THE MASQUE OF ANARCHY

Albert Hall, Manchester

Directed by Sarah Frankcom

Until 14^th July

Photo: Kevin Cummins

Closed to the public since 1969, Manchester’s Albert Hall is a superb venue for this staging of Shelley’s epic political poem ‘The Masque Of Anarchy’. A cavernous interior with a huge organ dominating the space created a quasi religious atmosphere – part cathedral, part football stadium. The relatively small stage area was mainly lit by candles, perfectly setting the scene for an impassioned battle cry for revolution from the lone performer, Maxine Peake. Rapturous applause greeted the diminutive figure of the actress as she made her way onto the stage clad in a simple white dress. Shelley’s poem was written in response to the events of Peterloo, the 1819 massacre of over a dozen innocent protestors by armed cavalry, which happened just yards away from the Albert Hall itself. Part of the Manchester International Festival, and in collaboration with The Royal Exchange, this was theatre at its simplest and most effective best; a single orator addressing a reverential audience with a call to arms for the oppressed and underrepresented people of England. Although some of the poetry could be hard to follow, and many of the names railed against are meaningless to everyone except the Peterloo scholar, this was timeless and highly relevant to today’s age of austerity. Fat cats are lampooned, along with the legal profession, the rich, the politicians, and the militia. Sarah Frankcom’s direction was simple – just let the performer speak; directly, forcefully, and supported by a subtle musical score (by Peter Rice and Alex Baranowski). The performance lasted around 40 minutes; testament to Ms Peake’s skill and stamina as her voice hardly faltered through verse after verse of dramatic, tense, angry, and at times tearful poetry. She had a vulnerable quality, with her slender frame, angular face, and often trembling hands. But she wears her heart on her sleeve, and is the perfect actress for this production. Maxine Peake makes it personal, and that makes it effective and jaw-droppingly heartfelt. Stepping down from the stage at the end of the performance, she carried a small candle as she made her way through the standing audience, and disappeared from view. One soul among many.

This review first published by www.thepublicreviews.com

http://www.thepublicreviews.com/the-masque-of-anarchy-albert-hall-manchester/

CUTS FROM THE FRINGE

Town Hall Tavern, Manchester

Reviewed Sat 20^th July

 

Billed as ‘Three of the best recent short comedies from across the North West’, this was 45 minutes showcasing new writing, and the three pieces contrasted perfectly. 

Jonah Walsh, Pat Marchant, and Jez Smith in 'Paradise Street'

First up was Tommy Warburton’s ‘Paradise Street’ (from Oldham Coliseum Firstbreak Festival), a heart-warming throwback to a gentler age of situation comedy. Set during the 1970s, this bore more than a passing resemblance to classic era Coronation Street, with a nod to the more contemporary ‘The Royle Family’. Jez Smith (giving a loveably nonchalant performance with seemingly effortless comic timing) led as amiable patriarch Alf, desperate to settle down for an evening of cheese and pickle butties and footie on the telly, when a sudden power cut forces the family to get out the long-neglected games box. Long-suffering wife Vera (Pat Marchant channelling Sue Johnston) relishes this unexpected chance to indulge in some quality time with the couple’s teen-age children, Gary (Jonah Walsh – a nicely-judged turn as the callow yet generous-of-spirit youth) and Helen (Lily Shepherd in a beautifully-mannered performance of great warmth and attention to detail). A brief cameo from Martin Henshell as genial neighbour Mike completed a lovely ensemble. This is good old-fashioned entertainment, and writer Warburton skilfully sketches in some instantly loveable characters with little trace of cynicism or any clever-clever postmodernist approach. What you see is what you get, and ‘Paradise Street’ lives up to its name; in an ideal world, this is where we’d all love to be. The actors gelled perfectly, and I would certainly relish seeing the family again someday soon. Director Daniel Thackeray had a steady hand on the tiller, and the slapstick moments never descended into farce. Extra kudos to Lily Shepherd for expertly reading in the role of Helen (due to a last minute non-appearance of actress Niamh Prestwich; thanks to a train delay).

