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Auditions, sound, light, precarity

Three new  practical how-to books have landed on my desk along with one rather more academic title.

Whether you’re auditioning for a part in a show, for drama school or for entry to an organisation like National Youth Theatre it can be very difficult – given inexperience and, maybe, lack of informed up-to-date advice – to find exactly the right piece. You need something well written, probably gender and age appropriate which enables you to show the very best that you can do.

In National Youth Theatre Monologues (Nick Hern Books) experienced director Michael Bryher, himself a former NYT member who went on to train at LAMDA, has identified seventy five interesting possibilities some of which audition panels won’t have heard hundreds of times before. One powerful speech by Freddie and one by Diane, for example,  from Evan Placey’s Consensual the current  NYT revival and I’m pleased to see the inclusion of a piece from Dan Reballato’s 2005 play Outright Terror Bold and Brilliant about the London bombings too. It’s a pretty eclectic selection and a useful book for anyone at the start of his or her journey towards an acting career

As always the advice is that the auditionee should always have read the rest of the play and that’s partly why each monologue is preceded by three pages of support information including where you can find the full text,  a section about the playwright and the production history of the piece. The “Things to Think About” box will help some auditionees to marshal their thoughts and the basic facts about the sex, age, accent and so on of the character along with a scene summary are all a good starting point.

Victoria Deiorio’s The Art of Theatrical Sound Design (Methuen Drama) is strong on the science of sound and how the ear receives it as well as providing advice and lessons in how to apply artistic ideas to the stage through the medium of sound. Deirorio is a respected sound designer for theatre and film as well as Head of Sound Design for the Theatre School at DePaul University, Chicago.

Nearer home,  practising lighting designer Nick Moran leads the lighting courses at Royal Central School of Speech and Drama and it’s good to see a new edition of his Performance Lighting Design (Methuen Drama). It takes the reader from first principles – how light works and the tools at the designer’s disposal all the way to tips on how to build a career in lighting once you’ve grasped techniques such as using a lighting score or a ground plan. And it’s all supported with very practical diagrams and examples from productions.

And finally to  Ecologies of Precarity in Twenty First Century Theatre  (Methuen Drama) by Marissia Fragkou who teaches performing arts at Canterbury Christ Church University. Her interest is in ways in  which political issues are addressed in contemporary theatre and she mostly uses a feminist template as she considers the work of playwrights such as Simon Stephens, Carol Churchill, Mike Bartlett and debbie tucker green.

The Marlowe Theatre Canterbury is a rare venue in that it seems to work acoustically and visually for every genre: “straight” drama, musical theatre, orchestral concerts – and opera. This elegant, intelligent production of La Traviata sits as well in this space as if it were designed for it. In fact, this is but one stop on a big tour in Glyndebourne’s fiftieth year of touring.

In the pit are 56 musicians – just visible from the circle –  supporting, accompanying and intensifying the action but never overwhelming it. From those opening mysterious pianissimo tremolo chromatics, repeated at the beginning of Act 3, Christoph Alstaedt  uses colourful dynamics and exquisite control to highlight the drama. There’s a gauze screen, behind which we can see Violetta’s bed as the lights gradually come up during the overture. It’s a strong directorial (Tom Cairns) idea.

Mane Galoyan gives us a restrained but charismatic Violetta in Act One. She is, after all, terminally ill, as well as the life and soul of her big party. She and Luis Gomes as Alfredo stroke the perfect harmonies in their first duet so that we feel and engage with every note. Later she brings all the passion and warmth the role needs and I loved the symbolism of everyone leaving silently from the stage a few bars before the end so that Violetta dies alone – as we all must.

Luis Gomes matches her well and is convincing in his love and there’s a stonkingly good performance from Noel Bouley as Alfredo’s interfering, later remorseful father. The work in Act 2 Scene 1 when he confronts Violetta is as chillingly touching as I’ve ever seen it.

