The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas - Union Theatre, 19th October 2011

Synopsis:

It is the late 1970s, a brothel that has been operating outside of fictional Gilbert, Texas for more than a century. It is under the proprietorship of Miss Mona Stangley, having been left to her by the original owner. While taking care of her girls, she is also on good terms with the local sheriff, Ed Earl Dodd. When crusading television reporter Melvin P. Thorpe (based on real-life Houston news personality Marvin Zindler) decides to make the illegal activity an issue, political ramifications cause the place to be closed down.

Cast:
Sarah Lark as Miss Mona.
James Parkes as Sheriff Ed Earl Dodd
Leon Craig as Melvin P.Thorpe
Nancy Sullivan as Shy
Frankie Jenna as Angel
Stephanie Tavernier as Jewel
Lindsay Scigliano as Doatsey Mae
Tony Longhurst as Senator Wingwoah

Creative Team:
Directed by: Paul Taylor-Mills
Musical Director: Tom Turner
Choreography & Musical Staging by: Richard Jones
Production Designer: Kingsley Hall
Lighting Design: Howard Hudson

TBLWIT is an odd show. Plot lines run nowhere, some characters seem superfluous, the things you expect to develop into a story don’t. The two halves don’t seem to fit together properly – in Act 2 you seem to be watching a different show with a different plotline from Act 1. Your human sympathy is milked hard for characters which emerge, then fade away completely. Other characters take more prominence in the plot than would seem entirely necessary. The book is dated - stuck firmly in the 70s which, as far as most of the audience is concerned, might just as well be the late Cretaceous era. It doesn’t help anything to play this piece over the top – it needs simplicity, delicacy and a certain touch of realism to paper over the glaring inadequacies of the script. It needs to be sung and acted with clarity, and above all it needs a gentle hand from the director. Well, we didn’t get it. Paul Taylor-Mills directs with all the finesse of a sledgehammer in the nuts, too many people give us accents so over-broad in their attempt at authenticity that they become completely inaudible and a major character over-plays his role to such an extent – perhaps ill-advisedly trying desperately to inject some life into the show - that it becomes a) impossible to understand what he is saying and b) a total relief when he is not on stage.

At some points there is so much schtick going on that the entire piece grinds completely to a halt. A couple of performances are not being given to the back wall as much as given to Southwark Tube Station and possibly further. In a small, confined space, it is extremely badly judged to hit your audience in the face with a sledgehammer where a certain amount of restraint would serve so much better. This is partly the fault of the book – there is none of the coy tenderness of Dames at Sea, just over-gagging and too many badly drawn characters, leavened with attempts at cutesy-pie, homespun wisdom – and partly the fault of the production; think Country and Western music mixed with the excesses of Jerry Springer The Opera.

The entire production failed to gel together for me. It was too loud, too top-heavy, too brash. I could have done without Leon Craig playing Melvin P. Thorpe as a cross between Mr. Toad on speed and a 3rd-rate panto dame with a blonde mullet and dialogue delivered with all the precision and subtlety of a breezeblock (I don’t think I heard a single consonant from him all night). In fact his constant, frantic mugging and melodrama-baddy over-acting just irritated me from the word go. Some chap in the back row seemed to be having a great time guffawing loudly at every gag, and I began to think that Craig was milking the role just for him. I could have done without Tony Longhurst’s risible diction as Senator Wingwoah (couldn’t understand a single, sodding word) and I could have done with the band not playing so goddamned loudly that it made drowned most of the lyrics and made my head hurt into the bargain. I could have done with Miss Mona being played by someone rather more mature and world-weary, rather than the odd mix of a young Dolly Parton and an extremely young Prunella Scales. Here’s a role that should be comforting and motherly, but wasn’t. There was no chemistry between Lark’s Miss Mona and Parkes’ Sheriff Dodd , nor did there look like there had ever been any. In fact, if Parkes had spent a bit less time looking soulful and given his character a bit of backbone (or indeed some mental acuity) then the relationship might have sparked more.

In terms of the manifold failings of the book, I could have done with the Doatsey Mae character being explored more fully - either that or got rid of completely; the role goes nowhere and, depending on how you feel at the time, is either a missed opportunity for character exploration or a complete irrelevance - and I could have done with the characters of Shy (small town girl new to prostitution) and Angel (weary tart with a heart) not disappearing into the chorus 15 minutes after we are first introduced to them and then barely appearing until the final curtain.  These are sympathetic characters and you want to know more about them, but the script just dumps them while careering away with other storylines. 

I've no idea why the Union decided to put this show on.  Its dated and desperately flawed as a show, and the production values were, in my opinion (lets just get this straight before you all start leaving rude messages; IN MY OPINION) very low indeed.  The evening fell flat with a resounding splat and with so many good shows to choose from, I'm sure that the Union could have come up with a more inspired choice.  75% of the Union shows have been fantastic - this one is a turkey. 

What the critics thought:

http://www.whatsonstage.com/reviews/theatre/london/E8831319197118/The+Best+Little+Whorehouse+in+Texas.html

http://exeuntmagazine.com/reviews/the-best-little-whorehouse-in-texas/

http://passionfortheatre.wordpress.com/2011/10/20/review-the-best-little-whorehouse-in-texas-union-theatre/

http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/33962/the-best-little-whorehouse-in-texas

Anna Bolena - Metropolitan Opera House, Saturday 15th October 2011

Synopsis:

England, 1536. At Richmond Castle, courtiers discuss the state of royal affairs: Queen Anne’s star is sinking since King Henry VIII has fallen in love with another woman. Jane Seymour, Anne’s lady-in-waiting, appears, followed by the queen, who admits to Jane that she is troubled. Anne asks her page Smeaton to sing a song to cheer everyone. His words remind her of the happiness of her first love, which she gave up to marry the king.

