The Comedy of Errors - Open Air Theatre Regent's Park, Monday 12th July 2010

Synopsis:

Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse, is condemned to death in Ephesus for violating the ban against travel between the two rival cities. As he is led to his execution, he tells the Ephesian Duke, Solinus, that he has come to Syracuse in search of his wife and one of his twin sons, who were separated from him 25 years ago in a shipwreck. The other twin, who grew up with Egeon, is also traveling the world in search of the missing half of their family. (The twins, we learn, are identical, and each has an identical twin slave named Dromio.) The Duke is so moved by this story that he grants Egeon a day to raise the thousand-mark ransom that would be necessary to save his life.

Meanwhile, unknown to Egeon, his son Antipholus of Syracuse (and Antipholus' slave Dromio) is also visiting Ephesus--where Antipholus' missing twin, known as Antipholus of Ephesus, is a prosperous citizen of the city. Adriana, Antipholus of Ephesus' wife, mistakes Antipholus of Syracuse for her husband and drags him home for dinner, leaving Dromio of Syracuse to stand guard at the door and admit no one. Shortly thereafter, Antipholus of Ephesus (with his slave Dromio of Ephesus) returns home and is refused entry to his own house. Meanwhile, Antipholus of Syracuse has fallen in love with Luciana, Adriana's sister, who is appalled at the behavior of the man she thinks is her brother-in-law.

The confusion increases when a gold chain ordered by the Ephesian Antipholus is given to Antipholus of Syracuse. Antipholus of Ephesus refuses to pay for the chain (unsurprisingly, since he never received it) and is arrested for debt. His wife, seeing his strange behavior, decides he has gone mad and orders him bound and held in a cellar room. Meanwhile, Antipholus of Syracuse and his slave decide to flee the city, which they believe to be enchanted, as soon as possible--only to be menaced by Adriana and the debt officer. They seek refuge in a nearby abbey.

Adriana now begs the Duke to intervene and remove her "husband" from the abbey into her custody. Her real husband, meanwhile, has broken loose and now comes to the Duke and levels charges against his wife. The situation is finally resolved by the Abbess, Emilia, who brings out the set of twins and reveals herself to be Egeon's long-lost wife. Antipholus of Ephesus reconciles with Adriana; Egeon is pardoned by the Duke and reunited with his spouse; Antipholus of Syracuse resumes his romantic pursuit of Luciana, and all ends happily with the two Dromios embracing

Cast:
Egeon - Christopher Ravensworth
Antipholus of Syracuse - Daniel Weyman
Antipholus of Ephesus - Daniel Llewellyn-Williams
Dromio of Syracuse - Joseph Kloska
Dromio of Ephesus - Josh Cohen
Adriana - Jo Herbert
Luciana - Sophie Roberts
Emilia - Veronica Roberts

Creative team:
Director - Philip Franks
Designer - Gideon Davy
Music - Matthew Scott
Lighting - Zerlina Hughes

Oh dear. These people really aren't gathering from the buttocks at all. In fact, this lot only confirm my theory that, with certain exceptions, the Open Air Theatre Regent's Park is for people who wouldn't know decent Shakespeare if it sat on their face and wiggled (note to self: stop fantasizing about Fred Lancaster). But then, Regent's Park Shakespeare never is that great - they do the occasional good musical but otherwise its basic, tourist-trap, chuck it on for the masses stuff. And this production is nothing more than that. What's frustrating is that all the ingredients for a half-decent Comedy of Errors are there (more or less) but they've not been thought through or cooked properly. The basic premise, setting Ephesus somewhere on the Mediterranean coast of Africa in the late 1940s, isn't bad - in fact, with more care taken over the direction and more attention paid to the details, it would be quite a good one. Mind you, it would help considerably if it were acted better. Precious few, if any, of the cast have any Shakespeare experience under their belt - its a sad, sad Comedy of Errors when the only decent actors in the cast are playing Egeon and Emilia, both practically invisible parts. When these people are on stage, it lights up. When they're not, its like watching Carry On Casablanca - with about as much subtlety. There's no nuance, no light and shade, no real feeling for the inherent ridiculousness of the situation - just shouting.

This is a dreary play on the page - the comedy only comes alive with the direction, the interpretation of the roles and the sight gags. In the main, these are all missing. The ideas are there; you can see them in embryonic form, but they're "unfinished, sent before [their]time". With a bit more care for the end product, this could really have been great. Its frustrating to see something never reach the potential you know, lurking somewhere under the flotsam, it has, particularly when occasionally there is a flash of something good. Unfortunately, this only serves to highlight how bad the stuff around it is. For instance, Egeon's long opening speech which sets up the story is, usually, a dreary ten minutes or so that you have to endure before you get to the start of the fun. But here Christopher Ravenscroft invests his speech about the storm which separates the travellers with such intensity and feeling that you can almost hear the salty slap of uncaring waves as they drag his screaming wife and children out of his panicked reach. Like a great beacon of hope, the speech shines the way for the whole production - but the director ignores it and the entire show heads for the rocks. It founders for a long time, with lots of screaming and rushing about on deck, before a wise and compassionate dolphin (in the form of Veronica Roberts' wonderfully rounded Emila) appears and tries to guide the production to safe harbour but its too late - the ship goes down with all hands.

Things improve very slightly in the second act when the text takes second place to physical action, but its hard to care by this point about anything or anyone. There's a lot of padding - unnecessary musical interludes (one "song", murdered by someone with no musical talent whatsoever and which makes bats tumble out of the evening sky thankfully comes to an end after 4 lines, which is frankly 5 lines too many), people in gorilla suits, references to The Exorcist, Shaun of the Dead and so on. There's a woman in a wheelchair with a puppet pekingese but the comedy potential of this is completely thrown away. There's a hideously buttock-clenching moment when one of the characters addresses the audience directly, asking if anyone is prepared to stump up surety money for Egeon, which is just asking for trouble. The Courtesan is turned into a Nightclub singer (yes, she can sing, but no, she can't act) who at one point strips off to stockings and suspenders that strain to contain her. Neither of us crack more than the odd smile all evening - its very definitely a case of "Don't play it again, Sam".