There’s nicely directed chorus work and some fine choral singing (chorus master: Nicholas Jenkins) although it’s a strangely misguided decision not to have them back for a curtain call at the end. It was as if they’d been sent home for an early night. They deserve the credit they’re not granted.

Hildegard Bechtler’s sets consist mainly of three big screens which move a little to suggest two different party rooms, Alfredo’s country place and finally Violetta’s bedroom. It’s simple but makes effective use of the space on the Marlowe’s big stage with Peter Mumford’s dark lighting adding a lot of atmosphere especially in Act 3.

But the real hero of the evening is, of course, Verdi with his dancing melodies and gut-wrenching constructions such as the near perfect quintet in Act 3 which, in this production, is deeply moving. And what wonders he weaves with his much favoured triple time. Of course he uses it for lilting dances, drinking songs and set pieces but he also makes it work for some very solemn moments of high emotion and Altstaed’s attention to detail made me notice it more attentively than ever in this production. No wonder old Guiseppe’s work has been so popular for so long.

This review was first published by Lark Reviews: http://www.larkreviews.co.uk/?cat=3

Billy Bishop Goes to War continues at the Jermyn Street Theatre, London until 24 November 2018.

Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

It’s a pleasure to see two actors working together as sensitively as Oliver Beamish, who also plays piano, and Charles Aitken.

Between them they tell a graphic, poignant, horrifying, wryly funny story of a young Canadian who comes to Britain to “fight the Hun” in 1914, eventually becoming a Royal Flying Corps pilot with the highest ever “score” for shooting down enemy planes and therefore a celebrity …

Read the rest of this review at Musical Theatre Review: http://musicaltheatrereview.com/billy-bishop-goes-to-war-jermyn-street-theatre/

Follies
Book by James Goldman. Music & lyrics by Stephen Sondheim.
society/company: WWOS (West Wickham Operatic Society)
performance date: 02 Nov 2018
venue: Churchill Theatre, Bromley
 
 
Only a few years ago it would have been almost unthinkable for an amateur company to have tackled Sondheim with all those difficult key changes and shifting time signatures not to mention numbers which are often a unique cross between classical recitative and lyrical rock music. Now, standards are soaring so high that West Wickham Operatic Society’s Follies is the second very creditable non-pro Sondheim show I’ve seen in a month.

And of course – Follies, that famous 1970s reunion of a pre-war group of dancers – is, in many ways, a perfect choice for a company such as WWOS because beyond the four huge, challenging principal roles there are lots of cameos, solo songs by all sorts of people and plenty for everyone to do as well as masses of ensemble work. Rehearsal schedules must have been a nightmare to organise but convenient for the many performers who wouldn’t have been needed to attend as often as some shows and roles would require.

Scenery hired from Scenic Projects created a splendidly louche, passé atmosphere with three blocks each created from metallic filigree and providing balconies to gesture from and steps to sweep down. And there’s a deal of grandiose sweeping in this show as each middle aged character is, famously, represented by a younger on-stage incarnation of her (and in two cases him) self 30 years or more earlier.

Tracy Prizeman as Sally Durant Plummer really plumbs (no pun intended) the depths of her troubled, needy character who thinks she wants something better than her long term marriage. Her account of Losing My Mind in Act two is beautifully sung and underpinned with some poignant acting.

There was an extraordinarily accomplished job from Danielle Dowsett, the show’s co-director and choreographer, who sang the role of Phyllis – a programme change announced at the beginning.

Both lead men – Kevin Gauntlett (who also co-directs) as Buddy and Gary Glaysher as Ben Stone adeptly bring out the complexities of their unhappy characters and both sing well.

Amongst the cameos Josie LaFitte is a spikey, convincing Solange and Emma Brack has tremendous fun with Broadway Baby and brings it off to perfection with a bespectacled twinkle and jerk of the hips.

