‘Equus’ (Bedlam: 3 – 7 March ’15)

Posted in 4*, Bedlam, Rated: Outstanding, Theatre by Alan Brown

Douglas Clark as Alan Strang
Samuel Burkett as Nugget, the God Equus
Photo: Mihaela Bodlovic.

“You’re out there with the cowboys”

Track suits and gloves of chestnut velour, anyone? Well, maybe in 1973 when Equus first cantered and careered into stage history. Now, we’ve lost the strutted hooves and it’s black Sculpt Tight leggings and sports bras. No matter, for this is a super fit production and the horses look the part. Do not, under any circumstances, think germinal, theatrical, War Horse, for director Emily Aboud achieves blinding drama.

Literally. Alan Strang (17) took a hoof pick to four horses and put out their eyes. (It was six in the original production but play fair with Bedlam’s space). Martin Dysart is the psychiatrist who gets inside Alan’s head to see what went ‘wrong’ and – maybe – to make him ‘well’. These are troubled and relative terms, as becomes extremely clear. Dysart reports Alan’s story as Alan tells it and is assisted by the testimony of parents, girlfriend and employer, and in so doing lays bare his own obsessions and vulnerability. This is one treatment plan where the word sacrificial does not beggar belief.

The two principals are admirable. Douglas Clark as Alan is lean, hurting, and his voice breaks from soft assent to pain and furious anger with remarkable force. His few scenes with Jill (Chloe Allen), his unexpected girl, are both tender and acutely awkward. He is also, in the extraordinary last scene of Act One, and alone with Equus, in complete control of what could be disastrously affected language. Charley Cotton plays Dysart as the decent doctor who has just about given up on the prescription ‘to heal thyself’. His dreadful marriage – to a Scottish dentist! – is as neatly dissected as his vain hopes to discover real pagan Greece in his Kodachrome snaps of Mount Olympus.

Douglas Clark as Alan Strang
Chloe Allan as Jill Mason
Photo: Mihaela Bodlovic.

Designer Emiline Beroud respects Peter Shaffer’s original setting. The cast is on stage throughout, sitting at the back or to the sides when not performing. The centre stage is railed off on two sides and provides consulting room and stable floor. The horse masks hang left and right. Bedlam cannot accommodate the back-drop of tiers of seats, as if in an old anatomy lecture theatre, so Dysart’s talk becomes more confessional than public spirited and – if anything – more characterised by what Shaffer called its ‘dry agony’.

And the visual action is extraordinarily effective. That’s a lot of rehearsal time, I reckon. Mimetic movement, snap-tight lighting (predominately blue) and an electric beat do deliver Shaffer’s choric element. When these horses move and when one is ridden you’re out there with the cowboys of Alan’s wishes. When it all goes dark, in between the strobe flashes, it’s a stampede of the mind.

Equus has an awesome reputation and that’s in the classical, God fearing sense of the word but its notoriety has probably gone and it might seize up and appear contrived. There was some first night stiffness to the supporting roles but for the most part this exacting production gives its language and ideas free rein and exciting liberty.

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Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 3 March)

Visit Equus at Bedlam here

Visit the Bedlam archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

1Mar2015

‘Bitter Sweet’ (Discover 21 Theatre: 27 Feb -1 March ’15)

Posted in 3*, Other, Rated: Nae Bad, Theatre by Amy King

“Distorted Love”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars: Nae Bad

Shocking.

That’s the first word that springs to mind when looking back on the journey followed in Bitter Sweet. Writer and Director Kolbrun Bjort Sigfusdottir created a show that saw reality and fantasy twisted and contorted into a near horror story.

The venue, Discover 21 Theatre, was a perfectly intimate venue that provided closeness to the action that was necessary for this performance to deliver its full impact.

The set was simple, yet detailed. The hints of Steig Larsson’s influence on the script were mirrored in the set – his books featured on the shelves of the bookcase and were reflected in S’s character traits. A small fold-out sofa that sat stage-right was used in a variety of ways that kept the action from becoming too similar and repetitive.

Technically, this play was slick. The music was well-fitted to the rising tensions and served to heighten emotions – both loving and dark. The tone of the scene changed with the lighting cues which was a clever technique to keep the course of the play as disjointed as the relationship.

Both Kate Foley-Scott and Ben Blow tackled this difficult script with a tenacity that is commendable.

Depression and its effects on love feature heavily in this show. Foley-Scott was completely convincing in her portrayal of a manic depressive. Her pleads to be hurt were difficult to watch but impossible to look away from. Her character, known only as S, was desperate to feel anything, while inflicting nothing but pain on her partner. Despite her small stature, Foley-Scott offered a huge performance that was warmly received by the audience.

Ben Blow approached this play masterfully. His constant switching between the softly spoken, sensitive boyfriend and the angry, resentful, jilted lover was fascinating to watch. Blow owned the stage in both roles and that made for confident performance, even the most controversial scenes between the couple were grimly tenable.

The sensitive subject matter of sexual violence left the audience reeling; perhaps it really was too vivid and coarse. A less abrasive way to introduce the idea could have been to perform the scene in a black-out so only the voices could be heard. In all honesty, one scene was too graphic and uncomfortable to the point where it was unwatchable.

