THEATRE REVIEW: Matilda the Musical

Cambridge Theatre, London

21 September 2013

now booking until December 2014

Matilda the Musical at the Cambridge Theatre
Photo: Laura Peatman

Matilda the Musical is one of the most talked-about musicals of the last few years, finding unprecedented success at the 2012 Oliviers with seven awards (since equalled by The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, one of my other all-time favourite shows). With the genius of Tim Minchin, enthusiasm of a young cast, mad costumes and brilliant staging, this is one of those shows where everything comes together to create magic. Forget the film, this is how the story of Matilda should be told.

Even the opening set that greets the audience on arrival establishes a sense of fun, with countless colourful wooden blocks that sprawl across the back wall and out of the proscenium arch, seemingly random but actually delightfully concealing words if you look carefully enough. This level of detail is present throughout, making it feel that real love and warmth has gone into this production. Everything from Mr Wormwood's suit, to the children's messy hairstyles, to the wide array of CCTV in Trunchbull's office has been carefully thought out and contributes to a show that just works, in the best way possible. 'School Song', with the alphabet hidden within the lyrics, is brilliantly staged, as letter blocks appear in the school gates just a split second before a chorus member steps onto it: it must have taken hours of rehearsal but appears effortless, as all great routines should.

There's a risk that a young cast, however talented, can appear precocious and start to grate a little: no fear of that here, as all the children are fantastic and complete naturals on stage. I can't think of many things more fun than being a kid in this show, and to be quite honest I'm immensely jealous of them all. Their singing, acting, and probably above all their dancing, put a huge smile on my face from start to finish – and when they rock out to 'Revolting Children', it confirms that they really are the stars here. At this particular performance, George King as Bruce Bogtrotter stole the show with his hilarious acting and rockstar-worthy opening to 'Revolting Children', while tiny Freddie Haggerty stole our hearts as Eric. Georgia Pemberton, in her first month as Matilda, took on the leading lady duties and is evidently proving herself a great addition to the cast. She is funny, heart-warming and mischievous, and at times heart-rending. And her Russian is impeccable, of course... (I'm not going to explain that one – no spoilers!). The role of Matilda has a lot of time alone on stage, and to pull this off at such a young age is undoubtedly impressive – and I'm sure the memories of receiving the applause in her solo curtain call will stay with all the Matildas for a long time, whatever their future career path.

Photo: Ben Tavener

Elsewhere the Wormwoods (James Clyde and Kay Murray) and Rudolpho (Joshua Lay, utterly unrecognisable from his headshot in the programme!) provide plenty of hilarity, while Alex Gaumond is fabulously horrible, and more than a little creepy, as the notorious Miss Trunchbull. The cast have great fun with the height difference between him and the children, and every movement and flinch is perfectly timed to create this funny but disturbing baddie.

There is some pretty puerile humour here – Bruce's prolonged description of his chocolatey belch springs to mind – but the show somehow still doesn't feel childish. About children yes; great for children to watch, also yes; but despite all this there's emotion in it that certainly appeals to adults as well. The shadow puppetry of the acrobat and the escapologist is simply beautiful, while the poignant scenes between Matilda and her parents really do tug at the heartstrings. Overarching the whole production is a great sense of being a child, being 'Naughty', and being free from rules and expectations, summed up in the gorgeous 'When I Grow Up', with its use of slides, swings and scooters. Matilda is surely the best new musical of recent years, and one that I could watch again and again and carry on smiling at. Fingers crossed it will stay in the West End for many more years to come!

THEATRE REVIEW: Happy New

21 June 2013

Trafalgar Studios

until 29 June 2013

Trailer: HappyNew2013

It’s hard to explain the plot of this play without making it sound totally farcical, but here goes — on New Year's Eve, two brothers are facing up to the long-term effects caused by their abandonment in a chicken coop. Yes, I know. Yet Brendan Cowell makes this an utterly convincing tale, as Danny (William Troughton) and Lyle (Joel Samuels) struggle to rehabilitate themselves into everyday life many years after this unusual form of childhood trauma: they seek the ironically-labelled 'Australian Dream', but fear to leave their apartment.