One of the best things of all in this enjoyable show is the 17-piece orchestra under MD, Anne Greenidge. They are seated upstage and you can see the glinting of trombone slides and the movement of bows through the gaps in the set which adds a quasi magical effect. They make a pretty good job of Sondheim’s complex score too.
 This review was first published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-WWOS%20(West%20Wickham%20Operatic%20Society)-Follies&reviewsID=3372
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Over the Moon – ★★★★★
Presented by Hurly Burly Co.
performance date: 03 Nov 2018
venue: Half Moon Theatre, 43 White Horse Road, London E1 0ND
 

★★★★★

It isn’t often that I turn up to a Saturday morning show for under-3s – all buggy parking and parents meeting up congenially – to be moved to tears by sheer beauty of the piece within five minutes of its starting. But that’s what happened at Over the Moon. Staged at Half Moon Theatre and subtitled “an opera for little people” it is utterly exquisite.

Three performers Sarah Forbes (soprano), Catherine Carter (Mezzo) and Jenny Gould (piano) explore a day from getting up in the morning to finally going to sleep again at night – with a lot of sleeps in between because that’s what very young children recognise.

It was the Monteverdi duet – immaculately sung even though Forbes and Carter were flat on the floor when they started it – which got me first, coming as soon as it did after Hey Diddle Diddle. Yes, the music in this little (40 minute) show is as colourful and eclectic as the feathers, sheets and pieces of gauze which litter the stage and act as props during the singing. By the time we reached the gorgeous duet from Humperdinck’s Hansel and Gretel whatever it was that was in my eye had grown rather large.

Part of the reason it’s so moving is that it’s interactive and tiny audience members are encouraged to join in – and they did so very enthusiastically at the performance I saw. And to see a child of, say eight months, sitting up listening acutely to a bit of Ravel or Debussy is quite something.

Of course it only works as well as it does because of the quality of performance. Both Carter and Forbes sing beautifully but gently so there’s nothing remotely abrasive or “operatic” in their voices. They also – Forbes in particular – have developed a knack of smiling warmly at the end of each phrase which must take a lot of practice. Gould who sometimes sings as well as plays and chips into the action, is a very relaxed pianist who makes all the music feel approachable.

First published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-West%20End%20&%20Fringe-Over%20the%20Moon%20-%20%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85&reviewsID=3371

 
Victoria’s Knickers
By Josh Azouz
society/company: National Youth Theatre of Great Britain
performance date: 01 Nov 2018
venue: Soho Theatre, London

If you want a show which showcases the many talents of your sixteen-strong ensemble in contrast to conventional or classic choices then Josh Azouz’s Victoria’s Knickers probably ticks the boxes. Sadly this self-conscious, self-indulgent piece doesn’t tick many of mine as an enjoyable 90 minutes of theatre – diligent laughter from supporters in the audience on press night, notwithstanding.

The story (such as it is) is based round the real life accounts of a serial intruder, a teenage boy, at Buckingham Palace in the first year or two of Victoria’s reign. Perhaps she and he became an item before she married Albert? It’s an entertaining enough idea but you can’t make convincing, sustained theatre predicated on nothing but incongruity and anachronism. Yes it’s quite fun to hear Alice Vilanculo using 21st Century street speak and addressing her mother as “Mum” while dressed as Queen Victoria – the first time. But an hour later the joke has long since palled as we flail about in a surreal world of rude, dancing servants, cock fighting, a chainsaw murder and suddenly, a wacky suggestion that the whole thing is a play within a play and that we’re really in the 21st Century but that’s not sustained.

And what about the songs composed by Chris Cookson with lyrics by Josh Azouz and devised by the company? In themselves they’re quite clever but they often feel gratuitous in a show which can’t seem to make up its mind what it’s trying to do. I liked the three onstage musicians (imported professionals), though, who flit about reappearing in different spots and making an intriguing sound on two violins and a cello.