It would be wrong to say that this show was enjoyable – what with its dark content – but it certainly grips you. It was a shame that the audience were so few in number, but their appreciation for the performance was genuine and well-deserved.

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Reviewer: Amy King (Seen 27 February)

Visit Discover 21 theatre here .

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

24Feb2015

‘Twelve Angry Men’ (King’s: 23 – 28 February ’15)

Posted in 5*, King's Theatre, Rated: Outstanding, Theatre by Dan Lentell

“Such astute casting goes to show why people go to shows produced by Bill Kenwright.”

Editorial Rating: 5 Stars: Outstanding

What is the surest way to provoke a fist fight amid the genteel splendour of London’s Garrick Club? You could start by loudly telling the one about the Earl of Grantham and the absolutely fabulous Fashion Director – that gets the members catty quick.

To really get them mad, try suggesting that John Laurie must have been better as Shakespeare’s Lear than as Dad’s Army’s Private Frazer. Tables will upturn, CP will get some poor sod in a headlock, NG’s eyes will be rolling as he bellows “We’re aul doom’d” in his best attempt at a Hebridean accent, the ghosts of JMB and AAM will appear, searching out suitable opportunities to glass someone with a broken bottle.

Then again, if you really want the furniture flying through the Irving Room, declare that Tom Conti is the definitive Jeffrey Bernard (which he is – so shut it before I shove this portrait of Dame Nellie Melba where the footlights don’t shine).

Seeing Conti in the titular role of Keith Waterhouse’s masterpiece, and as Joseph in Jesus My Boy, defined my ‘90s adolescent infatuation with theatre. Would seeing him tread the boards years later be like sneakily looking up the school totty on Facebook, only to discover they’ve now got more kids than teeth? No. Conti’s as awesome as ever. As the enigmatic naysayer in Reginald Rose’s jury room classic he does for the part of Juror 8 what Costas did for Shirley Valentine on that Greek boat. Conti lightly leads a heavyweight cast through a meaty narrative.

It’s the story of 12 strangers deciding the outcome of a murder trial. The wheels of justice are in motion, the defendant is on his way to the chair, when a lone voice drops a little doubt into a sea of certainty.

Originally shown on US television in 1954, the script of Twelve Angry Men calls for an up close and personal approach to blocking in order that each juror’s thinking can be established, examined and evolved. Michael Pavelka’s design places much of the action on an imperceptibly revolving platform. Turning the table at which the actors sit neatly enables us to see the tables turned on their characters’ prejudices. The effect is not unlike watching the dog drift off to sleep. His eyes don’t suddenly close, they slide shut slowly, languorously, until suddenly he’s chasing rabbits in the Land of Nod.

I’ve been lucky enough to see David Calvitto catch his share of rabbits at Fringes past. The grace and insight which are his trademarks are perfectly suited to Rose’s Juror 2 – the quiet man who up with this will no longer put. Alexander Forsyth (Juror 5, young) and Paul Beech (Juror 9, old) bookend the group’s age spectrum. Beech’s conversion to doubt is calm and collected, while Foryth’s is the opposite. Perhaps the appeal of Twelve Angry Men endures because it provides a showcase for such raw and careworn performances each alike in dignity.

Dignity is not high on the list of words used to describe bigoted Juror 10. Having lambasted the dignity of others in a hate-fueled tirade directed at the unseen defendant, the advocate for a lynching is hung out to dry when basic decency takes a stand. Included in Denis Lill’s unflinchingly delivery of the part is a degree of pathos unexpected as it is thought-provoking. With this powerful and emotive character study Lill digs out the intellectual foundations on which the final scenes will later rest.

This British production of an American classic superbly catches the rampant class conflict of a drama in which every juror is a king, but no man wears a crown. When Andrew Lancel (Juror 3, the opinionated businessman) locks horns with Mark Carter (as Juror 6, the blue-collar house painter) the tension is ratcheted up notch by furious notch. Such astute casting goes to show why people go to shows produced by Bill Kenwright (an Honorary Prof at TVU when Pater was VC).

Equally inspired is Edward Halsted (Juror 11, the new American). The decision not to reimagine the play in a more contemporary setting opens the goal for Halsted to strike at the original post-war, Cold War totalitarian milieu. Although my companion reckons he’s more Pete Campbell than Don Draper, Gareth David-Lloyd (Juror 12) is the Mad Menic icing on the period cake.

If there is a broad range of acting styles on show, there is also serious depth. Robert Duncan (Juror 4) is the shadow contrasting Conti’s light. Duncan’s not the shouty one, he’s not the juror with the biggest chip on his shoulder, but he is the one Conti needs to beat. Juror 4 is a self-assured stockbroker who doesn’t have a ball game to watch (as does the fabulously flighty Sean Power, Juror 7). He’s got all the time in the world. Conti’s character grinds down the others, the mortar, but it’s Duncan’s guy whose opposition is solid. The cast photo adorning the theatre programme and posters suggest to expect Conti v. Lancel. In actuality it’s Conti v. Duncan, theirs is the dynamic around which the rest orbit.

