatre (the second of two based on the feud in London this year) finds Bette on her deathbed (“Old age ain't no place for sissies”). From beyond, gossip queens Hedda Hoppa and Louella Parsons, still somehow pulling the Hollywood strings from beyond, decide that it’s time for Davis to pass over, and that her nemesis Crawford is the one to do it.

What follows is the two former Hollywood starlets reliving moments from their lives, brought to life as fantasies within Bette’s bedroom. A number of clever devices are used, such as Joan having Bette perform the same scene over and over until she tells the truth, or having them read extracts from cruel tell-all biographies at each other with spiteful glee.

The point is that Bette and Joan really weren’t that different. Two damaged women from broken homes, fighting tooth and nail to be successful, ruthlessly pursuing and hanging on to fame, only for it to burn them both, time and time again. They both had five failed marriages (Bette may even have killed one of her husbands), and both had estranged children who later profited from dishing the dirt on their indomitable mothers.

It’s a good story, with razor-sharp lines and more than a little bitter irony. But much of the humour falls flat. The videotaped sections, projected onto Bette’s wardrobe doors, are off-kilter, and hard to hear. The appearances of Hedda and Louella are irritating rather than grotesquely funny, as intended (they ought to have just been left out). And when they show short snippets of supposed archive footage, classic lines from Joan and Bette, they barely register – tragically wasted.

Bette’s voice is too abrasive – yes the performances are OTT, deliberately so, but the accident is too forced. Comedy and tragedy are of course natural bedfellows, but I can’t help but feel that this one would’ve worked better played straighter, with the comedy flowing more organically from the material – there is an abundance of it.

Revenge of the Theatre Round-Up

Three more trips to the theatre? How desperately decadent of me...

One Man, Two Guvnors – at The National Theatre



One Man, Two Guvnors is a bit of old-fashioned vaudeville, nostalgic not just in its setting, but as a piece of traditional knock-about farce.

The plot is highly convoluted, but revolves essentially around a doomed marriage. A small time crook’s daughter was supposed to marry a local gangster, but as he turned up dead, a hasty engagement has been arranged between her and a terrible actor. But suddenly the gangster’s man, Henshaw, TV’s James Corden, shows up, revealing that his boss is not dead. He arrives a moment, later demanding the marriage be put back on, and that the girl’s father pays him the dowry promised.

The gangster is staying at a Brighton pub, where his man Corden waits for him. There he meets a post-public school toff, who’s waiting to meet his girl, but could do with a man to do odd jobs for him. Corden, who’s poor and hungry, accepts the job, and spends the rest of the play serving both his masters while trying to conceal his dual employment from the other. Unknown to him, his gangster boss is the toff’s girlfriend in disguise; she’s the twin of the gangster who has been killed. And unknown to her, the toff is the one who did it.

Yes it is confusing, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s quite a traditional mix of situations and characters (the dumb bimbo, the appalling actor) but carried off with great enthusiasm. The script packs the gags in, missing few opportunities for comic quips and tomfoolery. And the cast are clearly enjoying themselves, frequently having to grimace to avoid severe corpsing. Rumour has it that they had to be disciplined for improvising too much and causing overruns – and you can believe it, things did go on longer than suggested.

While the character scenes are fun, it’s the extended slapstick sequences with Corden that really light up the room. Corden is remarkably nimble - at one point he throws a chocolate in the air falls backward over a chair and manages to catch it in his mouth.

He also involves the audience in his antics, several times calling upon members to step up and get involved, adding an extra hint of danger to proceedings. The scene in which he attempts to serve food to both his masters, while scoffing half the food himself, trying to get help from a trembling decrepit old waiter (who falls victim to all kinds of violent calamities), and while tormenting a member of the audience who he forces to hold his stolen food and then hides on stage in humiliating places. It is such an incredibly well constructed and timed piece of anarchy that it’s exhaustingly hilarious.

Of course the audience got its chance to confuse and confound Corden too. While he begs the audience for a sandwich, anything to eat, he’s caught off guard by someone who has a spare sandwich in the front row. He hesitates at taking it in hysterics (it’s a hummus sandwich after all) commenting that it had to happen eventually.

The second half isn’t quite as good, as it mostly deals with pulling together the plot, reducing the opportunities for comic knock-about. But it’s easy to see why One Man has been such a massive success. It’s so good natured, so cheerfully bright, and pulled off with such fervour, it could only take the mostly defiantly sour soul to come out with anything but a smile on their face and a chest aching from sides-a-split.

