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The Producers (Susan Elkin reviews)

The Producers

Music and Lyrics by Mel Brooks

Book by Mel Brooks and Thomas Meehan

Directed by Patrick Marber

Garrick Theatre, London

 

Star rating: 4

 

It’s quite a skill to be outrageous without being offensive but it’s what Mel Brooks’s masterpiece has managed to do for nearly 58 years.

A film for 24 years before it became a stage show, The Producers tells the story of two men who work out that you could make more money out of a Broadway flop than a hit so they set out to make something truly terrible. The trouble is that their gay romp, Springtime for Hitler is a huge hit.

And The Producers is very funny, not least because it sends up theatre in general and Broadway in particular, and since, on opening night, nearly everyone in the audience has industry connections, the jokes and stereotypes went down a storm. The hilarious auditions scene, for instance – with Trevor Ashley as the campest possible Roger DeBris – is only a slight exaggeration of the truth.

Andy Nyman is deliciously sleazy as Max Bialystock who routinely beds rich elderly ladies because he needs their cheques.  And Marc Antolin is a good contrast as the nerdy, nervous Leo Bloom who gradually blossoms as he finds love with Ulla (Joanna Woodward – great fun).

Lorin Latarro’s choreography ensures that the ensemble is as tight and slick as it could possibly be. The walking frame number is masterly. So is the upbeat, cheerful “Keep it Gay”.

 

And, of course, Brooks’s lyrics – all delivered here with immaculately clear diction – are always a delight. Anyone who cheerfully rhymes “true sir” with “producer”, “well aware” with “Delaware” and “elan” with “Milan” gets my vote.

Above the stage is an orchestra on a mezzanine, mostly unseen, doing a fine job especially in “We Can Do it” in which the Jewish/Klezmer rhythms are as prominent as I’ve ever heard them.

Paul Farnsworth’s costumes are quite something too – especially the absurdly excessive ones for Springtime for Hitler. And I don’t know whose idea the naked classical statue was but it’s a coup de theatre when he turns to face the audience.

The Producers is a witty show full of humour, much of it gloriously ribald, but like all the best comedies it has also has a lot of heart: the friendship between Max and Leo and Ulla and Leo’s getting together, for example. This enjoyable production never lets you forget that there’s rather  more here than laughter.

And it’s good to see yet another fine Menier Chocolate Factory show transferring into the West End.

Unfolding

Emma Vieceli

Directed by Cat Nicol

Between the Bars

ADC Theatre, Cambridge

 

Star rating: 5

 

I see dozens of new musicals in professional fringe theatres every year. Most of them are unmemorable and unlikely to go anywhere much. Unfolding is in a completely different league.

I have rarely seen a new piece so perfectly developed and ready to fly away to a bright future. And these people are, remember technically “a bunch of amateurs”. They all have day jobs and no one has been paid for this show.  Actually, in this instance, the word “amateur”, so often used pejoratively, couldn’t be less appropriate. Unfolding gleams with professionalism.

Rose (Emma Vieceli who also wrote the piece) has corresponded with an American pen friend, Mark (David Barrett) since her early teens. They know a great deal about each other and become close  friends although they’ve never met. As the years pass he marries and has a daughter while she remains single. Now, as her 40th birthday approaches, she is under pressure to go to New York to be matron of honour at the wedding of her school friend, Florence (Vikki Jones – delightful work) in a Greenwich Village bookshop. Would it be a good opportunity to meet Mark at last? But he hasn’t written for a year. Then a devastating letter arrives.

It is an intensely powerful story which, as it unfolds, takes in some pretty brave issues including female to male domestic abuse, suicide and, maybe less contentiously, persuading ultra-conservative parents to accept gay marriage. Fear of flying is in the mix too. Yet there’s a lightness of touch which brings in plenty of affectionate humour. It’s warmly compelling.