My aunt (the one who chews broken bottles and makes saltwater crocodiles cry real tears) shows Twelve Angry Men in her RE classes. It’s a morality play in which you might be watching an innocent man set free, or a juvenile delinquent get away with murder. It might be about frailty or egotism, certainty or doubt. What this production absolutely is, to paraphrase Duncan in Drop The Dead Donkey, is a raft for top quality character acting, several rafts in fact, lashed together into a “pontoon of excellence.”

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Reviewer: Dan Lentell (Seen 23 February)

Visit the Assembly Roxy Bedlam Church Hill Theatre Festival Theatre King’s Theatre Other Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot Summerhall The Lyceum The Stand Traverse archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

23Feb2015

‘The Caucasian Chalk Circle’ (Lyceum: 18 Feb. – 14 March ’15)

Posted in 4*, Rated: Outstanding, The Lyceum, Theatre by Alan Brown

Grusha :Amy Manson
Photo: Alan McCredie

“Compelling”

4 Stars: Outstanding

‘Standing between doorway and gateway, she heard
Or thought she heard …’

Listen up, “I’ve looked into the pockets of the rich and that is [considered] bad language.” Here is a contemporary, full-on production of Bertolt Brecht’s great and humane play; its profane political resonances not so much hanging in the air as gusting out of the wind machine. As it goes, these days and then, HSBC (Swiss arm) could be up there on the gallows with the town judge, the Chief Tax Collector and the rest. At a grim stretch, you’ve seen what’s happening in the eastern Ukraine, well, here we go again.

We’re talking piastres of indeterminate (Ottoman?) origin rather than of pound, franc or euro but who cares provided you’ve got a shedload? And that’s the economics of the piece: “Those who had no share in the fortunes of the mighty / Often have a share in their misfortunes.” Out of confusion, collapse, coup and revolution come the have-nots-have-all stories of brave Grusha and of His Worship the excellent, the most scurrilous Azdak. Theirs, in amongst the rifles, rape and the noose, is the unlikely, virtuous, lyrically unco traffic of our stage.

The Caucasian Chalk Circle is a play with songs and director Mark Thomson realises how entertaining it should and can be, in or out of the shadow of Soviet tractors. Sarah Swire, as the Singer-Narrator, is not Brecht’s ‘sturdy man of simple manners’ but a punchy and versatile performer whose style and presence guides and informs rather than commands. Cast members double as musicians and Composer/Musical Director Claire McKenzie creates a strong and urgent soundscape: the city falls to a fearsome clockwork beat; Grusha is held in a ghastly tango by her brute of a husband. There is dancing, quite rightly, at the close.

The Singer: Sarah Swire
Azdak: Christopher Fairbank
Photo: Alan McCredie

The Singer sings of once upon a time, for the legend of the circle of chalk is based upon an old Chinese play. At its centre Brecht places Grusha, the kitchen maid, who saves the Governor’s child and runs for the mountains. These are not kind times. Papa’s head ends up on a lance and soldiers are hunting them down. Grusha’s flight is perilous, not least when she’s crossing a 2000 foot drop on a half rotten bridge. This is terrifically staged, as befits the moment when ‘Grushna Vachnadze decided to be the child’s mother’. Thomson realizes that this play works when an audience is exposed to why people behave the way they do. Azdak’s decision not to hand over the fugitive Grand Duke makes sense when you are gripped by his arch reasoning. Trial by chalk circle is palpably, deliberately, grotesque but it’s a dramatic triumph.

Christopher Fairbank is a stomping success as Azdak. More the truculent Ariel than any burdened mage, he is the rogue Time Lord with an impish spirit who obliges and provokes in the blink of an eye. Amy Manson gives an unwavering performance as the steadfast Grusha and harvests all the sympathy that the audience as collective can supply. Nasty, uncomfortable menace comes from the Sergeant, frighteningly well played by Deborah Arnott whilst Shirley Darroch as fat Prince Kazbeki is a cigar chomping nightmare, only marginally offset by her blaring trombone.

Kazbeki: Shirley Darroch
Photo: Alan McCredie

Alistair Beaton’s translation matches the lucidity of his programme notes on translating Brecht but is not helped when the accents travel far and wide: from the Thames estuary to the Welsh valleys, to Birmingham, to the North East, and to Scots, high and low. Strained rather than epic, I thought. And light features like smooth, RP-ridden lawyers, Barbour-clad farmers, mobiles, and a Lidl bag signify too much, too unnecessarily. You can speak uber German, I’m told, but all the same posh English for the ‘upper’ class is becoming too easy a target to mean much.

Still, “All pleasures have to be rationed” says the Girl Tractor Driver. Actually, not so in this eager and compelling production.

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 21 February)

Visit The Caucasian Chalk Circle at the Lyceum here.