One Man, Two Guvnors is transferring to the West End in November, with the original cast, and will be touring the country in the New Year.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead – at the Theatre Royal Haymarket.



Comfort is very important in theatre land – it’s hard to get absorbed by a performance when you’re constantly shuffling around in your seat. Now cheap seats are cheap seats but the not-especially low priced seats at the Theatre Royal Haymarket (£20) do not seem naturally designed for the human derriere. Imagine a church pew, but with significantly less surface area and virtually no padding and minimal leg room. And worse, there is a gap between the base and the back, so if you stretch you prod the person in front in the back with your toes.

Fortunately, after the interval, the afflicted were able to move into empty seats on the next level, although these were not especially good either. By normal standards these would be the cheap seats, except they’re not very cheap (£38); I shalln’t be coming back here unless it’s a really special production.

If any kind of play requires you to be in comfort and to relax, it’s an existential one – it’s not like you’ll be gripped by the action. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead takes two supporting characters from Hamlet and focuses the story around them – only that is doesn’t; all the action still revolves around Hamlet, while Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are constantly on the sidelines, constantly baffled and unsure about what’s going on around them.

Not only do they not understand what’s going on, they also sort of know that they’re supporting characters, people of little significance – pawns in a large plan. And they’re not sure they like it. Do they go along with it all, see out their fate? Or do they try to change it, or do the unthinkable, and simply walk away?

It’s a smart idea, and it’s often very funny. It’s just that at two and a half hours, it’s hardly gripping. The actors are funny, their metaphysical conundrums smart and often witty, but it’s hard to really engage with it all. The conversation moves so quickly from one theme to the next, it’s hard to keep up and it’s not like you can root for either of the leads, because they’re not really full characters. Of course that’s part of the joke (not even they remember which one of them is Rosencrantz and which one is Guildenstern), but that doesn’t make up for a lack of emotive connectivity.

A non-traditional narrative is all very well, but there’s only so long you can keep it up before the lack of structure becomes a problem. Though the idea gives way to much discussion and postulating, it’s still quite a simple one, one that can only stretch so far. When at one point the more weedy and effeminate of the two screams what he wouldn’t give for some definitive action, the audience sort of thinks, well actually yes, that would be nice. We get a brief pirate fight.

The ending is rather sad – after all, who amongst hasn’t ever felt powerless against a tide of events beyond our control? But it’s a long journey, and not one for those who detest a numb backside and a bent back.

Betrayal at The Comedy Theatre



Now in stark contrast to the back-breaking, wallet-exploiting seatery of the Haymarket, was the incredible value of The Comedy Theatre, where a sensible £8 was charged for seats with a view restricted by a narrow pillar. Rather a bargain, as it was not difficult to see around anyway. Better yet, the seat next to it was never taken, so I hopped across and got a superb view of the action.
Betrayal is a Harold Pinter play about a woman who has a long-standing affair with her husband’s best friend. But the trick is that it all happens in reverse, well, almost – the years roll back, but events that take place in each year occur chronologically.

The play starts in a pub, with the wonderful Kristen-Scott Thomas as Emma sitting together with Jerry, two years after their affair has ended. They are at a pub apparently, although a bed is visible in the background, and is throughout the story, a constant nagging reminder of the tawdry. Emma’s marriage to Robert finally seems to be over. Jerry is horrified to discover that Emma has finally revealed their affair to Robert. But the truth is even worse: when he later meets Robert he discovers that Emma has lied; Robert has known for four years, well before the affair ended.

Then the clock ticks back and we see how events took them to this place. Jerry and Emma rent a flat to meet in secret, and decorate it together as if they lived there as a real couple. Robert discovers their affair when Jerry sends Emma a letter while they are holidaying in Italy. He confronts her angrily, yet later continues to treat Jerry cordially, as if there is no change. Although they no longer play squash from that point on – a classic Pinter joke on human eccentricity.


Pinter plays tend not to pass judgements on characters, but offer an investigation and insight into human behaviour. The reverse chronology allows for a piece by piece assembly of the story, one which cleverly reveals the character’s behaviour in a new light. Robert is unlikeable when we first meet him, he evens states that he sometimes hits Emma – though we never see it (is it posturing?). And he has also confessed to having had affairs.