Cowell’s script crackles into life: it is extremely wordy, but high energy performances ensure that nothing of the dense dialogue is wasted as words fizz and tumble across the stage. Troughton and Samuels are a great double act, their energies bouncing off each other as they negotiate the intricate script with apparent ease. Their conversation is somehow macho and camp all at the same time — treated seriously, but eliciting plenty of laughs; hinting at a fractured past, but creating a seamless partnership. It is the arrival of Pru (Lisa Dillon), however, which really injects fire into this production. Her bitter, angry rant is definitely the funniest ‘scorned woman’ I’ve seen on stage, as her fury at Danny’s betrayal provokes a stream of insults and outrage delivered with hilarious ferocity and flouncing. Dillon certainly starts as she means to go on, as she steals the show throughout this fast-paced production.

Even if you didn't know already, there is something about Happy New that is distinctly not British. This is not to take anything away from our home-grown talent, but there is speed and sparkiness in this piece which marks it out from the crowd — as well as a certain brashness and bravery which enables this concept and its densely-packed script to succeed. Australian writer and director of the play Brendan Cowell was in the audience on this occasion (which preceded a Q&A session that I was sadly unable to stick around for — I would have loved to hear more about the thinking behind this piece) and it was a joy to seem him enjoying his work as much as anyone else. He has exuberant talent which still has room to develop if he continues to have such strong casts alongside him.

Brendan Cowell

Photo: Eva Rinaldi

In the later stages of the play, Lily Arnold's set design intelligently recreates the chicken coop from the brother's apartment, in which they now imprison themselves. Seeing this flashback enables the audience to disentangle some of the mystery behind the trauma, and the interjections of Pru's news reports and interviews are darkly comic. Yet is from this point onwards that the play starts to drag: having seen their past, it does not seem to take us anywhere new when we return to Danny and Lyle's present, and the rather complex plot arc gets stuck. The last section loses the vivacity that is so vital in carrying the wordy script, and energy fizzles out. It is sad that Brendan Cowell has made the all-too-common error of stretching this play beyond its potential: it is important to know when to stop, to preserve the fizz and energy before it lags. I could feel myself getting restless — such a shame for a performance that had me immersed and intrigued up until this point.

Happy New has the perfect mix of darkness and light: at times it is very funny indeed, but there are serious elements here which prevent this from becoming too frothy or farcical. When Danny and Lyle fall back into their chicken-like ways, with uncontrollable clucks and jerks of the head, somehow nobody laughs: the quiet, uncomfortable horror of the situation is apparent. The fact that the tone is pitched so perfectly, and that the cast — particularly Lisa Dillon and Joel Samuels — have a sharp and energetic grasp on their challenging dialogue, means that its wordiness and its over-long duration can just about be forgiven. It may need a little editing, but this cracker of a play is certainly worth crossing the road for.

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.

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: Twelfth Night

Apollo Theatre

5 January 2013

Following its sell-out run at The Globe last summer, the transfer of this all-male, traditionally-staged Twelfth Night - playing in rep with the equally lauded Richard III - really has been the hot ticket in the West End this winter, and it's not hard to see why. On paper, the combination of stage star Mark Rylance and screen darling Stephen Fry, in his first return to stage for 17 years, is enough to attract the crowds. In practice, it is more than big names that have marked out this performance - this comes close to a masterclass in how to do Shakespearean comedy.

This is the Bard in all his glory - not stuffy, not incomprehensible and certainly not dull. In a similar way to other Globe productions which have toured or transferred, the house lights are never fully dimmed, diffusing that invisible fourth wall and creating an atmosphere of camaraderie between audience and performers. It is one of many signs that director Tim Carroll is harking back to London's golden age of theatre in Shakespeare's own time. While the traditionally designed poster is charming if gimmicky, the lighting, traditional music and seating on stage are far from it, resurrecting a spirit of companionship and riotous fun which so embodied Renaissance comedy. If this all sounds a bit corny and you're beginning to doubt the keenness of my critical eye, I apologise: but this is a joyous comedy which invites giggles and warmth at every turn.

