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Genetic after all?

When My Loved One was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s one of my first questions to the consultant was “Is it hereditary?”

She assured me very firmly that it isn’t. Later on that nightmarish day it was a priority to pass that fragment of good news on to both our sons because I knew that it had been worrying them.

The consultant then went on to tell me that her youngest patient is 37 with a young family – which promptly put our problems into some sort of perspective. “Early onset Alzheimer’s like that does tend to run in families but age-related Alzheimer’s, such as your husband has, does not,” she said.

I have read this in other reputable places too. Received, informed wisdom seemed to concur. It isn’t genetic – although no one knows what the cause is, of course, which is why there’s so much groping about for a way forward.

Then an odd thing happened. At the end of last year, we were asked to take part in some research being conducted by Cardiff University. Two researchers came to our home and interviewed us at length, and in detail, in separate rooms.

When the pleasant young woman who wanted to come phoned me to make an appointment she told me that 29 genes associated with Alzheimer’s had been identified. What? Did I hear that right? Bit of a volte-face surely?

Before they came I did a bit of family research in anticipation of some of the questions I thought (rightly) we’d be asked.

Neither of MLO’s parents, who died of physical illnesses at age 82 and 89, showed any sign of dementia. His paternal grandmother, however, died in a nursing home in her early seventies having completely “lost it”. I checked the death certificate. Putting two and two together from the vague terminology often used back in 1970 – I’ve concluded that hers was almost certainly vascular dementia which is a different illness. And none of MLO’s cousins, all around the same age as him, have Alzheimer’s.

Then there was MLO’s mother’s younger brother who died in 2010. In that case we know it was definitely vascular dementia following strokes and other incidents.

In short I found no familial links whatever with “ordinary” Alzheimer’s although it’s hard to research back far because a) people died younger b) death certificates were a lot less reliable by modern standards and c) family folklore often gets it wrong.

So I decided to stop worrying about genetic links. After all, even if they exist  I can’t do anything about it. And I’m not convinced they’re there anyway in MLO’s case. I don’t understand the science of genetics other than at the most basic level but I imagine  29 genes is probably a miniscule part of the human genome.

But this month I’ve had cause to think again.  The Alzheimer’s Disease Sequencing Project (ADSP) at Boston University School of Medicine has just announced the results of an investigation which worked with 6000 Alzheimer’s patients and 5000 “cognitively healthy” (nice turn of phrase) people and found various genetic risk factors which predispose people to Alzheimer’s.

Cue for a lot of muted excitement from all sorts of people and organisations about the possibility of some form of therapy linked to this which could eventually make a difference. The word “breakthrough” was cautiously bandied about.

What we need – and need pretty desperately given the ageing population –  is something which will work on the root cause or prevent the disease altogether. At present we only have medication which might (and often it doesn’t) alleviate symptoms in the very short term. And those drugs have been around for quite a while. No real progress has been made for a long time.

None of it will help us personally. We just have to keep buggering on as Churchill advised, taking each day as it comes with MLO able to do ever fewer things competently and my getting ever more frustrated.

Irrationally, it’s the trivia which get me crossest. I sent him to the pharmacy to collect his medication this week. They wouldn’t give it to him, presumably, because he told them some garbled rubbish. So I shall have to go myself. He keeps getting out his holiday wash bag, putting additional items in it and then telling me he’s run out of deodorant or aftershave and – having used table cloths all my life – I think I’m going to have to give them up because they now cause so much aggravation. And so it goes on. And on.  Polish up your sense of humour, Susan, smile and keep telling the boys that It Is Definitely Not Hereditary.

Little Shop of Horrors continues at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre, London until 22 September 2018.

Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

Under Maria Aberg’s direction, this production of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken’s 1982 classic glitters, often literally, with quality.

From the moment the anonymous hooded figures slide on to the all grey impoverished Skid Row set and Cat Beveridge’s (yes, a female MD – hurrah!) strikes up those first off-beat notes you know you’re in for a treat.