Amidst all this jumble are, however, some highly accomplished well-directed performers whose ability shines through in spite of everything. Jamie Ankrah is outstanding as the intruder/boyfriend. He is very funny when he skips and jumps and does very expressive things with his face as well as having a really striking rich singing voice. He does his rap number splendidly too. Watch out for this one in the future. Vilanculo finds haughtiness, earthiness and assertiveness in Victoria and Simran Hunjun shines as her hysterical, controlling mother. Aidan Cheng is watchable as Victoria’s peculiar butcompelling servant too.

This is the second play in the 2018 National Youth Theatre’s West End Rep Season. Consensual last week [read here] was a hundred times better. I await Macbeth at the end of this month with open-minded interest.
 This review was first published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-National%20Youth%20Theatre%20of%20Great%20Britain%20(NYT)-Victoria%27s%20Knickers&reviewsID=3370
Honour – ★★★
by Joanna Murray-Smith. Presented by Tiny Fires in association with Park Theatre.
society/company: Park Theatre
performance date: 30 Oct 2018
venue: Park200, Park Theatre, Clifton Terrace, Finsbury Park, London N4 3JP
Imogen Stubbs & Henry Goodman in Honour (Tiny Fires, Park Theatre). Photo by Alex Brenner

★★★

This well directed (Paul Robinson) piece features some of the most intelligent acting and articulate listening I’ve seen on stage in a while. Unfortunately that isn’t enough to make the evening as compellingly interesting as it should be because Joanna Murray-Smith’s 1995 play has too little narrative drive to sustain over two hours of theatre. And the ending is, frankly, a cop-out.

George (Henry Goodman) is an eminent, initially self-satisfied and always self-obsessed, journalist who falls for a younger woman (Katie Brayben) thereby terminating his outwardly successful, 32 year marriage to Honour (Imogen Stubbs). Their daughter (Natalie Simpson) is upset. Of course the new relationship is shortlived. It really isn’t much of a plot and the outcomes are entirely predictable.

However Murray-Smith writes dialogue beautifully and these four characters serve it well with lovely use made of pauses and beats – often to good comic effect. There are a surprising number of laughs amongst the cajoling, shouting, despair, desperation, anger and incredulity. It begins to feel samey, though, when you realise that almost every scene is a duologue. The rather wordy play needs more variety of interface. What would have happened, for instance, had all four characters found themselves in one room?

Natalie Simpson is outstanding as the daughter, Sophie, a Cambridge undergraduate trying, oh so naturalistically, first to grasp what her mother is trying to tell her and then confronting her errant father in immaculately observed youthful exasperation.

Brayben is strong as the very bright young journalist, focused on her own career and utterly certain that she is never, in any relationship going to take second place. She finds an unusual icy sexiness in Claudia.

And it goes almost without saying that there’s excellent work from Goodman and Stubbs, both fine actors at the top of their game. It’s a treat to watch them playing off each other here.

I haven’t seen Park200 configured completely in the round (seating on all four sides) before. It’s usually only three quarters but the fourth bank of seating helps to support the domestic intimacy of this play which is all done with half a dozen adaptable pale boxes and some minimal props (designed by Liz Cooke).

A lot to commend then. Just a pity the play’s a bit dull.

This review was first published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-Park%20Theatre%20(professional)-Honour%20-%20%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85&reviewsID=3366

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my paternal grandparents, William and Dorothy Hillyer.  Universally known as Dolly and to me as  Grandma, she has been particularly in my thoughts because I’ve just realised I’ve morphed into her. History repeating itself, generational patterns and all that.

I was very close to Grandma, who lived on to her 92nd year by which time her cherished little granddaughter was over 40 and mother of two teenage boys. We lived with them when I was very small because my war-generation parents had nowhere to live after my father was demobbed from the RAF. Grandma looked after me (and her cantankerous old mother-in-law) as well as shopping, cooking and cleaning for the entire household of seven. No wonder she always nodded off when we “listened” to Mrs Dale’s Diary after lunch. Meanwhile my parents went out to work to try and amass enough money to get us a place of our own. When they eventually did, it was just 200 hundred yards up the road so I saw my grandparents almost every day for the rest of my childhood and adolescence. The result of all this was that Grandma and I always had a special bond – helped, I suppose, by my being the first grandchild.

