THEATRE REVIEW: A Chorus Line

London Palladium

10 April 2013

Booking until January 2014

Photo: AndyRobertsPhotos

A Chorus Line has been away too long. This is the show's first return to the West End stage since it first burst into life at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane in 1976 – and so its first in my lifetime. So naturally I jumped at the chance to see this hit musical as it returned to the Palladium this spring, envisioning a Fame-like, retro dance-off. What I didn't expect is quite how much I'd fall in love with this musical, or how touching it would be. Most people are at least faintly familiar with the sparkling, high-kicking finale, with its co-ordinated hats and frankly awful gold spangly suits; but there's far more to this musical than one show-stopping number. Sitting in a theatre watching the experiences, and the struggles, of those who strive to perform there was a surprisingly thoughtful experience, revealing the highs and lows of the performing arts: there really is no business like show business.

Originally created from interviews with real performers – some of whom formed the first cast – the show charts the progress of seventeen dancers through the audition process for an unnamed Broadway show. Yet this is no ordinary audition, as director Zach insists on not only seeing their dancing abilities, but also hearing about their childhood, their dreams and their inspirations. As Zach, John Partridge exudes ambition and authority yet also shows moments of uncertainty which add warmth and depth to a character who is seen very little; in ensemble dance scenes the eye is drawn to him, as his confidence and attitude – and partly, let's be honest, his muscular physique – dominates the stage. Certainly you would not recognise this experienced stage actor as a former EastEnder. However, although it is unfortunate that his stage presence can only be witnessed in a small number of scenes, his mostly off-stage role is effective in leading us through the auditionees' triumphs and failures, their joy and their pain, as he questions them one by one.

The musical numbers flow easily out of these conversation without seeming unnaturally placed – with the possible exception of the most conventional number 'What I Did For Love', although frankly this hit tune could have cut across the dialogue and drowned it out and I wouldn't really have minded. Although the preceding discussion is touching, as the dancers become aware of the potentially fleeting and transitory nature of their careers, it drags on for too long and becomes over-sentimentalised. It's a shame, because the rest of the show adeptly balances poignancy with stark reality and humour, avoiding anything too syrupy: despite the importance of the theme it explores, it is almost a relief, therefore, when the powerful and moving tones of Victoria Hamilton-Barritt finally signal the end to this particular interlude.

In fact, Hamilton-Barritt shines throughout the show, with her rendition of 'Nothing' displaying the combination of frustration, humour and pathos which epitomises these accounts. At this matinée, poster girl for the show Scarlett Strallen was absent, but no matter: this isn't the kind of production you go to see for a single star performance, and Lucy Jane Adcock more than delivered. 'The Music and the Mirror' is a showcase for the passion and skill of the dancers in this production, and Adcock throws herself around the stage, somehow both graceful and frenzied. The band can really show off here too: low and pulsating one minute, electric and vibrant the next, while the set of shifting mirrors adds to the sense of swirling unbalance.

Elsewhere, newcomer Rebecca Herszenhorn and veteran Leigh Zimmerman both have the audience in stitches in their turns as Val and Sheila respectively: it's hard to believe that this is Herszenhorn's West End debut, such is her verve and assurance as she captures the full brazen hilarity of her solo number 'Dance: Ten, Looks: Three'. At the more serious end of the scale, Paul's story is both the most haunting – his apparent grim acceptance of sexual abuse by strangers as a child is an uncomfortable jolt in the show – and the most triumphant, as the expected censure from his parents for performing in a drag show does not materialise. Gary Wood displays sensitivity in his portrayal without overdoing it, and his awkward and understated delivery in fact makes his moment in the spotlight glow.

In the end, though, this is an ensemble piece, and it is strongest when the full group of dancers take to the stage together, interweaving their particular strains of song and dance. As the whole concept of the production goes to show, they are all accomplished individuals making up a powerful cohort – nowhere is this more obvious than in the fifteen-minute-long extravaganza montage of 'Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love'. After getting to know, and to feel for, these characters throughout the production, it is easy to forget that they are not auditioning for parts that will show off their sparkling humour or forceful passions, but will become members of the titular chorus line – they will all end up the same. This begins to be made clear as the climax of the show nears, as the individuality of Cassie's dancing is stamped out: "dance like everyone else!", yells Zach. The finale is triumphant: yet it is tinged with sadness as these figures have become almost indistinguishable from one another, as their success also brings a certain loss of identity. They are not the stars: they are singing about the unseen star, providing her backdrop.

Yet this cast certainly goes out on a high, making the auditorium sizzle in this glorious revival which has most definitely proved to be worth the wait.