What the critics thought:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7864236/The-Comedy-of-Errors-Regents-Park-Open-Air-Theatre-review.html


http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/43d8072e-8525-11df-9c2f-00144feabdc0.html

http://www.thepublicreviews.com/the-comedy-of-errors-open-air-theatre-regents-park-london/

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/theatre/review-23852428-the-comedy-of-errors-is-brief-but-not-to-the-point.do

Curtains! - Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Monday 12th July 2010

Synopsis:

Robbin' Hood of the Old West, a bad Western adaptation of the Robin Hood story is reaching its conclusion. The untalented leading lady, Jessica Cranshaw can't sing, act, dance or remember when to say her lines. To the relief of everyone, she is murdered during her opening night curtain call. The entire company comes under suspicion, and Lt. Frank Cioffi of the Boston Police Department is called in to solve the homicide. Believing that the perpetrator is still in the building, he sequesters it.

The suspects include the hard-bitten producer, Carmen Bernstein; her husband, Sidney; the show's flamboyant director Christopher Belling; divorced songwriting team Aaron Fox and Georgia Hendricks; Stage Manager Johnny Harmon; choreographer/leading man Bobby Pepper, ingénue Niki Harris, and ambitious chorine Bambi Bernét.

The company use its spare time to attempt to fix the show's problems. Niki, Ms. Cranshaw's understudy, is passed up for the leading role in favour of Georgia, who is encouraged to take the role despite the protests of Aaron, who has fallen in love with her again. Cioffi, a theatre fan and amateur actor, becomes more involved with saving the show than solving the case. Cioffi finds himself falling for Niki, and she seems to return his affection, so he hopes she's not the murderer. Meanwhile, secrets are surfacing, the production numbers in Robbin' Hood are rewritten, rehearsed and rewritten again, and the body count is rising. Can Cioffi solve the case, save the show, and get the girl before the curtain rises without getting offed himself? This is a musical, after all!

Cast:
Jessica Cranshaw: Sophie Colquhoun
Randy Dexter: David Walmsley
Niki Harris: Eleanor Wyld
Bambi Bernet: Emma Fisher
Bobby Pepper: Nikesh Patel
Georgia Hendricks: Lily Fox
Aaron Fox: Henry Gilbert
Carmen Bernstein: Paloma Oakenfold
Christopher Belling: Patrick Osbourne
Lt. Cioffi: Fred Lancaster
Creative Team:
Director: Martin Connor
Choreographer: Bill Deamer
Musical Director: Steven Edis
Designer: Tom Rogers
Lighting Designer: Mark Jonathan

"Fame costs - and right here's where you start paying......" Was that Mr. Shorofsky strolling past being curmudgeonly about Bruno's latest electronic interpretation of Beethoven? Did I just see Doris Schwartz coming back from the local deli with pastrami on rye? Was that smell wafting along the corridor the tang of Debbie Allen's leotard after a hard morning's session in the dance studio? No, dahling - nobody here would do anything quite so declasse. For this is not the New York High School for the Performing Arts but the privileged environs of the Guildhall, luvvie, and these old dears are not here because Irene Cara is dancing on the roof of the black cab which dropped them outside but because they're checking that their darling grandchild is spending their Trust Fund wisely in preparation for Life upon the Wicked Stage (preferably in Something At The National or maybe the RSC). For many, of course, life is going to be unkind and they will end up waiting tables or going into accountancy. For others, life will be really fucking unfair and they will end up in Holby City. But until then, its a constant round of "five, six, seven, eight" or gathering from the buttocks while walking around dressed entirely in Ralph Lauren's Polo and sending the bills to Mummy and Daddy, who can't be here because this is a Monday matinee; Mummy is in the Chair at the Townswomen's Guild and Daddy has to soil his hands with work, for chrissakes, but the Gramps are here so hurrah!

Reading the programme is just as entertaining as watching all the Trustafarians milling in the corridors lugging bongo drums, pushing racks of costumes or discussing what Shakespeare may have had for breakfast the day of King Lear's first performance. There's a "News about Last Year's Graduates" page, which makes entertaining reading; a couple look like they might be onto something relatively big, others are doing sterling work in the provinces - but poor old David Kirkbride has really lucked out and his only credit to date is, indeed, the dreaded Holby City. Given that The Bill has finished its long, long run now, all the rest of last year's lot are apparently already Resting, mugging up on compound interest, wiping down lunch tables or have put their head in the Aga. There is a very strange smell coming from a man in the row in front. He's wearing a skull and crossbones beanie, is pushing a Womble Trolley and obviously hasn't washed for a while. He's either a tramp or gloriously eccentric, dahling. Perhaps he is related to the Marquis of Bath.

Despite some earlier reservations, I do actually quite enjoy the show, which is as about as daft and engaging as you can possibly get, performed with that fresh-faced optimism that only drama students can possibly get away with. There are some very good performances, some average performances, some crap performances and a couple of performances which are destined to take the person giving them direct to Casualty - these people are certainly not gathering from the buttocks. Runaway star of the entire afternoon is the utterly gorgeous Fred Lancaster, who gives a performance of immense charm and gives the part of Cioffi everything that you want from it. He has enormous, brown Bambi eyes and I sit there in the dark fantasizing about gazing deep into them while doing unspeakable things to him. A Great Future awaits Mr. Lancaster - or at least it will do if I ever get my hands on him. Lily James makes a very good stab at her part but doesn't quite manage to convince in the shift from ingenue to tart with a heart, and she's a little pushed at the top of her vocal range - the part is simply just that bit too high for her. Paloma Oakenfold also makes a good stab at the part of the middle aged producer but doesnt quite make it; the accent comes and goes and so does the characterisation. Probably the show's most famous song - It's a Business - is again just that little bit beyond her as it needs an Ethel Merman-esque belt which she simply doesn't have. But she has excellent timing and is a generous performer, although I suspect that serious drama is going to be more her area of expertise than comedy. Patrick Osbourne is hysterically funny as Christopher Belling, the Director, playing the part for all it is worth and more and walking off with every scene, channelling Julian Marsh, the Director in 42nd Street and getting away with it. There's a very fine line between parody and over-egging it, and Belling knows just which side of the line to mince along. Henry Gilbert.as Aaron Fox, however, seems to get bored with the show about half-way through (unfortunately he allows this to show on his face) and starts to "phone in" his peformance as if he's just tired of the whole thing. I still can't quite work out whether Nikesh Patel is giving a really good performance as a cardboard cutout leading man or is just not giving it any welly. There are two people in tiny parts who are polar opposites as regards their performance - a tall, slightly chubby chap who is obviously not a stage animal and who is struggling a little with the choreography but who is enjoying everything immensely and who never stops beaming, sings his heart out and sounds destined for the chorus in an opera company somewhere, treasuring his memories of his moment in musical theatre, and a tiny girl who is half a beat behind everybody else in the choreography, has no stage presence, has dreadful hair doesn't know how or where to stand and is goldfishing some of the words. She looks totally ill at ease and, to quote Victoria Wood yet again, probably originally signed up for ju-jitsu but turned the wrong way when she got out of the lift.