Visit the Assembly Roxy Bedlam Church Hill Theatre Festival Theatre King’s Theatre Other Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot Summerhall The Lyceum The Stand Traverse archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

20Feb2015

‘Leap in Time’ : Erich Salomon and Barbara Klemm (Stills: 07 February – 05 April ’15)

Posted in 4*, Exhibitions, Other, Rated: Outstanding by Michelle Lee Leonard

Image: The Fall of the Wall, Berlin (1989) Barbara Klemm. © Barbara Klemm

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‘ Isolating the unguarded human moment within the ebb and flow of history ‘

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

‘My aim is to document things that everyone can see if they want to but that people do not really notice in the course of their everyday lives… To record the unspectacular, something that takes place in public everywhere and is able to tell part of the story of our lives …’ — Barbara Klemm

Photojournalism is a strange beast. With its origins in war photography, the medium straddles the documentary aspirations of reportage and the loftier aspirations of artistic photography – with the best examples able to move seamlessly from one to the other. Such is the case with the images that make up the current exhibition at the Stills gallery, ‘Leap in Time’: Erich Salomon & Barbara Klemm. Organised in conjunction with the Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen/Institute for Cultural Relations (IFA), Germany, and the Goethe-Institut, Glasgow, this exhibition presents the work of two of Germany’s most profoundly influential and sensitive photographers. Though there is no overlap in the careers of Salomon and Klemm, together their work provides a deep, poignant and multifaceted view of twentieth century German life.

Upon entering the exhibition space at Stills many visitors will be tempted to linger among the more recognisable and recent subjects of Barbara Klemm’s work in the front gallery. For the sake of chronology, however, I would recommend charging through to the rear gallery and beginning with the work of Erich Salomon. Though he took to photography late in life, Salomon’s innovations came to dominate the golden age of photojournalism, including coining the phrase “the candid camera” and pioneering “hidden camera” techniques in his work – famously cutting a hole for the camera lens in his bowler hat. With his education, wealth and social standing, Salomon found easy access to the highest echelons of Weimar society. Such access allowed him to photograph scenes such as the Reichstag debating chamber, private meeting rooms at the League of Nations and The Hague, imbuing the scenes with a reality and a human urgency that leaves the printed word behind.

Salomon’s social access extended beyond politics, and the exhibition includes candid and personal photographs of contemporary celebrities, including an intimate photograph of Marlene Dietrich on the telephone with her daughter. Even without celebrity subjects, Salomon’s work is characterised by his ability to capture unguarded moments, those opportunities to peek behind the curtain of public events and see the actors as fellow human beings.

Barbara Klemm’s portion of the exhibition, which occupies the front gallery, the stairwell and the reception area one floor below, beautifully parallels that of Erich Salomon. Though Klemm’s career spanned from the 1960s through to the 1990s, the loose groupings of celebrity, politics, society, and social commentary retain their power. Working at a time when photojournalism had become codified as a profession, there are necessarily differences between Klemm’s work and Salomon’s, but Klemm nonetheless shares Salomon’s gift for isolating the unguarded human moment within the ebb and flow of history. She possesses an uncanny ability to capture the individual at a moment when they stand for something greater than themselves.

Nowhere is this skill more evident than in Klemm’s political photography. Covering the tumultuous period surrounding Germany’s reunification, Klemm’s photographs manage to display great tension and joy, but they also find moments of stillness and contemplation – often within the same image. Among my personal favourites is the photograph, View Over the Wall, Berlin 1977. Here the ominous, monolithic imagery of the Berlin wall dominates the space, while the mood is gently subverted by the presence of two men casually standing and chatting atop an unmanned watchtower while a young boy playfully perches on the tower railing.

Notably, within this exhibition of twentieth century German photography there are few overt references to the Second World War. In fact, the Nazis make a lone, foreboding appearance in Salomon’s photograph National Socialists in Their Party Uniform in the Reichstag, Berlin, 30 October 1930. From a purely practical perspective this was because Salomon didn’t photograph them; he largely disregarded the Nazis and considered their actions unworthy of his interest. He was able to leave Germany for Holland and worked in The Hague but was detained during the Occupation. He died in Auschwitz in July 1944.

This is not to say that the war is ignored by the exhibition; its antecedents and effects are as present in both photographers’ work as they are in the lives they photographed. Rather, the effect of this absence on the exhibition is akin to that of the candid portraiture in both artists’ work. The goal of such photography is to catch the rarely seen side of a subject we’ve seen so often that we feel we know it. The combined work of Barbara Klemm and Erich Salomon create a complex portrait of Germany that is often overlooked, shining a light on the more private, unguarded and human side of the country’s recent history.

Reviewer: Michelle Lee Leonard

Visit Stills here

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

20Feb2015

‘Sister Act’ (King’s: 18 – 21 February ’15)

Posted in 4*, King's Theatre, Rated: Nae Bad, Theatre by Amy King

“Divine”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Nae Bad

‘The Bohemians’, established in 1909, are one of Edinburgh’s major amateur musical companies.

Sister Act was one of the first DVDs I was ever given as a child. There was always a magic to the film that I adored and Whoopi Goldberg never failed to have me dancing and singing along with the other nuns. Cheri and Bill Steinkellner adapted the Whoopi Goldberg classic for stage; something I am so glad they did. Bohemians’ director Colin Cairncross took on the challenge, bringing to the stage a production full of vivacity and talent. For an amateur production, this show really did impress.