Lily Shepherd in 'There's Only One Man, Utd'

Next up was ‘There’s Only One Man, United’ by Robert Pegg. Certainly a clever title, but one hopes it won’t become a victim of a misplaced comma anytime soon, as this is very much an anti-football, pro relationship piece. Lily Shepherd (this time directing too) took to the stage once again as an un-named (or at least uncredited in the programme) young woman, stranded in a rainy Albert Square while her ‘Red Army’ boyfriend celebrates the Premier League winning Man Utd, and the retirement of Sir Alex Ferguson. Clad in an ill-fitting plastic cagoule, and delivering all her dialogue into a mobile phone, our plucky heroine completely dismantles her hapless boyfriend’s lifestyle, constantly reminding him that he would never get into ANY ‘army’, red or otherwise, and that the occasion is about an old man retiring (“That’s what old men do; they retire!”). Her exasperation and righteous anger at being made to play second fiddle to a macho ritualistic event, is played out to marvellous comic effect, and Ms Shepherd creates a wholly sympathetic and very human character. This is a tremendous showcase monologue, and the actress delivered it brilliantly, stealing our hearts completely. As with ‘Paradise Street’, the audience were left with a warm glow, and a spring in their step.


Martin Henshell and Kaylea Simon in 'Sexytime'

Last but not least we had ‘Sexytime’ by Chris Jenkins, and here again was another humorous short piece that delivered totally believable characters in an expert mix of laugh-out-loud one-liners , and heart-breaking moments. Martin Henshell played the hapless Brian, a seemingly lazy, stay-at-home artisan caring more about his beloved dog than his hard-working and stressed-out girlfriend Sarah (Kaylea Simon). While Brian frets about ‘Dave’ (the dog) trapping himself in the bathroom, Sarah is far more concerned about getting the timing right in order to conceive a child. Tonight is the last chance they will have for a month, as Sarah needs to get Brian aroused ASAP. This is a great two-hander, giving both actors a range of emotions to work on in a pressure cooker situation, tightly directed by Paul Anderton. Martin Henshell is spot-on with his hangdog ‘what have I done now?’ expression, seemingly oblivious to his lover’s obvious needs, while Kaylea Simon is simply wonderful as the desperate Sarah, initially appearing as a ball-busting workaholic, yet evolving gradually into a desperate and vulnerable child-woman. There are some genuinely heart-breaking moments amid the chuckles and belly laughs, and Ms Simon conveys every emotion with beautiful economy of body language and facial expression.

This was a fantastic night at The Town Hall Tavern, and more than one star was born this evening, mark my words. Producers Daniel Thackeray and Paul Anderton have much to be proud of, and as part of The Greater Manchester Fringe Festival, ‘Cuts From The Fringe’ proved to be a tremendous showcase for new talent. I loved every minute.

THE LAST MOTEL

Written by J J Fletcher  Directed by Amanda Davies

Paupers Pit, Underground Venues @ The Buxton Fringe Festival

Until 14^th July

In the tiny, claustrophobic space of The Paupers Pit on a sweltering July evening, Sheepish Productions' ‘The Last Motel’ is a perfect piece of theatre. A two-hander set in a specific location (a motel room), chronicling the events of a single, tense, dramatic evening. A surreal opening has a very agitated man, wearing a rubber chicken mask and brandishing a gun, enter a rather sleazy motel room. For a surprising amount of stage time he paces back and forth, wheezing, groaning, and muttering to himself. This is a disturbing yet acutely amusing opening with more than a hint of Tarantino and David Lynch. When this unsettling character then carries an unconscious and bound young woman into the room, we realise we are in the middle of a botched robbery and an accidental kidnap. The sheer bulk and presence of the man in the chicken mask, contained in such a small stage space, conjure up a nightmare world, and his callous treatment of his helpless captive creates a genuine atmosphere of menace and dread. Eventually pulling off the mask, we are introduced to Abalone (Gareth Watkins), a somewhat cack-handed petty criminal who has taken a day’s holiday from his job in a slaughterhouse to commit armed robbery. Here is a man clearly out of his depth, and Watkins is a quivering mass of nervous energy and sweating desperation as he stumbles about the stage in a state of abject helplessness.

