Calendar Girls The Musical – review

This review first appeared in British Theatre Guide

David Pugh and Dafydd Rogers and The Schubert Organisation presents
Calendar Girls The Musical
by Gary Barlow and Tim Firth
Directed by Matt Ryan
De Montfort Hall, Leicester
16 October – 20 October

“Musical comedies aren’t written, they are re-written,” says Tim Firth, co-writer of Calendar Girls The Musical, and quoting Stephen Sondheim. Firth must be very familiar with the editing process: he co-wrote the 2003 film Calendar Girls, on which this musical is basedas well as the stage play which premièred in Chichester in 2008 before transferring to the West End in 2009.

Calendar Girls The Musical is a reworking of Firth and co-writer Gary Barlow’s The Girls, which ran for six months in the West End in 2017.

This latest production began a 30-week UK tour in Leeds in August and is based on the true story of one Yorkshire Women’s Institute group’s innovative and phenomenally successful method of raising money for a local hospital and charity following the death of a member’s husband.

Set in Knapeley, a small village in the Yorkshire Dales, the opening number “Yorkshire” immediately sets the tone of the whole show, serving as an anthem to the close-knit community’s green and pleasant land, and an introduction to the characters and their relationships. Robert Jones’s set is simple—the rolling Dales are the permanent backdrop, and we definitely know where we are.

There is charming and believable chemistry between lifelong friends Annie (Anna-Jane Casey) and Chris (Rebecca Storm) forming the core of this story. Following the death of Annie’s husband John (Phil Corbitt), her WI group resolves to help Annie raise money for a settee for the hospital after she endured many uncomfortable hours during visits. Chris’s idea of a nude calendar doesn’t go down well initially, however, as the group work through their individual insecurities (including issues with competitive scone-making), their final scenes of disrobing make for a triumphant climax.

By this time, we are with the actors all the way; the love and support for them swells the auditorium as artful poses are struck with buns, jam-making equipment, knitting and other WI-standard fare. Release, empowerment, taking control in an emotional journey—it’s all here.

A strong ensemble cast includes many powerhouses of British TV and stage, all impressive, but a special mention for Ruth Madoc as Jessie who gets the bulk of the best lines, delivers them with comic aplomb and sings a show-stopping “What Age Expects”.

Holding their own in amongst such star-studded company are the younger blood: Danny (Danny Howker), Tommo (Tyler Dobbs) and Jenny (Isabel Caswell), teenage children of Chris, Cora (Karen Dunbar) and Marie (Fern Britton) respectively, and an interesting counterpoint to the more middle-aged themes. This adds to the feeling of the continuance of a community; life goes on, after all.

There is something of Victoria Wood about the earthy and down-to-earth humour which saves this from being overly sentimental—it’s all relatable, witty and grounded and the style of Barlow’s songwriting suits the piece. He describes it as a patchwork quilt of songs and I feel this is right in that they sit well together, songs don’t necessarily stand out individually but work as a whole. Several are recitative, or sung-through dialogue, allowing a character’s thoughts to be shared.

As you might expect with a show about a calendar, there is a strong sense of how our lives are measured by marking time in different ways: anniversaries and traditions, the length of a friendship, when we want time to slow down and stop, the changing seasons, how to get from one day to the next when coping with grief and loss.

It has been said “join the WI for fun, friendship and enlightenment”, and Calendar Girls The Musical captures this spirit with warmth, humour and humanity.

Image provided by venue

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Another royal wedding? Let them eat cake (and bread and soup)

May 2018: warm and sunny for Meghan and Harry’s wedding.

October 2018: strangely warm, rather windy for Eugenie and Jack’s wedding.

Two happy couples, but of slightly more practical interest to me, two wedding cakes.

You might recall, H and M opted for a spring-like lemon and elderflower, my own version here.

E and J went for a red velvet cake. Unusual? Perhaps, and something of a newish phenomenon in the UK. I’ve been intrigued by this cake, although whenever sampled in a cafe it’s always seemed rather dry and disappointing.