There are no weak links in the immaculately directed cast of ten. Vieceli herself is a magnificent singer and stage-commanding actor and her scenes with Barrett (lots of warmth and emotion) are very moving. Danielle Padley does a fine job as young Rose, a crisp publisher and a toffee nosed American matriarch and Helen Petrovna is funny but totally believable as Florence’s in-your-face friend Carly, delighted (sort of) to “escape” from her husband and children for a few girlie days in New York.

There are some stonkingly good theatrical ideas in this show too. Director Cat Nicol and choreographer David Mallabone, for example, create the best airport scene I have ever seen using slick ensemble repetitive commands and actions to a create a fascinating rhythmic counterpoint. It’s both funny and clever. And the simple beginning with spotlighted young Rose singing her letters to stage left young Mark (Ed Chancellor – lots of adept multi-roling) works nicely.

Behind the back curtain is a six piece live band playing in a pleasingly wide range of musical styles – at one point we get a rag time number which incorporates a tap dance. Musical Director, Liz Townsend conducts from keyboard and everything flows and coheres seamlessly. We hear a lot of Kaat De Backer on cello and it brings a mellow warmth to several numbers.

I am not given to gushing, as regular readers of these reviews will know but Unfolding really is something very special and I hope passionately that there are people out there who will take it to more stages in more places. After all it has begun life in the ADC – as did Six.

Incidentally, 5* shows seem to be like buses. You don’t see one for months and months and then suddenly it’s two in a week. Yes, both  Unfolding and Patience, courtesy of Charles Court Opera Company, really have made this crusty critic purr.

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National Youth Choir

BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

Conductor: Ilan Volkov

Soloists: Jess Dandy and Ashley Riches

Royal Albert Hall

 

It was worth my nightmarish journey across London, gridlocked by the tube strike, to hear the National Youth Choir in Stravinsky’s Requiem Canticles. The quality and musical nuance of their sound (chorus-master Nicholas Chalmers) had me on the edge of my seat from the first note of “Exaudi”. It, like the rhythmic speaking in “Dies irae” (a Stravinsk-ian homage to Verdi), resonated electrically in the Albert Hall’s rich acoustic.

Then in the same work came Jess Dandy singing Lacrimosa. We are so used, these days to hearing mezzos, that it’s a real treat to hear a “proper” contralto, her voice so cavernous that it sounds almost like a man at times. The female equivalent of a counter-tenor, perhaps? The sound is very attractive and Dandy’s Lacrimosa was profoundly moving.

It must have been a pleasure for Volkov to conduct these young people. He’s one of those unassuming but effective conductors who smiles a lot as he works. It is also, incidentally, very encouraging to see much more diversity across the group than one normally sees in adult choirs.

Each half of this unusually programmed concert opened with a short piece by Gabrieli reworked by Bruno Maderna in the 1960s and 70s. In excelsiis and Canzone a tre cori are both choral pieces arranged here for full orchestra including two harps and tubular bells. Happily, though, Maderna was no Baroque-murdering Leopold Stokowski and I admired the retention of the early 17th century ambience in the delicate orchestration. And Volkov is very good at balancing the wind, particularly the brass, with the strings.

And so to the familiar sunny uplands of Brahms Symphony No 2 in D Major in which Volkov brought out delightful detail I’ve hardly noticed before – and I have played this symphony.  There was delicacy which showcased the work of lower strings in the first movement with admirable precision in the off-beat pizzicato at its end. I admired the balance and enjoyed the bassoon line in the Adagio and the highlighted contast between the “busyness” and lyricism of the Allegretto. Then Volkov gave us lots of the requisite “spirito” in the final movement. Moreover, he achieved phenomenal speed at the end – bravo trumpets! – without ever losing crispness.

At the end of the concert, after the applause, Volkov, unexpectedly, used the podium to make a resolute statement condemning the war his native Israel is waging on Gaza. Of course, there was some mild hostility both to the substance of what he said and to what some regarded as “abuse” of position. For myself, I support him in principle. You cannot divorce music from politics. Both are existential.