Ian Monteith-Mathie took on the role of Musical Director for this production and worked with Alan Menken’s music score to create a beautiful sound from the performers – the harmonies in the full cast numbers were incredible. His orchestra carried the cast through the show in funky rhythms and soulful melodies.

Niloo-Far Khan took a walk in Whoopi’s shiny heeled boots as Deloris Van Cartier and commanded stage with ease. Vocally, her performance was faultless and she gave great gusto to her character. Her on-stage rapport with Mother Superior – portrayed by Dorothy Johnstone – was as entertaining as it was electric. The pair shone in the spotlight as they battled to prove the other wrong before finally reconciling their differences. Johnstone carried a wisdom about her that was evident in both action and song and her protective instincts towards the nuns shone through. It was truly delightful to witness the transformation of the choir of nuns – the resulting musicality from the hard work of Deloris (and Monteith-Mathie) raised hairs on the neck. It was, for lack of a better word, divine.

Officer Eddie Souther lamented that he “Could Be That Guy” and if he was referring to a talented singer and a joy to watch on stage, then Gareth Brown certainly was “that guy”. His soft, awkward character was greatly set against the imposing Curtis Jackson. Padraig Hamrogue’s portrayal of Curtis was reminiscent of the black and white gangster movies – his menacing demeanour coupled with a bluesy bass range created an imposing mobster who demanded respect through fear. His three henchmen, Joey, TJ and Pablo juxtaposed his dark humour by lighting the stage with their comical desperation to please their boss. Thomas MacFarlane, Lewis McKenzie and Andrew Knox really threw themselves into their characters and greatly entertained the audience with their antics – their song, “Lady in the Long Black Dress”, was hysterical, offering the comic trio a real chance to hustle the limelight.

The show was bathed in colour. The costumes – a superb effort from Jean Wood and Liz Kenyon – were fantastic; Lighting Designer Jonnie Clough filled the stage with a complex programme of spotlights, colourwashes and dazzling effects. The set design from UK Productions Ltd, although perhaps too large and busy for the stage space, was certainly impressive in its detail. This production was full of glitz and glamour; even the nuns were able to lose the basic black habit for something a little (or a lot) more colourful. The cast raised their voices and they raised the roof. This was an uplifting performance and a fantastic show.

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Reviewer: Amy King (Seen 18 February)

Visit ‘The Bohemians‘ here

Visit the King’s Theatre archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

13Feb2015

‘The Vagina Monologues’ (Teviot: 11, 13 -14 February ’15)

Posted in 4*, Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot, Rated: Outstanding, Theatre by Amy King

“No hiding.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Let’s talk about what it means to be a woman, and let’s be real about it.

That is the message of The Vagina Monologues from Edinburgh University’s Relief Theatre.

There was no hiding from the awkwardness of the topic. Director Rachel Bussom was not about to allow for the comfort of anonymity that an audience can revel in, cloaked in darkness and removed from the stage space. This theatre-in-the-round was intimate and uncomfortable and sobering. A lack of props kept this show from feeling like a staged event. Instead, it took on the live and shameless persona of an organic story-telling. The close proximity to the actors in a brightly lit room created a close connection; a sense of shared identity regardless of age or gender.

Sex is a common theme in theatre, but sexuality is more obscure. Obscurer still is female sexuality in all its forms. Not today. Today, women were talking, or in the case of Julia Carstairs they were shouting, about vaginas and everything that comes with them.

For instance: hair. Martha Myers’ exasperation and resignation shone through as she hit home about the societal pressures attached to expectations of body image – something Julia Carstairs’ first monologue, “My Short Skirt”, energetically pulled apart.

The combined efforts of the narrators, Ella Rogers, Caitlin McLean and Maddie Haynes, along with Marina Johnson’s statistical ‘Factbook’, kept the show current and hard-hitting – an impressive task considering the original show premiered nineteen years ago and society’s views on women and womanhood have changed since then. That this strong production is dedicated to the transgender community is also properly noteworthy.

Carstairs’ second monologue, “Cunt”, was a valiant attempt to reclaim a word used solely now as a derogatory term. Her exploration of sound, language and pace was invigorating and allowed a positive humour to surround the controversial language. That humour was carried on by En Thompson who offered a passionate performance in honour of her “Angry Vagina”. Her bluntness and frustration was eye-opening and tore through long-accepted notions of what womanhood means and entails.

Her anger was shared and increased tenfold in a gut-wrenching performance by Kirstyn Petras who fiercely conveyed the utter devastation of the Bosnian women who had been interviewed by playwright Eve Ensler after being subjected to the horror of rape camps. Petras pulled no punches, emulating a loathing that raised hairs and drew tears – the pain so tangible and the truth unbearable.

Jezneen Belleza may have been talking about vaginas, but her performance certainly took a pair of brass ones. As “The Woman Who Loved Vaginas”, she discussed the life of a sex worker with an honesty and intensity that, despite some more uncomfortable moments, made it impossible not to watch, listen and laugh. She lightened the mood with comedic re-enactments and did so with a grace that kept the story from becoming farcical. Instead, her frank analysis reached deep into the beauty and magic of female sexuality.