I had questions: do you use beetroot? Yes, you can but it’s not vital. Is it a chocolate cake? Yes, kind of.

Looks like it’s time to have a go at another royal wedding cake.

After some hunting around, I tried this recipe from Georgina Hayden from Jamie Oliver’s team of chefs. She gives some background to the history of the cake and explains the ‘science bit’ (i.e. buttermilk, white wine vinegar, bicarbonate of soda).

I have to admit it is a bit of a faff, however, worth it for a special occasion cake. The texture is definitely velvety, it’s dense yet light, moist – all those wonderfully sensuous words and I love the hint of chocolate from the cocoa. The red colour during the mixing process is a little disconcerting, but all adds to the air of excitement!

As this was made on a bit of a whim, I didn’t have quite the right ingredients for the recommended icing, but next time I will be going the whole hog with cream cheese frosting.

Bread and a new soup

I’ve also been getting into bread making over the last couple of months. So far I have been following some of the recipes in Mary Berry’s Baking Bible with success (white loaf, cottage loaf, dinner rolls, soda bread). I love the science bit of the bread making process: sticky dough turning to smooth, application of elbow grease, the miracle of expansion, the golden crust as a loaf emerges in triumph from the oven.

With a royal wedding cake in the bag,  it seemed like the perfect time to make Mary’s bread crown. Great for tearing and sharing, and perfect with a new soup recipe I came up with, as ever out of necessity.

Trying to make room in the freezer, I took a 1kg bag of frozen cauliflower and broccoli florets. Soften a chopped onion, add a potato (peeled and chopped) and the bag of frozen veg, add enough stock to cover. With the lid on, let the soup bubble away for 20 mins or so, blend and season. Add water from the kettle if it’s too thick – this should make a good six portions or so of soup.

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Joygernaut – review

This review first appeared in Sabotage Reviews

Joygernaut
written and performed by Andy Craven-Griffiths
Attenborough Arts Centre, Leicester

Joy – what is it good for? Most would likely agree the answer is ‘quite a lot’, and as we wade our way through the negativity of the news, where is the joy in life?

Joygernaut aims to recalibrate our joy compass by re-connecting with kindness, both giving and receiving. Poet Andy Craven-Griffiths spent 12 months researching, gathering words and acts of kindness to create a one-man, one-hour (and a bit) exploration of our individual, and society’s, response to this undervalued concept. 

Entering the Main Hall of Attenborough Arts, you can feel ripples of audience-participation-fear: jokes written on A4 paper placed on random chairs, chairs in a horseshoe formation with a flip chart as a central point. Have we stumbled into a weekly ‘we’re so wacky here’ sales meeting?

As it turns out, it’s all fine as Andy asks us to write down our best insult word in our biggest writing, then hold it up for all to see. A cathartic experience, and some impressively creative compound words are noted. A picture of a house was also requested, which again was a nicely diverting exercise.

Joygernaut features an eventful week in the life of My Name which includes a competition with a work colleague for a new role combined with an awkward boxing bout with his boss, trying to get back with an ex-girlfriend, and negotiating life’s many other competitive situations. Stressful and exhausting, events spiral out of control leading to a reassessment.

Craven-Griffiths is a skilled performer and storyteller, dynamic and engaging throughout. The space is used well, performance pace is just right, and day and scene changes are marked with effective lighting design. Props and devices are clever: a sketchpad for the young boy neighbour, a bar complete with pints drawn on the flip chart. Audience participation is also used to good effect with a handful of individuals used briefly as characters, and whilst this story is very much contemporary, the charisma of Andy’s performance keeps the diverse audience on side and engaged.

