Saturday, August 13, 2011

Review: The Wolf (Network Theatre)

The big bad wolf is perhaps the most Freudian of fairytale characters, a figure of corruption and carnal sexuality. The Hungarian playwright Ferenc Molnár’s (probably best known to English speaking audiences for Liliom, which inspired Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel) 1912 bourgeois marital comedy The Wolf is a fairly unknown beast, receiving its first British airing since 1973 in a production by Sturdy Beggars (a young ensemble of Poor School graduates) at the elusive Network Theatre, a perfectly proportioned black box tucked away under the arches of Waterloo station. Molnár’s interest in Freud is evident in his portrayal of repressed desires that surface in dreams, which become different with time and reality (and makes the act two twist more interesting than an old cliché). It’s a farce with a bleak edge; rather than domestic harmony being restored at the end when the wolf turns out to be a gauche middle manager, the husband and wife both break down in tears.

Eugene and Vilma Kelemen are having an early dinner out before returning home to prepare for a high society soirée hosted by a countess, at which Eugene intends to seal an important business deal that should earn a million kronen for Vilma’s future happiness. Kelemen, who is not handsome, witty, nor dashing, is madly jealous with an inferiority complex, unable to come to terms with his luck in marrying her. He feels as if he needs to pay her off in order to prove his love. As they bicker, a mysterious stranger, recognised by the prattling cavalry officers at the neighbouring table, enters the restaurant. Kelemen recognises him from an old photograph as Vilma’s former suitor George Szabo, who seven years previously vowed to win her back, leading to a series of interrogations and fantasies that become increasingly nightmarish.

Brendan Jones’s neurotic Kelemen isn’t exactly endearing, but he makes his character’s obsessive paranoia plausible. Katherine French, while a tad shrill, is a good foil for Jones with her portrayal of “an honest, upstanding woman without an ounce of romanticism”, a model of self-denial dressed in virginal white who also harbours fantasies for something more exciting. Alexander Andreou makes light work of portraying five different versions of the same character: a world-weary military hero (who enslaved a small Balkan nation for his beloved), a dashing attaché, a broadly comic baritone (in Rigoletto costume), a humble servant and finally the anticlimactic reality. Andrew Mudie and Dan Addis make a very amusing double act and Josie Martin milks some of the broadest comedy as the fainting countess.

Jamie Harper’s light-handed staging benefits from pleasing production values (a nicely homey design by Charlotte Randell, with cleverly dismantling furniture to create different settings), atmospheric lighting (by Dan Addis) and neatly choreographed transitions between scenes (though the prancing with the furniture is a little excessive). While it does take rather a long time to wrap everything up, it’s an accomplished and spirited production of an intriguing play, offering a welcome glimpse into the richness of turn-of-the-century European theatre.

Written for Exeunt

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Review: Crazy for You (Open Air Theatre)

The Open Air Theatre never cancels a performance due to bad weather before the starting time and, true to form, the show certainly went on in the face of civil unrest on a deceptively beautifully clear evening. Regent’s Park provides a cocoon of tranquillity for this George and Ira Gershwin musical comedy that was devised in 1993 as a ‘trunk’ musical using Girl Crazy (1930) with its East Coast–Wild West clash as a starting point. It’s filled with songs from the Gershwin catalogue and features an original book by Ken Ludwig (who wrote Lend Me A Tenor) in the spirit of Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland “Let’s put on a show!” extravaganzas, which relies rather too heavily on post-modern nudge-nudge-wink-wink jibes. It’s a perfectly preposterous bit of hokum with wonderful music and Timothy Sheader directs with great flair, but it does feel somewhat less satisfying than recent Regent’s Park offerings Into The Woods and Hello, Dolly! due to the lack of a really well-written book.

The hero, Bobby, is a young man who works in a bank but longs to be a dancer in the Zangler Follies. Dominated by his bossy mother and a disapproving fiancée, he’s sent to Deadrock, Nevada, a depressed mining town in the “armpit of the American West” to repossess a disused theatre and (literally) falls head over heels for the feisty Polly, the daughter of the theatre’s owner. When Polly doesn’t want anything to do with him after discovering that he’s from the bank, Bobby decides to impersonate the impresario Bela Zangler in order to put on a benefit show to save the theatre. His gaggle of lady friends from the follies (all wonderful dancers) turn the ranchers into dancers, but an audience fails to materialise. As soon as morale is re-established, the real Zangler turns up and confusion ensues.