There is some excellent choreography in the chorus numbers although spacing is sometimes considerably off and, surprisingly, some very bland stuff for the principals. There are some missed opportunities for comedy in the direction, but on the whole it's very good, even though its a little loose at times. The lighting is good and the technical needs of the show in terms of slick, seamless scene changes (and some quite difficult staging requirements) handled better than many professional shows I've seen. Costumes are excellent and look well made and designed - although the nit-picker in me notices a minor glitch - all the characters are locked into the theatre by Lieutenant Cioffi and have clothes delivered from their hotels. Cioffi specifies blue and green clothes for Niki, the girl he's falling for as he's trying to match her eyes - but none of the character's clothes are blue or green; she ends up wearing a yellow jersy and a red flowered skirt for practically the entire show. Black mark for the Wardrobe Department who obviously haven't read the script! The orchestra, sawing away unseen in the pit, is on top form, although someone in the woodwind section feels it necessary to give a solo obbligato after the playout music has finished, which is terribly unprofessional. However, the Gramps have had a good time, the smelly man in the front row is clapping fit to burst and I've had an unexpectedly good time as well.

We head off to Carlucio's afterwards for a quick bite, where we sit next to a dreadful woman who is showing off her iPhone to her parents. She bleats on and on about having "this app which knows where you are because of satellite or something and sends you poems mentioning the road you're in". I neck my coffee ice cream and wonder if there's an app you can download that will tell you you're a pretentious twat. I could make a fortune with that one. Then its through the rush hour hordes to Regent's Park, for the second of today's theatrical offerings. What a hectic life I lead!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/jul/07/curtains-silk-street-theatre-review - an incredibly snotty review of this piece by that arch-queen Michael Billington. Its not much use as a review as all it does is pour scorn on the actual piece rather than review the actual production. Methinks Mr. Billington just wants to show how clever he is.

Manon - Royal Opera House, Wednesday 7th July 2010

Synopsis:

In the courtyard of an inn, a crowd awaits arrival of the coach. Guillot, an elderly roué, and his wealthy friend Brétigny have ordered dinner for three actresses of easy virtue, Poussette, Javotte and Rosette; as they retire to a room, a young officer, Lescaut, comes to meet his cousin Manon from the coach, who is on her way to a convent. While he looks after her luggage, Guillot notices her and flirts with her, but she only laughs at the elderly man's advances. Lescaut returns, and before joining friends at a gaming table he warns Manon about talking to strangers. To herself, she wistfully compares her own bland future with the pleasure-filled life of Guillot and his glamorous companions. The Chevalier Des Greiux arrives at the inn and, on seeing Manon, falls in love with her. Seizing this opportunity to escape the convent, Manon suggests that they run off to Paris in Guillot's coach. The tipsy old bon vivant, who had intended to abduct Manon himself, stumbles from the inn just in time to hurl curses after the escaping lovers.

In their Paris apartment, Manon and Des Grieux read a letter he has written to his father describing his sweetheart and asking permission to marry her. When Des Grieux notices a bouquet of flowers Brétigny has sent to Manon, she tells him a lie to allay his suspicions of her loyalty. Lescaut and Brétigny arrive, the former to demand that Des Grieux marry Manon, the latter to tell the girl that Des Grieux is soon to be kidnapped by his irate father. The visitors depart, and Des Grieux goes off to send his letter. Left alone, Manon is unable to resist the temptation of luxury offered her by Brétigny and bids a poignant farewell to the life she has shared with Des Grieux. The young man returns, relating an idyllic vision of their future life together, but officers suddenly force their way into the room and abduct him.

A holiday crowd fills a park at the Cours-la-Reine, where Poussette, Javotte and Rosette have eluded Guillot. Lescaut sentimentally addresses a pretty passerby as his beloved "Rosalinde," then generously offers her presents from the vendors' carts. Manon, surrounded by wealthy admirers, preens herself and sings a gavotte in praise of youth and pleasure. When Des Grieux' father, the Count, speaks with Brétigny, Manon overhears their conversation, learning that Des Grieux is about to take holy orders at the Church of St. Sulpice. She herself speaks to the Count and is piqued to hear that her former lover has grown cold to her charms. Manon rushes to St. Sulpice.

In the sacristy, some women describe the eloquence of the new abbé. Skeptical of his son's new virtue, the Count tries to persuade Des Grieux to abandon the church and marry a suitable girl. After the father leaves, Des Grieux prays for the strength to resist the memory of Manon. But Manon arrives, breaks his resolve with her ardor and persuades him to run away with her.

The Hôtel de Transylvanie, a notorious gambling house, is crowded with merrymakers, including Lescaut, Guillot and the three actresses. When Des Grieux arrives with Manon, she suggests that he recoup their sagging fortunes at the faro table. As the young man plays cards with Guillot, Manon and the actresses sing in praise of living for the moment. Guillot, losing every hand, accuses Des Grieux of cheating and goes off to summon the police; the authorities soon arrive and with them the Count Des Grieux, who rebukes his son but promises him that his arrest will be only temporary. Manon swoons as he is taken away.

Manon is to be deported to Louisiana on charges of immorality. On the road to Le Havre, Des Grieux and Lescaut bribe the guards to release her. Manon, in the last stages of consumption, falls exhausted in her lover's arms. Des Grieux, though despairing, comforts her as, murmuring of their lost happiness, she dies.