Responses to 'Sunken Garden': elitism, a generation gap or just a matter of taste?

Last Friday I made my first visit to the warren that is the Barbican to review the ENO's world première of Sunken Garden on behalf of A Younger Theatre. Marketed as an "enthralling multimedia 'occult mystery'", it was always going to be a little off-the-wall, combining 2D and 3D film, live performance, sung and spoken dialogue and a blend of musical styles - as well as a pretty zany storyline. Librettist David Mitchell himself described the project as "a bit bonkers" in an interview with Sameer Rahim - but hey, what's wrong with a bit of bonkers every now and then?

In fact, in the end I thought the whole thing was rather wonderful. Ok, so the plot was a little baffling and I wouldn't have always been able to follow it without the aid of the programme. Yet the way in which technology was used to create a new kind of operatic experience was thrilling to witness. The emphasis was no doubt on production rather than plot, but in this respect it certainly had the wow-factor and was an exciting vision of a road that opera and theatre could go down, with all this new wizardry to play with. So, I wrote my mostly positive review, revelling in the fascinating evening I'd just had. If you'd like to read my thoughts in full, have a look here. You may disagree - please do, and please tell me why! Anyway, it was therefore a bit of a surprise to see sweeping - and sometimes pretty vitriolic - negativity from other critics. Michael Church at The Independent (here) accused van der Aa of "remarkable arrogance" - mainly, it seems, for the lack of interval, which quite honestly seems a little trivial - while at The Telegraph Rupert Christiansen was positively fuming at having been put through such torture, as he saw it (the full rant can be found here). Phrases such as "dismal", "toxically flatulent", "this thing - I hesitate to grant it the honorific label of opera" and "unmitigated piffle" made the one-star rating unsurprising, and demonstrated a pretty hefty objection to what I saw as an imperfect but still impressive work of creativity.

Of course, that's the nature of criticism - and the nature of theatre. Audiences have opinions, instinctive responses; they disagree, we have debates. The violent negativity and apparent refusal to see any positives in the work do make me slightly uneasy (Although the wickeder side of me enjoyed reading it. I did laugh.) but I'd never be against a critic - indeed, an experienced expert - putting forward their opinion. What seems most disquieting about Christiansen's piece (and I'm sure he's not alone in these notions: this is a perfect example but certainly not a personal attack) are its more subtle implications: of what 'Opera' is, or should be, and of the value of a young audience's opinions - and, more worryingly, those of young creatives.

The reluctance to even call Sunken Garden by the "honorific label of opera" implies a definition of the genre as something of a certain standard; something elite, deserving of honour, respect and homage. On a basic level, an opera is actually defined as "A dramatic work in one or more acts, set to music for singers and instrumentalists". Well, unless Christiansen got lost in the Barbican and ended up in the wrong room, I'm pretty sure that's what we were both watching... Maybe I'm sounding petty and being over-literal with this review. Yet my point still stands. The implication is that Sunken Garden is a young new breed who isn't allowed to join this 'gentlemen's club' of opera; that this grandiose and magical thing called 'opera' has to be elite, to have rigorously high quality control, to earn respect and honour. Even the phrase "I hesitate to grant it" implies privilege and prestige. But why? There's an awful lot of experimental theatre out there - and some of it really is awful - but I don't think many people would stop calling it 'theatre' just because it doesn't succeed. Then again, some of it is truly spectacular; and the only way that writers, directors, performers, composers and indeed audiences can discover what works and what doesn't, is by experimenting and risk-taking. Van der Aa is doing just that, by creating a new vision: this does not divide it from the world of opera, but tests and stretches what opera can be. By all means productions should be judged critically, but whole genres and their potential should not be stifled or boxed up in the process.

Then we come to the question of age. I too "sensed a youngish first-night audience" - and at twenty-one I guess I'm included in that - who, it is suggested, are attracted by the "trendiness" (do I detect a shudder behind that word?) of technology. This may be true, but it would be patronising of me to suggest that an older generation than me didn't 'get' this opera because they don't understand or appreciate technology; it thus seems just as patronising to imply that the young don't 'get' opera and are blinded by some fancy 3D films which prevent them from having supposed 'good taste' or true appreciation for this genre. I can handle a computer and smartphone, but I wouldn't call myself a techie whiz-kid: the eleven-year-olds I look after in my job are much more technologically up-to-date than I am, so it's not my devoted love for hi-tech science that inspired my review; rather my admiration for creativity and talent. One commenter on the Telegraph certainly seemed to think that we young'uns are too naive for this kind of thing, recounting how "One youngish chap next to me said 'Wow, fantastic!'' when this torturous think [sic] finished and I suspect he has never been to an opera where the music and singing carry everything without resorting to gimmicks". Why is a "youngish" (not even young...) person who likes this opera automatically assumed to carry an opinion that is uninformed and worthless? This attitude is patronising, ridiculous and - for a 21-year-old budding critic - pretty worrying.