Eve (Leni Murphy) awakens in some discomfort, and we are informed that Abalone has accidentally knocked her over in the street with his getaway car. He has little sympathy for her, and things look very bleak indeed until he takes her jacket off to reveal a black shirt and dog collar. Eve is a vicar, and immediately this changes everything for Abalone as he evolves gradually from a seemingly cruel and selfish individual into a child-like mess. The stage is set for a battle of wills, and there is much deliberation about life, choices, destiny, and fate. But is everything as it seems? Leni Murphy has a super cool stage presence and commands the space superbly. She has the measure of Abalone in no time, and it’s great fun to watch the actor’s face minutely displaying the tickings of her brain as Eve calculates just how to deal with the pathetic wretch holding a gun on her. Watkins is a perfect foil, as he towers over his victim yet is no match for her pragmatic intellect and verbal dexterity. The Last Motel is a curious mix of surreal humour, unsettling atmosphere, and sweaty tension. Writer J J Fletcher has created a perfect cauldron for his characters to do mental battle in, and it’s a superb platform for two very capable actors to flex their thespian muscle. This kind of material is notoriously difficult to get right, with its delicately balanced mix of light and shade. As a piece of work in progress I feel it has a great deal of potential, and with a tighter production can improve enormously. Director Amanda Davies has managed to orchestrate proceedings effectively in a confined space (set and venue wise), but the production is really at the mercy of the two actors involved. It is their relationship and close proximity to each other that the production relies heavily upon. I would have liked more face-to-face confrontation, and a more intimate relationship as Abalone is gradually dissected and skinned (metaphorically) by Eve. A few more performances always ensure a tighter production, and I’d be fascinated to see ‘The Last Motel’ again in the not too distant future.

BLADE RUNNER - On Stage in Manchester!!

Starting this Saturday 6th April 2013 at 3pm and 7.30pm. A brand new adaptation of the 1982 classic movie. Featuring my good self as LEON ("Let me tell you about my mother!")

http://www.facebook.com/events/446587222063223/?ref=ts&fref=ts

THICK AS THIEVES

 

 

Kings Arms Theatre Space at Studio Salford

Written by Mark Whitely   Directed by Ian Curley

Until 23^rd March

Review

 Rating: 4 stars

 

Two talented actors, a simple one-location set, a sharp script, and a trim-all-the-fat director add up to theatre at its most direct and unpretentious best. Mark Whitely’s tale of a couple of hours in the company of two cack-handed Salfordian burglars offers belly laughs a plenty, black Pinteresque humour, and a show-stealing budgie; what more could you ask for?

Callow youth Barry (David Crowley) is a sandwich short of a picnic, and is drinking in the last chance saloon (he’s on probation) with a wife and kids at home. Old lag Steph (Matt Lanigan), on the other hand, has accepted his lot in life and takes everything in his laid-back stride; until his meticulous planning begins to unravel, and the two find themselves dealing with a situation that nosedives faster than Manchester City’s current chances of retaining the Premier League title. A nicely unfussy set consisted of a central dining table, a full size working fridge, and small budgie cage, and provided a perfect platform for our hapless protagonists. Breaking into what they believe to be a flat full of valuable antiques (“cash in the attic”), with its owner away for two weeks in Majorca, Barry and Steph assume they have all the time in the world to help themselves, or at least Steph does as he makes a cup of tea, roots around for biscuits, and even considers relaxing with a sandwich or three. Lanigan’s Steph has the look of a man who’s seen it all before (and probably tried to nick most of it); he’s a career criminal who thinks he has an answer for everything. The actor’s hangdog, unshaven look and expressive eyes communicate every unspoken thought. He is superbly matched, and complemented, by Crowley’s performance; all adolescent energy, panicky mannerisms, and goofy facial tics (imagine Anthony Perkins’ Norman Bates, but without the psychotic tendencies).  