Fast forward 20 years and she’s around the same age that I am now – dealing with major illness in her beloved spouse just as I am today. In their case it was throat cancer which finally killed my poor grandfather, aged 73 (My Loved One’s current age) in 1969 a few months after we were married. She coped magnificently with his illness, finding solutions to the hideous problems the disease threw at them. For a long time before he died he had a naso oesophageal tube to by-pass his trachyeostomy so that he could “eat”.  She made nourishing soups from the home grown vegetables in the garden and poured them cheerfully into him via the funnel. She was convinced that the good nourishment was helping him and with hindsight I suspect her 5 star care really did keep him going for a bit longer than might otherwise have been the case. She visited him in hospital daily when he was local and wrote him nice letters (a few of which I still have because he kept them and his papers eventually came to me) when he was in the Royal Marsden but home at weekends.

I just hope that I’m doing even a tenth as well as she did. My grandparents swore they’d never rowed in their 48 year marriage and I certainly never heard either of them utter a cross word – not even the mildest expression of irritation. I’m not remotely like her in that. I get really cross when I’ve said the same thing four (or six or ten) times and MLO still hasn’t retained it. Then I get loud, snappy and say lots of things I regret very soon afterwards. I get ratty when he doesn’t feel well enough to do what I think he should do too. Grandma would tell me off roundly if she were around to hear it. I often have her voice in my head saying “Don’t talk like that, Dear” or quoting one of her aphorisms, often Biblical or Book of Common Prayer. “In sickness and in health, Dear” she would probably say to me now.

I think I’ve got some of her practicality though. Suddenly, after sleeping flat on a single pillow for 50 years, MLO has started sleeping propped up like a Victorian gent and says that he’d like a second pillow. So I “borrowed” one temporarily from the spare bed and have now been out and bought a couple of additional ones. I’ve taken to writing down for him very clearly where I’m going and when I’ll be back when I have to go out too. I’ve sorted out his glasses and insist that he puts them in a particular place to try and minimise the number of times they get “lost”. And, like Grandma, I do my upmost to provide really healthy, nutritious food because that’s one of the few things that’s actually within my control.

I am, of course, better educated than she was. Grandma left a Dorset village school, aged 14 although she was a whizz with words puzzles and she could add a column of figures faster than I’ve ever been able too. She was blessed with a lack of imagination too but it meant that she failed to face the inevitability of where she and my grandfather were headed. That denial meant that she fell apart totally when he died although she picked up again in time and went back to work in my uncle’s business for further 15 years. She didn’t “do” retirement any more than I do. I am, however, much more of a spade-is-a-spade realist, and more knowledgeable about illness, than she was. And I have Google. Perhaps it helps, bleak as the information is.

Meanwhile I look at myself and see Grandma every day. Some of MLO’s peripheral health problems now create an awful lot of washing. I seem to put big loads out daily. The neighbours probably think I’m taking it in as side line. Bit sad really because MLO used to be family laundry monitor. Twitter folk will remember how good he was at ironing and how we used to joke about it. Now he sits and watches me ironing his shirts.

But Grandma would have loved it. Washing was her passion in life. To her dying day when I rang once or twice a week for my regular chat  she’d say almost before she’d said hello: “It’s a lovely day. Have you got your washing out, Dear?” or “What shocking weather! What have you done about your washing, Dear?  When she stayed with us, as she often did, she’d be trotting into the garden every five minutes to feel the clothes on the line. Then there’d be much folding – without my ever asking her to do it – ready for ironing. I do all that and  more now and smile as I remember her

If she were alive (she’d have been 122 this month) we could compare notes about sick husbands.