Through colourful and contemporary language and phrasing (by this I mean colloquialisms and imagery, not swearing), Andy has some great turns of phrase:

power makes a man of you

an old smell over a wrong smell

a visitor in my own world

closing the barn door after the horse is in the glue factory

My Name makes the mistake of believing our intrinsic value is based on how much we earn, what car we drive and how we are perceived by others, rather than looking out for one another. His exchanges with his young neighbour are touching, and there is something of an echo of Nick Hornby’s About a Boy, namely an adult at last growing up thanks to their interaction with a much younger and seemingly less mature person – looking at the world through different eyes.

I think it was a coincidence that this performance came a day after World Mental Health Day, however, it is relevant always. Statistics surrounding high levels of suicides, particularly amongst men, are mentioned during the performance, and serve as a reminder about the importance of not suffering in silence, and of having an honest conversation. Listening. Joy and kindness lead on from this, and as advocated by the experts, they are all good for our mental health.

Endings can be tricky and as the show comes to a conclusion, this final segment seems a good five minutes too long; by this point we know where the story is heading and, compared to the ambiguity and the ‘things left unsaid’ being one of the strong points of the play, this comes across as a bit too tidy and over-explained.  This could also be a subject which lapses into trite, preachy sentimentality – it doesn’t thankfully, reflecting the strength of the writing.  A rousing finish, of which we are all a part, sends us out into the night with renewed positivity, and certainly in my case, a chance to reassess and recalibrate my own compass. 

PS I’m not aware there are currently other performances planned in the near future, but worth keeping an eye through the usual channels, as detailed at the foot of the Joygernaut website (and including interesting guest blogs from writers such as Inua Ellams and Vanessa Kisuule). 

Image by Sara Teresa

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Cilla The Musical – review

This review first appeared in British Theatre Guide

Bill Kenright and Laurie Mansfield present
Cilla The Musical
by Jeff Pope
Directed by Bill Kenwright
Curve Theatre, Leicester 9 – 13 October

Everyone loved Cilla Black, or at least felt they knew her: flame-haired girl next door, a diamond in the rough, forever proud of her Northern credentials. She had a belter of a voice, and was a charming performer and hostess in front of a live audience and a TV camera.

A graduate of Liverpool’s beat scene, rising from coat check attendant at The Cavern Club to super-celebrity status, Cilla’s story is a classic rags-to-riches journey out of Merseyside. Pleased with award-winning writer Jeff Pope’s 2014 TV drama Cilla (starring Sheridan Smith), the real Cilla gave her blessing to Pope and executive producer Robert Willis (her son) to go ahead with a stage version. Sadly, she died in 2015 before she saw this version of her life story, but it has proved popular with audiences since its opening in September 2017.

If you’re a fan of Cilla’s music and the sounds of the swinging ‘60s, you’ll not be disappointed. The company perform many of the musical numbers on stage, with Cilla’s mates John, Paul, George, and Ringo (Michael Hawkins, Joe Etherington, Alex Harford and Bill Caple respectively) particularly entertaining. All the hits of the era are here, pop pickers: The Beatles’ versions of “Twist and Shout” and “Roll Over Beethoven” and Gerry and the Pacemakers’ “I Like It”.

However, this is a show all about Cilla and Kara Lily Hayworth delivers her songbook with power and passion, as well as an impressive representation of her Mersey vowels. Unfortunately, the sound balance didn’t seem right with the band overpowering Hayworth’s strong vocals during many of the songs. As a result, the quieter “Liverpool Lullaby” is easier to appreciate, rather than the power ballads such as “You’re My World” for which Cilla is more well known.

It comes as a surprise that, considering Pope’s great skill as a writer on TV, stage and film (PhilomenaLucan and Little Boy Blue), the dialogue is clichéd, telling the action rather than showing it—rather too many “I feel so nervous”, “this is everything you’ve ever dreamed of”, and “this is a moment I’ll always remember”. There are a handful of running gags, but these have a rather flippant tone.

Cilla The Musical covers the period from her discovery at The Cavern Club in the early 1960s to her first BBC TV series in 1967. We also meet Bobby Willis (Alexander Patmore), her on/off manager (second fiddle to Brian Epstein), who became her husband in 1969.