The same ideas seem to be applied to the creator of the project. The accusations of "arrogance" levelled at van der Aa by Michael Church, which stem from the length of the show and its lack of interval, seem partly (if not primarily) inspired by his youthfulness: "For this young experimentalist to think he could get away with it bespeaks quite remarkable arrogance". Now I don't want to be rude, but firstly van der Aa is 43 - and he's still classed as a "young" composer? He's hardly a naive little babe in arms is he, considering he's been composing since the mid-nineties. However, my argument would be the same if he were an eighteen-year-old premièring his first piece. The claim that he should make life as easy as possible for the audience - that he should not take risks, that he should stick to the norms (whatever they are - it's a creative industry after all...) - purely out of youth, is quite frankly ridiculous. A blend of works that stand the test of time and eclectic new creations is what makes the world of theatre - including opera - such a vivid, ever-evolving, thrilling, surprising and wonderful thing.

New work is often divisive; but I'd like to think that this is because, as human beings, we have such a variety of loves and hates, of tastes and impulses and attractions and emotions - the very thing that gives us such a variety of performing arts in the first place. I don't mind that other critics didn't feel the same as I did. In fact, it makes me all the more interested in the work, and it's also one of the reasons that student reviewing sites Online Theatre Ltd. send two reviewers to every show - to produce debate. I just hope the reasoning behind negative reviews is sensible. In other genres of theatre there doesn't appear to be anti-youth criticism or elitist 'rules', and hopefully opera is granted the same freedom of experimentation without blanket censure. For me, Sunken Garden was a window into possibilities: it may not be perfect, but this window should not be closed on principle.

THEATRE REVIEW: Wicked

Apollo Victoria Theatre, London

23 March 2013

Now booking until April 2014

When Wicked flew into London seven years ago, it was riding on a wave of popular success but a rather mixed critical reception on Broadway. Here in the UK our press were a little kinder, but it is still very much a show that has proved critics wrong in its staying power - and paying my first visit to this record-breaking creation of Simon Schwarz and Winnie Holzman, I'm pretty damn glad it did. 'The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz' has pretty much everything on the West End musical checklist - humour, romance, scary bits to make the children in the audience squirm, fabulous costumes and lighting, catchy tunes and a whopping great powerhouse showstopper just before the interval. Yet at the same time, it doesn't feel too much of a cliché. The production so clearly screams money and Broadway - just look at the sparkling green lights of the Emerald City and the glorious Tim Burton-esque costumes - so it is down to the cast to ensure the show avoids the soullessness that big money productions can potentially bring.

Photo: Stuck in Customs 

Luckily for audiences, a stream of glitteringly talented Elphabas and Glindas have helped to keep the magic alive, from Idina Menzel to Kerry Ellis to TV-talent-show escapee Rachel Tucker. Currently, the wonderful Louise Dearman is playing the green-skinned heroine, making her the first actress to play both protagonists. And boy, can she sing. 'Iconic' is a big word, but Defying Gravity is on the way to this status already (partly thanks to Glee, I'm sure...) and Dearman certainly has the lungs to pull it off. As she soars above the stage, her voice follows suit and she delivers a powerful punch to round off the first half of the show. Yet Dearman's performance is not all about the shouty long notes: her quieter moments are genuinely moving and she delivers a rounded performance which ensures that, although this song is a scene-stealer, it doesn't define the whole production. At this performance, standby Lucy Van Gasse took the stage as Glinda and certainly proved her prowess as a leading lady, providing a contrasting performance to Dearman with her pure soprano and Disney princess-esque fluttering, with just a touch of Elle Woods - but at the same time she completed a perfect partnership without which Wicked does not work.

For it is within this duo that the magic starts and ends, and which provides Wicked's 'USP', to coin a horribly corporate term. That the most important relationship in the show - the one which creates the warmth and drives the tension - is not one of romance but of friendship, is delightfully different from the norm. Similarly but less tragically than Blood Brothers, as cheesy as it sounds, it is a story of people. It may be set in a fantastical land of munchkins and flying monkeys and wonderful wizards, but the comedy and loyalty which embodies their relationship is refreshingly normal in spite of it all, and really holds the show together.