Cast:

Guillot - Guy de Mey

De Bretigny - William Shimmel

Pousette - Simona Miha

Javotte - Louise Innes

Rosette- Kai Ruutel

Lescaut - Russell Braun

Manon - Anna Netrebko

De Grieux - Vittorio Grigolo

Comte de Grieux - Christof Fishchesser

Creative Team:

Music: Jules Massenet

Conductor: Antonio Pappano

Director: Laurent Pelly

Set: Chantal Thomas

Costumes: Laurent Pelly

Lighting: Joel Adam

As my regular readers will know, I would usually gouge my eyes out with blunt spoons than sit through an evening of opera. But one opera singer I would gladly walk across broken glass in my bare feet to hear is the gorgeous, sexy Russian soprano Anna Netrebko, which I suppose just goes to show that I'm as subject to the thrall of celebrity as everyone else in this fair land of ours. Finally, I think I understand why ordinary people go absolutely bananas about a particular star. Because let's face it, the woman is pure, unadulterated class. I first came across her during an enforced viewing of Bellini's I Puritani on DVD. "Wow", I thought, "finally here's a soprano who is beautiful, the right age for once and who can actually act". And then she opened her mouth and out poured the most glorious sound I'd ever heard come out of a human throat. Towards the end, in the "Madness aria" she laid on her back with her head dangling over the edge of the orchestra pit and sang one of the most difficult colaratura ("lots of twiddly bits") arias in the entire operatic repertoire (the YouTube of this is at the bottom of the review if you want to be amazed). I was completely smitten. And then I saw a documentary about her early career in which she explained that her family had been too poor to send her to singing lessons, so she took a job as a cleaner in one of the great opera houses so she could listen to the great stars rehearse while she worked, by the end of which I was ready to renounce my homosexuality and become Mr. Netrebko if she would have me. So when word leaked out that she was coming to the Royal Opera House to sing the title role in Manon I grabbed Him Indoors by the scruff of the neck and said "Get tickets NOW". "But", he wheezed, "you hate opera". "I'd sell my grandmother to hear Anna Netrebko singing Three Blind fucking Mice" I replied, "flash that plastic or you'll be dead by nightfall" - which I thought was a suitably operatic threat.

So it was a shame that the production wasn't really up to much, for all that the critics have slobbered over it. I can only assume that they scored the singing and the music rather than the production itself, which is frankly a bit of a mess. The setting is unfocussed (for which read "all over the place"), the scenery grim and the lighting the worst I have ever seen (or not seen, in this case). The inn of Act 1 looks more like the Bastille, and the costumes in this act are very early 1900's, with Ms. Netrebko fetchingly decked out like Gigi. The garrett of Act 2 could be from a 70's version of La Boheme with the tenor more or less rigged out as Tony from West Side Story in black slacks and a modern vest (presumably in order to show off his biceps and very fine shoulders....). We're back to Edwardian frou-frou for Act 3, although the set is more or less modern. God only knows where (or when) the gaming club in Act 4 is meant to be but its got fluorescent strip lighting and is probably the ugliest set I've ever seen - so cramped and vertiginous that it looks like something from the worst excessess of Dr. Seuss and the poor chorus have to cling on to each other to get past one another on its cramped levels. And Act 5 is a dreary, modernist fishing port, with the sky completely wreathed in cloud (although its clearly mentioned in the libretto that the evening star is visible). Little use is made of the chorus throughout and there are some majorly wasted opportunities for chorus movement. The lighting is patchy at best, leaving big gloomy spots on the stage through which you can see nothing - at one point, you can see Ms. Netrebko's feet very well but nothing upward of her knees, pretty though they are.

There's the added disappointment that, after the first interval, an announcement is made from the stage that Ms. Netrebko is not feeling well (huge groans from all round the auditorium) but will try her best to complete the performance, so the evening is given a will she, won't she frisson of excitement which makes up for what pains me to say is noticeably wobbly singing from La Diva in a couple of places. At the curtain call its the tenor, Vittorio Grigolo, who gets the lion's share of the applause for an amazing vocal performance. Netrebko retires with full honours to her dressing room, and I silently pledge to see her in a decent production one day, with proper lighting, a decent set and her in a big crinoline covered in sparkly bits.

What the critics thought:
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/classical/reviews/massenet-manon-royal-opera-house-london-2008402.html

http://www.theartsdesk.com/index.php?option=com_k2&view=item&id=1721:manon-royal-opera-house-review&Itemid=14

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/jun/23/manon-review

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/a7e9695c-7fa2-11df-91b4-00144feabdc0.html

As You [Don't] Like It - Old Vic, Friday 25th June 2010

Synopsis:


Frederick has usurped the Duchy and exiled his older brother, Duke Senior. The Duke's daughter Rosalind has been permitted to remain at court because she is the closest friend and cousin of Frederick's only child, Celia. Orlando, a young gentleman of the kingdom who has fallen in love with Rosalind, is forced to flee his home after being persecuted by his older brother, Oliver. Frederick becomes angry and banishes Rosalind from court. Celia and Rosalind decide to flee together accompanied by the jester Touchstone, with Rosalind disguised as a young man.

Rosalind (disguised as Ganymede) and Celia (taking the name Aliena), arrive in the Forest of Arden . "Ganymede" and "Aliena" meet up with Corin, a shepherd, and offer to buy his master's cottage. All are unaware that the exiled Duke and some supporters are also living in the Forest.
Orlando and his servant Adam find the Duke and his men, and are soon living with them and hanging love poems for Rosalind on the trees. Rosalind, also in love with Orlando, meets him as Ganymede and pretends to counsel him to cure him of being in love. Ganymede says "he" will take Rosalind's place and "he" and Orlando can act out their relationship.
Meanwhile, the shepherdess Phoebe, with whom Silvius (yet another shepherd) is in love, has fallen in love with "Ganymede", who continually shows that "he" is not interested in Phoebe. The cynical Touchstone has also made amorous advances towards the dull-witted goat-herd girl Audrey, and attempts to marry her before his plans are thwarted.
Finally, Silvius, Phoebe, Ganymede, and Orlando are brought together in an argument with each other over who will get whom. Ganymede says he will solve the problem, having Orlando promise to marry Rosalind, and Phoebe promise to marry Silvius if she cannot marry Ganymede. The next day, Ganymede reveals himself to be Rosalind, and since Phoebe cannot marry her, she ends up with Silvius.
Orlando sees Oliver in the forest and rescues him from a lioness, causing Oliver to repent for mistreating Orlando. Oliver meets "Aliena" and falls in love with her, and they agree to marry. Orlando and Rosalind, Oliver and Celia, Silvius and Phebe, and Touchstone and Audrey all are married in the final scene, after which they discover that Frederick has also repented his faults, deciding to restore his legitimate brother to the dukedom.