But as the clock turns back, and post their confrontation, he comforts his wife when Jerry reveals he will be away, meaning of course that she cannot see him. She is heartbroken that the affair will have to come to an end (although it doesn’t) and yet he comforts her. He is forgiving, and we can only assume that the passing years drive him bitter. The fact he never confronts Jerry is less an act of Machiavellian cruelty or cowardess, but to spare her humiliation. Though the least likeable, he may be the most wronged against.

Emma seems to be in love with the early thrills and fancies of a relationship, the free and easy casual days of romance, before the mundanities and inconveniences of life get in the way. She lives a fantasy home life with Jerry away from her real home life with Robert.

And then Jerry… Of all of them his attitude seems the most casual and laissez-faire, the most unconcerned with guilt (until Robert confronts him). Yet at the very beginning of the affair, he is a man of romance and passion. He may ultimately be the most cynical of all, and the most disappointed with life. He is ironically the most likeable, even though his crimes are equal to Emma’s. He is married too, but his wife is never seen and barely spoken of.

Betrayal is a thoughtful, believable and intelligent play, and is extremely well performed by the cast. It has no easy answers; none of the three are condemned, if anything we feel sorry for all of them. Betrayal is as much about getting older as it is betraying, with no one quite getting what they thought they wanted, and with the years passing by, feeling more and more unfulfilled. And of course putting together all the non-chronological pieces of the puzzle adds an additional touch of entertainment.

Theatre Round-Up

I've never been to the theatre often enough to have a round-up, but as I've been to two plays in one week, now seems like a good enough time to have one.

Ghost Stories at the Duke of York Theatre


There is ultimately something very cosy and old fashioned about Ghost Stories. The marketing may gleefully play on extremities – a video nasty style orgy of horror that is not advised for “those of a nervous disposition”; a performance that has “even the most hardened of viewers gasping for breath and reaching for their coats to hide behind”.

But behind the William Castle-esque chicanery, its really a more familiar scenario, one that’s more inspired by the 60s and 70s horror anthology – horror with humour and tongue in cheek.

It certainly sets itself up as being relentless, heart-stopping experience. The walls of the Duke of York Theatre are distorted to seem like the passages of a dark excavated cavern, draped with yellow and black caution tape. As the lights go down we are informed that we will not be allowed re-entry during the performance.

The set-up is a mock lecture, in which a professor explains the evolution of the ghost story, and how easily we can be made to believe in fantastical phenomena. Only 3 stories he has ever heard have defied explanation – these are the 3 we will hear tonight.

The first story builds up the suspense almost unbearably; a night watchman goes through his mundane duties against darkness and silence. He ambles around doing nothing for such a long time – the audience waiting on-edge for the shock occurrence that must come.

But when it does, it's very much a-la-Hitchcock; it provokes as much laughter as it does terror – the man’s torch gliding over a large doll/mannequin totally exaggerated in its grotesqueness as to be a bit silly. Not that when it gets up and starts walking that it’s not a bit unsettling.

This sets up the tone of the rest of the show, a blend of shocks and scares mixed with giggles and laughter – it’s hard to be too frightened when a gigantic plastic demon desceneds from the ceiling – not it doesn't make you jump.

Ghost Stories is really charmingly familiar as it unfolds, right up to the surprise ending in which our host not unexpectedly relives his own personal horror. One wonders if the extreme angle of the marketing has actually done the play a disservice - Ghost Stories is really a lot of fun, a refreshingly nostalgic stab at horror, rather than a visceral pushing of heart-attack inducing boundaries.

The Government Inspector at the Voung Vic Theatre


Nikolai Gogol’s 19th century satire is no less appropriate today as it was when it was written. A corrupt major and his cronies are horrified that a government inspector is coming to the town, incognito. In the flurry of activity to hide their own abuses of power they discover a wealthy stranger is staying in the local inn and is running up a tab which he insists will be paid by his superiors.

The wealthy stranger is in fact a spoilt young fop who has lost all his money at cards and is having to blag to even get dishwater soup and stale beef. He soon exploits the craven grovelling of the major, and after much consumption paints himself to be one of the most powerful men in Russia. The major is panicked that he is done for, and he and his officials give the man hundreds in “loans” while he seduces the major's wife and daughter.