Director Ian Curley allows the characters and situation to breathe, and there are plenty of pregnant pauses that add an air of gritty realism in to what could have been a broad, run-of-the-mill slice of working class comedy. There are moments of genuine pathos and poignancy as the two characters gradually reveal their inner workings and motivations. Steph’s revelations about his father are beautifully delivered by Lanigan who manages to steal our hearts even as he remains stubbornly unrepentant about thieving for a living. Crowley also shines when displaying his genuine love for his wife and children, and compassion for a terminally disadvantaged budgerigar. The two actors create a strong relationship, and ‘Thick As Thieves’ could easily act as a pilot for an ongoing series about this hapless pair; thick they may be, but they will steal your heart with consummate ease.

 

Tags: Mark Whitely, David Crowley, Matt Lanigan, Ian Curley, King’s Arms Theatre Space, Studio Salford, Salford, Manchester

This review previously published at www.thepublicreviews

OLIVER REED: WILD THING

The Epstein Theatre, Liverpool
Wednesday 6th February 2013

Review

The legendary hellraiser gets the full one man play treatment in this touring production starring a very brave actor indeed (Rob Crouch) who takes on a hell of a job. Oliver Reed was a massive star, and a big box office success in the 60s and 70s, but managed to completely derail his acting career due to his enduring love of excessive drinking and bar room brawling. By the time of his death in 1999 (during the shooting of Ridley Scott’s epic ‘Gladiator’), Reed’s big screen stardom was little more than a fading memory, and he was far better known for shambolic appearances on tv chat shows, when it was difficult to tell whether he was actually drunk or simply playing the fool.

An expectant (though small) audience were kept waiting for around 20 minutes for the show to begin, heightening the tension impressively. It was difficult to guess whether this was an intentional artistic tactic or merely the Epstein Theatre holding the proceedings up for latecomers. The show eventually began with Crouch in a gorilla suit parading up and down the front row and cajoling the audience into a chorus of The Trogg’s ‘Wild Thing’. A fitting entrance, and very clever as it certainly threw us all off guard and allowed Crouch to eventually reveal his face whilst the audience were still getting over their initial shock. Crouch’s Reed arrived on stage fully formed, and from then on it was full speed ahead. Crouch has the rugby player’s build, and the clipped delivery but also brings a melancholic air to this most beloved of booze-soddened thespians. The set comprised a small well-stocked bar in what we imagine must be Reed’s home, and within minutes the actor had knocked back two small bottles of beer and handed out several more to the audience. A superb tactic, and one that served to get us onside immediately. As with all stage biographies, it is always a challenge to plough through the early years and attempt to reveal nuggets of experience that would shed light on the subject’s subsequent personality and public persona. Here we learned of Reed’s schooldays where he combined being a playground bully (in response, it is suggested, to his taunting by the other children for his undiagnosed dyslexia). Crouch effortlessly became the awkward schoolboy; baggy shorts (with a generous builder’s cleavage), half mast socks, and ill-fitting rugby shirt. Rattling through Reed’s youth it wasn’t long before our hero hit the bottle and began to idolise the macho American cinema actors who he identified with far more than their more refined English counterparts. To Reed, the likes of Robert Mitchum would always provide far greater inspiration than David Niven or Roger Moore.

Once we were into Reed’s big screen career the gloves were well and truly off, with Crouch gulping down an increasing volume of (one assumes real) beer, along with whiskey, vodka, and everything else he could lay his hands on. Tales of drinking competitions with Keith Moon and Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins were both colourful, tragic, and masterfully brought to life by an increasingly sozzled Reed/Crouch, and as we entered the final hurdle the alcohol was spraying the front row as the hairless gorilla staggered from one chat show debacle to another. Director Kate Bannister certainly put her performer through the mill with several scenes involving audience participation (one lady is persuaded to re-enact a talkshow anecdote as actress Shelley Winters, who famously poured a drink over Reed’s head on live tv). ‘Oliver Reed: Wild Thing’ is a real tour-de-force which builds and builds into a drunken raging whirlwind, and the standing ovation for Rob Crouch was certainly deserved.