Creative Team:

Director: Sam Mendes
Design: Tom Piper
Costume: Catherine Zuber
Lighting: Paul Pyant
Sound: Simon Baker
Music: Josh Prince
Choreographer: Josh Prince

Cast:
Orlando: Christian Camargo
Jaques: Stephen Dillane
Charles the Wrestler: Ron Cephas Jones
Rosalind: Juliet Rylance
Touchstone: Thomas Sadoski
Celia: Michelle Beck
Phoebe: Ashlie Atkinson
Audrey: Jenni Barber
Oliver: Edward Bennett
Adam: Alvin Esptein
Le Beau: Jonathan Fried
Amiens: Richard Hansell
Silvius: Aaron Krohn
Corin: Anthony O'Donnell
Dukes Frederick and Senior: Michael Thomas

Of all the stories Shakespeare never wrote, this has to be the stupidest of them. Him Indoors has been known to clasp his hands together and go all misty-eyed when talking about this play, often waxing lyrical along the lines of “[adopts Zippy from “Rainbow” voice] Oh, the imagery breaks through just like the first daffodils of spring, Jeffrey” (although this resonance is lost in this production as the seasons leapfrog from deepest winter to golden autumn rather than to early spring, as is usual with this play). Me, I sit there with “that” face on muttering about complete lack of credibility, an even lamer “Clown” character than normal (if humanly possible) and the fact that the “Ganymede” scenes just go on and on and on and make me want to scream (what also made me want to scream was the lack of synopsis in the programme – a worrying development about which more anon). Honestly, there really is something that gets my goat about this play and I’d be quite happy if I never had to sit through all that bloody nancing about in the fecking Forest of fecking Arden ever again.

Happily, I’d been suffering through a bout of severe insomnia over the previous three or four nights, and a seat in a darkened theatre on a warm evening was practically the perfect cure for this. I just switched completely off, shut my eyes, rested my head against the lighting desk behind me and dozed my way through more or less the entire evening (only the second time I have ever done this – I didn’t see much of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? either and frankly think I had a lucky escape), only surfacing occasionally during the rare occasions on which the audience tittered. One thought did occur to me early on in the play (at a point when I was still vaguely alert) and that was – if Rosalind and Celia are going into hiding in the forest, their plan would only be successful if both disguised themselves. Rosalind gets in touch with her inner dyke and dresses up as a bloke – but Celia’s “disguise” consists merely of changing her name. Oh yeah, that’s really gonna fool people, Sherlock. As is the Duke’s wheeze of hiding out in the forest of frigging Arden with a load of courtiers and hoping nobody will notice.

Anyway, I didn’t really see enough of this to give anything like a proper review, but I can tell you that it was a modern-dress production (LAZY!), that Juliet Rylance confuses “projection” with “SHOUTING”, that Stephen Dillane’s impression of Bob Dylan is not funny, merely as excruciatingly embarrassing (if not more so) as Mandy Patinkin in Paradise Found and that the clowning role of Touchstone is as hysterically amusing as a bad dose of piles. there was also some of the most embarrassingly bad stage fighting I've seen in a long, long time. Perhaps I might have been persuaded to pay a bit more attention if I’d known what was going on – this not being my favourite play I’ve never really got my head around exactly what is happening and, scanning through the programme to try and find a synopsis for a quick bit of boning up, realised that The Old Vic is going the same way as The National and not putting any plot outlines in their programmes. Its all very well having erudite and fascinating essays about Shakespeare’s inside leg measurement and what he may or may not have had for breakfast on the day of the first performance if you don’t have a clue what the feck is going on and haven’t had a chance to look it up beforehand (Him Indoors offered me the use of his “Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare” afterwards, which is aimed at 7 – 10 year olds, showing nicely what he thinks of my intellectual capabilities. Cheers Hon!).

Anyway, the seat was very comfortable and I enjoyed my nap.


What the critics who stayed awake thought:
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/as-you-like-itthe-tempest-old-vic-london-2009735.html

http://www.thestage.co.uk/reviews/review.php/28708/as-you-like-it

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7851088/The-Tempest-As-You-Like-It-at-the-Old-Vic-review.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/jun/24/review-tempest-as-you-like-it

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/82ba89cc-7fa2-11df-91b4-00144feabdc0.html



Posted by Me! at 8:59 PM

After the Dance - National Theatre, Saturday 6th June 2010

Synopsis:

1939. Mayfair. David and Joan Scott-Fowler are a high-living and hard-drinking couple who are still trying to live the hedonistic excess of their - and the century's - twenties. Through the eyes of a younger generation, the endless drinking, partying and gossip look dangerously frivolous as Europe falls towards another war. As the world races towards catastrophe, a crowd of Mayfair socialites party their way to oblivion. At its centre is David, who idles away his sober moments researching a futile book until the beautiful Helen decides to save him, shattering his marriage and learning too late the depth of both David’s indolence and his wife’s undeclared love. But with finances about to crash and humanity on the brink of global conflict, the drink keeps flowing and the revellers dance on.

Cast:
David Scott-Fowler: Benedict Cumberbatch
Joan, his wife: Nancy Carroll
David, his cousin: John Heffernan
Helen Banner, David’s fiancée – Faye Castelow
Dr. George Banner, Helen’s brother – Giles Cooper
John Reid: Adrian Scarborough
Williams: Nicholas Lumley
Julia Browne: Pandora Colin
Miss Potter: Jenny Galloway

Creative Team:
Director: Thea Sharrock
Designer: Hildegard Bechtler
Lighting: Mark Henderson
Music: Adrian Johnstone

Its hard to believe that I saw a preview performance of this, because its really difficult to see how it could get any better. Modern critics of Rattigan may dismiss him as a purveyor of tired old warhorses, rather in the same mould as Priestley. At first glance, the play isn’t going to win any awards for the world’s most exciting drama. But After The Dance is a solidly crafted and intelligent piece, slowly building both character development and plot. There are moments of high comedy and of almost unbearable pathos. There are times, of course, when it feels a little dated, but this is a playwright who obviously knew what he was doing, and studying this production could teach some modern writers exactly how to construct a successful play. The director and designer could also give lessons in staging one, and the cast in how to perform one. The lighting director could certainly give masterclasses in how to light one. It’s the kind of production that the National should be championing – the place was packed out and the entire audience appeared to enjoy themselves – in fact, the chap in the row in front of me sat enraptured for the entire performance, even having to dab at his eyes with a hanky at one point (a little OTT, perhaps, but an endorsement nonetheless). Three hours literally sped by, despite my cramped seat, the heat of the evening and the rather off-putting noise from the pigeons nesting in the fly tower.