Alone in her bedchamber, Jane — who is in fact the king’s new lover— is conscious-stricken about her betrayal. Henry appears and passionately declares his love, promising Jane marriage and glory. She is disturbed by his threats about Anne’s future but realizes that it is too late for her to turn back

Anne’s brother, Lord Rochefort, meets Lord Richard Percy, the queen’s former lover, in Richmond Park. Percy, who has been called back from exile by the king, admits that his own life has been miserable since he and Anne have been apart. The king arrives with a hunting party. He coolly greets his wife, then tells Percy that he has the queen to thank for his pardon. In fact, he has arranged Percy’s return as a trap for Anne. He orders one of his officers to spy on the couple. Smeaton, who is in love with the queen, is on his way to her apartments to return a miniature portrait of her that he had stolen. He hides when Anne appears with Rochefort, who persuades his sister to admit Percy. Anne admits that the king hates her, but she remains firm and pleads with Percy to find another woman worthy of his affection. Just as he draws his sword and threatens to kill himself, Henry bursts in. Smeaton proclaims the queen’s innocence and in the process the furious king seizes the miniature, providing him with welcome proof of his wife’s seeming infidelity. Anne, Percy, and Smeaton are arrested

Anne has been imprisoned in her London apartments. Jane arrives to tell her that she can avoid execution by pleading guilty and confessing her love for Percy, thereby allowing the king to remarry. Anne refuses, cursing the woman who will be her successor. Jane admits that she is that woman. Shocked, Anne dismisses her . Smeaton has falsely testified to being the queen’s lover, believing that his confession would save Anne’s life, but in fact he has sealed her fate. Anne tells the king that she is ready to die but begs him to spare her the humiliation of a trial. Percy claims that he and Anne were married before she became the king’s wife. Even though he thinks this is a lie, Henry triumphantly replies that another, worthier woman will ascend the throne. Jane pleads with Henry for Anne’s life, but he dismisses her. News arrives of the council’s verdict: The royal marriage is dissolved and Anne and her accomplices are to be executed.

Her fellow prisoners are brought in and Smeaton blames himself for having caused Anne’s impending death. When bells and cannon fire are heard, announcing the king’s new marriage, Anne suddenly comes to her senses. She furiously curses the royal couple and goes off to face her execution.

Cast:
Anne Boleyn - Anna Netrebko
Jane Seymour - Ekaterina Gubanova
Smeaton - Tamara Mumford
Richard Percy - Stephen Costello
Henry VIII - Ildar Abdrazakov

Creative team:
Music: Gaetano Donizetti
Production: David McVicar
Set design: Robert Jones
Costumes: Jenny Tiramani
Lighting: Paule Constable

No, I haven’t suddenly decided to take a short break in New York – this was the first in the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 “Live Transmission” series, which I saw from a very comfortable seat at Greenwich Picturehouse. Sure, I wasn’t there in person, but feel that a live relay entitles me to write a review as if I was. And hey, its either write a review of Anna Bolena or do the washing up, and I know which I’d rather do, frankly. The main reason we went was that Anna Netrebko was starring in the title role – and as regular readers will know, the woman is practically the House Goddess around here. I have to admit that on paper, she’s not the first person you would think of when casting this role – Boleyn was in her late 20’s when she was scheming and screwing her way to the top, and Netrebko is now 40 and, frankly, rather matronly. If anyone’s writing an opera about the life of Catherine of Aragon, Netrebko is definitely your diva. Seeing her as Anne Boleyn is admittedly a stretch, although perhaps not quite so much a stretch as seeing Ekaterina Gubanova as Jane Seymour, resembling as she did more resemblance to an animated sofa than to the pale and submissive teenage Queen-in-Waiting. Anyhoo, Anna Bolena takes a shedload of historical liberties with the story anyway so I suppose this was just one more liberty the audience had to swallow. Mind you, the audience in Greenwich was so old and doddery the majority of them were probably at Court when Anne Boleyn was still in nappies – one old cove a couple of rows behind us could be heard pontificating that “the entire intelligentsia of SE13 are here this afternoon”, obviously failing to realise that some of the said intelligentsia had travelled all the way from the cultural deserts of SE9 to be there. I do love opera audiences; they’re always so entirely convinced of their own superiority over other people. It’s a pleasure to listen to them sort their world into “opera lovers” and “scum”. Fortunately, if I get “Opera Snob DTs” I can always listen to my own personal Opera Snob waffling on about “the vocal instrument”. and "snatching at the top D in "Visi tui".  

The problem with this opera is that you cannot do anything with it. It has a specific setting in a specific historical period and this means it can’t be fiddled with. Allied to this problem is that it’s very much a “stand there and sing” piece – lots of declaiming, very little action. There are no choruses of jolly villagers to leaven the mix and bring a bit of light relief. There’s no humorous mistaken identities, nobody dressing up as someone else and not being recognised until the final scene. Everyone is angst-ridden and watching their neck, the story is set in a particular groove and all that the performers can do is get through it as best they can. This is old-fashioned opera – everyone standing around singing at each other wringing their hands and emoting like crazy. So it does make for a fairly static production even at the best of times, and the Met’s stab at it is no exception. Jenny Tiramani’s costumes do little to leaven the gloom – for the most part everyone is dressed in sombre colours so there’s little to look at when the going gets heavy. Tiramani was interviewed backstage in the interval – she bears more than a passing resemblance to Edna Modes from The Invincibles – and gave a spirited defence of her designs, saying that she had used Holbein portraits as her inspiration, so they were historically accurate. That’s all well and good, but this is opera, for pete’s sake – you can get away with murder if you want to; people will swallow big lies in opera but choke on the little ones. I don’t see any reason why things couldn’t have been brightened up a bit. I had a major problem with the female cast’s headdresses – Anne Boleyn was educated at the French court, and popularised French fashions in England when she became queen. Anna Bolena herself only appeared in the French hood once when she should have been wearing it constantly and every other woman on stage wore the Gable hood, a by then very old fashioned style; Netrebko later appeared wearing a type of headdress more associated with Anne of Cleves and which was not fashionable in England at the time.  Every woman at court during Anne’s reign would have followed the fashion set by the Queen. What is worse, the Gable hood doesn’t suit women with large features, and Gubanova looked like somebody had dropped a small house on her head. So much for authenticity of research – it was simply wrong. Another major historical inaccuracy was having Netrebko make her first entrance accompanied by a young girl with long red hair – presumably this was meant to be her daughter, the future Elizabeth I – yet Elizabeth was barely 3 years old when Boleyn died.