This review originally published for www.thepublicreviews.com

http://www.thepublicreviews.com/oliver-reed-wild-thing-epstein-theatre-liverpool/

Withnail And I

Philip Barwood ("I") and Adam Grayson ("Withnail"). Photo by Debbie Manley

The Lass O'Gowrie, Manchester (ended 23rd Jan 2013)

Written by Bruce Robinson. Adapted by Ian Winterton.
Directed by Trevor MacFarlane

FIVE STARS!

 

Review

One of the biggest cult movies around gets an absolutely wonderful stage adaptation in a promenade performance at The Lass O’Gowrie pub. Writer/Director Bruce Robinson’s low budget 1986 film told the tale of two struggling alcohol and drug-fuelled actors who go on holiday ‘by mistake’ to the Lake district, and gave Richard E Grant the role of his life. Such an iconic part is something of a poisoned chalice for any actor, but Adam Grayson pulls it off brilliantly with a performance of great intelligence, pathos and wit. Philip Barwood partners him beautifully as the more understated and gentler ‘I’, and the chemistry between them is electric. Using the entire space of the pub, the audience were guided around by the enigmatic and charming  ‘Presuming Ed’ (Gabriel Paul ) who wordlessly ushered everybody from one scene to another. David Slack gave us a wonderfully theatrical Uncle Monty, with a constant twinkle in his eye and an air of wistfulness as he reminisced endlessly about a colourful past involving a great variety of athletic young men. Eryl Lloyd Parry excelled as a crusty old poacher (complete with a real catfish down his trousers), a curmudgeonly cake shop proprietor, and a nasty bigoted drunk with a hatred of ‘perfumed ponces’.  Ian Winterton adapts Robinson’s much-lauded screenplay with confidence; wisely choosing not to reinterpret classic scenes and dialogue too much. For fans of the film, every beloved character has their moment in the spotlight – the versatile Steve Cain brought the house down with his no-nonsense copper instructing a drunken Withnail to “get in the back of the van!”, a surly cafe cook delivering a soggy fried egg sandwich with the air of a man whose kitchen hygiene routine is probably close to non-existent, and a farmer recovering from the amorous attentions of his prize bull. Cain’s delivery and timing is excellent, with every character played with great subtlety for maximum comic effect. The female characters were all played by Annie Wallace, beginning with the dishevelled cafe customer biting into her fried egg sandwich after carefully surveying it with the cold pitiless eyes of a jungle cat. Her frosty, hyper suspicious farmer’s wife was another beautifully judged comic cameo, and the mousey Miss Blennerhassett was a hoot – treading on eggshells while serving tea and cake to Penrith’s visiting scum. As with the character of Withnail, Danny the drug dealer was another career-making film performance for an actor (Ralph Brown), and could easily have been parodied on stage by a less skilled performer than Dickie Patterson. Sauntering around like a sheepskin-coated apparition, Patterson dispensed his chemically enhanced wisdom like a bobble-hatted, sunglasses-wearing tranquilised meerkat. The sozzled, racist ex army innkeeper was played to perfection by Richard Salis, and after spending almost the entire play herding the audience around, Gabriel Paul’s disturbingly charismatic Presuming Ed eventually made an appearance towards the end. A special mention must go to Paul Phillips who supplied a dazzling variety of sound effects, expertly creating a superbly atmospheric tonal landscape (with a suitably 60s musical selection that complimented the onstage action perfectly). And last but not least we had a live chicken who almost managed to steal her one scene from literally under the noses of her co-stars.

A perfect ensemble cast created a feast of memorable characters, but it is Adam Grayson’s majestic and immortal Withnail that shone the brightest of all. His delivery of Hamlet’s soliloquy ‘What A Piece Of Work Is A Man’ was rousing, spine-tingling, and gut-wrenching. Director Trevor MacFarlane has accomplished something very special indeed, coaxing pitch perfect performances from every member of his cast, and delivering a production that deserves to be seen much further afield than the Manchester Fringe.

One cannot praise this production highly enough, proving that in the right hands a classic movie that has indelibly imprinted itself upon the psyches of millions of fanatical devotees can find new life on the stage. True 3D, in fact.