It looks gorgeous, with a sumptuously detailed set that brought to mind last year’s Time and the Conways (a tiny, tiny point I noticed, however, was that the table lamp had a square, three-pin plug when it should have been a round, two-pin one given the setting of 1938. I was also a little concerned to realise that the French windows didn’t have any glass in, making me wonder if any of the cast would be tempted to step through without opening them, a la Morecambe and Wise). The set was lit wonderfully, and if you decide to go and see this production, then please do take a second or two to notice how well the lighting designer has done his work – particularly the view through the windows and particularly in the party scene (doing so will also make sure you don’t miss what the couple on the balcony are discovered doing when the curtains are pulled back – the auditorium exploded with laughter at this point). The costumes are good too, although I did find myself wishing that they all hadn’t quite so obviously been designed to blend well with the set, and that Benedict Cumberbatch hadn’t been in the same costume for the entire performance, even though six months are supposed to elapse. Direction was spare, elegant and unfussy (like the set) when it needed to be, and intricate when necessary, with a particularly clever “wipe” between the two scenes of Act 2.

Even though the clipped vowels, hard consonants and speech rhythms of the late 1930s have been preserved and therefore make the play initially sound somewhat dated to modern ears, these are so consistently and faultlessly employed that after a short while your ear assimilates them and it becomes like listening to a period film. For me, this also served to heighten the effect – some phrases which would just sound totally ridiculous when given in modern speech patterns somehow seemed to ring truer or funnier for their “period delivery”. Some characters are almost parodies of the kind of parts you might find in Noel Coward, and are played as such, which has the strange effect of making the other characters considerably more human – even though they may be arrogantly disaffected or hopelessly naïve. In this zoo, the monsters are outside the bars and looking in, even though they don’t realise that their world is closing in on them. It might just be safer to be inside the cage than outside it.

Verdict: best evening I’ve had at the theatre in quite some time. Quite happy to go again, thanks. Get your tickets now on my recommendation.

Other peoples' recommendations:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7813129/After-the-Dance-at-the-National-Theatre-review.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/jun/09/after-the-dance-theatre-review

http://www.whatsonstage.com/index.php

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/theatre/review-23842887-after-the-dance-shows-the-national-theatre-at-its-best.do

Macbeth - Globe Theatre, Friday 4th June 2010

Synopsis:

Macbeth, Thane of Glamis, is one of King Duncan's greatest war captains. Upon returning from a battle with the rebellious Thane of Cawdor, Macbeth and Banquo encounter three witches. A prophecy is given to them: Macbeth is hailed as Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor, and King; Banquo is hailed as the father of kings to come. With that, the witches evaporate into the mists. Both men nervously laugh off the prophecies until Duncan informs Macbeth that he is to assume Cawdor's title as a reward for his service to the king. When Lady Macbeth is informed of the events, she determines to push her husband's resolve in the matter—she wants him to take his fate into his own hands and make himself king. If Duncan happens to be inconveniently in the way....

Macbeth at first is reluctant to do harm to Duncan. However, when Duncan makes arrangements to visit the castle, the opportunity presents itself too boldly to ignore. Pressed on by his wife, they plot Duncan's death. Lady Macbeth gets Duncan's attendants drunk; Macbeth will slip in with his dagger, kill the king, and plant the dagger on the drunken guards. Macbeth, in a quiet moment alone, imagines he sees a bloody dagger appear in the air; upon hearing the tolling bells, he sets to work. Immediately Macbeth feels the guilt and shame of his act, as does Lady Macbeth, who nonetheless finds the inner strength to return to Duncan's chamber to plant the dagger on the attendants when Macbeth refuses to go back in there. When the body is discovered, Macbeth immediately slays the attendants—he says out of rage and grief—in order to silence them. Malcolm and Donalbain, Duncan's sons, both flee Scotland (fearful for their own lives). To everyone else, it appears that the sons have been the chief conspirators, and Macbeth is crowned King of Scotland, thus fulfilling the witches' prophecy. Banquo, however, has suspicions of his own based on their encounter with the witches.

Macbeth knows of Banquo's suspicions and the reasons for them; he is also wary of the second prophecy concerning Banquo's offspring. As he prepares for a celebratory banquet on his coronation, Macbeth hires assassins to get rid of Banquo and Fleance, his son. Banquo is murdered that night, but Fleance escapes into the darkness. As Macbeth sits down to the feast, the bloody ghost of Banquo silently torments him, which causes him great despair. Meanwhile, Macduff has fled to England because he too suspects Macbeth of foul play. Macbeth, once a man of greatness, transforms into a man whose conscience has fled him. Upon learning of Macduff's flight, Macbeth exacts revenge by having Macduff's entire household butchered. Macduff grieves, but joins up with Malcolm in England to raise an army against Macbeth.

Macbeth is given another prophecy by the witches as he prepares for Malcolm's assault. His throne is safe until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane, and he will not die by the hand of any man born of a woman. Macbeth feels confident in his chances for victory at this pronouncement. Lady Macbeth, on the other hand, has been slowly driven mad by her dreams in the wake of killing Duncan. She sleepwalks, wringing her hands together, and inadvertently reveals her part in the murder. As the English armies approach, Macbeth learns that many of his lords are deserting him, and that Lady Macbeth has died. On top of this, a messenger brings news that Malcolm's army is approaching under the cover of boughs, which they have cut from the trees of Birnam Wood. Resigned now to his fate, Macbeth grimly sets to battle.

None, however, can bring Macbeth down. Finally, Macduff meets him on the field of battle. Macbeth laughs hollowly, telling him of the witches' prophecy: no man born of a woman may slay him. As Macduff retorts, he was "from my mother's womb untimely ripp'd," meaning he was delivered by a Caesarian section (and hence, not technically born of a woman). Grimly, Macbeth presses on. The play ends with the death of Macbeth; Macduff greets the others bearing Macbeth's head. Malcolm is crowned King of Scotland, restoring his father's bloodline to the throne.