Patience

WS Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan

Directed by John Savournin

Charles Court Opera Company

Wilton’s Music Hall

Star rating: 5

I grew up with big scale G&S featuring big choruses and full orchestras. I still sometimes see these operas done that way courtesy of say, ENO or one of the few amateur companies still devoted to this wonderful material. But every time I see Charles Court Opera Company in action I realise that I have actually come to prefer chamber versions, I love the clarity of sound that a good cast of nine can produce under David Eaton’s musical direction from stage left piano. And director John Savournin knows exactly how to use every inch of the stepped stage at Wiltons to maximum comic and visual effect.

Arguably Patience has worn less well than Gilbert’s other satires because few 21st century audience members are au fait with absurdity of the late nineteenth century aesthetic movement . So the challenge is to bring out its innate funniness which this production does – in spades. It reinevents milkmaid Patience as a barmaid and the setting is a pub. The original “twenty lovesick maidens” become “melancholic maidens” which scans seamlessly (and alliteratively!) into the music and makes sense because they are now a well-sozzled, frustrated  trio, not a crowd.

Catrine Kirkman is woefully, wistfully hilarious as the elderly Lady Jane (“Silvered is the Raven Hair” beautifully sung). Meriel Cunningham as Lady Angela oozes stage presence and Jennie Jacobs in turquoise tights with matching plait tips adds gleeful gloom.

Matthew Kellett always delivers. His Bunthorne hops about in silly attitudes, curly hair flopping about and pale face ridiculously serious. And Matthew Silviter, who has a much bigger build, provides a rich contrast as rival poet Grosvenor.

Patience herself has to be a striking contrast to all this posturing and Catriona Hewitson nails it perfectly – all common sense and plimsolls with her warm Scottish accent. And like everyone else in this accomplished cast she sings with passion, accuracy and verve,

High spots in this delightful production include the big double chorus in Act 1 when the women are counterpointed against the men, a device Sullivan claimed to have invented. Whether he did or not, it’s unfailingly effective here. And the anthem in Act 2 (another Sullivan trademark) is impeccably sung as a sextet with characters carefully positioned to sing without stage business – which is exactly how it should be done.

This show is a revival of a production which I’ve seen before but it was a pleasure to revisit it because it simply goes on giving. And if, at the performance I saw, there was a moment of raggedness in the final chorus, most people won’t have noticed it.

 

How to Date

Stephanie McNeil

Directed by Isabel Steuble-Johnson

Jack Studio, part of SEFest 2025

 

Star rating: 3.5

 

It’s good to see this rather uplifting play revived after its three performances at Collective Theatre earlier this year.

It tells the story of two rather different young women in their early twenties trying to pick their way through work and social life in London. It’s about friendship, relationships, insecurity, ambition – and danger. The darkly lit opening scene presents Helin Ekin’s distraught character, Clarissa, being given the all clear after a chlamydia test but told that she’s in the early stages of pregnancy. She is horrified and immediately demands an abortion, thus setting the scene for a piece which is often funny while making it clear that this isn’t all about laughter. Structurally it flashes back to Clarissa’s early friendship with Emily (Stephanie McNeil, who also wrote the play) and then moves towards the unwanted pregnancy at about the half way point.

I really liked the naturalistic dialogue as Emily, who’s done a drama degree and dreams of starring on Netflix, works in a coffee shop and jauntily serves pretend drinks to front row audience members. Clarissa, meanwhile, a trained accountant, loses her internship by being too sassy at work and turns to drink, one-night stands and casual jobs – her self esteem at rock bottom.

Both women are strong actors but an especial word of praise to Danny Jeffs and Seyi Ogunniyi, who between them, play all the men who pass through the women’s lives at work or in clubs and pubs. Jeffs has a richly versatile range of voices and attitudes whether he’s the chauvinist of whom Clarissa falls foul at work or the fellow barista who chums up with Emily. Ogunniyi gives us Emily’s wettish but decent boyfriend and then morphs into Clarrissa’s anything-but-decent Rushane,  somehow creating an illusion of being twice the size with mere body language. Bravo for character acting! Both men adeptly play a whole string of other roles too.