The Mighty Boosh’s Julian Barrett is good as the nervous spineless major, but even better is Doon Mackican as his classless nouveau riche wife who gets to deliver such golden lines as “I j’adored it”. Perhaps stealing the show is Kyle Foller as the camp faux inspector who manages to be the most over the top in a thoroughly OTT show. Looking a bit like Doctor Who’s Matt Smith, if were to play Batman’s The Joker, he deftly delivers tremendously epic monologues whilst dancing across the stage and climbing the furniture.

In a show that has its fair share of terrific dialogue - “oh my god, the church – we forgot to build a church!” - one of the elements that stands out is the constant choreography; the constant synchronised movements of the large ensemble cast. There’s almost too much to look at, from servants covertly filling up glasses to the incompetent seductress strutting ridiculously for attention.

Some of the more surreal moments don’t always come off, and some of the scenes could do with a little trimming. But overall The Government Inspector is a thoroughly delightful frantic bit of comedy that despite its age and eccentric presentation never feels too far from reality.

My First Opera

Going to see an opera was something I was keen to do while living in the capital, but it was a fairly non-commital target. Then I heard Terry Gilliam was going to direct one for the English National Opera, and suddenly my level of interest peaked.

I procrastinated a while; should I really be going to an opera just because a movie director is working on it? Bit of a vulgar things to do perhaps. But any reservations I had were quickly dispelled, however, when I saw the large poster outside Waterloo station, and thought to myself, I really would regret missing this.



Recruiting big name directors is part of the the English National Opera' ongoing quest over the last few years to encourage more people to visit the opera. Largely they've been successful although abbreviating their name to ENO is probably a little irritating to their old crowd.

As an introduction to opera, however, The Damnation of Faust was maybe not the best choice. It’s considered not to be a traditional opera, because it has long musical interludes which push it towards being more of a chamber piece (or so I’ve read). But I was nevertheless, curious to the point of excitement; Gilliam knows how to create a visual spectacular, and a tale of a man seduced by the devil was bound to give him plenty of creative leg-room.

And of course it’s set in Nazi Germany, a typical place to stage an early 19th century opera... This could really be interesting…

I could tell that I was not the only one lured to the opera by the promise of a full on Gilliam-fest. There were a number of student trendies amongst the well turned out spectacle wearing middle-class regulars and young debutante couples. It was the cheap seats for me (naturally) at the top of the rather pompously named London Coliseum. But, hell, it’s a stunning venue, a place with the full grandeur one would expect of an opera house. Alas, it also has the restrictive leg room of a traditional stage.

The play opens with a short monologue by Mephisto, the only addition to Berlioz’s original piece. The devil fiendishly invites us to watch him at his work. “For there is always a Faust”, and that Mein Kampf translates into “my struggle…”

My one main worry about seeing an opera was whether I would be able to understand it. That unique mixture of sung dialogue and traditional song, from what little exposure I had had to it, had been a little hard to digest. Would I be able to understand it all and grasp what was going on? I knew about the Faust legend, but there are so many iterations of it, this one could be very different.

But to my surprise, I found that the whole thing was subtitled! A little electronic screen above the stage reproduced all the lyrics (with occasional blips).

I must admit to not being sure what to make of this. It did mean that I always knew what was being said, but it also meant that I couldn’t sit and listen to the singers without looking at it. I couldn't really train my ear to the singing, because as a crutch, it was always there to lean on. I would really have liked to have tried without it. Although it was useful for the sections with multiple singers, which were hard to decipher. And without it, I might have struggled in vein with one section, before realising it was in latin!

So what to make of this particular opera? A 19th century work against 20th century Nazi backgrounds. In some ways the match seemed eerily prescient. Faust, whose soul-searching (his struggle) is preyed upon by the demonic Mephistopheles, and taken to a Munich beer hall where drunken revellers tell stories; an attempt to introduce the title character to the pleasures of indulgence.



A fat German soldier sings a song about a rat in a kitchen living the high life until being treated to poison. Then Mephistopheles sings a song about a flea above his station in a royal court, whose family then causes an infestation. They then proceed to attack a Jewish waiter violently.


The design work as you might imagine is striking. From visions of Germanic divinity to Bauhaus inspired street corners, soon defiled by kristallnacht revelries - from start to finish it is consistently a visual feast.