Anyway, I have digressed and found myself stuck in a slight backwater here. Meanwhile, in another room in the castle……One thing I did enjoy about the production was that the set allowed for a great deal of listening at doors or processing along shadowy corridors while the principals slugged it out centre stage, which really brought home just how dangerous a place Henry’s court was – you were never alone, even when you thought you were. There was always someone sneaking around picking up little snippets of information to be stored away and used against someone at a later date. And I enjoyed Netrebko’s performance thoroughly – crikey, that woman can act. She can switch from fury to terror in the click of a finger, and I thought she brought Donizetti’s somewhat two-dimensional heroine fully to life (charmingly, in her pre-performance interview, she confessed to having watched several episodes of The Tudors as research). Ildar Abdrazakov (a name which sounds more like a sneeze every time I say it) left his audience in no doubt that his Henry was a man used to being obeyed instantly and constantly frustrated that his Queen refused to be brought to heel. Henry VIII is somewhat of a cardboard king anyway – we all know (or think we know) what Henry was like because of the way he is portrayed in portraits, in films and on TV, and Mr. Sneezy managed to flesh out his portrayal excellently. Gubanova was awful – far too old, far too fat, far too wooden; a really unlikely choice of shag for the King of England when he’s got Netrebko’s Boleyn to get jiggy with.

So it was an interesting evening – an interesting experience to see a live transmission and what could be done to make a really boring, static opera more accessible (answer: not that much). It was hilarious to hear Renee Fleming, hosting the transmission, make an appeal for donations to the Met (probably the richest opera house in the entire world) when they get corporate sponsorship by Bloomberg, a deeply nasty corporation devoted to the evils of Capitalism and with trillions in the bank and Toll Brothers, “America’s luxury home builders” who design “trophy homes” for America’s most evil Capitalists. But it was not so much fun sitting next to one particular old cow in the audience. I’d been running the tail end of a bad cold during the week and had just reached the “oh god I can’t stop coughing” stage. I’d managed not to cough at all during the first three hours or so, but the dry air in the cinema caught up with me by the final act. Its not like I was coughing up blood like some tubercular heroine or something, and I did have a handkerchief with me that I used to muffle the sound as much as I could. But the more I tried to relax my throat, the more persistent the tickle got and inevitably, the coughs came. I left my seat at the end, wriggled out past said old cow and then stood to one side to let other people pass while Him Indoors gathered up his opera glasses and his fur stole. Old Cow obviously thought I had left, because she boomed out to her companion “I could have walloped that fool who ruined everything by coughing all the way through”. The red mist descended and I told her in no uncertain terms that I’d done my best a) not to cough to start with and b) be as quiet as I could and that coughing was a human function with no laws against it in public places. Unfortunately for Old Cow, she decided to counter this by telling me “You should have stayed at home”. I was sorely tempted to ask her if I she'd rather I wasted my ticket and stood in the broom cupboard at home instead, but contended myself by telling her to hurry home in case someone dropped a house on her too. Silly old bitch.

What the critics said:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/28/arts/music/the-metropolitan-opera-performs-donizettis-anna-bolena.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/opera-review-anna-bolena-at-metropolitan-opera/2011/09/27/gIQAJY5y2K_story.html

http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/theater/netrebko_makes_anna_xtroardinary_8NwuRWsmFVT8Dyx2rDSP5I

The Madness of King George III - Richmond Theatre, Saturday 10th September 2011

Synopsis:

The story begins nearly three decades into George's reign, in 1788, as the unstable king begins to show signs of increasing dementia, from violent fits of foul language to bouts of forgetfulness. This weakness seems like the perfect chance to overthrow the unpopular George, whom many blame for the loss of the American colonies, in favour of the Prince of Wales but the King's Prime Minister William Pitt and his wife Queen Charlotte are determined to protect the throne. Doctors are brought in, but the archaic treatments of the time prove of little value. In desperation, they turn to Dr. Willis, a harsh, unconventional specialist Willis struggles to break through to the mad king, treating him with an anger and haughtiness George has never before experienced.

Cast:

George III – David Haig

Queen Charlotte – Beatie Edney

George, Prince of Wales – Christopher Keegan

Frederick, Duke of York – William Belchambers

Lady Pembroke – Charlotte Asprey

Captain Fitzroy – Ed Cooper Clarke

Captain Greville- Orlando James

William Pitt – Nicholas Rowe

Charles James Fox – Gary Oliver

Sheridan – Patrick Moy

Sir George Baker – Peter Pacey

Francis Willis – Clive Francis

Creative Team:

Written by Alan Bennett

Director – Christopher Luscombe

Designer – Janet Bird

Lighting – Oliver Fenwick

Costumes – Hilary Lewis

Ah, leafy Richmond, home of designer boutiques for adults and spoilt children, trendy homewares stores and designer cupcake shops empty shops, the final days of Habitat’s closing down sale (£95 lampshades on offer for a fiver) and …erm…more empty shops. Looks like the recession is biting hard when Jocasta and Sebastian’s favourite outlets are all going tits up. Leafy Richmond, where you can eavesdrop on conversations in one of the many charity shops about how “no, we don’t sell knitting wool, can’t get it dearie, nobody round here buys it anyway, there’s a shop near Teddington station that sells it”. Looks like the Richmond Mummies’ Knitting Circle are having to import supplies for their “Chat and Knit Sessions” in Starbucks then. Things must be getting bad. In fact, things are so bad in Richmond that even the theatre has stopped selling programmes. Apparently they weren’t selling enough (probably because they were too bloody expensive in the first place) and they told their printers to reduce the print runs. “Bugger off” said the printers (I paraphrase here), “You can have 500 less per show”. “Not enough”, says the Theatre, “we need less”. “Well you can take your business elsewhere then” said the printers and put the phone down. Now, is that the right attitude to take during a recession? Telling your customers what they can have and what they can’t for their money? Shouldn’t they be grateful for the business, even if the customer wants less than before? So, Dear Reader, if you know a local printers that’s looking for work, tell them to give Richmond Theatre a call, because at the moment their customers are having to make do with photocopied cast lists – which is a big bummer because if there’s one kind of show that needs programme notes on the historical background, it’s “The Madness of King George III”, as evidenced by the idiotic American tourist in the row behind me asking his mother what the show was about. I longed to turn round and say “The clue’s in the title, you colonial fool”.

The lack of a programme didn’t seem to be preventing Fat Boy sitting next to us from hoovering up an entire bag of Opal Fruits during the first half (you know, Opal Fruits, those sweets in the really crackly bag and even more crackly wrappings round each one). Fat Boy was so excited by the prospect of consuming about 18,000 calories during the performance that at one point he was actually lining the sweets up on his leg in clumps of individual flavours, pausing only to wipe copious amounts of drool from his front and completely ignoring his father in the next seat along who was doing equally serious damage to a Value Pack of Revels (in an equally crackly bag). The clock was running so each was pushing in entire handfuls at a time in an attempt to reach Sugar Overload before the final curtain; according to the Box Office, “the performance finishes at 10:06pm – if its any later it will be because of human error”. I swear I don’t make these things up.