Bobby is devoted to Cilla who seems unsure of her feelings for him. Her famed steely resolve surfaces when she demands he sacrifices his own singing career to look after hers. I found Patmore shows the greater determination here, sure that he must be with Cilla despite her wavering. Perhaps surprisingly, Hayworth and Patmore’s duet of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” feels the most emotional expression of their relationship.

Andrew Lancel gives a pained performance as the troubled Brian Epstein and his one solo number “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” provides a limited opportunity to hear his good voice.

Through use of light-rigged high proscenium arches and teak sliding walls, Gary McCann’s set manages to convey the contrasts between Cilla’s humble beginnings living above a barber shop to her triumphant performances live at the London Palladium. The Cavern Club scenes are enjoyable, although the cramped intimacy, heat and sweat of this iconic venue has more of a roomy, airy feel in this production.

Take this show for what it is: a chance to hear some of the great popular songs of the ’60s, sung well and performed with heart and exuberance.

Postscript: hats off to wigs designer, Richard Mawbey. All the cast wear one at some point during the show and, whilst I’m not sure what the collective noun for wigs might be (a forelock, or maybe a crown?), this is a fine collection.

Images by Matt Martin

 

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Memoirs of An Asian Football Casual – review

This review first appeared in British Theatre Guide

(L-R) Jay Varsani (Riaz) and Hareet Deol (Suf) - Memoirs of an Asian Football Casual - Photography by Ellie Kurttz (5)

Curve Theatre presents
Memoirs of An Asian Football Casual
Adapted by Dougal Irvine from the book by Riaz Khan
Directed by Nikolai Foster
Curve Theatre, Leicester

Memoirs Of An Asian Football Casual, a Made at Curve production currently enjoying its “world première”, has the feel of a play of two halves, both in terms of mood and content, but also its power to engage.

Dougal Irvine’s adaptation is based on Riaz Khan’s KHAN—Memoirs of an Asian Casual; born in Britain of a Pakistani father and Afghan mother, Riaz and his family negotiate the aftermath of Enoch Powell’s infamous “Rivers of Blood” speech in Leicester’s increasingly multicultural community. Thanks to the colour of his skin, a beating is never far away and, as Riaz is often reminded, “there ain’t no black in the Union Jack”.

Memoirs of an Asian Football Casual - Photography by Ellie KurttzSeduced by the designer clobber of the well-turned-out casual (Fila, Ellesse et al), Riaz (Jay Varsani) and his brother Suf (Hareet Deol) are brimming with energy and testosterone but with little in the way of career prospects. As a means of escape (particularly from the National Front), they fall in with the Baby Squad, a notorious gang of Leicester City football supporters comprising a diverse mix of white, Asian and Afro Caribbean members.

It’s less about football, more about the gear and the fighting; fists and kickboxing moves graduate to knives and Riaz serves several stints at Her Majesty’s pleasure. With his life spiralling out of control, something has to change.

Performed in traverse on an 8 metre, rectangular platform—an audience surrounding a pitch—the stage is illuminated by a similarly-sized “flying” lighting rig which tilts and shifts position as different pressures are applied to Riaz’s life. Grace Smart’s set design gives the actors plenty of scope to bound from end to end. Period detail is spot on; the 15 or so props strategically placed around the edge of the stage are key to the piece—a brick used as an ‘80s mobile phone is an amusing touch.

Varsani and Deol, fresh out of drama school, are excellent and deliver riveting performances. Deol portrays an extensive array of characters, from elderly female relatives to prison officers, National Front supporters and rival gang members and displays an impressive mastery of different accents. The space buzzes with their energy as they dodge, weave, dance and fight.