There is, of course, a romantic thread to the show: one that, nominally, threatens this central relationship. But the dashing Fiyero, played with rebellious yet Eton-esque charm and swagger by Ben Freeman, does feel like a side character, despite his centrality to the plot. Equally, newcomer Sam Lupton's Boq, Melissa Jacques' Madame Morrible and Keith Bartlett's sprightly and eccentric Wizard are all strong performances, but cannot avoid feeling rather like elements of a background patchwork on which Elphaba and Glinda play out their story. This is no criticism of the cast - merely, the plot and script are perhaps too much centred on these star performances to let others shine as they could. In other areas, however, the book of the musical is surprising in its intricacies and delights, neatly tying up the looser ends of the original Wizard of Oz plot and challenging those we thought were set in stone. The moral ambiguities of both Elphaba and Glinda ensure they are not reduced to pantomimish representations of good and evil, and Dearman and Van Gasse negotiate their characters with nuance, whilst remaining on the lighter side of things - this is a great show for children, after all.

Despite some of these niggles with the plot, the overall feeling at the close of the show is one of magic, excitement, thrill and, even, fulfilment. It may not have the intense emotion of Les Mis or the irrepressible joy of Matilda, for example, but as long as the two leads continue to be cast with the very best of the West End's talent (please, casting directors, avoid any token celebrity Glindas or Elphabas - the show wouldn't cope) Wicked lifts you out of the everyday into a joyful world of fantasy, and will no doubt continue to enchant audiences for years to come.

THEATRE REVIEW: Your Place Or Mine? (published on A Younger Theatre)

I've recently started reviewing for A Younger Theatre, which is all very exciting - they offer great opportunities for "the younger generations" to get involved in reviewing and writing about theatre, so take a look if you're not familiar with them. My first review for them was of Your Place Or Mine? at the Ovalhouse Theatre. Suffice to say it was not at all what I expected - and worryingly a friend described my review as "brutally honest", but there were many positives in it, although it was far from perfect. You can judge for yourself by reading my review here: http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/review-your-place-or-mine-ovalhouse-theatre/ And check out the rest of the site while you're there!

More reviews to come soon....

THEATRE REVIEW: Metamorphosis (published on The Puffin Review)

A new online magazine has recently emerged on the webosphere, promising to publish and promote up-and-coming new writers. It may not be the most high profile web publication out there, but its mission is admirable, aiming to give new writers a voice - a chance to broadcast it to the world and to get some published work in their portfolio. And I say hurray to that.

With everything from poetry and fiction to travel writing and reviews, anyone can submit pretty much anything - so with that in mind, I fired off my review of the thrilling revival of Kafka's Metamorphosis at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith. With an ingenious set and a remarkable lead actor, I have rarely felt so utterly captivated and unexpectedly moved by a piece of theatre, and its intensity and indeed its strange beauty were truly memorable. Apparently all my gushing was still readable, as The Puffin Review kindly published my review in their first issue.

To read my full review of Metamorphosis, please visit The Puffin Review here - http://www.puffinreview.com/content/content/theatre-review-laura-peatman - and support a new publication doing its bit for emerging writers!

Image credit: The Puffin Review

THEATRE (P)REVIEW: Port

National Theatre (Lyttelton Theatre)

22 January 2013

Photo: fsse8info

N.B. These comments refer to the first preview night of Port on 22nd Jan. In general I agree with articles like this one by Jake Orr for AYT - http://www.ayoungertheatre.com/should-bloggers-review-previews-i-say-no/) - previews are by no means a finished product, and the success of a production only truly becomes apparent in front of a live audience, however meticulously rehearsed. Having said that, the only ticket I managed to get hold of was for this preview performance, so for practical reasons it's that one I'll be writing about; as such I've tried to focus on core elements of the piece rather than features that I'd expect to be altered (and I've put it in the title, to appease any complainers).

First performed in 2002, this revival of Simon Stephens' Port could, on paper, be mistaken for a new piece of writing: its rather bleak yet darkly humorous coming-of-age tale of a young woman attempting to escape her troubled upbringing still feels credible and - to coin a horribly overused term - relevant in its themes and explorations. However, despite some impressive performances and intelligent staging, this production failed to grip me entirely, and seems to be missing a spark of brilliance and excitement that Stephens' work so often promises.