Cast:
Witches: Janet Fullerlove, Simone Kirby, Karen Anderson
Duncan: James Clyde
Malcolm: James McArdle
Donalbain: Craig Vye
Macduff: Keith Dunphy
Cawdor: Ken Shorter
Macbeth (or "MacBuff" as I heard him described): Elliot Cowan
Banquo: Christian Bradley
Lady Macbeth: Laura Rogers
Porter: Frank Scantori

Creative team:
Director: Lucy Bailey
Designer: Katrina Lindsay
Music: Orlando Gough
Movement/Choreography: Javier de Frutos
Costumes: Poppy Hall

Ironically, the one Shakespeare play I really enjoyed reading (I had flu so was confined to bed, but managed to get through the entire play in one go) is the one that I have the most trouble with when seeing it performed. With a lot of Shakespeare, I find that unless one knows the text well or steel yourself to concentrate really hard on what is actually being said, there is always the danger of letting the words go through one ear and out the other without going through the brain. Every time I’ve seen Macbeth, my brain seems to shut down and all I can hear is words – lots and lots and lots of them in a seemingly endless progression. And so it was with this production – which I shamefacedly admit deserved more effort from me. Perhaps it was because the very hot weather had made me too tired to really concentrate, or because I find being a Groudling exhausting (three hours is a very long time to stand in one place), or whether the strange setup (an enormous circular tarpaulin is suspended around the stage and the Groundlings poke their heads through, meaning you can’t sit down or all you’ll see is other people’s headless bodies in the gloom underneath the tarp) was physically weighing me down and making my shoulders ache but I really had trouble engaging with this. And I shouldn’t have done because it was artistically and technically a brilliant production and seemed to go down a storm with everybody else (Him Indoors is still raving about it – or maybe he’s just raving; like with Shakespeare, sometimes I just stop listening!).

It was probably the goriest Macbeth I’ve ever seen – shares in fake blood have probably gone through the roof since this opened. Blood and dirt and gore were seemingly everywhere (as was saliva, but I’ll come back to that). And it was certainly the most unsettling staging, with many characters making their entrances, unseen, from below the stage and coming up through holes in the tarpaulin, even before the performance had actually begun (I really liked the idea of having the three witches terrorise the audience – someone even had their purse pinched and waved gleefully from the stage). Various hunky gentlemen with their torsos smeared in gore writhed around the stage – were their throes the agonies of birth or death? Or both? A misshapen, hairy troll (later identified as Macbeth’s gatekeeper) patrolled the stage. So it all got off to an interesting start, and got gorier and gorier as the body count started to rise. And then Elliot Cowan strode on in the title role – hunky, lithe and butch as all get-out (MacBuff, perhaps?). But I couldn’t hear him; his diction was so poor that it was like listening to those sounds you hear at the swimming pool when you duck your head under the water - "buhBWAH bwahbwahbwahBWAH" (one of the pro reviews has suggested he spend less time at the gym and more time with the vocal coach). When he was audible his lower face was so slathered in saliva that he looked like a ravening dog; as I was in the front row and unable to move because of the tarpaulin arrangement I spent a lot of time worrying that that I was going to get sprayed in it. And when you can’t hear your Macbeth you’re in trouble. So, regrettably, I started to switch my brain off, relying on visuals to carry me through.

Fortunately there was plenty for the eye to engage with – the “look” of this production is fantastic. The costumes are all seemingly cobbled together from modern dress, altered to give a vaguely medieval feel, distressed and tattered and down at heel. The three witches wore Globe Stewards tabards, muddied and battered and ragged, giving the audience the disquieting impression that, within the performance area, the modern world was in abeyance and that they were in charge of us, controlling and directing our perceptions. Lady Macbeth wore, for the most part, a simple analgesics white shift, topped with a loose crocheted top in steel grey that suggested both cocktail frock and chain mail. The simple black net curtain, moving around a circular track hung high above the stage, was an effective space divider and was used very creatively as an actual curtain, a wall, the dividing line between worlds and, when twisted into a rope-like shape, as tree trunks. And there’s much use made of the holes in the stage as entrances, exits, graves and, in the famous “hubble bubble, toil and trouble” scene, as the cauldron itself, into which Macbeth is stripped and dipped, like a lamb being disinfected before going off to the slaughterhouse.

There are some fine performances; although Mr. Cowan can’t be heard a lot of the time, he certainly invests the part with considerable emotional oomph. Janet Fullerlove, Simone Kirby and Karen Anderson proved that the three witches are, collectively, a major character in the drama, directing and controlling and ever-present as they shape the story to their own ends. By contrast, Laura Rogers seemed to make slight impression as Lady Macbeth – the sleepwalking scene was, for me, not nearly intense or controlled enough. And by the end, I felt rather like I was sleepwalking myself. Which I shouldn’t have been, because this production deserved better from me.

What the critics thought:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/theatre/theatre-reviews/7678141/Macbeth-at-Shakespeares-Globe-review.html

http://oughttobeclowns.blogspot.com/2010/04/review-macbeth-shakespeares-globe.html

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/apr/30/macbeth-globe-theatre-review

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/reviews/article-1274059/Macbeth-This-macabre-Macbeth-head-turner.html

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/reviews/macbeth-shakespeares-globe-london-1960716.html

Spamalot - Wimbledon Theatre, Thursday 3rd June 2010

Synopsis:

It is 932 A.D. in England, and King Arthur, joined by his servant Patsy, is riding through the land trying to find men to join his Round Table. Arthur is frustrated by several failed recruitment attempts, including one with an awfully resilient Black Knight, but his luck might not stay bad for long. In a near village, Sir Lancelot the Brave and Sir Robin the Not-Quite-So-Brave-as-Sir-Lancelot and decide to enlist in the army, because unlike some other villagers, they are not yet dead. Meanwhile, Arthur continues to look for able-bodied men, and soon finds Dennis Galahad and his mother, both of whom are politically active peasants that doubt Arthur is really a king. However, the Lady of the Lake, who is a temperamental diva and years earlier pronounced Arthur King of the Britons, is called upon to convince the doubting Dennis. The Lady ofthe Lake and Sir Galahad share an appropriately timed heart-felt moment It is not long before the King receives a quest from God himself to go in search of the Holy Grail, and they eventually make their way to Camelot There the Lady of the Lake encourages Arthur not to lose his way and the Knights set off once again on their quest. Now at their destination, the Knights are scared a gang of taunting French sentries.