Yet perhaps this works against the performance in an odd way when it comes to the portrayal of Malvolio. Stephen Fry is...well, he's Stephen Fry as we know and love him, complete with adorably pompous manner and Melchett-esque laugh. Capturing Malvolio's affected superiority and subsequent ludicrous behaviour perfectly, he has the audience in hysterics in his efforts to impress Olivia, with levels of leering sycophancy rivalling the great David Bamber in the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. However, enjoyable as Fry's performance is, it certainly shies away from truly exploring the darker elements of this play. Ostracised, imprisoned in a cell and labelled a dangerous madman, Malvolio is indeed "most notoriously abused", and his plot arc can elicit discomfort as well as laughter. Does he deserve such treatment? Should such cruelty be entertaining? Is his promise of revenge something to be laughed at, or does it throw a gloomier shadow over the closing moments of the play? Perhaps dwelling on these questions for too long is not in keeping with the overall tone this production is taking, but it would have been more satisfying to see a little more nuance and shading in Fry's portrayal. He will always be a crowd-pleaser, but - at risk of repercussions from his army of adoring fans - his Malvolio is excellent, but not exceptional.

At the other end of the spectrum, Mark Rylance succeeds in making a rather dull part seem extraordinary. His Olivia is by far the best I have seen on stage or screen, transforming the role from a fairly forgettable moping mourner into a figure of charming hilarity. Rylance's movement around the stage is fascinating and hilarious in itself: seeming to glide rather than to walk, there is a constant sense of hovering which lends energy to the part, even when silent. This is of course heightened by the wonderful expressiveness of voice and face, often simultaneously mournful and comic. Above all, Rylance's success comes from his ability to appear utterly natural in the role, embodying it whole-heartedly - given he is playing a countess in full Renaissance make-up in a somewhat ludicrous comedy, this is a pretty amazing feat, and a privilege to see first-hand.

Rylance might steal the show, but a regular scene-stealer also comes in the form of Maria (Paul Chahidi). As confusion and farce are milked to their fullest comic effect, Chahidi certainly rivals Rylance in gliding abilities and comic timing. Together with a superb array of frowns, simpers and wicked grins, he is a delight to watch and displays unfailing exuberance for the role. Another surprise of the evening is Fabian, as James Garnon shines in an often rather overlooked role which brings a much-needed dose of solidity into the raucous madness of Sir Toby (Colin Hurley) and Sir Andrew (Roger Lloyd Pack). Garnon however does not fall into the trap of making this straighter role too straight, with an impressively strong performance delivering comedy and thoughtfulness.

Director Tim Carroll must be congratulated on a production which delivers the essence of Shakespearean comedy with lightness, joy and sparkle. The styling may be traditional, but we are a thousand miles away from dusty old books and dry rhetoric. The bard may be known for his lengthy speeches, but with some cunning timing this Twelfth Night demonstrates the hilarity of the Shakespearean one-liner. With music, physical comedy, beautiful costumes (including a truly fabulous array of hats, I might add) and an Olivia who is nothing short of brilliant, this is a superb production proving that a comedy from 1602 really can - and deserves to - stand the test of time.

An Ode to the Royal Court

A couple of weeks ago I developed a major crush. There were butterflies in my stomach; I couldn’t keep the smile off my face; I remained calm on the outside to save any embarrassment, but on the inside I was squealing and bounding around. The object of these great affections? No dashing charmer or hunky heartthrob, but a red brick building on the edge of Sloane Square. That’s right, I’m in love with the Royal Court Theatre.

Photo: Ben Sutherland

The Court has long been on my list of Places I Must Visit; I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to get there – it’s hardly on the far side of the world – but I finally made it towards the end of the run of Caryl Churchill’s Love and Information. I do indulge in literary tourism on the not-too-rare occasion: I have seen the sofa on which Emily Brontё (supposedly) died, the house in which Shakespeare was born and the room in which Hardy wrote some of his most famous novels and poems. Yet I would not say I stand in too much awe of this hallowed ground – it’s interesting, it’s reasonably exciting, but it doesn’t violently thrill me. I’d never kiss the ground. Of course, I love going to the theatre (obviously, as this whole blog would be a bit of a weird charade…), and nearly every time I am met with that same excited tingly feeling. But even the electricity of my beloved Les Mis or of Trevor Nunn’s King Lear, the first time I saw Shakespeare on a grand scale, had me buzzing in quite the same way that I was as we drove through the sheeting rain through west London. This was different – something more to do with the place than with what I was about to see: because, quite honestly, I had no idea what to expect from what I was about to see. (Incidentally, you can find out more about that here: http://laurapeatman.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/theatre-review-love-and-information.html).