At the heart of it all is a wonderful performance by Kate O'Flynn as the vulnerable but spirited Racheal. Embodying the combination of humour and gloom to perfection, she shines equally brightly as an over-confident 11-year-old, a desperate 17-year-old and a hopeful 24-year-old. The ever-tricky transition from childhood to adulthood is accomplished flawlessly: O'Flynn may be assisted here with some simple but effective costume changes carried out seamlessly on stage, but when compared to the somewhat less believable transition of her brother Billy (Mike Noble), her adaptability as an actress is evident. On the whole Noble gives a solid performance which flourishes more strongly as the play progresses, but his credibility as a 6-year-old and an 8-year-old is rather lacking. Elsewhere, Calum Callaghan strikes a beautifully balanced note as a sensitive but down-to-earth Danny, while the doubling of the consistently powerful Jack Deam is effective in demonstrating the cyclical nature of violence and oppression in Racheal's life.

This cycle is evident in the parallels which emerge throughout the work, as the cleverly shifting sets and the actors' movements carry echoes of previous scenes. Beginning and ending in the same location perhaps suggests stagnancy, yet the differing tones of the episodes lend the work a sense of progression which, overall, it is in danger of lacking. While the two scenes between Danny and Racheal move from a hopeful new romance to a realisation of a missed opportunity, the return to the car park where Racheal's story began depicts the changes her hard life has enacted upon her. Yet the emotion this elicits is rather strangled by a corny ending - no doubt it is intended to be uplifting, but the literal sunrise feels like overkill.

It's strange and a little disappointing that a production with fine performances and clearly affecting themes did not carry much force or impact. Perhaps my reaction would have been markedly different in 2002; perhaps it is a sign that audiences are becoming more and more resistant to the 'shock factor'. The instances of domestic abuse would be shocking if they were happening in reality - as indeed, they do. Yet I am forced to confront the fact that I wasn't shocked at watching this on stage; it seemed, horrible as it is to state, predictable, expected, unsurprising - something that these themes should never be. It was this sense of predictability that prevented this production from totally engaging me and producing real fireworks, a point which, beyond the realms of this particular production, raises some interesting questions about the desensitisation of audiences today.

FILM REVIEW: Life of Pi

Directed by Ang Lee

It was said by many that this unusual novel could not be adapted cinematically - so if it was going to be done, it had to be done in style. Luckily, Ang Lee came along and did just that, creating a film that is rich, beautiful and exhilirating to watch. It's ironic that a film demonstrating the awe-inspiring majesty and horror of the natural world could only be achieved through the very different magic of CGI, yet in this case computer wizardry has done our planet proud, and great forces of nature are displayed in sublime colour and impressive 3D.

As a rule, this reviewer is left significantly disappointed by the supposed excitement of 3D technology; usually only adding the smallest of novelty factors to the film, it has in the past appeared an unnecessary and expensive addition. Yet The Life of Pi has certainly changed all that, as for the first time I saw its potential not only to enhance a film, but generate a whole new dimension (literally) of enjoyment. The chaos of the ocean storm is exhilarating and genuinely rather frightening, as the crashing waves and enormous volume of water feels tangible and dangerous. Similarly, Richard Parker is sublime (that's the tiger of course, before I get accused of lusting over some poor man...) and totally, frighteningly believable. The best thing about this CGI production is the realism that somehow pervades the film, even as the most extraordinary of events unfold, largely down to the extraordinary attention to detail shown by the animators.

Of course, it's not all about computer animation. Untrained newcomer Suraj Sharma deserves huge credit for carrying the large majority of the film's action independently, delivering a performance of sensitivity and maturity, but not missing the wry humour which gives them - and indeed the novel - its warm heart despite great loss and desperate circumstances.

Photo: GBPUBLIC_PR

Charm is also offered in the 'present day' scenes, as the older Pi (Irrfan Khan) and his visitor (Rafe Spall) provide the framing narrative, enhancing the illusion of reality. Spall once again demonstrates his incredible variety of skills as an actor, never typecast or repetitive from role to role. He is a solid support for the storytelling of Khan, whose mature and reflective Pi adeptly links the two parts of the film and delicately portrays the effect of this miraculous adventure.

This film could easily have become too long, or too flashy. Yet Lee has balanced it skilfully, creating what could more accurately be described as a work of art, as cinematography rather than acting steals the show. As the ocean around Pi glows with mysterious life forms, the scene feels weird and fantastical, yet the cruelty and harshness of life in the wild is never far away. This may not be a film to watch again and again - its strength is in its initial impact of beauty, majesty and at times oddity - but it is an undeniably impressive piece of cinema which successfully manages to blend the latest technology with a respectful awe for largely unseen phenomena of our world.