Both Isobel Dew and Siân Davies tackled sexuality and body image in a kinder manner – managing to capture the incredible feeling of self-discovery, and the subsequent elation, in a beautiful way. Sophie Harris, too, carried an air of hope in her phoenix-like rising from such a dark place to a position of acceptance and learning. Meanwhile, Ruth Brown’s impressive embodiment of generations gone by in her recollection of “The Flood” brought an endearing humour as well as a sense of pity and despair to the play. For Danielle Farrow it is the sheer beauty of womanhood and nature that matters as she recounted being present for the birth of her granddaughter. Her testimony was infectious and heart-warming.

Leaving the venue, I felt elated and empowered. This is an inspiring production that entertains, empathises and educates. Bussom, assistant director Mary McGuire and sole male of the team – producer Jacob Close – bring together a group of really talented women who do themselves, and all women, justice.

Reviewer: Amy King (Seen 11 February)

Go to Relief Theatre at EUSA here

Visit the Potterrow & Teviot archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

11Feb2015

‘Rent’ (Churchill Theatre: 10 – 14 February ’15)

Posted in 5*, Church Hill Theatre, Dance, Music, Rated: Nae Bad, Theatre by Dan Lentell

“Meenan is on interstellar form. His lightning fast, fluid movements suggest he’d be the one to back in a 2-on-1 prize fight against Jackie Chan and Dame Edna.”

Editorial Rating: 5 Stars: Nae Bad

“Dove sono le Puccini?” The gondolier looked up excitedly, “le puttane?!” “Err… no mate. Le Puccini? Opera a palazzo.” The Venetian working-man seemed disappointed. “Non è così buono,” he muttered sadly as we glided off towards an intimate encounter with La bohème.

Italian Giacomo Puccini adapted the narrative from Frenchman Henri Murger’s vignettes about Paris’ bohemian denizens. A century after La bohème’s 1896 premiere in Turin, American Jonathan Larson’s rock musical reimagining opened on New York’s Broadway. From there Rent emerged for one of the longest, most commercially successful, runs in musical history. Murger’s Scènes de la vie de bohème have thus been around the block so many times, the Gondolier’s puttane might have seemed positively virginal by comparison.

It’s Christmas Eve in the East Village. It’s a time before hipsters. A filmmaker and a rock musician – two noble artists, both alike in poverty – are told by their ex-roommate, now their current landlord, that they must pay the back rent owed. Solemnly they refuse. Joe Christie (as filmmaker Mark) and Nitai Levi (as rock musician Roger) establish strong leads, demonstrating possession of the several narrative arcs, the prism through which Larson’s sketchy urban landscape emerges. Jonathan Ip as landlord Benny demonstrates a determined gravity that centres the action.

Rent’s cast of bohemian characters provide fertile ground for a company well-suited to clever character studies. As Tom Collins – the maverik, homosexual college professor – Benjamin Aluwihare stands out as one of those student performers you hope will graduate into the major league. It’s all the more impressive because he is sharing the stage, romance and tragedy with Scott Meenan (as Angel, Collins’ cross-dressing significant other).

Meenan is on interstellar form. His lightning fast, fluid movements suggest he’d be the one to back in a 2-on-1 prize fight against Jackie Chan and Dame Edna. Meenan is camp, courageous, charming and – above all – courteous – daring to share the limelight so as to shine more brightly.

Not since Lily Cade met India Summers has a sapphic combo been as hot as the pairing of Caroline Elms (as lesbian lawyer Joanne) and Roz Ford (as bisexual performance artist Maureen). Both have superb presence, a mastery of pace and comic timing. Together they’re an alchemy reminiscent of Candice Bergen in Murphy Brown, Carla Gugino in Spin City, or Moira Kelly in The West Wing.

If Rent was truly bohemian (rather than theatrical hand sanitizer) we might have seen Rachael Anderson tumbled into their heady mix in a ménage-à-hell-yeah. Anderson’s jaw dropping portrayal of erotic dancer Mimi slips the surly bonds of physicality, lifting this production into a godlike orbit, circling the clumsy trendiness of Lawson’s checklist re-rendering of La Belle Époque original.

Eilidh Bruce Bass’ costumes establish the production’s look and feel as high 90s – existing somewhere between when Fraiser stopped looking like Cheers, but before Friends stopped looking like Seinfeld. Her clever attention to detail provides a palette of subtle retrospection on the period, touching up where Rent’s oh-so earnest themes have faded. The costumes achieve the remarkable feat of blending with the set without being lost in it.

And it really is a brilliant set. The band are incorporated without being outsourced to a balcony or platform. The back lighting comes through grimy green industrial window panes, each one an individual tale of neglect underscoring the dramatic meaning rising from below. The ensemble draw the various levels together passing props up and down with never a fumble. The stage right lighting rig is part of the set. That tubular grey lattice – which in most productions needs to be blanked out by the mind’s eye – it’s hanging there, at an angle, bold as brass. Who’d have thunk it? Well Andrew McDivitt did and it’s why his set designs are worth the ticket price alone (and then some).

As musical theatre Rent is what it is from when it was. The songs aren’t especially catchy, the narrative arcs are a muddled rainbow, the characters are embalmed in worthy sentiment. Jonathan Larson’s tragic death on the opening night of his work in progress denied audiences the chance to see the tweaks and changes he might have made.