As soon as I walked in, there was something about the Court that got to me; something about being in arguably the most important place for British modern drama. The place that the Angry Young Men caused a stir, to say the least. Where John Osborne, Shelagh Delaney, Edward Albee, Caryl Churchill, Timberlake Wertenbaker, David Mamet , Edward Bond, Samuel Beckett, Sarah Kane and so many other had presented their works which were to shape the face of theatre in this country. If I hadn’t been in the role of responsible staff member on a school trip, I might’ve actually danced for joy.

Maybe you’ll think this fangirling is ridiculous. But even if you manage to keep a bit more of a cap on your emotions than me, there is something undeniably cool about the place, even if it has lost its controversial edge of 50 years ago. The lack of a spacious foyer, the comfy and familiar-seeming brown leather seats, the scripts that are sold as programmes, the principle actors’ low key presence in the bar afterwards: it’s all about the drama, not about the affluent West End punters.  This genial atmosphere was evident during the technical glitches that halted the performance of Love and Information which I attended: there was real sympathy for the cast, real encouragement for the techies fixing the issue, no complaints and no impatient tutting – just a good-natured enthusiasm for the theatre to continue, and a hearty cheer when it did.

Perhaps it was partly my inner expectations that I had built up about the place. But I felt the Royal Court’s atmosphere, its history, its effect and its draw more keenly and more fiercely than I have for any other venue. If you ever see a bedraggled blonde girl attempting to camp outside the doors – it might be me.

Silence in the stalls? Not for me, thanks.

Manners cost nothing, we are told as children. Politeness, that great British virtue, is drilled into is as a quality of the highest importance. And there is  a certain code of manners associated with going to the theatre, especially somewhere traditional, in London, not what you'd call cheap: we go in, buy our programmes and perhaps some overpriced snacks, sit in our seats, turn off our phones and go silent when the house lights come down. Sometimes we laugh, we gasp, we cry – but in general we are quiet when the actors are acting, and loud when they take their bow. That’s the way it’s done.

Well, that’s certainly not the way it was done when I attended a weekday matinée of Blood Brothers this week. As Willy Russell's 1983 drama is currently on the Year 9 syllabus, I was accompanying a troupe of schoolgirls to see the show - as were many teachers from a large number of schools, as became clear from the crowds of excited teenagers outside the Phoenix theatre. Groups of young people on a school trip are not exactly the quietest of souls, as I remember from when I was one of them, and I'm sure other members of the audience looking for a nice afternoon out at the theatre may have been horrified by the crowds of teenagers buying sugar-filled snacks and drinks in the foyer. Their buzz of noise filled the auditorium as they chattered excitingly and rustled their crisp packets.

The noise of confectionery packaging aside, this was not a quiet audience. Yes - they laughed, they gasped, they cried. They also gave cries of disgust at Sammy and Mickey's impressive spitting abilities; they wolf-whistled at the first appearance of the teenage Linda in her short skirt and sky-high stilettos; on one occasion they chorused along to the words "Marilyn Monroe" as that song was repeated in various guises; there was even a raucous shout of "Get in!" as Mickey and Linda shared their first kiss. But far from being irritated by the lack of restraint of this particular audience, I loved the enthusiasm and engagement with the show that they were demonstrating. They were paying attention, reacting to it, showing their connection and emotional investment in what was going on in front of them. At times, I'm sure, some of them thought they were being hilarious - the joker of the pack. But if it was in response to one of Willy Russell's best-loved and most critically acclaimed pieces of theatre I'm not complaining. Some might say I'm putting too much faith in their appreciation of the show, but I don't believe they need to be specifically thinking about the fact that they were enjoying and reacting to the show in order to be doing so.

This became clear at the dramatic climax of the show. As armed police officers came through the stalls to the sides of the stage, and as the fateful shots rang out, a burst of shocked, thrilled whispering broke out across the Dress Circle and, indeed, most of the auditorium: followed by the hasty hushing of dozens of teachers. For one thing, this certainly gave those teachers an idea of who had read to the end of the play and who hadn't... And it also showed that the action had affected this crowd. They were shocked, excited, saddened. Ok, talking over actors in most circumstances appears rude, and perhaps the Narrator did have to pause for a couple of extra seconds for the noise to die - I don't know. But the urge to share a response to something through conversation with their friends is a basic teenage instinct; it shows an intuitive rush of emotion that is as natural as crying or laughing - an outward demonstration of a feeling.