Anyway, I digress. This is a touring production so its leaving Richmond as we speak and heading for pastures new (details below). Catch it while you can because its worth every penny of the ticket price. Its necessarily pared down in terms of scenery (the play is notorious difficult to stage because of its many changes of scene), costumes (they could have invested in a few more costumes and had better quality ones, I think – I can cope with a sparse set but I think scrimping on costumes and wigs really makes a production look cheap, particularly for a historical play. Poor Queen Charlotte had to wear the same frock for the entire 9 years of the play’s action and the same awful wig which made her look like she had a bedraggled tabby cat sitting on her head. Mind you, some of those Royal palaces were notorious draughty. Perhaps British Gas should adopt a new slogan. “Save gas – get a cat to sit on your head”) as well as in length (in the original production, it ran nearly three hours. Here, Act I is advertised as “1 hour 38 minutes” and Act 2 “43 minutes”. Obviously Richmond are strict on timing – I had visions of people acting with an eye on the clock and frantically ripping pages out of the prompt copy while the woman in the Box Office checks her watch and jots down notes under the heading “Human Timing Irregularities during Performance”. So it looks a bit scrimped, and feels a bit rushed in places. Walls slide on, doors slide off and actors rush to keep up with them.

Fortunately, David Haig is completely in control as George III and would only need to fix his beady eyes on a retreating wall and shout “Stay still Sir! What what!” and it would creep back on its runners looking shamefaced. The play is, necessarily, almost entirely his and by heck does he work. It must be an exhausting part to play every night. He has an incredibly deft hand for comedy and also for pathos – his scenes with Queen Charlotte were almost unbearably touching in their domestic simplicity. It is a superb performance. Beatie Edney makes a wonderful foil for him as the homely and fat Queen Charlotte, worn out by 15 pregnancies yet clearly still besotted with her husband. Her accent is impeccable – she manages to sound exactly like a German matron speaking heavily accented yet formally correct English. If it wasn’t for that bedraggled tabby cat on her head…..Christopher Keegan was perfect as the Prince Regent – like an empty-headed Augustus Gloop obsessed with waistcoats and rococo furniture instead of chocolate. If I have one criticism about the performance of Clive Francis as Dr.Willis it is that he seemed to me to have modelled it far too closely on that of Ian Holm in the film version, right down to the facial expressions. This also seemed to be casting to type – there is absolutely no reason why Dr. Willis cannot be played by someone tall.

What could have a been an overpowering set is kept light and airy by Janet Bird’s pale wood designs, scored across in diagonal parallel lines to suggest the sheen of dark varnish on doors and panelling. Three enormous pairs of double doors are cleverly mixed and matched with rows of empty picture frames suspended above wainscoting to suggest a variety of rooms and corridors, and the pale wood flooring manages to suggest all sorts of open spaces and interiors given a few bits of furniture. Costumes, as pointed out above, were adequate and could have done with having a bit more money spent on them.

Appropriately for a play dealing with the Monarchy, there were no “communist bows” as Him Indoors calls bows for the entire company only. There seems to be a creeping egalitarianism in theatre curtain calls of late, as if directors think that it would be demeaning for those in smaller parts to have a proper “walk down” at the end. I don’t agree - yes, theatre is teamwork, but the audience should be given the opportunity to reward individual actors with applause if they deserve it. I “bravo’d” for Beatie Edney’s performance and was glad to see that she heard this and appreciated it. And by jehosaphat did Mr. Haig deserve his standing ovation from the majority of the audience. In fact, I’d got so caught up in the story of this unhappy monarch that I confess to having contributed a “God Save Your Majesty!” in the middle of it.

See this if you can. It deserves your support and you’ll come away having been thoroughly entertained, Which is, as they say, A Good Thing.

The production tours to:

Newcastle Theatre Royal Sept 12–17;

Norwich Theatre Royal Sept 19–24;

Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham Sept 26–Oct 1;

Nottingham Theatre Royal Oct 3–8;

Cambridge Arts Theatre Oct 10–15;

Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury Oct 17–22;

Milton Keynes Theatre Oct 24–29;

Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, Guildford Oct 31–Nov 5;

Hall for Cornwall, Truro Nov 7–12;

Chichester Festival Theatre Nov 14–19.

What the reviews said:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/8734662/The-Madness-of-George-III-Theatre-Royal-Bath.html

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111904875404576532310073672534.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2011/aug/31/madness-george-theatre-bath-review



Road Show - Menier Chocolate Theatre, Wednesday 17th August 2011

Synopsis:

After the death of Addison Mizner, people who knew him, including his estranged lover Hollis Bessemer, comment on his life and the way he squandered his talents. Addisonclaims that his brother Wilson was the cause of all his failures.

On his deathbed, Papa Mizner charges his sons with the task of using their gifts to shape America. Mama Mizner tells the brothers that their family's wealth has been eaten away by Papa's long illness and advises them to seek gold in Alaska; Addison is reluctant, but goes along with Wilson anyway.

In Alaska, Wilson leaves to get supplies while Addison works the claim: Wilson is lured into a game of poker, which he is initially bad at but masters quickly. Addison comes to find him, and is shocked to discover that his brother has become a gambler. Wilson stakes their gold claim in a poker game and wins the saloon in which the game is taking place.

Addison leaves in disgust with his share of winnings and travels around the world searching for business opportunities and a sense of purpose . All of his ventures fail due to bad luck, and he is left with nothing but a collection of souvenirs - but the souvenirs inspire him to take up architecture so that he can design a house in which to show them off. Meanwhile, Wilson's businesses in Alaska have failed, and he comes south in the hopes of getting help from Addison. Addison has only just begun to practice as an architect, and Wilson seduces and marries his first client, a rich widow, and fritters away her money on various flashy endeavours. Mama Mizner, who is being looked after by Addison and never receives any visits from Wilson, enjoys reading about Wilson's exploits.. Only Addison remains uncharmed by Wilson, and when Wilson finally comes back, his resources exhausted, he finds that Mama has died in his absence. Addison angrily throws Wilson out of the house.

Later, there is a land boom in Florida. Addison travels to Palm Beach to take advantage of the many rich people settling there. On the train he meets Hollis Bessemer, with whom he is instantly smitten. Hollis explains his situation: he is the son of a wealthy industrialist, but he has been cut off by his father for refusing to enter the family business. His real passion is art, and although he is not himself talented enough to become an artist, he dreams of creating an artists' colony in Palm Beach.