And the voices... I can’t judge them against other opera singers (I don’t know any) but these are powerful performances. The kind that could knock you over if you stood too close to them. It is the female lead who leaves the most lasting impression. Faust’s idealised vision of beauty, tricked by Mephistopheles into falling in love with her; her sweet tones are mesmerising, and tragic. She is the victim of the peace – Faust is naive and foolish, but only she is innocent, a pawn in the devil’s plan.


But it’s the end that leaves a really lasting impression. Faust is caught with his love, Marguerite, and is spirit away by Mephistopheles. Defiled by a man who is not her husband, the townsfolk condemn Marguerite (the visual sub-text is that he is pure German, and she Jewish). She is taken to a concentration camp, while Faust ends up where he began in the wilderness. Mephistopheles has done all that he intends to do for him, at least for free.

Faust hastily agrees to sign his soul to the devil to save her. He and Mephistopheles mount a pair of mighty steeds (a motorcycle and sidecar) and ride swiftly to her rescue. But Faust sees dark and disturbing images as they race forth (the passing scenery is projected onto a mesh in front of them). Suddenly there is a crash. Faust flies over the handle bars and lands, quite literally, straight into hell - through a trap door spewing red light and smoke.

In Hades he is wrapped in a straight jacket, then stretched and nailed to a swastika. As he is hoisted away, the devil and his minions dance and celebrate his damnation. But Mephistopheles is true to his word; in the concentration camp Marguerite lies atop of a pile of naked corpses and her soul is accepted into heaven and she is forgiven.



It’s a humdinger of a climax.

Damnation of Faust might not be most natural choice for a first trip to the opera, but as an introduction to the power of the medium, it was second to none. It was unashamedly huge, melodramatic, and above all, elegant. Grandiose, without ever seeming excessive or over the top. It did big in a way that I’ve never seen in a theatre; a real, elevating articulate spectacle.

Of course the success of this particular production owes a lot to Gilliam’s smart idea to parallel Faust’s naive corruption with the corruption of Germany. And huge kudos must go to his team for realising his vision so well, and to the performers for bringing it across so beautifully.

Of course it’s not a traditional opera. And I doubt many other works are based in Nazi Germany either. A different production might turn out to be less appealing – in all honesty it was a little difficult to grasp all the different literary and mythological references in the dialogue, and some of the artistic eccentricities of the medium.

But I was captivated. It was a powerful piece of work, even if I couldn’t absorb all of the details. Yes, I think I’ll be trying opera again at some point. Perhaps a more classical work, one without all the vast visual delights – something a little more stripped back. Then we’ll see quite how much I get this new (to me) medium. Because right now, I really can’t wait to go again.

Watching the National Theatre's Production of Frankenstein Live at the BFI IMAX

I’m a fan of the story of Frankenstein, and many of the adaptations inspired by the tale. So when the National Theatre production, directed by Danny Boyle and starring Benedict Cumberpatch and Johnny Lee Miller was announced, I was pretty excited.

I was very keen to go, and waited patiently for when tickets for the show would be available to the public; they had already been on sale to members for a while. Unfortunately, by the time this date had rolled by, all the tickets had been gobbled up by members, leaving absolutely none left to the general public.

I can't help but feel that this is pretty shameful. When a high profile performance is staged, it’s an opportunity to encourage and entice those who might not normally go to the theatre to visit. By allowing members to walk off with all the tickets, this opportunity is totally wasted.

Furthermore, it’s grossly unfair to more casual theatre goers, who can scarcely afford to pay membership for all of London’s art institutions, just in case something comes along that they absolutely can’t miss.

Having a number of day ticketrs available to queue for in the morning is hardly sufficient. Who of us can realistically take time out of work to go and queue and hope there are tickets left? In a time when arts budgets are being slashed here and there, this sort of thing seems rather short-sited. Why should people accept money going on the arts, when it’s only accessible to the wealthy, while their local services are being cut?

Anyway, there was a chance to see it at the BFI IMAX, broadcast live from less than a 100 metres away, and broadcast around the world. This I do at least give the National Theatre credit for - it's a wonderful idea.

Nick Dear's new adaptation of Mary Shelley's classic has one difference which very quickly sets it apart from all the others. The play begins right at the moment of creation, the monster's birth. Frankenstein's formative years, and the ideas and inspirations that drove him, are all omitted.

Nick Dear has stated that he wanted to give the monster back his voice, which often missing from most adaptations, particularly in cinema. This is because most big screen adaptations derive from the excellent Universal film, in which the monster is mostly mute, though not always. In the book however, the monster learns to speak from listening to others, and is more than eloquant enough to converse fluently with his creator when they meet again, years later.