Isabel Steuble-Johnson’s direction makes good use of the Jack’s limited playing space with Clarissa’s messy room, evoked by a bench, a throw or two and a lot of mess at stage right. The set (designed by Isabella Sarmiento Abadia) also uses a 1970’s tea trolley positioned stage left which variously, and rather neatly, connotes the coffee shop, club bars and drinks at home.

At its heart this is an entertaining, compelling, play about young women finding the confidence to live the independent lives they want to without being unhealthily dependent on relationships with men for self-validation. It’s a worthwhile message.

 

I devour detective fiction for characterisation and geography. Who could not fall for Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club quartet? On the page they’re utterly compelling although it’s a pity about the film. Then there’s Simon Mason’s wonderful DI Ryan whose small boy is the most engaging child I’ve met in fiction for a long time. Elly Griffith hits every chord with forensic archeologist Ruth Galloway with the joys of the mysterious Norfolk marshes thrown in. I read Will Dean’s “Tuva” novels for icy North Sweden, Alexandra McClean for glorious Dorset (many childhood memories for me), William Shaw for the familiarity of Kent and Peter James for Brighton, where I have family and  know the city well. And there are many other examples. Only Martin Walker disappoints. I love the Dordogne setting but vegetarian me is nauseated by the graphic hunting/shooting.fishing/cooking digressions.

Detective fiction plots are always implausible. That’s part of the deal. We suspend disbelief – very willingly in my case. It’s places and people that win the day

I was thinking about all this the other day when I heard Ann Cleeves talking to Michael Berkley on Radio 3’s Private Passions. I had read one or two of her Vera books but otherwise didn’t know her work. She explained in the interview how she’d discovered Shetland and met her late husband there on an ecology project. Then, having written with modest success for a long time, she thought of setting a detective story in Shetland. Raven Black was published in 2003. “It changed my life” she told Berkley. Since then there have been seven more books and a hugely successful BBC TV series starring, Douglas Henshall, which I’ve not watched –  but might now. Series 10 airs this year.

It sounded just the ticket after sixteen days with Joseph Stalin (https://susanelkin.co.uk/articles/susans-bookshelves-stalin-the-court-of-the-red-tsar-by-simon-sebag-montefiore/)  and I was entranced by the idea of the Shetland background. So I ordered Raven Black and met the gently charismatic but troubled Detective Inspector Jimmy Perez who comes from Fair Isle. He is regarded as an outsider by the inhabitants of fictional Ravenswick, a small island where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Families are intermarried and there are connections everywhere. Then a sassy, bright teenager named Catherine with an uneasy home life, is found murdered. Everyone connects it with the disappearance of a child, Catriona, who disappeared eight years earlier. Most people  suspect an elderly man named Magnus Tait who has mental health problems and mild learning difficulties. It’s too obvious though and the reader can see from the start that this can’t be the solution no matter how suspicious it seems. I really liked the way Cleeves sets up a whole range of interesting characters, each with issues and flaws and then finally comes up with something which I certainly didn’t see coming.

Also in the mix are the beaches, the icy winter weather, the empty roads, the big skies and the traditions.  Mendelssohn’s atmospheric Hebrides overture (inspired by a different archipelago away to the south west but not geographically dissimilar) kept rattling round my head all the time I was reading. Yes, I shall continue with this series. I want more Jimmy Perez. He deserves to find a more settled personal life and if that means the unlikely prospect of many murders in small communities then so be it.