Hollis and Addison arrive at Palm Beach, and Addison shows Hollis's aunt a plan for a house he proposes to build for her. Impressed, she agrees and offers to sponsor the artists' colony. However, Hollis and Addison, now lovers, are too busy designing resort homes for the rich and enjoying each other's company - until Wilson arrives destitute and sick. Addison reluctantly takes him in, and when Wilson has recovered he begins to work on Hollis, persuading him to be a patron to his newest scheme: to build a brand-new city in Boca Raton with Wilson as promoter and Addison as chief architect.

But Wilson's conman instincts resurge, and he promotes the Boca Raton real estate scheme with increasingly extravagant and eventually fraudulent claims, Addison goes along with this, and it is Hollis who finally puts a stop to both the real estate scheme and his relationship with Addison. Brought to a state of desperation by all that has happened, Addison tells Wilson to get out of his life

Returning to the first scene, Wilson realises that he, too, has died. Their differences no longer mattering enough to keep them apart, the brothers set out together on the road to eternity.

Cast:

Addison Mizner – Michael Jibson

Wilson Mizner – David Bedella

Mama Mizner – Gillian Bevan

Papa Mizner – Glyn Kerslake

Hollis Bessemer – Jon Robyns

Creative team:

Music and Lyrics- Stephen Sondheim

Director/set design – John Doyle

Costume – Matthew Wright

Lighting – Jane Cox

First, it is necessary to go back in time a bit. A couple of years ago, Him Indoors was muttering on about a gap in his collection of Sondheim CD. Something called Bounce. I hunted around on the internet, found a recording, bought it, wrapped it up. It was opened, duly listened to (while I was out) and more or less dismissed as “not that good – you can see why it never made it on Broadway”. The CD went into the rack and was more or less forgotten about; I don’t think it ever came off the shelf again. So much for birthday presents. Nothing more was said about it, And then about 6 weeks or so ago, a friend rang up and started gushing about something called Road Show. I didn’t think anything more about it, until Him Indoors announced that “The Menier are doing that new Sondheim show”. What new Sondheim show? “It was originally called Bounce and its now called Road Show. I suppose we’d better go see it, even though its dreadful”. If its that dreadful, why are we going? “I got cheap tickets”. Aha. We know its going to be dreadful but The Great God of Cheap Tickets has deemed that we go anyway. So I started planning the review in my mind – something about deformed offspring and the story of how this particular child been locked up in the attic by Papa Stephen and had now been let loose to horrify London’s Sondheim fans when it should really have been drowned in a barrel of rainwater at birth. You know, kind of a cross between Jane Eyre and Frankenstein, with a few touches of Rebecca. Reader, never let someone else’s opinion colour your judgement. go unlock the attic, turn on the light and take a look – and THEN make up your mind. For Road Show is (to further mangle the literary analogy) more like The Elephant Man than Frankenstein. Its unwieldy and somewhat misshapen sure; but underneath its perfectly sound and has not a certain lumpy charm all its own. Its not a Follies, Night Music or Into the Woods to be sure but, you know, all families have their black sheep. And to quote The Sound of Music: “the wool of a black sheep is just as warm”. I’ve have liked to have seen some information in the programme about the show’s genesis – were the Menier expecting all the Sondheimites to have this information at their expensively manicured fingertips?

What the Menier have done is work their own kind of magic on this ugly duckling (more mangling of analogies) and have managed to turn it into a reasonably respectable goose. There are a few golden eggs because people will go see anything that’s got “Stephen Sondheim” written all over it, and certainly one currently has to budge up quite a lot in the Menier’s rather cramped seats. If you’re not careful, you might have to sit next to a West End Whinger. Be warned though – 1) there is no interval (what it is with directors specifying “no interval” at the moment? 2) don’t be late and 3) once you’re in, you’re in for the duration – the way the show is presented means that you and your dicky bladder are just going to have to cross your legs and hope.

Various items of furniture are heaped along the two short ends of the performance space (with the audience sit in rows along the long ends) – this means that the very noisy air conditioning unit is at least partially hidden - and these are moved around and clambered all over in a fashion that reminded me very much of a previous Menier Gem (Flight, which should have got more recognition). In fact, its difficult to see how it could be presented otherwise – there are so many scenes and world locations that it would be practically impossible to perform the piece as a conventional production. Its still slightly unwieldy – there are some parts that seem far too long (the extended travelogue sequence), things that are under-developed (Sondheim’s first ever gay lovers), things that could have been jettisoned, things that could have been added (an interval – an hour and three quarters may not sound that long, but believe me, its too long). What makes it feel slightly hackneyed, I think is the fact that it’s a bit of a conventional plot for Sondheim – the life story of two brothers, neither of whom are without their faults, dealing with whatever cards Fate happens to deal them and trying to make the best of it in their own particular way. The “biography show” is a slightly old-fashioned concept, and I’m not entirely sure why Sondheim decided to use it. What is even more hackneyed is that Sondheim falls right into the expected trap of making one brother much more sympathetic and likeable than the other. Its almost as if the audience is being asked to cheer the hero and hiss the baddy at some points. So the evening is not without its faults, but neither is it without its good points. What disappointed me was that I had to jettison the review that was forming in my head before seeing it and realising that I would have to start from scratch, rather than it bursting from my forehead fully formed onto the page. Instead, as usual, I have had to sit here chewing a pencil and staring into space as usual, having to delete whole paragraphs because they were going nowhere and utilising “cut and paste” far too much to get this review born. So I feel sorry for Mr. Sondheim and his attempts to rehabilitate his deformed child. It can be difficult being a genius (and if you think that sounded pompous, I had intended to write something about incubating ideas for a long time and then finding that they hatched out all ugly. I even tried to lever in a witty play on the words oeuf and oeuvre but believe me, it didn’t fly).