(L-R) Hareet Deol (Suf) and Jay Varsani (Riaz) - Memoirs of an Asian Football Casual - Photography by Ellie Kurttz (5)Nikolai Foster’s direction is dynamic without seeking to judge, trivialise or glamorise: actors are rarely static, humour is just right, with nice moments of dramatic irony throughout. The bounce and vigour of the first act is not reflected in act two—certainly the mood darkens as the violence increases and intensifies, however, this second part seems at least 10 minutes too long.

The ‘80s may well be remembered fondly—didn’t we just “heart” those shoulder pads, the perms, those New Romantics—but these were also racist, violent times. There are uncomfortable echoes of where we find ourselves now: the treatment of immigrants, the rise of the far right, leading to question just how much progress have we made as a society in the last 35 years?

Endings can be problematic. In this case, it is good to discover Khan has now made a success of his life as a lecturer and family man. Appalled by the re-emergence of racism and the far right, he also spends time educating young people away from hate and mindless violence. In the play, Khan appears as himself, gives a precis of his life now and talks with and appears to reject his younger self. This came across as rather self-indulgent, and the “telling” style of this conclusion seems out of kilter with the majority of the play.

That said, Memoirs of An Asian Football Casual delivers a contemporary kick up the ’80s, is well produced, directed and performed and confronts disturbing attitudes and behaviour with verve and style.

Images by Ellie Kurttz

 

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The Wipers Times – review

This review first appeared in British Theatre Guide

Trademark Touring and Watermill Theatre present
The Wipers Times
by Ian Hislop and Nick Newman
Curve Theatre, Leicester

And so The Wipers Times arrives at Curve, continuing its 2018 UK tour of duty and presenting another facet to the remembrance of World War I in this centenary commemoration period (barely two days after Akram Khan’s Xenos reflecting the contribution of non-white soldiers to the Allies’ war effort).

Written by comedy big guns Ian Hislop and Nick Newman, The Wipers Times is a homage to the men of the 24th Sherwood Foresters who, in spring 1916, chanced upon an old printing press in Ypres (pronounced Wipers by the Tommies) and served up a regular dose of satire and humour to keep the soldiers at the Western Front amused.

This has been something of a slow burn for Hislop and Newman, who, after years of rejection, were finally commissioned by the BBC to write a 90-minute TV film about the paper, culminating in a BAFTA nomination in 2014. Acknowledging its theatrical qualities, they went on to create this touring stage version, first performed at The Watermill Theatre in 2016.

Charismatic, whisky-loving Captain Fred Roberts (James Dutton), suave Lieutenant Pearson (George Kemp) and civvy-street printer Sergeant Tyler (Dan Mersh) managed to get 23 issues of their satirical magazine out to the soldiers in the trenches between 1916 and 1918, keeping up morale with puns, poetry, and spoof adverts and articles.

The birth and development of the paper is told chronologically, topped and tailed by Roberts’s attempts to land a job as a journalist after the war (his Wipers Times being his first foray into editorship).

Almost constant shell explosions and distant gunfire are interspersed with music hall style sketches and songs, these fantastical scenes bringing the ever-present black humour to life, and Dora Schweitzer’s versatile set really comes into its own here. Claustrophobic and tightly packed with the accoutrementsof life on the Western Front, trenches held up with planks and corrugated metal, coils of barbed wire lit up for the fun and farce of the music hall skits—a visual reinforcement of the contrasts between the realism and escapism at the heart of this true story.

Director Caroline Leslie makes the most of every scene change; they are little routines in themselves and a chance to share more examples of the verse and song featured in the original Wipers Times. Sentimentality is avoided and the scenes prior to going “over the top” are poignant and well-paced.

The cast are all excellent, timing the comedy to perfection, yet delivering sincere portrayals of ordinary men caught up in far from ordinary events over which they have little control. The potential minefields of stereotypical caricature are mostly avoided and it should be remembered the jokes and stories are the voices of the men who were living and dying in the thick of the war. The humour, quite gentle by today’s standards, is a big hurrah for the British mastery of the understatement, love of puns and the pricking of pomposity wherever it appears (usually in the form of the commanding officers).