Based on Roger Corman’s film and loosely rooted in early 20thcentury sci-fi, Little Shop of Horrors famously tells the story of a man-eating plant which – in every sense – takes over a florist’s shop that’s down on its luck …

Read the rest of this review at http://musicaltheatrereview.com/little-shop-of-horrors-regents-park-open-air-theatre/

Royal Albert Hall, Tuesday 14th August 2018

Famously founded in 1999 by Daniel Barenboim and Edward Said, West-Eastern Divan even looks different from other orchestras. It comprises young players from Israel, Palestine and several Arab countries to promote coexistence and intercultural dialogue and you can see the unusual and very welcome diversity before they play a note.

It’s also eye-catching because it’s so huge that it spread along all the tiers right up to the beginning of the Royal Albert Hall’s choir seating although different players come and go for different works – the programme for this rather special concert being as diverse as the players. If anything, the choice of works felt a bit random.

Daniel Barenboim, of course, has become one of those rare conductors who is so beloved and respected that he gets rapturous, near-ovatory, applause even before he raises his baton. In this case he was greeted by a very excited hall full almost to capacity.

We started with the Polonaise from Eugene Onegin. Not advertised in advance, it formed a welcoming, vibrant, tuneful warm up, almost like an encore at the “wrong” end of the programme. Then, still with Tchaikovsky, it was on to Lisa Batiashvili and a rousing account of the violin concerto. Georgian born, she gave us lots of Russian colour with exceptionally clear runs in the first movement. She took it a tad slower than some performers but it was a treat to hear the detail so lovingly articulated. Her dynamics are beautiful too. Filling the vast space of the Royal Albert Hall with very soft trills on harmonics so that every single listener is gripped is no mean feat. Her drama of her finale was well judged and balanced too.

After the interval came the London premiere of Looking for Palestine by David Robert Coleman. It is, effectively, a setting of two scenes from the play, Palestine by Najla Said, Edward Said’s daughter, and tells the story of her thinking about yearning for Palestine at the time of the 2006 war in Lebanon during a visit there and while living in New York.   Musically it’s dramatic with a great deal of interesting percussion – programmatic bangs, whistles and sirens – with anxious twittering strings and a strange twanging across-the-body plucked, string instrument (lute?) which plays a continuo at the front. Barenboim conducted the piece carefully from a score the size of a broadsheet newspaper – the only work in this concert which he didn’t do from memory.

The text was sung in this performance by soprano Elsa Dreisig and that was where the real problem lay. Almost all of it is pitched very high in the voice which meant that the words were, in this case, totally inaudible. Without the printed programme which included the words for this piece it would have been utterly impossible to work out what was happening. The best music speaks for itself. It doesn’t need explanation or resources to support it. I did admire Dreisig’s wistful glissandi, though.

The final work was Scriabin’s 1905 “fourth symphony” which is titled The Poem of Ecstasy and not structured like a classical symphony. It’s a grandiloquent showcase for Western-East Divan and Barenboim allowed all the detail and exotic, sometimes erotic, music to resonate. The principal trumpet got a well deserved round of applause at the end and I liked the way we heard plenty of that slightly grating, gravelly sound of muted trombones adding to the rich chords and cadences. The climactic blaze of bells, drum rolls and scrubbing strings was pretty memorable too.

It was a moving concert because of what West-Eastern Divan stands for – a concert with a sub-text, if you like.  But the standard is impressive as well.  The power of the playing and musical cohesion, especially in the first half, moved me in a different way.

First published by Lark Reviews: http://www.larkreviews.co.uk/?cat=3

 

society/company: Illyria (professional) (directory)
performance date: 07 Aug 2018
venue: Tonbridge Castle and touring

It’s an interesting change to see The Merchant of Venice played mostly for comedy rather than treating it as the dark play it is usually presented as these days. Of course Shylock (David Sayers) is badly treated and we sympathise with him but most of the rest of director Oliver Gray’s take on the play is suitably frothy for an outdoor summer evening with picnics.

In typical Illyria style just five actors take all the parts and it’s very slick as well as hilariously incongruous. Katy Helps, for example, plays the Prince of Morocco with her face entirely covered in a curly black wig to represent the “complexion” Portia (Nicola Foxfield) dislikes so much. Old Gobbo, who has a delicious West Midlands accent, sports a long white beard and wig which is such a good disguise that I couldn’t work out which of the two female actor it was. There’s a great deal of near continual energetic work from every one in the cast to make it all fizz along.