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Nye by Tim Price

 

The Popess: Instructions For Freedom – The Glitch, London

Reviewer: Susan Elkin
The Reviews Hub - LondonBy No Comments2 Mins Read

Photo by Josephine Bono

Writer: Elena Mazzon

Director: Colin Watkeys

A quirky, imaginative solo show lasting just 60 minutes, Popess takes us to 13th-century Milan to explore a bit of not-very-well-known church history. And it does it, wearing the learning lightly, with witty 21st-century linguistic anachronisms, and some quite searching audience involvement.

Guglielma of Bohemia came to be an object of worship for people from all walks of life who believed her to be the incarnation of the Holy Spirit. She appointed Maifreda as “Popess” to continue her work after her death, distributing the eucharist and saying mass. It was, in effect, a feminist revolt against the patriarchy of the church until, inevitably, the Inquisition suppressed it.

Elena Mazzon’s main narrative role is as Maifreda, who arrives at the beginning singing a blessing and making the sign of the cross at audience members. She’s good at voice work and also gives us a convincing account of her teenage friend, and nuns and priests who put her down in childhood.

Audience members are required to reveal what causes they’d die for, among other serious questions. Later, they have to learn an anthem and sing it at a service, as well as becoming victims of the Inquisition.

Mazzon is a pleasing actor with eyes that she uses eloquently, and her beatific smile feels very appropriate. Her performance is understated but strong. Clad in a robe she grabs from the wall tied over a belly which a member of the audience is asked to help her with, she becomes a deceptively avuncular inquisitor who finally decides to burn a couple of people as an example. How dare people question the authority of the church or imagine that women can ever be the equals of men?

On the other hand, there are some nice jokes. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the brick-lined, damp-smelling basement performance space of The Glitch as a torture chamber. The inquisitor informs his heretics that all the toilets are gender-neutral – just a bucket at the back.  And Maifreda’s friend describes a boy she fancies as “fit”.

Runs until 8 September 2025

The Reviews Hub Star Rating: 3.5

70%

70%

Gently subversive

This review was first published by The Reviews Hub

It Never Rains

Wendy Fisher

Directed by Ralph Bogard

SE Fest 2025, Bridge House Theatre, Penge

 

Star rating 3.5

 

Wendy Fisher’s taut new play presents three generation of women within a pretty dysfunctional family. Each has more issues than you can shake a stick at. They struggle to communicate with each other or even to be honest with themselves.

Sarah (Jill Stanford) is just home from a holiday in Spain where her husband  has died in the unprecedented heat. Climate change is a theme in this play, which is set firmly in the present, but it isn’t properly developed. Her daughter Anne (Cathy Conneff) arrives to announce that her husband has met someone else and thrown her out penniless. She needs, therefore to stay with her mother for a while although there have clearly always been tension between them. Then Anne’s daughter Mags (Rosa French) who is already married with twin boys turns up and seems, for a while, to be the voice of commonsense until her life too becomes disrupted. They are, as Sarah comments ruefully, “three fuck-ups”.

The situation doesn’t however quite make sense. Anne says she is in her forties and yet she has been married for 30 years. So how old is Mags? Are we too assume that all three of these women were teenage brides? They don’t quite seem the type. It’s not clear.

The tight dialogue which often has ironic undertones pounds along as the three women fall out, become temporarily reconciled, play one off against the other and, gradually uncover or reveal long guarded secrets. There is laughter, angst and anger, the rhythms of which are quite nicely paced.

Stanford seems wooden at the beginning but gradually warms into the role with passion and venom. Her character is a pretty difficult woman. Conneff’s Anne is an inadequate non-coper and she gets the vulnerability combined with an irritating sense of entitlement convincingly. French is strong as the youngest of the three presenting a breezy, no-nonsense young wife and mother, impatient with the irrational behaviour of her mother and grandmother, But it doesn’t last. She is of her generation and wants better than she’s got which leads to weeping, tears and determination to “take her chance.”

I rather liked Farah Ishaq’s video effects which include a window though which, eventually, we experience a thunder storm. The significance of the bathroom and the showers at the end was, however, lost on me.