In true Regent’s Park style, the staging is delightful: Peter McKintosh’s wooden set nimbly revolves between the flashing lights of Broadway and the barrenness of Nevada. Stephen Mear’s choreography is vibrant as always, with lots of elegant Fred-and-Ginger style soft-shoe and it particularly shines in the quirkier moments that integrate homespun props with the Broadway glitz. There’s excellent work from musical director Gareth Valentine. providing an exuberant sound throughout . Credit is also due to the pigeon cleverly circling above during ‘Someone to Watch Over Me.’

American performer Sean Palmer is a true triple threat, brimming with natural charm and elegance, as well as being an excellent mimic. His leading lady Clare Foster is full of pep and also has an affecting wistfulness underneath her fierce façade. Kim Medcalf gets to explore her vampy side when her prim and proper New Yorker, antagonised by Michael McKell’s bit of rough, discovers her inner ‘Naughty Baby’ and David Burt has fun as the volatile Hungarian impresario. Harriet Thorpe and Samuel Holmes are also highly entertaining as a pair of jolly hockey-sticks British explorers clad in safari khakis. Their solution of a ‘Stiff Upper Lip’ and a nice cup of tea in the threat of adversity seemed remarkably prescient.

It’s very lively and glittery, a world away from any real-life troubles. The anti-materialist sentiment of ‘I Got Rhythm’ is a heartening one – an inspirational message to bear in mind

Written for Exeunt

Monday, August 1, 2011

Review: Dames at Sea (Union Theatre)

Dames at Sea is an affectionate homage to frothy ‘a star is born’ 1930s musicals, a cross between 42nd Street, Anything Goes and On The Town. It premiered off-Broadway in 1966 starring a very young Bernadette Peters (who was herself a last-minute replacement). Jim Wise’s score is sprightly and tuneful, while George Haimsohn and Robin Miller’s lyrics and book are playfully knowing and referential, without being in the least bit cynical. The story of an unknown dancer, who goes out on the poop deck a chorus girl and comes back a star and the new sweetheart to the US Navy, is presented with exquisite style and humour in Kirk Jameson’s production at the Union Theatre, with a sweetness rarely equalled by West End extravaganzas.

Our plucky heroine Ruby (named after 42nd Street’s star Ruby Keeler) arrives in New York from Utah with only a worn pair of tap shoes to her name; she lands a chorus line spot replacing a girl who has eloped with a rich patron, and promptly faints in the arms of song writing sailor Dick, who happens to be from the same tiny town in Utah. To Ruby’s jealousy, Dick finds himself preyed upon by the star of the show Mona Kent, the legendary “Lady Macbeth of 42nd Street”. When the theatre is bulldozed to make way for a roller skating rink during the dress rehearsal, the show is relocated to the battleship where Dick is stationed, and it transpires that Mona isn’t a good sailor. No setback is too intimidating for this team – when the chorus boys sink, the sailors line up to audition.

The entire cast is a joy: Gemma Sutton is kittenish and apple-cheeked as Ruby, with a delightful voice, touching vulnerability and the wholesome sensuality of a Betty Grable or Alice Faye. She’s well paired with the sweet Daniel Bartlett (in his professional debut) as her love interest. Catriana Sandison displays great verve and powerful pipes as Ruby’s more worldly friend Joan, and has an engaging rapport with Alan Hunter as her on-off sailor boyfriend, Lucky. The Phantom of the Opera’s original Carlotta Rosemary Ashe is a hybrid of Ethel Merman and Bette Davis, making an indomitable diva who stops at nothing to stay the top. There’s fun character work from Anthony Wise as the show’s harassed director and Ian Mowat as Mona’s old flame Captain ‘Kewpie Doll’ Courageous, and the ensemble are charming.

Drew McOnie’s choreography is a witty delight, including a wistful dream sequence for Ruby, a dramatic Latin-flavoured number as Mona and the Captain renew their acquaintance and even a bit of synchronised swimming in the Union’s confines. The chaotic backstage area is characterised by an array of trunks and crates and a curtain of $100 bills (by Kingsley Hall, who also provides the vibrant costumes – his first design credit). Steve Miller’s lighting is amongst the most creative I’ve ever seen in a fringe show and the twin pianos (MD Richard Bates) are jauntily played.

This is perfect summer feel-good theatre that made me smile and laugh throughout (though the ‘Oriental’ ‘Singapore Sue’ number could be eliminated…). Pastiche can often pale in comparison to the real thing, but this production is an irresistible slice of fun that showcases everything that is good about fringe musicals.

Written for A Younger Theatre