Beau Jeavons-White gives us a fairly neutral Antonio, almost always presented as gay in modern productions but not particularly so here, and then – all six foot four of him and complete with his own beard – a delightful simpering, Nerissa holding her skirts up coyly. Foxfield’s Portia achieves a good range of moods too with a lot of unusually convincing flirting and spooning with Bassanio (Chris Wills – good) and then real power in the court scene in which Wills nips off several times to double as the Duke.

David Sayers is an impressively versatile actor to watch. He toils on an off with the caskets as Portia’s tetchy servant (including a nicely played out moment when the lead one is too heavy) plays Lorenzo with flair and excels as Shylock in a beautiful mosaic patterned robe. He finds all the wariness, determination and anxiety that Shylock needs and ensures that we are moved by the broken man he eventually becomes. And because the changes between characters are so rapid there’s no time to think yourrself in and out of roles which makes this punchy performance even more admirable.

Full marks to the company for voice work. The cast adeptly uses a wide range of accents to support the multiple roles. And playing without amplification in the open air is quite a challenge but all five actors project and enunciate so that every syllable is fully audible which means that every nuance of the story telling is commendably clear.

It’s a pity that I saw this show on one of this season’s rare wet nights. “In thunder, lightning or in rain” – sorry, wrong play – was the order of the evening. No wonder the audience chuckled when Foxfield reached “It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.” Nonetheless the cast cheerfully completed the performance, raising their voices over very heavy rain for the last ten minutes and almost all the audience, enshrouded in polythene, macs and umbrellas remained good humouredly in place to applaud them at the end.

I really like Illyria’s work and am now looking forward more than ever to their Pirates of Penzance next week and The Hound of the Baskervilles next month. Catch their work on tour if you can.

First published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-Illyria%20(professional)-The%20Merchant%20of%20Venice&reviewsID=3280

★★★★★
Gilbert & Sullivan. Produced by Illyria Theatre
society/company: Illyria (professional) (directory)
performance date: 11 Aug 2018
venue: Coolings Garden Centre, Knockholt, Kent (part of UK tour)

Is there anything more quintessentially, eccentrically British than sitting in a garden centre in heavy rain on your damp own camping chairs swathed in waterproofs and warm layers to lap up Gilbert and Sullivan? Bonkers we may be but actually Illyria’s The Pirates of Penzance is so exquisitely well done and such fun that the weather quickly becomes irrelevant.

Hard on the heels of the same company’s wet but glorious The Merchant of Venice at Tonbridge Castle last week, this production brims over with director Oliver Gray’s trademarks. It uses a cast of just seven – yes, that’s right, seven – with dozens of hilarious quick changes, extra jokes which respect rather than undermining the evergreen WS Gilbert, admirable slickness and warm affection. The whole cast on for the Policeman’s song, for example, with silly dance was a delightful moment. So was the “Tarantara” chorus in which two of the cast provided outrageously loud drums and cymbals from the side.

The larger than life Samuel Wright is, as ever, a terrific asset to the company. He has enough stage presence and personality to command any stage, small or large. His bass account of the Pirate King rings out with immaculately tuneful resonance and every single word is clear as with the whole of this production – another Oliver Gray trademark. How on earth Wright can do that and, seconds later, be singing alto with the women as he simpers round the stage as very overgrown daughter to General Stanley is one of those theatrical mysteries but he never misses a note or a beat and he’s glorious funny.

Alex Weatherhill’s Major General is excellent too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it done with more plumes in the hat – red, white and blue in this case. He sings his famous song immaculately, gets lots of laughs and then does a prestissimo encore. His effete manner is splendid.

Mathew James Willis is a fine singer and actor, slight enough in figure to be a nice visual foil to the other too. He plays Frederick with a strangled RP accent which makes him seem nicely priggish in contrast to the other pirates and his tenor voice is very pleasing indeed.

