Much of Sean Holmes' last season at the Lyric Hammersmith has been about revisiting notable moments from his time as Artistic Director, and for the finale (the upcoming Noises Off revival appears to be something of a filler show between regimes) he brings back Kneehigh, a company who've had a couple of residencies at the theatre during Holmes' time there. They're also, of course, a company I've tended not to get along with, but it's been a couple of years under new management so it's got to be worth a fresh look. And while Dead Dog in a Suitcase (and other love songs) has much of the trademark inventive chaos, it's probably safe to say that Emma Rice took her whimsy gun with her when she left. John Gay's The Beggar's Opera has been an endless source material for adaptation and reinterpretation over the centuries, and in Carl Grose (writer) and Charles Hazlewood's (music) hands it becomes an anarchist rock/ska Punch and Judy show.
Writing down what I think about theatre I've seen in That London, whether I've been asked to or not.
Showing posts with label Beverly Rudd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beverly Rudd. Show all posts
Friday, 31 May 2019
Thursday, 22 November 2012
Theatre review: The Magistrate
Things haven't gone smoothly this year for the National's annual Christmas extravaganza: After taking the unusual, for them, step of putting tickets for The Count of Monte Cristo on sale nearly six months in advance, they then had to refund them when they decided the adaptation wasn't ready. Instead Timothy Sheader, who had been down to direct that show, was put in charge of a starry production of Arthur Wing Pinero's Victorian farce The Magistrate. When widow Agatha (Nancy Carroll) met the amiable magistrate Posket (John Lithgow) on holiday, she knocked five years off her age to seem more marriageable. Now they're married and back in London, Agatha's spotted a flaw in her plan: Her son Cis (Joshua McGuire,) whose fondness for port, cigarettes and groping his piano teacher (Sarah Ovens) seems a bit mature for a 14-year-old. That's because to make her lie work, his mother also knocked five years of Cis' age, and he's really 19.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Theatre review: Soho Cinders
PREVIEW DISCLAIMER: This review is of the penultimate preview performance.
Soho Cinders is a long-gestating project from Stiles and Drewe, the songwriters behind last year's Betty Blue Eyes and the new songs in Mary Poppins. And though musical theatre is famed for being popular with a gay audience, you can see why a show as overtly gay as this one wouldn't quite be looking at a big West End run. Instead it gets an appropriate berth as Soho Theatre, just up the road from its Old Compton Street setting. Robbie (Tom Milner) is a student whose mother died without leaving a will, leaving him at the mercy of the two stepsisters who want to get hold of the launderette that should rightfully be his to inherit. Instead Robbie has to support himself by becoming a rent boy, but he's also having a secret relationship with James Prince, a popular, engaged candidate for London mayor. (Although, how exactly it's a secret is anyone's guess; I'm sure there's less public meeting places than at the foot of the Trafalgar Square lions.)
Soho Cinders is a long-gestating project from Stiles and Drewe, the songwriters behind last year's Betty Blue Eyes and the new songs in Mary Poppins. And though musical theatre is famed for being popular with a gay audience, you can see why a show as overtly gay as this one wouldn't quite be looking at a big West End run. Instead it gets an appropriate berth as Soho Theatre, just up the road from its Old Compton Street setting. Robbie (Tom Milner) is a student whose mother died without leaving a will, leaving him at the mercy of the two stepsisters who want to get hold of the launderette that should rightfully be his to inherit. Instead Robbie has to support himself by becoming a rent boy, but he's also having a secret relationship with James Prince, a popular, engaged candidate for London mayor. (Although, how exactly it's a secret is anyone's guess; I'm sure there's less public meeting places than at the foot of the Trafalgar Square lions.)
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