This review was previously published at http://www.thepublicreviews.com/withnail-and-i-the-lass-ogowrie-manchester/

Tags: Withnail And I, Bruce Robinson, Ian Winterton, Trevor McFarlane, Lass O’Gowrie, Adam Grayson, Philip Barwood, Steve Cain, Dickie Patterson, Annie Wallace, David Slack, Richard Sails, Gabriel Paul, Eryl Lloyd Parry, Manchester, Paul Phillips

CORONATION STREET 1977 LIVE!

Taurus Bar, Manchester

Written by Harry Kershaw

Joan Kempson (as Hilda Ogden) with Ian Curley (as Eddie Yeats).

Directed by Colin Connor and David MacCready

Review

Rating: 5 stars

 

“This is our Chaucer; these are our people” announced producer Gareth Kavanagh in his introduction to this special preview of ‘Coronation Street 1977 Live’ at Taurus Bar (the actual run of the production is at The Lass O’Gowrie pub). As part of this year’s Midwinter Lass Fest, and following on from last year’s critically-acclaimed ‘Coronation Street 1968 Live’, this is another slice of the golden years of the ever-popular ITV soap. BAFTA award-winning casting director June West has assembled a remarkable team to bring to life some of the most iconic television characters ever created, and the result is pure Lancastrian magic. The production has been designed to be presented in promenade fashion in the actual bar area of The Lass O’Gowrie pub (where the audience will be standing and following the action happening around them), but for this preview we remained seated. Following the tv script, the action features a multitude of short scenes much in the way that the very early episodes would have been transmitted live. In fact, the whole half hour experience (tonight’s preview was a single episode; the run at The Lass will feature two) gave one the vivid impression of how it must have felt to be in the actual studio during a transmission.

Rovers Return landlady, Annie Walker (a splendidly aloof Christine Barton-Brown) has taken delivery of an impressive monogrammed carpet from local scouse layabout Eddie Yeats (Ian Curley, delightfully mischievous), and relishes the opportunity to impress her staff and friends with it. Unfortunately for the forever upwardly mobile Mrs Walker, local gossip merchant Hilda Ogden (an hilarious Joan Kempson) has gotten wind of where Eddie has obtained the carpet. The premise and set up are simple, but the execution is sublime. Writer Kershaw’s script is sharp, tight, and breathes dynamic life into every single character and situation. The comparison with modern day Coronation Street is startling, with careful consideration given to the minutest of detail and the wealth of humour and pathos inherent in the most basic of domestic activities. Kimberley Hart-Simpson is a firecracker Bet Lynch with her machine gun delivery of wicked one-liners, more than ably supported by Mike Woodhead’s brow beaten barman Fred Gee. Amidst the generally light-hearted goings-on, Jeni Howarth-Williams’ faded siren Elsie Tanner wafts in and out of scenes like a lost soul, doomed to roam the cobbled streets looking for love among the ruins. There’s a classic daggers drawn face-off between Elsie and Rita Fairclough (Amy Searles) over a pair of laddered tights, with a hapless Len Fairclough (Jimmy Allen) finding himself between a solid rock and a very hard place indeed. Once again, Kershaw’s writing gives us warm-hearted banter with some disturbingly dark undertones as the vulnerable Rita has to face her husband’s old flame (and there’s clearly a few embers still smouldering there). Matt Lanigan and Kathryn Worthington are another winning double act as would-be lovers Alf Roberts and Renee Bradshaw; a scene with Alf trying to sort Renee’s accounts out while hovering too close for comfort echoes the romantic and sensual pottery scene in the film ‘Ghost’. Denice Hope gives us a magnificent Betty Turpin, her face conveying a million and one different emotions in a millisecond; she forms yet another fabulous double act with Barton-Brown’s artfully condescending Annie Walker. John Draycott’s Stan Ogden, and David Crowley’s Ray Langton have less stand-out moments but register just as strongly.

Gareth Kavanagh is absolutely correct; this is our Chaucer. These are our people. This is our language.

 

Runs until Monday 7^th January