The four women in this show work very hard and entertainingly, playing an enormous number of parts between them. Jenny Cullen’s Mabel is suitably sweet and she does an impressive Poor Wondering One and Stephanie Lysé is good as tall predatory Ruth with a rich mezzo/alto voice. Rachel Lea-Gray is an impressive leading Policman (the famous bottom note is a nice moment) and Elizabeth Chadwick gives us an engaging Stanley daughter.

One of the very best things about this lovely show is the quality of the singing. Because many of the choruses are sung with just one or two voices to a part, the harmony is as crisp and musically blended as you’ll ever hear it. Each note is as well placed as each word. Musical director, Richard Healey – hidden away on keyboard in a tent beside the stage – has done a magnificent job with this cast. He has some wacky moments appearing briefly as the Bishop of Penzance and Queen Victoria too while the cast hand on to a long chord until he can race back to the keyboard to complete the cadence – fabulous stuff.

I’m not required to give a star rating for these reviews but if I were, this The Pirates of Penzance would definitely be a 5. Meanwhile, I don’t care which G&S Illyria does next year. I shall be there (with my anorak, hoodie and rug) panting for more.

First published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-Illyria%20(professional)-The%20Pirates%20of%20Penzance%20-%20%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85%E2%98%85&reviewsID=3300

In the last week or so I’ve seen three outdoor shows and got soaked to the skin twice. It’s what you do in Britain – part of summer’s rich tapestry.

I was at Tonbridge Castle for Illyria Theatre’s rather good The Merchant of Venice a day or two after the weather broke. That night we had thunder, lightening and rain. Perhaps they should have been doing Macbeth. As it was Portia’s “It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven” acquired a new resonance and raised an audience chuckle. The evening began dryish but threatening. By the time we got to Act 5 we were sitting in a deluge.

How amazing it is that under these inclement circumstances the vast majority of a stoical British audience will sit cheerfully to the end and then applaud enthusiastically before they pack up their sodden camping chairs, not quite waterproof rugs and dripping macs! That night I think it even surprised the cast (glad I didn’t have to get their costumes dry as well as my camping chairs) who thanked the audience at the end for sitting it out.

A few days later I was at the same company’s stonkingly good The Pirates of Penzance (different cast) at Coolings Nursery. And it rained. Again. A lot. Did it bother the audience? Not much. They smiled, clapped, munched their damp picnics and lapped up the joys of Gilbert and Sullivan immaculately well done.  As I plodded back to the car with our sodden stuff – amongst hundreds of other happy people it struck me that actually the rain is part of the fun. It simply wouldn’t be the same in Provence, Tuscany or Andulacia where they get months of reliable dry sunshine. Very boring. That’s not how we do things here. After all, in Britain we don’t have a climate. We just have weather.

The night after Pirates I was at Little Shop of Horrors in Regents Park – another very fine show in a different way. Not a drop of rain all evening and do you know what? I was almost disappointed, not least because it’s so interesting to observe audience reactions.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that we do open air theatre in this country in defiance – celebration even – of our volatile weather and enjoy every minute of it although there must be some tricky health and safety decisions for stage management sometimes. Only once (a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Regent’s Park a few years back) have I been at a show which had to be abandoned because of the rain. Most companies paddle energetically on to the end. I’m quite glad really that I have only to sit in the audience.

Twice a year a friend stays with us for a fortnight or so. Temporarily, we become a four person (sort of) household: My Loved One, Resident Friend, Ms Alzheimer’s and me.

RF and I were at school together (lovely, leafy – back then – Sydenham High School) and MLO has known her nearly as long as I have. She likes to spend regular time in her native London because she is mostly based somewhere else – and ours has, over the years, become her London home. It’s effectively like having a second, much loved sister who moves in at Christmas and for a block of time in the summer. She’s currently here for her summer residence.

It makes a terrific difference to me to have someone else in the house to chat to on a casual daily basis. It reminds me just how much of the ordinary companionship Ms A has leeched out of my marriage. MLO used to be my best friend. He was also my business partner. We could and would chat all the time about everything and anything. Now it’s like living with a dependent child who has, maybe, low level special needs and has to be told everything very slowly several times. I have to be careful what I tell him and how I put it. Ordinary chance remarks are off limits. There’s no longer anything equal about any of it.