The play begins with a flash of lightening(some parts of the Universal film are too good not to use).Benedict Cumberpatch then roles out of a cocoon, a new born who’s fully grown. Besides the excellent make-up, his performance is quite staggering. The first few minutes feature nothing but him rolling around the floor, gargling, slobbering and biting. He’s a baby, learning how to use his new body. There’s something quite enchanting, and unsettling, watching as he learns to walk, and to run, stomping uncontrollably around the stage.

Then Frankenstein, in Johnny Lee Miller’s only appearance in the first half, shoos him away, and he retreats into the forest. He begins to watch and imitate a small family, and befriends a blind man, the only one who could not be repulsed by his deformity. But there’s an interesting new consideration in this new version. As the old man teaches him about literature, the monster is taken by the violence inherent in many of the classics, and begins to see acts of revenge as noble and romantic.

He soon puts these notions of revenge into practice. He is spurned by the rest of the blind man's family, who are terrifed by his appearance. In the book he burns down their house, but only after they have left it. In this play, he burns it down while they are still inside it.

When he and Frankenstein meet again, it’s the monster’s quotation from Paradise Lost that startles Frankenstein so. How could this brutish murdersome creature understand the classics? And how could he have such a violent interpretation of such great works.

The second half sticks closer to the book, although it omits Frankenstein’s friend Clerval and execution of the family maid. One interesting change is the expanded role of Elizabeth, Frankenstein’s beloved. In the novel and film adaptations Elizabeth plays the role of saintly heroine, and untouchable who appears fleetingly but whom Frankenstein reveres and the monster destroys.

Frankenstein is never able to settle with Elizabeth. He is distraught at the destruction his creation causes, and feels unworthy. This play takes this angst a step further by suggesting that the creation of the monster is somehow an extension of Frankenstein’s impotence, that his creation provides him with the son he cannot create through procreation. It’s an interesting thought, though the creation of a man from cadavers might be a somewhat extreme reaction.

It culminates in a touching scene, on their wedding night, when Elizabeth approaches her husband, obsessed with the monster’s threat of revenge, and simply asks why he will not touch her. Then, shortly after Frankentein confesses all, Elizabeth finally meets the monster in a scene which seems inexorable, yet does not appear in the book.

Elizabeth treats the monster with a sympathy not yet shown to him, and most importantly, like a mother might. The monster is moved, almost seems to be entirely taken by her willingness to love. But he has given his word to exact revenge, and believes himself honour bound to carry out his threat. He pins her to the bed and strangles her, whilst thrusting in an unsubtle act of simulated rape. In this brief moment, the creature in his primal nature seems much more human than his intellectual, impotent creator.

Danny Boyle’s production really does celebrate what has made Mary Shelley’s story last through the generation – and it’s not the horror or the supernatural. It celebrates the depths of the book, which carries so many interpretations, from playing God to man's evolution, from fatherhood to human nature. The fact that Nick Dear’s script can still find new things in a book approaching its 200th anniversary shows just how forwarding think the novel is.

And the stars more than justify the stir that their casting has created. Somehow, one imagines that Benedict Cumberpatch, who besides playing the master detective Holmes is normally scene in costume dramas, would be better as the doctor. Yet in his remarkably physical performance as the creature, one can hardly think of anyone else playing it.

It’s the star role for sure, though Johnny Lee Miller still has plenty to work with as the doctor. Frankenstein is a stronger, more forceful man here than the rather weakly man in the book, yet there are moments when he becomes completely unstuck, particularly when faced with the honest emotions of Elizabeth, Naomie Harris, who deserves mention for her performance.

It’s difficult to imagine anyone else playing these roles, yet those who have seen both versions, have remarked that they are startling in their portrayals of either character.

And of watching the play at the Imax? Well, it provided views of the action that you could not possibly get from any one seat at the play. But it did not feel the same as being there, feeling part of the action as you do when only feet away from everything that occurs. That’s not to say that the audience weren’t enthralled. When digital system messages appeared in big blue boxes on the screen, there were gasps of panic from those present. These disruption, though irritating, were brief.

Alas, the production is now over, not that you would've been able to see it anyway.
But I will say is that had I been able to see it, it may well have been one of the most exciting nights of theatre I have enjoyed thus far.