What the reviews said:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/8623702/Road-Show-Menier-Chocolate-Factory-review.html

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/road-show-menier-chocolate-factory-london-2308091.html

http://www.fourthwallmagazine.co.uk/2011/07/review-road-show-menier-chocolate-factory/ (by heck, this is pompous)

Dame at Sea - Union Theatre, Sunday 14th August 2011

Synopsis:

In the early 1930s, a Broadway musical is in rehearsal. Mona Kent is its temperamental diva star, Joan a wise-cracking chorus girl, and Hennesy the producer/manager/director. The naive Ruby arrives from Utah, with "nothing but tap shoes in her suitcase and a prayer in her heart" determined to be a Broadway star. Having not eaten for three days, she promptly faints into the arms of Dick, a sailor and aspiring song writer. Ruby gets a job in the chorus, but Hennesy informs the cast that the theater must be torn down, and they must find another place for the show. Joan and Lucky, another sailor and her former boyfriend, renew their romance while Ruby admits her feelings for Dick. Dick and Lucky persuade their Captain to volunteer the use of their ship. Mona recognizes the Captain as a former boyfriend. When Mona kisses Dick, to persuade him to give her one of his songs, Ruby sees and is despondent. Dick explains the misunderstanding and the couple make up. While rehearsing on the actual ship, Mona becomes sea sick; Ruby steps in to save the show and becomes a star The three couples decide to marry.

Cast:

Mona Kent – Rosemary Ashe

Joan – Catriana Sandison

Harry – Anthony Wise

Ruby – Gemma Sutton

Dick – Daniel Bartlett

Lucky – Alan Hunter

Captain Courageous – Ian Mowat

Creative Team:

Book and lyrics by George Haimsohn and Robin Miller

Music by James Wise

Director – Kirk Jamieson

Choregrapher – Drew McOnie

Design – Kingsley Hall

Dammit, I must stop putting off writing reviews and then realising I’m so far behind that the show has actually closed. It doesn’t give you a chance to get to go see something I liked. Because you should have seen this, you really should.

Although I’ve seen a couple of productions that have started here at the Union and then moved to Wilton’s Music Hall, I’ve never actually made it here to the Union itself. We almost walked right past it – if you don’t know its there, you’ll never really see it, its so tucked away. And it doesn’t really look that prepossessing, let’s be frank. It was apparently a completely empty space until it was taken over by one of those far-sighted and highly driven souls who can look at coal and see the potential for diamonds. Not that there are many obvious diamonds out front – the guy who takes your ticket also serves you at the bar and the toilets – well, the thought still makes me shudder and go ick, frankly. There was something from Quatermass growing on the wall by the hand towel and another bit that looked like the Before bit in the ads for anything that kills 99.9% of all known germs DEAD. I suspect that anyone expecting glamour in the auditorium would run screaming from the room unless they found out beforehand that the seats were Glyndebourne chuckouts (totally true, and very comfy they were too, thank you). This is Functional Theatre, my friend.

But Functional doesn’t necessarily mean Bad Show. And in this case, far from it. I confess that I had been in a foul mood for most of the day beforehand, but even I managed to come out smiling at the end, having spent a couple of hours enjoying probably the silliest show ever written. For Dames at Sea, my friends, is a parody of those "Leading Lady Falls Ill On Opening Night, New Kid In Town Goes Out There A Chorus Girl And Comes Back A Star" movies that  were going out of fashion even while Dick Powell was still doing his darndest to convince us he could play the Juve at 56. They don’t write ‘em like that any more – shame! But in the absence of the original, parody will do me just dandy, thanks. Make it a really good parody and I’m even happier. If its performed with gusto by a troupe of talented singers and dancers then hey, I might even crack a smile. Yes, the performance space was cramped to the point where those in the first row were in danger of being decapitated by a chorine’s kick; yes, Rosemary Ashe’s make up seemed to have been put on by a blind man with a trowel (still not quite sure whether this was deliberate or not) and yes; tall people need to duck in case they take out one of the spotlights but when there is clever choreography and a cast who know just how far to push parody before it becomes ridiculous, who cares?

Usually played with a cast of just six, the Union have managed to stretch their budget to accommodate three chorines of each sex, which I was very glad of; I think it would have looked a bit thin otherwise. As it is, all 12 on stage work their asses off. And they can all sing, and they can all act and they can all dance and dammit they can all do all three at the same effing time and I hate their guts for being so talented. The redoubtable Rosemary Ashe gives keeping up her very best shot and who can blame her if she sometimes looks knackered and in desperate need of a fag, a stiff drink, 10 minutes’ sit down and a good cough. Even her wig looks like it would appreciate a nice bowl of cold water by the second half but she keeps on hoofin’ while rivers of perspiration make slabs of makeup run down her face. I’m not going to pick out any of the principals for special mention, but a chorine, Meg Gallagher, for what I think used to be called “moxie”. Jesus that girl can hoof it. And for the very first time I think I began to understand what people mean when they say a girl has legs up to her armpits.

Even the interval was entertaining – as me and Him Indoors grabbed some fresh air outside, a specimen of the type known as My Wonderful Urban Life minced past. Cropped vest showing carefully trained abdomen muscles and carefully cultivated tan, shorts and expensive trainers, Victoria Beckham-esque shades, iPod, a couple of those big paper bags with string handles you get when you buy expensive clothes and Something From the Designer Deli Around The Corner For Dinner. A Walking Cliché, in fact. I laughed almost as much as I’d been doing during the first half of the show.

What the reviews said:

http://www.whatsonstage.com/reviews/theatre/london/E8831312189951/Dames+at+Sea.html

 

http://westend.broadwayworld.com/article/BWW-Reviews-DAMES-AT-SEA-Union-Theatre-August-2-2011-20110803

http://webcowgirl.wordpress.com/2011/08/10/review-dames-at-sea-union-theatre-southwark/

Don Quixote - Marinsky Ballet @ ROH, Wednesday 3rd August 2011

Synopsis:

Driven by the vision of his ideal woman Dulcinea, the aging knight Don Quixote begins his adventures with his trusty squire Sancho Panza in tow.

Kitri, only daughter of Lorenzo, the village innkeeper, is in love with Basilio, the village barber.  Much to her chagrin, she learns of her father's plans to marry her to Gamache, a foppish nobleman. Don Quixote and Sancho Panza enter the village, causing great commotion. Noticing Kitri, Don Quixote wonders if he has, at last, found his Dulcinea. At the height of merriment, Kitri and Basilio, aided by their friends, Espada the toreador and Mercedes, sneak off followed by Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Gamache and Lorenzo attempt to pursue the young couple.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza discover the fleeing couple hiding in a friendly gypsy camp. All are inspired by the romance of the night. As the vision of Dulcinea appears to him, Don Quixote realizes Kitri is not his "ideal", but indeed belongs with Basilio. Suddenly the wind gains momentum. Don Quixote foolishly attacks a windmill, believing it to be a giant threatening Dulcinea's safety. Caught up by one of its sails, he is thrown to the ground. Near death, Don Quixote has an enchanted dream of beautiful maidens in which the image of Kitri symbolizes his Dulcinea.