Still, it’s hard not to get excited when Footlight’s production time comes around. High professional standards abound, not least from the ensemble who supercharge everything with which they come into contact. First-timer Campbell Keith is first among equals for his infectious enthusiasm, commitment and drive.

For me, as an essentially sedentary being, watching this cast might be what a flightless penguin feels looking up at a flock of starlings – isn’t it marvellous! How do they co-ordinate like that? And what kind of fish do they catch in the sky?

—

Reviewer: Dan Lentell (Seen 10 February)

Visit Rent & the Edinburgh University Footlights here.

Visit the Assembly Roxy Bedlam Church Hill Theatre Festival Theatre King’s Theatre Other Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot Summerhall The Lyceum The Stand Traverse archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

9Feb2015

♫ ‘A French Feast’, RSNO (Usher Hall, 6 Feb.’15)

Posted in 4*, Music, Rated: Outstanding, Usher Hall by davidjonesedinburgh

“Müller-Schott’s cello lines sing”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars Outstanding

A ‘French Feast’ of music with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra

Tall, dark-haired, handsome, talented, humble, charming – yet I still cannot begrudge him anything. Daniel Müller-Schott was the immensely capable German solo cellist taking part in tonight’s performance of a ‘French Feast’ of music with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. In a talk in the bar of the Usher Hall with RSNO violinist Ursula Heidecker Allen prior to the concert, Müller-Schott described his musical ability as being “his mother’s fault”, she being an accomplished harpsichord player who always had the house full of music and musicians when he was growing up. He had many anecdotes, including the time his friend Philipp Lahm, former captain of the German football team, came to his house. Lahm had a go on Müller-Schott’s cello but professed that he might find it easier if he could play it with his feet!

This concert, of largely Romantic music, kicked off without the cellist. César Franck’s Les Éolides is a symphonic poem based on a poem of the same name and was composed during the latter part of his life when, as professor of organ music at the Paris Conservatoire, he was at his happiest and his work was more refined. The beginning of this piece has a lot of exposed entries by different orchestral groups and unfortunately one of the brass entries slightly misfired, but it was largely unnoticed by the audience. The silver-haired Gilbert Varga, conducting, has a very elegant baton style and strikes a debonair pose on the podium. He conducted without a score and, despite being a guest conductor, connected really well with the orchestra, conveying subtleties within the subdued dynamics which really evoked the ebb and flow of the wind subject of the original poem.

Müller-Schott joined the orchestra for Camille Saint-Saëns’ Cello Concerto No.1 in A-minor. I liked the programme. French-born Saint-Saëns wrote the piece for Belgian cellist Tolbecque; Franck, whose music came before, became a citizen of France but was originally Belgian. Ok, maybe I’m just being a bit of a sad europhile, but it tickled me. What anybody could appreciate, however, was the quality of the performance. This is a gem of a piece of music anyway; regarded by Rachmaninoff, no less, as the best cello concerto ever written. But Müller-Schott’s cello lines sing, achieving a remarkably consistent tone from the lowest open strings through to the highest register, from dazzlingly quick triplets to whole phrases in harmonics. He achieves the hardest thing: to make the virtuosic look effortless. Müller-Schott’s own modesty showed through in the music as he let the music speak and it spoke magnificently.

The melancholic Elégie to follow was all emotion and so beautiful. Every time I hear Fauré’s music I always think “I must listen to more Fauré”. I suppose it’s akin to watching the Olympics and vowing to get fit, you know it’s good for you. The audience loved Müller-Schott’s performances and did not want to let him go. For his encore he played a movement from one of Benjamin Britten’s cello concertos. I feared at first that it would be a little too discordant for the ‘French Feast’ audience but they lapped it up. I think he could have played anything!

Some conductors are a bit too up themselves to even attempt to engage meaningfully with an audience, but Varga is not one of them and he made a deliberate, helpful, effort to introduce and explain each piece. After the intermission he quoted Einstein, “Imagination is stronger than knowledge”, and explained that “we musicians give you food for your imaginations, especially in Ravel’s Five Tales from Childhood”. Ma mère l’Oye (Mother Goose) is the collective title for them. It was a pleasant surprise to see a conductor who has the courage to get the strings to play so quietly for conductors are often “More string, please!” and it really allowed the woodwind soloists to be fully ‘cantabile’. Orchestral lead Maya Iwabuchi enjoyed some lovely, very expressive, solo lines in the 4th and 5th sections.

The finale was Ravel’s La Valse, a hugely fun, engaging piece of music which I think is difficult to get right but which the RSNO pulled-off with energy and precision. Varga’s conducting became purposefully jerky and robotic towards the end, hamming-up the idea of the music representing a petulant child breaking up his ‘waltz’ toy to make something more mechanical, supposedly better, but actually more ferocious and alarming.

Great entertainment and musical good times! We can be proud to have a national orchestra such as this and with upcoming programmes to suit a variety of tastes I would certainly recommend supporting them at a concert near you soon.