I dare not, for example, mention anything which is not happening today or he’s liable to get confused. My own head is full of arrangements and plans for tomorrow, next week, next month and so on but I have to be very controlled about sharing any of it. If you can’t speak spontaneously, naturally and normally then communication is strained. Suddenly the relationship morphs into something quite different.

It’s also, I’m ashamed to admit, a pleasure to go to the theatre to review with someone who can walk up and down steps unaided and doesn’t need to visit the loo every 10 minutes. It’s almost as if RF, on holiday herself, is also giving me a bit of one just by being there. And fortunately MLO can still cope at home on his own for a few hours provided no one makes any demands on him and I leave him something very simple and pre-prepared to eat.

The other great benefit of having RF here is that she is admirably patient with Ms A’s victim. She’ll gently help him fold the table cloth after a meal for example, even if it takes several attempts whereas I’m inclined to snatch it out of his hand and snap: “I’ll do that”. She’s very willingly agreed to take him to a hospital appointment this weekend to so that I can whizz off to an all day, escapist string orchestra workshop in Folkestone. She makes him hot drinks, helps him kindly when she can see he needs it and tries to include him in activities such as collaborative crossword solving – at which he sometimes surprises us both. RF and I know nothing about cricket but MLO produced the name “Shane Warne“ without missing a beat the other day. Alzheimer’s is such an unpredictable, patchy illness.

On the other hand I am well aware that when she arrived on 3 August she hadn’t seen MLO since 01 January. Although RF and I are in touch all the time and she knows in some detail what’s going on, when she gets here I’m suddenly conscious of how things have deteriorated and what changes she will notice. Seven months is a long time when Ms A has her fangs buried in you. The deterioration is relentless.

For himself, MLO sometimes forgets she’s in the house. He’ll put cutlery on the table for the two of us and I have to remind him that RF’s upstairs and will be down for breakfast shortly. She is gloriously unfazed if she meets him wandering naked on the upstairs landing because he’s forgotten a) when it’s his turn for the bathroom and b) that there’s anyone in the house apart from me.

When I was out reviewing at the Proms last week and, unusually, both sons were staying over because they were working locally I was told afterwards about a high comedy moment when MLO turned to RF and said very politely: “Would you like to stay and have dinner with us?”

If you couldn’t laugh you’d weep. A lot.

Photograph: Resident friend taking a photograph on a trip out with me while MLO was safely at home.

SSFimage

I’m delighted to hear that two child-centred organisations whose work I’ve long admired and supported are collaborating this year – although the details of what exact form the work will take are thin on the ground at present.

The Pauline Quirke Academy and Shakespeare Schools Foundation have announced that they are to “join forces to support 30,000 students through the unique power of Shakespeare.”

Celebrating its 10th birthday this year, The Pauline Quirke Academy of Performing Arts is, of course, a national performing arts school for under 18s.

SSF, which has been running for 18 years, is the world’s largest drama festival for under 18s. Annually, it  involves nearly 30,000 young people. Every year they work with pupils from every community, background and school type across the UK. Months of preparation in school culminate in exhilarating performance evenings in over 130  professional theatres in every corner of the country.

The two organisations say they share a similar vision: “an aspiration to provide young people with life skills through performing arts training.”

And, obviously, Shakespeare is a significant contributor to both theatre and to the English language. Studies show that learning Shakespeare can have a wonderful effect on children – in fact, evaluation conducted by SSF shows that 99% of teachers said their students’ confidence increased, and 97% of teachers agreed that their students were better at working together as a team as a result of taking part in the Festival.

Meanwhile students at PQA learn skills valuable skills for everyday life, not just the performing arts. Presumably SSF shows will now be made available to PQA groups who can then take part in festivals. I hope that’s what this collaboration means because  taking a bow at a theatre full of people applauding you builds confidence like nothing else.

Speaking of the new partnership, actor Pauline Quirke said “We were looking at ways to celebrate our 10th anniversary and we decided that we wanted to support a children’s educational charity. We met with Ruth, the CEO of SSF, and really liked the amazing work they do and the impact they have on children’s lives.”

Shakespeare’s plays really are uniquely life changing and if this collaboration means that more young people will have access to their power then that can only be a Very Good Thing.