At sunrise, Lorenzo and Gamache manage to revive Don Quixtote. Sympathetic to the plight of the young lovers, the attempts to lead Lorenzo and Gamache astray.

Finally discovered, Kitri is forced by Lorenzo to accept the attentions of Gamache. The thwarted Basilio pretends to stab himself and Kitri implores Don Quixote to persuade Lorenzo to wed her to the "dying man” Instantly Basilio is restored to health! Triumphantly, Kitri leaves to prepare for marriage while Don Quixote and Basilio salute Lorenzo and Gamache for stoically accepting the inevitable.

The village celebrates the marriage. Don Quixote congratulates the couple, bids them a warm farewell, and resumes his ever-lasting adventures.

Cast:
Don Quixote – Vladimir Ponomarev
Sancho Panza – Stansilav Burov
Kitri – Yevgenia Obratztsova
Basil – Andrei Timofeev
Gamache – Solslan Kulave
Espada – Karen Ioanissiyan
Mercedes – Anastasia Petushkova
Queen of the Dryads – Ekaterina Kondaurova

Creative Team:
Music – Ludwig Minkus
Choreography – Alexander Gorsky, Nina Anisimova, Fyodor Lopukov
Design – Alexander Golovin, Konstantin Korovin
Sets recreated by – Mikhail Shishlinanikov
Costumes – Konstantin Korovin

Again, this review is being written a while after the event for various reasons, so its necessarily cobbled together from memory. Apologies for this!

As other reviewers have pointed out, Don Quixote is, more or less, a plotless ballet, so there’s not much to do as regards concentrating on a plot. You just have to sit there and let it all wash over you. Basically, the ballet is just a bit of an excuse for pretty costumes and a lot of enthusiastic dancing in a vaguely Spanish style. We “saw” the Marinsky perform this version of the ballet a few years back, but thanks to some rather strange seats in the slips (at stage level but tucked off right at the side, could only actually see about a third of the actual stage) so it was nice to see what we had missed last time! We actually managed to see a lot more this time round, thanks to Him Indoors’ impulsive purchase of a pair of binoculars in Suffolk a couple of weeks ago – even from the very back row of the upper circle, I was able to see costumes, facial expressions and footwork in incredible detail and it was just like having your own private performance as a result. Nice – we must do it more often.

There is a slight air of somewhat faded elegance about the Marinksy productions, I find – almost as if the weight of history presses heavily on the company. This was most evident in the scenery, which was scrappy and thin, and really didn’t do the production any justice at all. I suppose that when you are touring 10 individual ballets, the costumes take priority in the cargo containers and the scenery has to be whittled down as a result. Some of it seemed to have been left behind on the jetty completely – the prologue to this ballet is usually set in Don Quixote’s cottage but here it was simply played out against a black backdrop. There is, however, no excuse for paring down the ballet itself – other productions I’ve seen have been far more detailed in the storytelling and characterisation, and I desperately missed all those little touches that would have fleshed the story out a bit. I also thought there was far too much “panto” – characters such as Sancho Panza and Lorenzo were overplayed well past the point of caricature. I suppose when you have to get the essence of a character over to the poor buggers sitting right at the back of an enormous theatre, some overplaying is acceptable, but I am convinced that Sancho Panza went right through the back wall and out into Covent Garden itself, if not Trafalgar Square.

I felt particularly sorry for the “hired in extras” who had been brought in to decorate the set and do nothing else but sit there all evening at the back of the stage. On second thoughts, however, perhaps I should feel envious of them – not only did they have a ringside seat but they were getting paid for it! And I suppose they could put on their CV that they “…played Don Estelle in the Marinsky Ballet’s production of Don Quixote”. Their placing on set was a bit strange; although for most of the evening they were reasonably well incorporated into the scene, in the final scene they were all plonked in a straight line right in the middle of the set where they looked very uncomfortable indeed, having to do “ballet arms” every time one of the principals approached. Watch old productions of something like Swan Lake and you’ll see many examples of this awfully outdated practice in the castle scenes – every time someone approaches, all the corps have to raise an arm in the direction of their approach and it looks very silly, very dated and very, very artificial.

Andrei Timofeev seemed rather miscast as Basil – when did you last see a blonde Spanish man? He also seemed somewhat slightly built and was completely outdanced by Yevgenia Obratzsova’s spirited and passionate Kitri. ”. I also thought Karen Ioannissiyan’s Espada was a little underpowered – it’s the plum role of the sexy, hypermasculine matador and needs to burn up the stage. But it didn’t. I completely failed to see the point of Maria Shevyakova’s Eastern Dance (which basically consisted of a lot of sinuous arm waving and not very much else) – it looked horribly like she had got her dates mixed up and had been expecting to do La Bayadere instead. By the time someone had thought to tell her, she must have thought “Bugger it – I’ve spent an hour warming up my arms and I’ve put all this make-up on so I might just as well go on and be a “Spesh Act”, because there’s nothing on the TV tonight and I can sit in the dressing room and bum some fags off the corps de ballet afterwards”.

Anyway, it was an enthusiastically received performance, the auditorium was bulging at the seams and everyone had a good time. I enjoyed peering through the binoculars at the costumes (unusually, all the corps costumes were individually designed, rather than being uniform, and this extra effort really paid off well visually, making it a treat to look at), but didn’t really see quite how £25 a seat could be justified when, on a dockside somewhere in Russia there are some enormous boxes marked “Scenery for Don Quixote”.

What the critics thought:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2011/aug/04/mariinsky-don-quixote-review

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/dance/8679916/Don-Quixote-Mariinsky-Ballet-Covent-Garden-review.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2011/aug/07/mariinsky-quixote-balanchine-robbins-review

Ah, the 80's! Check out the hairdo's - and try to ignore the rather odd wailing sounds at the start!

Anne Boleyn - Globe Theatre - Thursday 28th July 2011

Synopsis:

Hunting through an old chest, the newly crowned James I discovers the controversial legacy of Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII’s notorious second wife -  a copy of the Bible, translated into English.   Time jumps back 70 years, when the witty and flirtatious Anne was in love with Henry, but also with the most dangerous ideas of her day. Conspiring with the exiled William Tyndale, she plots to make England a Protestant country – forever.