After their defeat, at the castle, King Arthur is utterly disheartened, and having fled from the Frenchmen's taunting, the Knights find themselves scattered about in a dark and very expensive forest. King Arthur and Patsy stumble upon the most feared group in all the land, the Knights who say “Ni”. Though things seem rough, Patsy convinces Arthur all is not lost. Robin and his Minstrels are also making their way through the forest and soon join back with King Arthur. As a payment for passing the bridge they guard, the Knights who say "Ni" demand, as their second sacrifice, not another shrubbery but a Broadway musical from King Arthur and his Knights.

Elsewhere, the Lady of the Lake wonders why she has been left out of the quest while Prince Herbert, the son of the King of Swamp Castle, waits in his tower for his rescuer to come. Thankfully, luck is on Prince Herbert’s side, because Sir Lancelot arrives to save him from the clutches of his father.

Unable to complete his journey, King Arthur is thoroughly upset until the Lady of the Lake arrives to give him her final words of encouragement and he is able to go on. Before their journey is complete the Knights of the Round Table encounter a pyromaniac Enchanter called "Tim", and then must defeat the Killer Rabbit of Antioch with a new type of weapon for which they receive thorough operating instructions from Brother Maynard and the Monks. The Knights overcome these obstacles and by the end are celebrating with a Broadway wedding.

Cast:
King Arthur: Graham MacDuff
Lady of the Lake: Jodie Prenger
Patsy: Todd Carty
Sir Bedevere/Dennis's Mother: Robin Armstrong
Sir Robin: Sam Holmes
Prince Herbert: David Langham
Sir Galahad: Simon Lipkin
God: Eric Idle

Creative Team:
Director: Christopher Luscombe
Set and Costumes: Hugh Durrant
Choreographer: Jenny Arnold
Lighting: Nick Richings

Marmite, peanut butter, Alan Titchmarsh, Monty Python - all things that divide people into two opposing camps. There is no middle ground on any of them - you either love them or you loathe them. I loathe them (all of them). I've never really understood Python's so-called "humour" - its blokeish yet conversely of that slightly smug, privileged "Oxbridge Footlights" feel. Him Indoors knows I don't like it, so I really have no idea why he was so excited about getting tickets to see the touring version. In Wimbledon. At a matinee performance. During half term. On the hottest afternoon of the year.

We theatregoers have to put up with all sorts of idiots in the audience. The sweet paper rustlers. The people in the middle of the row who wait until half way through Act 1 before deciding that they should, in fact, have gone to the toilet before the show started. The mobile phone chatterer. The pensioners unable to deal with the complex problem of finding their seats. The over-excited child whose parent has no disciplinary control. They were all there yesterday. And now we have a new breed to contend with - The Bloke Showing Off With His Ipad. He was there too, in the row in front, grinning like a new father and self-consciously playing with his new penis extension in the hope that another nearby anorak will whistle "kewl!" and ask to have a go.

So I wasn't really in the greatest of moods when the curtain went up. And neither was I in the greatest of moods when the curtain came down again, having sat through 2 and a bit hours of the most puerile rubbish I've seen since - well, a couple of weeks ago, really. It was like being at a riotous party where everyone else spoke a different language and you found yourself standing in the corner with a glass of warm Riesling and counting the peanuts in a bowl on a nearby table. I tried and tried and tried to understand what everyone else was howling at, but all I could see was a slightly tatty panto with a puerile script, in which all the actors on stage seemed to be trying to make each other corpse by rolling their eyes and gurning at each other while regularly throwing ad-libs into their lines. I'm sure this must be fun to do but it wasn't fun to watch.

Having looked at pictures of the original London and Broadway productions (bugger only knows what the Americans must have thought of the show; I hope to god they didn't think all English humour was like that), its obvious that this is a really cheap touring production of what must have been quite a spectacularly staged show. One-and-a-bit sets does all. A lot of what were apparently quite sophisticated references to the musical genre have been jettisoned (apparently, The Lady of the Lake sang her entrance number in a gothic boat surrounded by mist, parodying Phantom of the Opera, for instance. This has disappeared, so we are left with just the song and bugger the irony). The cast have been cut down to the utter minimum - all but two of the cast are somebody else's understudy, with most people understudying two roles. What it must be like when there's a bad case of the squitters running through the company is anybody's guess. The female chorus now numbers only 2; subsequently they have to change their costumes every 13.7 seconds and be a peasant, mermaid, knight or whatever with barely time to stagger into the wings, have a quick draw on a cigarette and strip to their scanties before donning something else and staggering back on again. Its a pale shadow of its former self, chucked onto the road to make Mr. Idle a quick buck.

This show also got my goat because of its "comedy gay element" (for those of you not in the know, Sir Lancelot discovers a letter from what he thinks is a damsel in distress, only to find that the damsel is a show-tune singing Queen of a different kind. Lancelot then strips to a spangly jock strap and "comes out" to a HiNRG club anthem). Stuff like this really is incredibly dated. I'm sure it was just about par for the course in 1975 when the film version hit the screen - a time when "jokes" about blacks, gays, mothers in law and comedy foreigners were all the rage, but its inclusion in a modern show just proves that, essentially, for all our vine-ripened tomatoes, ethically sourced washing powder and low-alcohol lager, there is still a "caveman" element to humour that thinks jokes about queers are still acceptable. And, even worse, hysterically funny. I'm sorry, I'm not buying into this. It's a throwback to the "backs to the wall, lads" pub 'humour' that should have died out in this country decades ago. It may have been funny (to a certain section of society) in 1975 but it isn't funny now. Its just lazy and offensive. It ain't funny.

By all means go and see this show if you're a 40-something heterosexual male who delights in getting tanked up with the lads and endlessly repeating "He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy" in a high pitched voice, a smack-head student who thinks that endlessly quoting The Parrot Sketch passes for wit, or a hassled parent desperate for a summer panto to entertain their kids with. Or indeed, A Bloke Who Wants To Show Off Your New Ipad. This might just be about your level. Me? I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than sit through this puerile rubbish again.