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Reviewer: David Jones (Seen 6 February)

Visit RSNO here. Visit Usher Hall here.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

5Feb2015

‘Journey’s End’ (Bedlam: 3 – 7 February ’15)

Posted in 3*, Rated: Nae Bad, Theatre by Dan Lentell

“That was a damn plucky sparrow. Did you hear it chirping away, all through the final artillery bombardment?”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars: Nae Bad

Recent findings, reported in The Journal of Rhetorical Geology, suggest that the best seams of theatrical pathos (the awakening of emotion) are to be found in the scarred and sacred landscape of the Great War. There pathos in its purest form can be located, under layer upon layer of cultural sediment laid down by successive generations struggling to comprehend the bloodshed.

Extracting pathos is relatively simple. Pop down to Armstrongs, buy a few green jackets, then sit around on stage acting out various combinations of maudlin, keen, world-weary and surprisingly chipper. Refining said pathos, into something worthy of the sacrifice of the young men who actually lived and suffered through the realities of trench warfare is, however a much taller order.

We enter to find one of the best sets ever seen at Bedlam. The officers’ dugout is constructed of little more than canvas and suggestion. Somehow it’s both claustrophobic and snugly, a shelter against Gerry’s wizzbangs, a petri dish for festering resentments. Here a mixed cast will achieve mixed results unraveling the social nuance and dark humour of R. C. Sherriff’s classic script.

Based on the writer’s own experience as a Captain on the Western Front, Journey’s End has been revised time and again. It first opened in 1928, starring Laurence Olivier as Stanhope, the company commander stretched passed the limits of mental and physical endurance. It’s the story of men living among the wreckage of their youth, uncertain of their future, certain that nothing can be as it was before.

EUTC’s Ben Schofield steps confidently into the breech focusing his fire on Stanhope’s relationship with the recently posted 2nd Lieutenant Raleigh, a greenhorn from his pre-war past. Tom Trower captures Raleigh’s hero worship of Stanhope without neglecting his own dramatic narrative. A fine bromance disintegrates before our eyes. It’s the one theme signed, sealed, and delivered enough to satisfy even the most finickity marker of an English Lit paper.

Ross Baillie as Osbourne, Stanhope’s second in command, brings Jovian gravity to the picture. His coupling of calm self-possession to undertones of physical menace are reminiscent of those Scottish Green Party political broadcasts featuring The Hound from Game of Thrones. Alex Andrassy provides equally strong character work, catching the comic value of Private Mason, the Baldrickian mess cook, with a bittersweet distillation of timing and physicality.

Jari Fowkes, as Lt. Trotter, bowls the social googly. Trotter isn’t one of the chaps, he’s come up through the ranks. Despite baiting the hook with almost every non-RP middle-class accent variation from the Thames estuary to West Yorkshire, none of the other actors bite and a trick is missed. Ciara Chapman, as the unaccountably poshest Sergeant-Major in British military history, underscores a glaring oversight – yes, the play is set in France, but it’s about a changing Britain.

There are moments when this production is utterly captivating, the acting sharp, the discipline, focus and effort obvious. Equally there are times – such as when a sparrow continues to sing through the final bombardment (rather than poignantly waiting for peace to break out like how John Lloyd had it) – that you find yourself wishing for something informed by more than Blackadder Goes Forth. You start to wish that this had been a production referencing more broadly the artistic expression, across every medium, which the Western Front continues to inspire.

Then the ending reveal happens, the set transforms, and it’s magnificent.

—

Reviewer: Dan Lentell (Seen 5 February)

Visit the Assembly Roxy Bedlam Church Hill Theatre Festival Theatre King’s Theatre Other Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot Summerhall The Lyceum The Stand Traverse archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

Get Your Coats On

and go see this!

Category Archives: *Ratings

‘Equus’ (Bedlam: 3 – 7 March ’15)

“You’re out there with the cowboys”

‘Bitter Sweet’ (Discover 21 Theatre: 27 Feb -1 March ’15)

“Distorted Love”

‘Twelve Angry Men’ (King’s: 23 – 28 February ’15)

“Such astute casting goes to show why people go to shows produced by Bill Kenwright.”

‘The Caucasian Chalk Circle’ (Lyceum: 18 Feb. – 14 March ’15)

“Compelling”

‘Leap in Time’ : Erich Salomon and Barbara Klemm (Stills: 07 February – 05 April ’15)

‘ Isolating the unguarded human moment within the ebb and flow of history ‘

‘Sister Act’ (King’s: 18 – 21 February ’15)

“Divine”

‘The Vagina Monologues’ (Teviot: 11, 13 -14 February ’15)

“No hiding.”

‘Rent’ (Churchill Theatre: 10 – 14 February ’15)

“Meenan is on interstellar form. His lightning fast, fluid movements suggest he’d be the one to back in a 2-on-1 prize fight against Jackie Chan and Dame Edna.”

♫ ‘A French Feast’, RSNO (Usher Hall, 6 Feb.’15)

“Müller-Schott’s cello lines sing”

‘Journey’s End’ (Bedlam: 3 – 7 February ’15)

“That was a damn plucky sparrow. Did you hear it chirping away, all through the final artillery bombardment?”