Cast:
Michael Bertenshaw - Robert Cecil
Sam Cox - Dean Lancelot Andrewes
Naomi Cranston - Lady Jane Seymour
Ben Deery - George Villiers/Countryman
Mary Doherty - Lady Celia/Countrywoman
Julius D'Silva - Thomas Cromwell
Sophie Duval - Lady Rochford
James Garnon - King James I
Peter Hamilton Dyer - William Tyndale/Divine
Anthony Howell - King Henry VIII
Colin Hurle- Cardinal Wolsey/Henry Barrow
Miranda Raison - Anne Boleyn
Dickon Tyrrell -Dr. John Reynolds

Creative team:
Written by - Howard Brenton
Director - John Dove
Designer - Michael Taylor
Composer - William Lyons

This is being written a couple of weeks after the event – things have been getting behind at NTWEW what with all the riots outside in the street, and that’s just the Guildhall students burning effigies of me.

Know the saying “Be careful what you wish for – you might get it”? Well, I came away feeling that I should have listened. I pressed hard to go and see this at the Globe during its first run, and never got to see it. This time round I was taken after some very superior nagging on my part and have to say that I came away feeling that I really shouldn’t have bothered. Such is life eh?

I admit that I have a few problems with The Globe. Its always packed with tourists looking for yer acktual Shakespeeeerien experiunce, innit guv. Most of them haven’t really done their homework beforehand, and don’t realise what an uncomfortable experience it can be physically, standing in the sun for over two hours or wedged onto benches that aren’t terribly coccyx-friendly. There’s little scenery and no spectacular effects, and if they are bored teenagers then its not long before the novelty wears off and they start getting fidgety and start digging in their rucksacks for their iPhone. The stewards always put my back up as well – between the entrance to the theatre and our seats, we had our tickets checked three separate times. Well, I say “we” – I got separated from Him Indoors and the tickets on the way in so there were a series of increasingly terse exchanges between myself and the burgundy-tabarded Guardians of the Inner Sanctum. Then we found that our “restricted view” seats were slap bang behind one of the enormous pillars holding the stage gallery up, and it didn’t help a bit that the majority of the direction put people bang front and centrestage where we could neither see nor hear them (one of the major problems with The Globe is that very few modern actors know how to play a) in the open air and b) to an audience spread out round ¾ of a circle and at wildly differing levels. Very few modern directors can cope with this either – I suggest that during a dress rehearsal they move around the auditorium to check sightlines and audibility). And then I found that the play wasn’t quite what I was expecting it to be.

Far from being a cosy re-telling of the Anne Boleyn story we all know and love – boy meets girl, boy has shedload of trouble getting a divorce, girl loses her head entirely – Anne Boleyn takes you backwards and forwards in time, investigating the religious problems the situation caused and – more or less – sidelining the more familiar bits. This makes the story considerably more difficult to follow and far more of an intellectual exercise than I think most of the audience were expecting. Not that I’m complaining about being made to think in the theatre but, as I’ve said somewhere before, if you don’t know much about the historical background, it can get very confusing and a lot of people are likely to switch off. I admit that my interest started to wane quite quickly (problems with audibility really didn’t help) but I gave it a good shot and my investment was repaid eventually after the interval, when for me the play really started to come into its own. This really is a play where, to get the most out of the experience, you need to read the programme notes from cover to cover first, do a bit of research on the internet and then see the play.

It doesn’t help either when your leading lady is not terribly sympathetic, and physically wrong for the part. I don’t mean the character of Anne is unsympathetic; far from it. Even though Anne was a scheming little minx who thoroughly deserved all she got (I always maintain that its Katherine of Aragon we should reserve our sympathy for), she makes a terrific character on stage or screen. She’s the baddy we all love to hate – dark, sexy, dangerously charming, highly intelligent, manipulative and out to get as many diamonds as she can lay her manicured little mitts on while keeping uber-stud Henry at groaning point (even Disney couldn’t have created a better villain). Even the programme notes describe her as “Nobody’s fool”. In short, she knew what she was doing until Fate moved some chessmen in unexpected ways and the whole shebang started to unravel. Miranda Raison, however, is gangly and somewhat plain, plays Anne as a slightly screechy jolly-hockeysticks type and is glaringly blonde. I thought she showed very little of Anne’s manipulative charm and wondered what Anthony Howell’s gorgeous and appropriately leonine Henry VIII could ever have seen in her The whole story falls apart if the portrayal of Anne is underpowered. Unfortunately one feels that with Anne the author has his own particular axe to grind, seeking to recast her as the Heroine of English Religious Reform – a slightly dodgy premise however you view it – against All Those Nasty Catholics. To bolster this, Brenton writes Cardinal Wolsey as a tub-thumping, sweaty proselytiser and Colin Hurley’s portrayal took this and swerved dangerously close to outright caricature with it. We are asked to swallow the idea that Anne can creep off into the woods around Hampton Court for a couple of meetings with the reformer William Tyndale (played by Peter Hamilton Dyer as an avuncular and faintly God-like presence). Tyndale was banished from England for what Henry and Cromwell considered to be his heretical translation of the Bible and was lucky to retain his head and his innards, yet for “banished” Brenton has substituted “Hidden In The Woods With A Troupe of Extramural Merrie Men Wearing Green Cloaks And Floppy Hats”. I’m finding it difficult here to extricate the faults of the play itself from the actual production. It happens sometimes so you will just have to bear with me. I also found it rather difficult to find Sophie Duval’s Lady Rochford as she seemed unconvincing and slightly too shrewish.

The “framing device” of King James’ finding of Anne’s copy of Tyndale’s Bible (which didn’t Lay in the House that Jack Built, despite how it sounds) was an interesting one. James Garnon’s James I was played just on the wrong side of caricature for me with far too much obvious playing for laughs. Campery is always a sure winner with the groundlings, and usually good for a chortle from the galleries but it can be overdone, both in the writing and the playing. Ben Deery was born to play his Love Interest George Villiers and I came away musing over the possibilities of a porn film called “Pretty Boys in Doublet and Hose”, say no more.

I was ashamed to find out on the way back to the station that The Globe isn’t actually built on the site of the original as I had thought, which is now home to a small block of flats of no architectural merit whatsoever. I would have loved to have hung around in the courtyard, shut my eyes and felt, but no, no time to dawdle, train to catch, hurry up, oooh look here’s some crab claws for sale in Borough Market, lets inspect these for 20 minutes. As I said, such is life.

What the critics thought:
 
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7916733/Anne-Boleyn-Shakespeares-Globe-review.html
 
http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/jul/29/anne-boleyn-review
 
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/anne-boleyn-shakespeares-globe-london-2041056.html
 
 
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/tls_selections/article7164896.ece