There are now many culturally significant plays, TV shows, literature and poetry reflecting this period (Oh! What a Lovely WarBlackadder Goes ForthWar Horse and Journey’s End to name but four) and comedy is born of tragedy and hardship—it’s how we get through things.

The Wipers Times is a well-produced addition to the pantheon of remembrance and a respectful, tender tribute to soldiers clinging on to their wits in the midst of mud, whizz bangs and the watery misery of the trenches.

Images by Kirsten McTernan

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XENOS – review

This review first appeared in British Theatre Guide

Akram Khan Company presents
XENOS
Director, choreographer and performer Akram Khan
Music Vincenzo Lamagna
Curve Theatre, Leicester

Inspired by Prometheus and featuring a fusion of kathak and contemporary dance, XENOS—the Greek word for stranger—is a gripping and poignant tribute to the 4.5 million non-white men mobilised to fight in the First World War, 1.5 million of whom were from India.

Acclaimed dancer, choreographer and creator Akram Khan has now called time on his own performing, with XENOS his last ever full-length solo performance. Curve is privileged to feaure Khan as an Associate Artist and these performances will be his last of this piece in the UK. His body has told him “enough is enough”, although this is not evident in this production with Khan’s performance so physical and grinding in its power.

The heart of the storytelling involves an Indian dancer at a wedding, taken to fight a war in a foreign land for “King and country”. The horror, as well as the boredom and exhausting conditions of the conflict, are fully represented here, but there is so much more to this piece. Rich in layers of meaning and interpretation, the idea of a stranger in a strange land and the impact of this on identity reflect our world now, as well as reaching back to commemorate the sacrifice of others.

With house lights up, B C Manjunath on percussion and “kannakol” (vocal percussion) is accompanied by haunting laments sung by Aditya Prakash. Chairs are lashed together by ropes, more ropes snake down a striking slope cutting across the stage. There is a swing, cushions, a table. Khan appears and spirals, twists and stamps his kathak wedding dance, ankles heavy with ghungroo bells. Khan seems to “riff” off the musicians, his movements following the rapid kannakol rhythms.

A match is struck, the musicians fade offstage, and all that is familiar is dragged up the slope, pulled by the ropes and a sinister, unseen force. Khan’s ghungroo bells unravel to become chains or puppet strings, his movements awkward, controlled by another force. Later, his bells become an artillery belt, he lays cables of rope connecting to a gramophone which speaks the names of soldiers, the “voices in the mud”, haunting and poignant.

Khan represents Soldier X, one man but also the everyman, the many unknown soldiers. On stage, five musicians appear “on high”, bathed in golden light, sometimes creating a throbbing, often menacing soundscape, but also a stunningly beautiful sequence to Mozart’s “Requiem Mass in D Minor”.

Mirella Weingarten’s monolithic slope stands proud mid-stage, the top of which is both “over the top” in its literal WWI sense, but also the edge of the unknown, the earth’s surface, a tipping point. Sometimes pink, sometimes monochrome, intriguing shadows and mood are cast on the clay and soil strewn across the slope through Michael Hulls’s lighting.

The staccato effect of the earlier kannikol appears later as gunshots, as Khan reels from a round of sniper fire. Vincenzo Lamagna’s sound design and music score is pounding and atmospheric, although unfortunately parts of the small amounts of dialogue (written by Jordan Tannahill) aren’t audible, being frustratingly faint at times.

Khan refers to himself as instinctively collaborative and whilst he is in effect, Xenos, alone and stripped back to his core self, the combination of musicians, props, design, lighting and sound create a mesmerising whole, but each a character in the story.

This is a performance which spans ancient and modern, the mystical and brutal realism. Prometheus-like, Khan gives us fire and clay but his body, expertly and movingly, speaks the language of burden and tragedy.

Images by Jean Louis Fernandez

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