Anyone sitting in that theatre who tutted or rolled their eyes at this noisy young audience seems to me to be connected with an image of theatre-going which should not be perpetuated. That is, an image that this type of theatre - as opposed to Fringe theatre, cabaret or devised pieces, for example - is stuffy and for a certain kind of person: rich, middle class, Conservative, restrained. The current prices of West End theatre is not helping to shake off this perception. It should be for everyone; it is for everyone, and it is fantastic to see people - and especially children - giving such a response to a show. It's not as if quietness is the traditional way to watch theatre - just read some accounts of audiences at the Globe on the sixteenth century. I don't pretend to speak for the cast, but I'd say from the look on their faces at the curtain call they were delighted at the involvement of this excitable and boisterous crowd. The theatre felt alive as the audience were united in a wave of emotion, and I for one would not have had it any different. Forget etiquette, a bunch of noisy teenagers did it right.

THEATRE REVIEW: Blood Brothers

Phoenix Theatre, London

4th Oct 2012

In just a few weeks the striking backdrop of the Liverpool skyline will come down from the beautiful Phoenix Theatre as this production of Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers departs from the West End; and a sad day that will be, as this cast have put on a superb production of the tear-jerking “story of the Johnstone twins”. The show is of course intrinsically linked with a particular place and time – Liverpool, and the toughest days of the 1980s – but this production truly shows it off as a modern classic, by maintaining this heritage yet avoiding any sense of being dated. There is still freshness here and, to invoke a horribly over-analysed concept, relevancy; and no need to take my word for it – just listen to the raucous, enraptured reaction of the hordes of schoolchildren at this midweek matinée. Much of the appeal lies in the blend of bitter realism and stylised superstition which is kept in perfect harmony: although “harmonious” seems an inappropriate word to choose for a drama that pulls you in so many directions. It is harsh but warm; heart-wrenching but funny; bleak but uplifting; at the end of the first act the girls around me were bopping in their seats to the tune of Bright New Day, yet by the end of the second the tears were steaming down their cheeks. The production delivers in every area.

Blood Brothers is nothing without its perfect Mrs Johnstone, and this run gives Vivienne Carlyle her turn to join the lengthy list of stars who have taken on the role, from Petula Clark to Mel C. Carlyle gives a strong and soulful vocal performance as her rich tones bring deep emotion to the lyrics, and her ‘Mrs J’ is likeable and pitiable in equal measures. At times there are some odd vowel sounds, when the mostly-perfect Scouse accent doesn't quite gel with Carlyle’s singing style as she negotiates the break in the voice: yet this is really a minor niggle. The trio of Mark Rice-Oxley (Mickey), Paul Christopher (Eddie) and Louise Clayton (Linda) work together with confidence and ease, mastering the range of child to adult which these characters demand. Rice-Oxley in particular steals the show, bringing the audience from hysterical laughter as the cheeky, scruffy schoolboy and awkward teenager, to gut-wrenching sympathy and edge-of-the-seat desperation as the older, embittered Mickey. Michael Southern is solid in his supporting role of Sammy, but somewhat less successful at the tricky task of, as an adult actor, playing a child; however, the problem lies in aesthetics more than anything as Southern simply looks a little too old to pull off the portrayal of a young boy in quite the same way as other cast members.

The direction of Bob Thomson and Bill Kenwright emphasises the underlying themes of desperation and paranoia which pervade the tale of Mrs Johnstone, through the Narrator’s constant yet seemingly invisible presence in the action, as the figure of Philip Stewart lingers at the edge of the set or at an upper window. His powerful voice and at times menacing performance reminds the audience constantly that this is a tale heading for tragedy. Designer Marty Flood highlights this mood without it becoming overblown and without breaking the sense of truth in this piece. As the burning red light of Madman cuts into the realism of the Town Hall chamber, the show lurches from stylised rage to something far more ‘real’: the audience know with a jolt that the inevitably tragic ending is really about to happen.

This production builds and builds as it continues, and the electricity at the explosive climax is palpable. As the last verse of Tell Me It’s Not True crescendos and the band and voices swell together, so do the audience’s emotions, and many a tear-stained face emerged from the Phoenix Theatre. Willy Russell has said that the show “relies on that primal, ageless universal thing of “I'm going to tell you a story”” and it is this strong storytelling, with its pure truth and emotion, that keeps audiences coming back for more.